I PR BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME FROM THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF Henrg US. Sage 1891 A'UpM tsiu/JJ/^.. F 17 'n ^^^^ ^^^ N 1 '17 DEC 3 01940 8EPg[}i975F " JUN 27 1998 N OV 2 9 1962 A P' NOV a loca m e t:: Jv.^WvJ i/ii j^' JA N 2 4 | 96b ^ r--"^ •F Cornell University Library PR2841.A2W98 The poems of Shai being reduced to the straitest expedients, he still pays an excessive sum for the bell at his daughter's funeral. It was not altogether from Shakespeare's own experience, but also, we may think, from boyish memories of this kindly and engaging Micawber that he was afterwards to draw his unmatched pictures of thriftless joviality. From him, also, Shakespeare may well have derived his curious knowledge of legal procedure and of the science of heraldry, for his father contested some sixty law- suits, and applied, at least three times, for coat-armour. But the father, if he squandered his inheritance, left him an early love and understanding of the stage. 'The best companies in the Kingdom constantly visited Stratford during the decade of Shakespeare's active youth from 1573 to 1584'^: thanks, I the Corporation of London in 1575 : — ' To play in plague-time increases the plague by infection : to play out of plague-time calls down the plague from God ' (Fleay, History of the Stage, p. 47) : — and William Habington, a devout Catholic, writing in 1634, when Piynne had just lost his ears for attacking Players in Histrio-mastix : — ' Of this wine should Prynne Drinke but a plenteous glasse, he would beginne A health to Shakespeare's ghost.' Castara, Part ii., To a Friend, Mr. Carter's attempt to incarcerate Shakespeare in the 'prison-house of Puritanism' rests on too slender a basis to stand unless buttressed by new, and not very convincing, accounts of the principal movements and characters of the time. For example, he makes James I. a hero of Puritanism, in the face of his declarations : — ' A Scottish Presbytery as well fitteth with Monarchy as God and the Devil,' and his threat against the Puritans : — ' I will make them conform, or I will harry them out of the land ! ' > Conceded in 1596 and extended in 1599. Some dispute this. But the arms of 1596 appear on Shakespeare's monument. Cf. the drafts of Grants of Coat-Armour proposed to be conferred on John Shakespeare, from original MSS. preserved at the College of Arms. (Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines, ii. pp. 56, 61.) ^ Eaynes, p. 67. INTRODUCTION xxiii cannot but think, to the taste and instigation of Shakespeare's sire ; for we first hear of stage plays during the year in which he was High Bailiff, or Mayor, and we know that, during his year of office, he introduced divers companies to the town, and, doubtless, in accordance with custom, inaugurated their per- formances in the Guild-hall. From the known facts of John Shakespeare's extraction and career we may infer the incidents of his son's boyhood : the visits to the old home at high seasons of harvest and sheep- shearing; the sports afield with his mother's relations; the convivial gatherings of his father's cronies ; and certain days of awe-struck enchantment when the Guild-hall resounded to the tread and declamation of Players. But in the first years all these were incidental to the regular curriculum of Stratford Grammar-School — still to be seen in the same building over the Hall. Fortunately we know what that curriculum was, and a bound is set to speculation on the nature and extent of the schooling Shakespeare had. From the testimony of two for- gotten books,^ Mr. Baynes has pieced together the method of teaching in use at grammar-schools during the years of Shake- speare's pupilage ; and his theory is amply and minutely confirmed by many passages in the Plays.^ Shakespeare went to school at seven, and, after grinding at Lily's Grammar, enjoyed such conversation in Latin with his instructors as the Ollendorfs of the period could provide. The scope and charm of these ' John Brinsley's Ludus literariiis, or Grammar Schoole, 1612 (Brinsley was master of the Ashby-de-la-Zouche Grammar-School for 16 years), and Charles Hoole's A New Discovery of the old Art of Teaching Schoole, etc. This book, though of later date— Hoole was bom in 1610 — has its own interest ; since the author was head-master of a school at Rotherham closely resembling the Stratford School in 'its history and general features.'— (Baynes.) ^ Baynes, Shakespeare Studies, pp. 147-249 : ' What Shakespeare Learnt at School ' C xxiv INTRODUCTION 'Confabulationes pueriles' may be guessed from his sketch in Love's Labour 's Lost : — Sir Nathaniel. ' Laus Deo, bone intelligo.' Solophernes. ' Bone ! bone for bene. Priscian a little scratched ; 'twill serve.' Sir Nathaniel. 'Videsne quis venit?' Solophernes. 'Video et gaudeo."- And from Holophernes his 'Fauste precor. Old M^antuan, old Mantuan ! who understandeth thee not, loves thee not,' vi^e may infer that the pupil did not share the pedagogic admiration for the Eclogues of the monk, Mantuanus.^ But when, with j^sop's fables, these in their turn had been mastered, the boy of twelve and upwards was given his fill of Ovid, something less of Cicero, Virgil, Terence, Horace, and Plautus, and, perhaps, a modicum of Juvenal, Pei'sius, and Seneca's tragedies ; and of these it is manifest, from the Poems and the eai-Iy Plays,^ that Ovid left by far the most profound impression in his mind. But his studies were cut short. At fourteen * he was taken from school, doubtless to assist his father amid increasing difficulties, and we have a crop of legends ' I preserve Theobald's emendation. In one of the manuals, ' Familiares Colloquendi Formulae in usum Scholarum concinnatae,' Mr Bajmes has found, 'Who comes to meet us? Quis obviam venit? He speaks false Latin, Diminuit Prisciani caput; 'Tis barbarous Latin, Olet barbariem.' Cf. Holofernes : — ' O, I smell false Latin, "dunghill" for unguem.' 2 From Michael Drayton's epistle in verse to Henry Reynolds — Of Poets and Poesy — 1627, we gather that his poetic aspirations survived the same youthful ordeal : — ■ ' For from my cradle (you must know that) I Was still inclined to noble Poesie ; And when that once Pueriles I had read. And newly had my Cato construed. . . . And first read to me honest Mantuan.' ' Cf. in particular Love's Labour's Lost and Titus Andronicus. * Rowe, 1709. INTRODUCTION xxv sug-gesting the various callings in which he may have laboured to that end.i None of these legends can be proved, but none is impossible in view of his father's taste for general dealing and of the random guidance he is likely to have given his son. After four and a half years of such hand-to-mouth endeavour, sweetened, we may guess, by many a holiday in the forest and derelict deer-park at Fulbrook,^ Shakespeare, in December 1582, being yet a lad of eighteen, married Anne Hathaway, his senior by eight years, daughter to the tenant of Shottery Farm. This marriage may, or may not, have been preceded in the summer by a betrothal pf legal validity^: his eldest child, Susannah, was bom in May 1583. But in either case the adventure was of that romantic order which is justified by success alone, and such success must have seemed doubt- ful when twins were born in February 1585. About this period of youth, ' when the blood 's lava and the pulse a blaze,' may be grouped the legends of the drinking-match be- tween rival villages at Bidford, and of the deer-slaying resented by Sir Thomas Lucy. Mr. Baynes places this latter exploit at Fulbrook ; and, if he be right. Sir Thomas's interference was unwarranted, and may have been dictated by Protestant bigotry against Shakespeare for his kinship with the Ardens of Parkhall, who stood convicted of a plot against the Queen's life.* We know little of these years ; but we know enough to approve ^ Rowe malces him a. dealer in wool, on the authority of information collected by Betterton; Aubrey (before l68o) a school-master, and else- where a journeyman butcher, which is corroborated by the Parish Clerk of Stratford, born 1613. To Malone's conjecture, that he served in an Attorney's office, I will return. ^ The property of an attainted traitor, ' sequestered, though not adminis- tered by the Crown.' — Baynes, as above, p. 80. * Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps argues that it was. There is no evidence either way. * Certain indications, each slight in itself, taken together point to some sympathy on Shakespeare's part with the older faith. The Rev. Richard xxvi INTRODUCTION Shakespeare's departure in search of fortune. For at Strat- fordj frowned on by the mighty and weighed down with the double burden of a thriftless father and his own tender babes there was nothing for him but starvation. Ill To London, then, he set out on some dav between the opening of 1585 and the autumn of 1587, looking back on a few years of lad's experience and forward to the magical unknown. And to what a London ! Perhaps the first feature that struck him, re-awaking old delights, was the theatres on both banks of Thames. It may even be that he rode straight to one of these houses — (one built by James Burbage, himself a Stratford man) — and that, claiming the privilege of a fellow-townsman, he enrolled himself forthwith in the company of the Earl of Leicester's players.^ It is likelier than not ; for Burbage can hardly have built, not this later structure but, the 'Theater,' twenty years earlier, for a. first home of the drama in London, without receiving the con- gratulations, perhaps the advice, of Shakespeare's father, in those old prosperous aldermanic days, when every strolling company might claim a welcome from the Mayor of Stratford ; and the probability is increased by the presence of two other Stratford men, Heminge and Greene, in the same company. In Blackfriars, also, and near the theatres, stood the shop of Thomas Vautrouillier, publisher, and here Shakespeare found another acquaintance : for Richard Field served the first six years of his apprenticeship (1579-1585) with Vautrou- Davies in notes on Shakespeare, made before the year 1708, says 'he dyed a Papist.' 1 Baynes. Fleay holds that Shakespeare joined the company at Stratford and travelled with it to London. INTRODUCTION xxvii illier, and Richard was the son of 'Henry fBelde of Strat- ford uppon Aven in the countye of Warwick, tanner/ whose goods and chattels had once, we know, been valued by the Poet's father and two other Stratfordians.i Now, about the time of Shakespeare's advent to London, Richard Field married Jaklin, the daughter or widow ^ of Vauti-ouillier, and succeeded to the emigre's business. The closeness of the connexion is confirmed by our knowledge that Field printed the first three editions of Venus (1593, 1594., 1596) and the first Lucrece (1594). But Field also printed Putten- ham's Arte of English Poesie (1589), and, in ' a neat brevier Italic,' fifteen books of Ovid's Metamorphosis. In 1595, again, he printed his fine edition, the second,"* of North's Plutarch, following it up with others in l603, l607, l6l2. Without companioning Mr. William Blades* so far as to infer that Shakespeare worked as a printer with Field, we cannot miss the significance of his friend's having given to the world the Latin poem which left so deep an impression on Shakespeare's earlier lyrical verse, and that English translation from Amyot's Plutarch, out of which he quarried the material of his Greek and Roman plays. When Shakespeare came to London, then, he found in Blackfriars a little colony of his fellow- townsmen caught up in the two m.ost pronounced intellectual movements of that day : the new English Drama and the reproduction, whether ^ Diet. Nat. Biog. Richard Field. Arber, transcript, ii. 93. ^ In 1588 he married, says Ames, 'Jaklin, d. of Vautrollier ' {Typographical Antiquities, ed. Herbert, ii. 1252) and succeeded him in his house 'in the Black Friers, near Ludgate.' Collier quotes the marriage register — R. Field to Jacklin, d. of Vautrilliam 12 Jan. 1588. It is stated, however, in a list of master-printers included va. the ' Stationers' Register ' (transcript, iii. 702) that Field married Vautrouillier's widow, and succeeded him in 1590. * The first was published by Vautrouillier in 1579. * Shakespere ani Typography, 1877. xxviii INTRODUCTION in the original or in translation, of classical masterpieces. We know nothing directly of his life during the next five years. There is the tradition that he organised shelter and baiting for the horses of the young gallants, who daily rode down to the Theatres after their midday meal ; and there is the tradition that he paid one visit to Stratford every year.^ Yet it is easy to conjecture the experience of a youth and a poet translated from Warwickshire to a London rocking and roaring with Armada-patriotism and the literary fervour of the 'university pens.' All the talk was of sea-fights and new editions: Drake and Lyly, Raleigh and Lodge, Greene and Marlowe and Gren- ville were names in every mouth. The play-houses were the centres, and certain young lords the leaders, of a confused and turbulent movement appealing with a myriad voices to the lust of the eye and the pride of life. In pure letters Greene's Menaphon (1589), Lodge's Rosalynd^ (1590), were treading on the heels of Lyly's later instalments of Euphues ; and Sidney's Arcadia,^ long known in Ms., was at last in every hand. The first three books of The Faery Queen were brought over from Ireland, and were published in the same year. Poetry, poetical prose, and, for the last sign of a literary summer, even criticism of the aim and art of poetry — as Webb's Discourse of English Poetrie (1586), Puttenham's Arte of English Poesie (1589), and Sidney's Apologie for Poetrie* — all kept pouring from the press. But the Play was the thing that chiefly engaged the am- bition of poets, and took the fancy of young lords. The players, to avoid the statute which penalised their profes- sion, were enrolled as servants of noblemen, and this led, directly, to relations, founded on their common interest, between ' Aubrey (before i68o). 2 Where Shakespeare found the germ of jjs You Like It, ' Begun 1580, published 1590. * Not published till 1595, but written perhaps as early as 1581. INTRODUCTION xxix the patron who protected a company and the poet who wrote for it. Indirectly it led to much freedom of access between nobles who, though not themselves patrons, were the friends or relatives of others that were, and the leading dramatists and players. Noblemen are associated with Poets, i.e. Play- wrights, in contemporary satires. In Ben Jonson's Poetaster, for example, Cloe, the wife of a self-made man, asks, as she sets out for the Court : ' And will the Lords and the Poets there use one welt too, lady ? ' These artistic relations often ripened into close personal friendships : Ben Jonson, for example, left his wife to live during five years as the guest of Lord Aubigny ;^ and Shakespeare's friendships with Southampton and William Herbert are so fully attested as to preclude the omission of all reference to their lives from any attempt at reconstituting the life of Shakespeare. Doubtless they arose in the manner I have suggested. In 1599^ we read 'the Lord Southampton and Lord Rutland came not to the Court ; the one doth very seldom ; they pass away the time in London, merely in going to plays every day ' ; and from Baynard's Castle to the Black- friars Theatre was but a step for Pembroke's son, William Herbert, 'the most universally beloved and esteemed of any man of his age.' ^ Shakespeare wrote to Southampton : — ' The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end';* and we know, apart from any inference deduced from the Sonnets, that William Herbert also befriended our poet. His comrades ' Esme Stewart, Lord Aubigny, Duke of Ler.nox (cf. Jonson's Epigrams, 19, and the dedication of Sejanus). ' Five years he had not bedded with her, but had remained with my lord Aulbany,' Drummonds Conversations, 13, quoted by Fleay. 2 Letter from Rowland White to Sir Robert Sidney. Rowe, on the authority of Sir William Davenant, states that Southampton once gave Shakespeare £ioo». The story, if it be true, probably refers to an investment in the Blackfriars Theatre. ' Clarendon. * Dedication oi Lucrece. XXX INTRODUCTION dedicated the Folio (1623) after his death to William Herbert and his brother Philip, as 'the most incomparable paire of brethren/ in memory of the favour with which they had ' prose- quuted' both the Plays 'and their Authom* living.' Shake- speare was the friend of both Southampton and Herbert ; and in his imagination, that mirror of all life, the bright flashes and the dark shadows of their careers must often have been reflected. IV Southampton was scholar, sailor, soldier, and lover of letters.^ Born in 1573, he graduated at sixteen as a Master of Arts at St. John's College, Cambridge.^ At twenty-four he sailed with Essex as captain of the Garland, and, attacking thirty- five Spanish galleons with but three ships, sank one and scattered her fellows. And for his gallantry on shore in the same year (1597), he was knighted in the field by Essex before Villa Franca, ere 'he could dry the sweat from his brows, or put his sword up in the scabbard.'^ Now, in 1598 Essex was already out of favour with the Queen — she had been provoked to strike him at a meeting of the Council in July ; but he was popular in London, and had come, oddly enough, to be looked on as a deliverer by Papists and Puritans both. In April 1599 he sailed for Ireland, accompanied by Lord Southampton ; and we need not surmise, for we know, how closely Shakespeare followed the fortune of their arms. In 1 Qui in primo aetatis flore praesidio bonarum literarum et rei militaris scientia nobilitatem communit, ut uberiores fructus maturiore aetate patriae et principi profundat.' — Camden's Britannia, 8vo, l6oo, p. 240. 2 Southampton was admitted a student in 1585 (aet. 12). Note that Tom Nash, who in after years ' tasted the full spring ' of Southampton's MhtxaXiiy (Terrors of Nig-ht, 1594) matriculated at the same College in 1582, and ever cherished its memory : — • Loved it still, for it ever was and is the sweetest nurse of knowledge in all that university' (Lenten Stuff). ' Gervois Markham, Hotiour In Its Perfection, 4to, 1624, INTRODUCTION xxxi London, 'the quick forge and working-house of thought/ Shakespeare weaves into the chorus to the Fifth Act of his Henry V. a prophetic picture of their victorious return : — ' Were now the general of our gracious empress, As in good time he may, from Ireland coming. Bringing rebellion broached on his sword. How many would the peaceful city quit To welcome him ! ' The play was produced in the spring of that year, but its prophecy went unfulfilled. Essex failed where so many had failed before him; and, being censured by the Queen, replied with impertinent complaints against her favours to his political opponents, Cecil, Raleigh, and that Lord Cobham who had two years earlier taken umbrage at Shakespeare's Henry IV?- In September he returned suddenly from a futile campaign, and on Michaelmas Eve, booted, spurred, and bespattered, he burst into the Queen's chamber, to find her with 'her hair about her face.' ^ He was imprisoned and disgraced, one of the chief causes of Elizabeth's resentment being, as she after- wards alleged, 'that he had made Lord Southampton general of the horse contrary to her will.' ^ For Southampton was already under a cloud. He had presumed to marry Elizabeth Vernon without awaiting the Queen's consent, and now, com- bining the display of his political discontent with the indulgence of his passion for the theatre, he, as I have said, is found avoiding the Court and spending his time in seeing plays. The combination was natural enough, for theatres were then, as newspapers are now, the cock-pits of political as of religious and literary contention. Rival companies, producing new plays, or 'mending' old ones each month, and almost each week, ' Infra. * Rowland White to Sir Robert Sidney, Michaelmas day, 1599. * Ibid., 25th October 1599. xxxii INTRODUCTION were quick to hail the passing triumphs, or to glose the passing defeats of their chosen causes. Whilst high-born ladies of the house of Essex besieged the Court clad in deep mourning ^ and the chances of his being forgiven were canvassing among courtiers wherever they assembled, Dekker in Patient Grissel (1599), Heywood in his Royal King and Loyal Subject,'^ hinted that probation, however remorseless, might be but the prelude to a loftier honour. Now, just at this time there occurs a strange reversal in the attitudes of the Court and the City towards the Drama. One Order of Council follows another,^ enjoining on the Mayor and Justices that they shall limit the number of play-houses ; but the City authorities, as a rule ^ Rowland White, passim. ^ I venture to date this play 1600, although printed much later, on the following grounds : — (i) It was published with an apology for the number of its 'rhyming lines,' which pleaded that such lines were the rage at the date of its first production, though long since discarded in favour of blank verse and ' strong lines.' The plea would hardly tally with a later date. (2) The allusion to Dekker's Phaethon, produced 1598, and re-written for the Court, 1600, points to Heywood's play having been written whilst Dekker's, referred to also in Jonson's Poetaster, 1601, was attracting attention. In Poetaster, iv. 2, Tucca calls Demetrius, who is Dekker, Phaethon. (3) The passage of Heywood's play in which this allusion occurs is significant : — ' Prince. The Martiall 's gone in discontent, my liege. JCing. Pleas'd, or not pleas'd, if we be England's King, And mightiest in the spheare in which we move. Wee '11 shine along this Phaethon cast down.' This trial of the Marshal, who is stripped of all his ofiices and insignia, seems moulded on the actual trial of Essex in June 1600, as described by Rowland White in a letter to Sir Robert Sidney of June 7th, 1600 : — ' The poore Earl then besought their Honors, to be a meane unto her Majestic for Grace and Mercy ; seeing there appeared in his offences no Disloyalty towards Her Highness, but Ignorance and Indiscretion in hymself. I heare it was a most pitifuU and lamentable sight, to see hym that was the Mignion of Fortune, now unworthy of the least Honor he had of many; many that were present burst out in tears at his fall to such misery.' A writer (probably Mr. R. Simpson) in The North British Review, 1S70, p. 395, assigns Heywood's play to 1600. * June 22, 1600. March 10, 1601. May 10, 1601. December 31, 1601. Quoted by Fleay. INTRODUCTION xxxiii most Puritanical, are obstinately remiss in giving effect to these decrees. Mr. Fleay attributes this waywardness to a jealous vindication of civic privileges : I would rather ascribe it to sympathy with Essex, 'the good Earl.' The City autliorities could well, had they been so minded, have prevented the per- formance of Richard II., with his deposition and death, some * forty times ' in open streets and houses, as Elizabeth com- plained ; 1 and, indeed, it is hard to account for the Queen's sustained irritation at this drama save on the ground of its close association with her past fears of Essex.^ Months after the Earl's execution, she exclaimed to Lambard : — 'I am Ricliard the Second, knowe yee not that ? ' ^ And we have the evidence of Shakespeare's friend and colleague, Phillips, for the fact that Richard II. was performed by special request of the conspirators on the eve of their insane rising* (February 7, 16OI) — that act of folly, which cost Essex his head and Southampton his liberty during the rest of Eliza- beth's reign. But if Shakespeare's colleagues, acting Shakespeare's Plays, gave umbrage to Essex's political opponents in Henry IV., applauded his ambition in Henry V., and were accessories to his disloyalty in Richard II., there were playwrights and players ready enough to back the winning side. Henslowe, an apparent time-server, commissioned Dekker to re-write his Phaeihon for presentation before the Court (I6OO), with, it is fair to suppose, a greater insistence on the presumption and 1 Nichols, iii. 552. 2 Cf. Elizabeth to Harrington : — ' By God's Son I am no Queen ; this man is above me. ' 3 Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines, ii. 359. Lambaid, August 1601, had opened his Pandeda Rotulorum before her at the reign of Richard 11. * ' Examination of Augustyne Phillypps servant unto the Lord Chamber- leyne, and one of his players,' quoted by Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines, ii. 360, Phillips died, 1605, leaving by will ' to my fellow WiUiam Shakespeare, a thirty shillings piece of gold.' xxxiv INTRODUCTION catastrophe of the ' Sun's Darling ' ; and Ben Jonson, in his O/nthia's Revels (I6OO), put forth two censorious allusions to Essex's conduct. Indeed the framework of this latter play, apart from its incidental attacks on other authors, is a defence of 'Cynthia's' severity. Says Cupid (i. 1): — 'The huntress and queen of these groves, Diana, in regard of some black and envious slanders hourly breathed against her for divine justice on Actaeon . . . hath . . . proclaim'd a solemn revels, which (her godhead put off) she will descend to grace.' The play was acted before Elizabeth, and contains many allusions to the ' Presence.' After the masque, Cynthia thanks the masquers (v. 3) : — ' For you are they, that not, as some have done. Do censure us, as too severe and sour. But as, more rightly, gracious to the good ; Although we not deny, unto the proud. Or the profane, perhaps indeed austere : For so Actseon, by presuming far. Did, to our grief, incur a fatal doom. . . . Seems it no crime to enter sacred bowers And hallow'd places with impure aspect.' In 1600, such lines can only have pointed to Essex- Actseon's mad intrusion into the presence of a Divine Virgin. In I6OI if, as some hold, these lines were a late addition, the reference to Essex's execution was still more explicit. We know that Essex had urged the Scotch King, our James i., to enforce the recognition of his claim to the succession by a show of arms,i and that James 'for some time after his accession considered Essex a martyr to his title to the Englisli crown.* ^ Mr. Fleay points out ^ that ' Lawrence Fletcher, comedian to His Majesty,' was at Aberdeen in ^ Queen Elizabeth, E. S. Beesley. " Criminal Trials, L. E. K. i. 394 ; quoted by Fleay. ' History of the Stage, 136. INTRODUCTION xxxv October I60I, and that Fletcher, ShakespearCj and the others in his company, were recognised by James as his players im- mediately after his accession (l603).i The title-page of the first Hamlet (l603 : entered in the Stationers' Registers, July 26, 1602) puts the play forward 'as it hath beene diverse times acted by his Highnesse servants in the Cittie of London; as also in the two Universities of Cambridge and Oxford, and elsewhere.' Mr. Fleay, therefore, to my thinking, proves his case : ^ that Shakespeare's company was travelling in I6OI whilst Ben Jonson's Cynthia was being played by the children of the Chapel. In the light of these facts it is easy to understand the conversation between Hamlet and Rosencrantz, Act ii. 2, which, else, is shrouded in obscurity : — ' Hamlet. AYliat players are they ? Rosencrantz. Even those you were wont to take such delight in, the tragedians of the City. Samlet. How chances it they travel ? Their residence, both in reputation and profit, was better both ways. Rosencrantz. I think their inhibition comes by means of the late innovation. Samlet. Do they hold in the same estimation they did when I was in the City .'' are they so followed .' Eosencrantz. No, indeed they are not. Samlet. How comes it .'' Do they grow rusty ? Rosencrantz. Nay, their endeavour keeps hi the wonted pace; but there is, sir, an eyi-ie of children, little eyases that cry out on the top of question and are most tyrannically clapped for't : these are now the fashion, and so berattle the common stages — so they call them — that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-quills, and dare scarce come * The license is quoted by Halliwell-Phillipps in full, Outlines, ii. 82. ° Mr. Sidney Lee {Die. Nat. Biog. ' Shakespeare '), objects that there is nothing to indicate that Fletcher's companions in Scotland belonged to Shakespeare's company. This hardly touches the presumption raised by the fact that 'Fletcher, Comedian to His Majesty,^ i.e. to James as King of Scotland in 1601, was patented with Shakespeare, Burbage, and others, as the ' King's servants ' on James's accession to the English throne in 1603. xxxvi INTRODUCTION thither. . . . Faith, there has heen much to do on both sides, and the nation holds it no sin to tarre them to con- troversy ; there was for a while no money bid for argument unless the poet and the player went to cufFs on the ques- tion. . . .' Hamlet. Do the boys carry it away ? Bosencrantz. Ay, that they do, my lord ; Hercules and his load too.' 2 The collection of such passages; Shakespeare's professed affection for Southampton ; his silence when so many mourned the Queen's death, marked (as it was) by a contemporary: all these indications tend to show that Shakespeare shared in the political disftontent which overshadowed the last years of Elizabeth's reign. But it is safer not to push this conclusion, and sufficient to note that the storms which ruined Essex and Southampton lifted at least a ripple in the stream of Shake- speare's life.^ To turn from Southampton to Shakespeare's other noble patron, is to pass from the hazards of war and politics to the lesser triumphs and disasters of a youth at Court. Many slight but vivid pictures of Herbert's disposition and conduct, during the first two years of his life at Court, are found in the intimate letters of Rowland White to Herbert's ■ uncle. Sir Robert Sidney. 'My Lord Harbert' — so he in- variably styles him — 'hath with much a doe brought his Father to consent that he may live at London, yet not before next spring.' This was written 19th April 1597, when Herbert was but seventeen. During that year a project was ^ See infra on the personal attacks in Cynthia's Revels and Poetaster. 2 I.e. the Globe Theatre. ' I shall not pursue the further vicissitudes of Southampton's adventurous career, for the last of Shakespeare's Sonnets was written almost certainly before the Queen's death or soon after. INTRODUCTION xxxvii mooted between Herbert's parents and the Earl of Oxford for his marriage with Oxford's daughter, Bridget Vere, aged thirteen.! It came to nothing by reason of her tender years, and Herbert, in pursuance of a promise extracted from a father confined by ilhiess to his country seat, came up to town, and thrust into the many-coloured rout, with all the flourish and the gallantry, and something also of the diffidence and uneasiness, of youth. You catch glimpses of him : now, a glittering figure in the medley, watching his mistress, Mary Fitton, lead a masque before the Queen, or challenging at the Tournay in the valley of Mirefleur^ — an equivalent for Greenwich, coined for the nonce, since both place and persons must be masked after the folly of the hour ; and again you find him sicklied with ague and sunk in melan- choly — the Hamlet of his age, Gardiner calls him — seeking his sole consolation in tobacco. I cannot refrain from transcribing Rowland White's references in their order, so clean are the strokes with which he hits off Herbert, so warm the light he sheds on the Court that surrounded Herbert. 4th August 1599 : — 'My lord Harbert meanes to follow the camp and bids me write unto you, that if your self come not over, he means to make bold with you and send for Bayleigk'— Sir Robert Sidney's charger — 'to Penshurst, to serve upon. If you have any armor, or Pistols, that may steede him for him- self only, he desires he may have the Use of them till your own Return.' 1 1th August 1 599 '■ — ' He sent to my lady ' — ('Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother') — 'to borrow Bayleigh. ^ Mr. Tyler, Shakespeare's Sonnets, p. 45, quotes the Rev. W. A. Harrison and the original letters, discovered by him, which prove the existence of this abortive contract. ' This name belongs to 1606; in 1600, however, he also jousted at Greenwich. xxxviii INTRODUCTION She returned this Answer, that he shall have it, but condition- ally, that if you come over or send for yt to Flushing he may restore yt, which he agrees to.' 18th August 1599 : — ' My Lord Harbert hath beene away from Court these 7 Daies in London, swagering yt amongest the Men of Warre, and viewing the Maner of the Musters.' 8th September 1599: — 'My lord Harbert is a continuall Courtier, but doth not follow his Business with that care as is fitt ; he is to cold in a matter of such Greatness.' 12th September 1599: — 'Now that my lord Harbert is gone, he is much blamed for his cold and weak maner of pursuing her Majestie's Favor, having had so good steps to lead him unto it. There is want of spirit and courage laid to his charge, and that he is a melancholy young man.' September 13, 1599: — 'I hope upon his return he will with more lisse ^ and care undertake the great matter, which he hath bene soe cold in.' ^ On the 20th September 1599» White perceives 'that Lord Nottingham would be glad to have Lord Harbert match in his house ' — i.e. marry his daugh- ter. This, then, is the second project of marriage entertained on Herbert's behalf. On Michaelmas Day, White describes Essex's return, and you gather from many subsequent letters how great was the commotion caused by his fall. ' The time,' he writes, September SOth, 'is full of danger,' and 11th October : — ' What the Queen will determine with hym is not knowen; but I see litle Hope appearing of any soddain liberty.' Meanwhile Herbert steers clear of the eddies, and prosecutes his cause with greater energy. Whilst South- ampton is a truant at the play, 'My lord Harbert' (11th ^ Fr. Liesse = Gaiety. ^ About this time his father underwent an operation for the stone, and, if he had died under it, his place in Wales would have gone to the Earl of Worcester or the Earl of Shrewsbury. Herbert was to secure the reversion to himself. INTRODUCTION xxxix October), 'is at Court, and much bound to her Majestic for her gracious Favor, touching the Resignation of the office of Wales.' Herbert, indeed, seems to have been favoured by all the Court faction, including even Sir Robert Cecil, the chief enemy of Essex and, therefore, of Southampton. Nov- ember 24, 1599: — 'My lord Harbert is exceedingly beloved at Court of all men.' And 29th November 1599, '9000 (Herbert) is very vrell beloved here of all, especially by 200 (Cecil) and 40 who protest in all places they love him.' In the same letter, '9000 (Herbert) is highly favoured by 1500 (the Queen) for at his departure he had access unto her, and was private an Houre ; but he greatly wants advise.' On 28th December 1599, we find him sick with ague, and again, 5th January l600: — 'My Lord Harbert is sick of his tertian ague at Ramesbury.' On the 12th January l600 we have the first notice of Mary Fitton : — ' Mrs Fitton is sicke, and gone from Court to her Father's.' 19th January l600: — 'My lord Harbert coming up towards the Court, fell very sicke at New- berry, and was forced to goe backe again to Ramisbury. Your pies, ' White continues, exhibiting the solicitude of uncle and mother alike for the young courtier, 'were very kindly accepted there, and exceeding many Thankes returned. My Lady Pembroke desires you to send her speedely over some of your excellent Tobacco.' ^ 24th January l600: — Herbert has 'fallen to have his ague again, and no hope of his being here before Easter.' 26th January l600 : — He complains 'that he hath a continual! Paine in his Head, and finds no manner of ease but by taking of Tobacco.' The mother's care ex- tended even to the lady, Mary Fitton, whom her son was soon to love — supposing, that is, that he did not love her already. 21st February l600 : — ' My lady goes often to my Lady Lester, 1 Tobacco was first introduced by Nicot as a sovereign remedy against disease. d xl INTRODUCTION my Lady Essex and my Lady Buckhurst, where she is ex- ceeding welcome ; she visited Mrs. Fitton, that hath long bene here sicke in London.' But her son was soon to recover. 26th February I6OO: — 'My lord Harbert is well again; they all remove upon Saturday to Wilton to the races ; when that is ended, my Lord Harbert comes up.' 22nd March I6OO : — ' My lord Harbert is at Court and desires me to salute you very kindly from him. I doubt not but you shall have great comfort by him and I believe he will prove a great man in Court. He is very well beloved and truly deserves it.' But some of the love he won brought danger in its train. The next two references, describing the marriage of Mistress Anne Russell to ' the other Lord Herbert/ viz.. Lord Worcester's son, picture a masque in which Mrs. Fitton played a conspicuous part before the eyes of her young lover. 14th June I6OO: — ' There is a memorable mask of 8 ladies ; they have a straunge Dawnce newly invented ; their attire is this : Each hath a skirt of cloth of silver, a rich wastcoat wrought with silkes, and gold and silver, a mantell of Carnacion Taifete cast under the Arme, and there Haire loose about their shoulders, curiously knotted and interlaced. These are the maskers. My Lady Doritye, Mrs. Fitton, Mrs. Carey, Mrs. Onslow, Mrs. Southwell, Mrs. Bes Russell, Mrs. Darcy and my lady Blanche Somersett. These 8 daunce to the musiq Apollo bringes, and there is a fine speech that makes mention of a ninth,' — of course the Queen — ' much to her Honor and Praise.' The ceremony was ' honored by Her Majestie's Presence,' and a sennight later we hear how all passed off. 23rd June I6OO: — 'After supper the maske came in, as I writ in my last; and delicate it was to see 8 ladies soe pretily and richly attired. Mrs. Fitton leade, and after they had donne all their own ceremonies, these 8 Ladys maskers choose 8 ladies more to daunce the measures. Mrs. Fitton went to the Queen, and wooed her to daunce; her INTRODUCTION xli Majesty asked what she was ; Affection, she said. Affection ! said the Queen. Affection is false. Yet her Majestic rose and daunced.' . . . 'The bride was lead to the Church by Lord Harbert/ and 'the Gifts given that day were valewed at £1000 in Plate and Jewels at least.' Nine months later Mrs. Fitton bore Herbert an illegitimate child ; but meanwhile he pursued his career as a successful courtier. 8th August I6OO: — 'My lord Harbert is very well thought of, and keapes company with the best and gravest in Court, and is well thought of amongst them.' The next notice, in the circumstances as we know them, is not surprising. l6th August I6OO: — 'My lord Harbert is very well. I now heare litle of that matter intended by 6OO (Earl of Nottingham) towards hym, only I observe he makes very much of hym ; but I don't find any Disposition at all in this gallant young lord to marry.' With the next we come to Herbert's training for the tournament, and gather something of his relations with the learned men whom his mother had collected at Wilton to instruct him in earlier years. Mr. Sandford had been his tutor, sharing that office, at one time, with Samuel Daniel, the poet and author of the Dejence of Rhyme. 26th Sep- tember 1600 : — ' My Lord Harbert resolves this yeare to shew hymselfe a man at Armes, and prepared for yt; and because it is his first tyme of runninge, yt were good he came in some excellent Devize, I make it known to your lordship that if you please to honor my lord Harbert with your advice ; my feare is, that Mr. Sandford will in his Humor, persuade my lord to some pedantike Invention.' Then, 18th October I6OO: — ' My lord Harbert will be all next weeke at Greenwich, to prac- tice at Tylt. He often wishes you here. Beleve me, my lord, he is a veiy gallant Gentleman and, indeed, wants such a Frend as you are neare unto him.' Again, 24th October I6OO: — 'Lord Harbert is at Greenwich practicing against the Coronation (i") ' ; xlii INTRODUCTION and, 30th October I6OO : — 'My lord Harbert is practicing at Greenwich, I sent him word of this ; he leapes, he dawnces, he singes, he gives cownterbusses, he makes his Horse runne with more speede; he thanckes me, and meanes to be exceeding merry with you this winter in Bajmard's Castel, when you must take Phisicke.' The rest is silence,- for Rowland' White, the intimate, the garrulous, is succeeded in the Sidney Papers by duller correspondents, who attend more strictly to affairs of state, and the issue of Herbert's intrigue is learned from other sources. But before I draw on them, let me set Clarendon's finished picture of Herbert 1 by the side of these early thumb- nails: — "^He was a man very well bred, and of excellent parts, and a graceful Speaker upon any subject, having a good propor- tion of Learning, and a ready Wit to apply it, and enlarge upon it : of a pleasant and facetious humour, and a disposition affable^ generous, and magnificent. . . . Yet his memory must not be Flatter' d, that his virtues, and good inclinations may be believ'd ; he was not without some allay of Vice, and without being clouded with great Infirmities, which he had in too exorbitant a proportion. He indulged to himself the Pleasures of all kinds, almost in all excesses. To women, whether out of his natural constitution, or for want of his domestick content and delight (in which he was most unhappy, for he paid too dear for his Wife's Fortune, by taking her Person into the bargain) he was immoderately given up. But therein he like- wise retain'd such power, and jurisdiction over his very appetite, that he was not so much transported with beauty, and outward allurements, as with those advantages of the mind, as manifested an extraordinary wit, and spirit, and knowledge, and admini- stred great pleasure in the conversation. To these he sacrificed Himself, his precious time, and much of his fortune. And some, who were nearest his trust and friendship, were not ^ History of the Rebellion, ed. 1705, vol. I. book i. p. 57. INTRODUCTION xliii without apprehensioDj that his natural vivacity, and vigour of mind begun to lessen and decline by those excessive Indul- gences.' In time he filled nearly all the greater offices of the Court, and 'died of an Apoplexy, after a full and chearful supper,' in 1 630, leaving no children from his marriage, but a debt of £80,000 on his estate.^ I have lingered over William Herbert, who, excepting Southampton, received more dedicatory verses from poets, who were also playwrights, than any other noble of his time ; for, whether or not he was the 'only begetter' of Shakespeare's Sonnets, he was certainly Shakespeare's friend, and one of the brightest particles in the shifting kaleidoscope of Court and Stage. Though now one company and now another was in- hibited, the Court and Theatre were never in closer contact than during the last years of Elizabeth's reign, when at Christmas and Twelfth Night a play was almost invariably acted by request 'in the Presence.' Two companies of players were the servants of the highest officers at the Court, the Lord Chamberlain and the Lord Admiral. And the Lord Admiral was that Earl of Nottingham who 'made very much' of Herbert and desired him for a son-in-law.2 The Theatre was dignified by the very trick of majesty, and the Court transfigured by the spirit of mas- querade. Davies tells of Shakespeare in a ' Kingly part,' picking up a glove let drop by Gloriana's self, with the gag : — ' And though now bent on this high embassy. Yet stoop we to take up our cousin's glove.' 1 Court and Times of Charles /., ii. 73. * We have a pretty picture of his kindness to Herbert's little cousin in another letter of Rowland White to Sir R. Sidney. April 26th, 1600:— •All your children are in Health, the 3 greater, and litle Mr. Robert, were at Court, and in the Presence at St. George's Feast, where they were much respected. I brought up Mr. Robert, when the Knights were at dinner; who plaied the wagg soe pretily and boldly that all tooke Pleasure in him, but above the rest, my lord Admirall, who gave him sweet meats and he prated with his Honor beyond measure.' xliv INTRODUCTION The tradition that Shakespeare played these parts is persistent, and I cannot doubt that his allusion to himself was obvious to his audience when he puts into Hamlet's mouth these words : — ' He that plays the King shall be welcome ; his majesty shall have tribute of me.' ^ It is almost certain that Mary Fitton, the Queen's Maid of Honour, was on intimate terms with the players in the Lord Chamberlain's (Shakespeare's) Company ; for KempCj who played the Clown's part, seems to have dedicated to her the account of his famous Morris to Norwiche,^ as he writes, 'to shew my duety to your honourable selfe, whose favour (among other bountifull frends) makes me (despight of this sad world) judge my hart corke and my heeles feathers.' Such an intimacy is intrinsically probable from her relations with Herbert, who 'prosecuted Shakespeare with his favour,' from the custom of the age, and above all from her own fantastic disposition. Elsewhere you read^ that 'in the tyme when that Mrs. Fytton was in great favour, and one of her Majestic' s maids of honor (and during the tyme yt. the Earle of Pembroke * favoured her), she would put off her head tire and tucke upp her clothes, and take a large white cloak, and march ^ Personal allusions were the sauce of every play. Cf. Jonson's Cynthia's Revels (1600) Act v. 2 : — ' Amorphus. Is the perfume rich in this jerkin ? Perfumer. Taste, smell ; I assure you, sir, pure benjamin, the only spirited scent that ever awaked a Neapolitan nostril.' Jonson is constantly called 'Benjamen' (Bengemen) in Henslovpe's Diary. 2 Entered at Stationers' Hall, 22nd April 1600. The dedication, it is true, gives 'Anne,' almost certainly in error, for Mary Fitton. Anne, so far as we know, was never a Maid of Honour, and can hardly have been one in 1600 since she had married Sir John Newdigate in 1585. See W. Andrews, Bygone Cheshire, p. 150. He quotes Rev. W. A. Harrison. ' In a document (assigned by Mr. Tyler after a pencil note on it to Oct. 1602). Domestic Addenda, Elizabeth, vol. xxxiv. Mary Fitton suffered from hysteria (Gossip from a Muniment Room, 1897, p. 27), * Herbert succeeded, 1601. INTRODUCTION xlv as though she had bene a man to meete her lover, William Herbert.' The inspiration of Shakespeare's laughter-loving heroines in doublet and hose need not, then, have come exclusively from boys playing in women's parts.' But there are shadows in the hey-day pageantry of this Court which borrowed the trappings and intrigues of the Stage, and something of its tragedies also. In I6OI Southampton is arrested, and Essex dies on the scaffold for the criminal folly of the Rising. In the same spring William Herbert is disgraced and imprisoned, because Mary Fitton is to bear him a child, and he ' utterly renounceth all marriage.'" In truth 'twas a dare-devil 1 Marston. Sat. ii. (1598) : — ' What sex they are, since strumpets breeches use. And all men's eyes save Lynceus can abuse.' ' Mr. Tyler (Shakespeare's Sonnets, 1890, p. 56) quotes (i) the postscript of a letter, February 5, 1601, from Sir Robert Cecil to Sir George Carew : — ' We have no news but that there is a misfortune befallen Mistress Fitton, for she is proved with child, and the Earl of Pembroke, being examined, confesseth a fact, but utterly renounceth all marriage. I fear they will both dwell in the Tower awhile, for the Queen hath vowed to send them thither ' ( Calendar of Carew MSS. ). (2) A letter in the Record Office from Tobie Matthew to Dudley Carleton, March 25, 1601 : — 'I am in some hope of your sister's enlargement shortly, but what will happen with the Erie I cannot tell' (W. E. A. Axon in William Andrews' Bygone Cheshire, 1895). In 1606 (?) Mary's mother writes : — ' I take no joye to heer of your sister, nore of that boy, if it had pleased God when I did hear her, that she hade bene beried, it hade saved me from a gret delle of sorow and gryffe, and her ffrom shame, and such shame as never have Cheshyre Woman ; worse now than evar, wright no more of her.' — Ibid. Tyler quotes a document of the late Rev. F. C. Fitton copied by his father (b. 1779) from a MS. by Ormerod, author of he History of Cheshire, containing this entry: — Capt. Lougher = Mary Fitton = Capt. Polwhele 1st husband Maid of Honour had 2nd husband one bastard by Wm. E. of Pembroke, and two bastards by Sir Richard Leveson, Kt. This entry is confirmed, though the order of Mary Fitton's marriages is reversed, by an extract, communicated by Lord de Tabley to the Rev. W. A. xlvi INTRODUCTION age of large morals and high spirits. Sir Nicholas I'Estrange reports that when Sir William Knollys lodged 'at Court, where some of the ladyes and maydes of Honour us'd to friske and hey about in the next room, to his extreme disquiete a nights, though he often warned them of it ; at last he getts in one night at their revells, stripps off his shirt, and so with a payre of spectacles on his nose and Aretine in his hand, comes marching in at a posteme door of his owne chamber, reading very gravely, full upon the faces of them.' He enjoyed his joke : ' for he fac'd them and often traverst the roome in this posture above an houre.' As the coarse web of Elizabethan embroidery shows beneath the delicate ornament and between the applied patches of brilliant colour, so in the manners of Elizabeth's Court does a texture, equally coarse, run visibly through the refinements of learning and the bravery of display. Even in the amusements of the Queen, who read Greek and delighted in Poetry, do we find this intermingling of the barbarous, of the ' Gothic ' in the contemptuous application of that byword, and also of that unconscious humour which we read into archaic Harrison, from ■ a very large (elephant) folio of Cheshire Genealogies with coloured arms, thus : — Sir Edward fEtton of Gawesworth Captaine = Mary = Captaine This Mary Fitton had by Will. Lougher ffitton Polewheele Herbert Earle of Pembroke a 2 husb. mayd of i. husband bastard. And also by Sir honour Richard Lusan she had two bastard daughters. Some years later Mary's mother writes to her daughter Anne that Polewhele 'is a veri knave, and taketh the disgrace off his wyffand all her ffryndes to make ihe world thynk hym worthy of her and that she dessarved no better.' Also about 1606-7 Mary's aunt, wife of Sir Francis Fitton, denounces her niece as 'the vyles woman under the sun.' Mary was baptized at Gawes- worth, June 24, 1578, so that her age was 22-23 in March 1601. C£ also Lady Newdigate-Newdegate's Gossip from a Muniment Room, 1897. INTRODUCTION xlvii art. ' Her Majesty is very well/ writes Rowland White (12th May 1600); 'this Day she appointes to see a Frenchman doe Feates upon a Rope, in the Conduit Court. To-morrow she hath commanded the Beares, the Bull and the Ape, to be baited in the Tiltyard. Upon Wednesday she will have solemne Dawncing.' An archaic smile is graven on the faces above the rufF of this Renaissance Cynthia, and our Ninth Muse is also our 'Good Queen Bess,' own daughter to ' Bluff King Hal.' Sometimes she proceeded somewhat drastically to adjust her several diversions: — 'On 25th July 1591 the Privy Council wrote to the Lord Mayor directing the suppression of plays on Sundays and on Thursdays, because it interfered with bear-baiting, which was maintained for Her Majesty's pleasure, ' if occasion require.' ^ This singular ground was but one, and certainly the least, of many, for interfering with the Theatres. They shut automatically whenever the number of plague-cases reached a statutory limit ; and they were closed, I have surmised, for political reasons, and also, more than once, for handling religious controversies. VI Soon after Shakespeare's advent, the Martin Marprelate con- troversy, begun in 1588, overflowed from the press^ to tli.e stage.' Shakespeare, without doubt, saw Martin, the pseudonymous persona of the Reformers, caricatured by their antagonists, with a cock's comb, an ape's face, a wolfs belly, and a cat's claws,* ^ Fleay : from Chalmers's Apology, p. 379. ' The pamphlets are alluded to by Shakespeare. Nash, in Strange News, etc., January 12, 1593, p. 194, mentions Lyly's Almond for a Parrot, and bids Gabriel (Harvey) respice funem. Cf. Comedy of Errors, iv. 4: — Dro. E. Mistress, Respice funem, or rather, the prophecy like the parrot, 'Beware the rope's end.' — Fleay. ' Before August 1589. Arber, Introdiution to Martin Marprelate, Fleay, History of the Stage, p. 92. * Lyly's Pap with a Hatcliet, about September 1589. — Arber. xlviii INTRODUCTION the better to scratch the face of Divinity ji he also saw 'blood and humour ' taken from him, on the very boards ^ perhaps, of the theatre in which he played. These astounding products of religious intolerance, coupled with the prevailing taste for mountebank bear-fighting, led to the staying of all plays in the City by the Lord Mayor (Harte) at the instance of Lord Wal- singham ^ acting on representations from Tilney, Master of the Revels. The Admiral's players and Lord Strange' s — i.e., Shake- speare and his colleagues — were summoned and inhibited. But Lord Strange's company contumaciously shifted its venue, and played that afternoon at the Cross Keys ; so two of the players were committed to the Counter and prohibited till further orders.^ On the death of Ferdinando Lord Strange, Shake- speare and his colleagues joined the Chamberlain's Company. ^ And, in July 1597, they, with other companies, were again in difficulties, probably of a like origin. The Privy Council, acting on a letter from the Lord Mayor, directed the Justices of Surrey and Middlesex ' nerest to London,' to prohibit all plays ' within London or about the city,' and to ' pluck down ' the theatres : alleging 'the lewd matters handled on the stage' as the first ground for such action.^ The city fathers had com- 1 Nash, Pasquil's Return, October 1589. ^ Nash, CourUercuffe to Martin Junior, August 1589. ' Fleay. ' Ly ly, Pap with a Hatchet, September 1 589 : — ' Would these comedies (against Martin) might be allowed to be played that are penned. ' — Fleay, The English Drama, ii. 39. ^ Mr. Fleay, in his Index lists of Actors, places Shakespeare in Leicester's Company, 1587-9; in Lord Strange's, 1589-93; in the Chamberlain's, 1594- 1603. From his list of Companies it appears that on the death of Henry Carey, Lord Hunsdon, July 22, 1596, who had been Chamberlain since 1585, George Carey, Lord Hunsdon, took over the Company under his own name until, on the 27th April 1597, he succeeded Lord Chamberlain Brook, who died the 5th of the preceding March. He kept on the Company as Chamber- lain from then till 1603. ^ Halliwell, Illustrations, p. 21, quoting ' Registers of the Privy Council.' INTRODUCTION xlix plained that the theatres tempted their apprentices to play truant ; but the ' matters handled on the stage ' must have counted for as much, or more, in fostering their puritanical opposition. . High among the causes of offence to the ultra-protestant faction at this time, I must reckon the name first given to the Sir John Falstaff of Shakespeare's Henry IF.— viz., Sir John Oldcastle; for Sir John Oldcastle, Lord Cobham, had died a Protestant martyr, burned for Lollardy by Henry v. Some traces of this initial offence survive in the revised version, published in quarto, the first part in 1598, the second in 1600. Thus (Part I. i. ii.) .— ' Falstaff. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench ? Prince. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the Castle.' In Part II. i. ii. line 113 the Quarto, instead of the Fal. given later in all the Folios, prefixes Old. to FalstafTs speech. 1 In II. iii. 2. Shallow is made to say : — ' Then was Jack Falstaff, now Sir John, a boy and Page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk' — a post actually filled by the historical Oldcastle.2 In the Epilogue to Part 11. the old name is explicitly withdrawn: — 'Falstaff shall die of a sweat, unless already a' be killed with your hard opinions ; for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is not the man.' The whole transaction is set forth by Fuller in a passage which I have not seen quoted.^ In his life of John Fastolfe, Knight, On the death of Lord Chamberlain Brook {cf. Note ^) and succession of George Carey, Lord Hunsdon, this action was annulled, and his players took possession of the Cui tain. ^ Theobald concluded that ' the play being printed from the Stage manu- script, Oldcastle had been all along alter'd into FalstaflF, except in this single place, by an oversight, of which the printers not being aware, continued the initial traces of the original name.' Malone rejects this conclusion, but the evidence against him is decisive. 2 Boaz, Shakspere and his Predecessors, 1896, p. 260. * The History of the Worthies of England, published posthumously by 1 INTRODUCTION he writes: — 'To avouch him by many arguments valiant, is to maintain that the sun is bright, though since the Stage hath been over bold with his memory, making him a Thra- sonical Puff, and emblem of Mock-valour. True it is Sir John Oldcastle did first bear the brunt of the one, being made the- make-sport in all plays for a coward. It is easily known out of what purse this black peny came. The Papists railing on him for a Heretick, and therefore he must also be a coward, though indeed he was a man of arms, every inch of him, and as valiant as any in his age. Now as I am glad that Sir John Oldcastle is put out, so I am sorry that Sir John Fastolfe is put in, to relieve his memory in this base service, to be the anvil for every dull wit to strike upon. Nor is our Comedian ^ excusable by some alteration of his name, writing him Sir John Falstafe (and making him the property of pleasure for King Henry the Fifth, to abuse) seeing the vicinity of sounds intrench on the memory of that worthy Knight, and few do heed the inconsiderable difference in spelling of their name.' But the matter does not end here. Shakespeare's name appears on the title-page of another play, also published in quarto in the same year, 16OO : — ' The first part of the true and hono- rable history, of the life of Sir John Old-castle, the good Lord Cobham. As it hath bene lately acted by the Right honorable the Earle of Notingham Lord High Admirall of England his servants. Written by William Shakespeare London, printed for T.P. 1600.' Fuller's son, 1662. This passage in the account of Norfolk must have been written less by a great deal than forty years after Shakespeare's death. ' Shakespeare, without a doubt. Cf. Fuller's account of him, infra. INTRODUCTION li Now, Shakespeare did not write this play^i and his name only appears on certain copies. It has, accordingly, been urged that his name was added to enhance the value of a pirated edition. Yet I find it hard to believe that any one can have hoped to palm off such a play as Shakespeare's. It was written for and acted by the rival Company (the Admiral's) during the run of Shakespeare's Henry IV., abnormally pro- longed during several years, off and on, by the popularity of this very character. It is also, in fact and on the face of it, a protestant pamphlet, written specifically in reply to Shake- speare's abuse of Oldcastle's name. This is apparent from the Prologue, the significance of which has not, I believe, been noted : — ' The douUfuU Title (Gentlemen) prefixt Upon the Argument we have in hand. May breed suspence, and wrongfully disturbe The peaceful! quiet of your settled thoughts. To stop which scruple, let this breefe suifice. It is no pamper d Glutton we present. Nor aged Counsellor to youthful sinne ; But one, whose vertue shone above the rest, A valiant martyr, and a vertuous Peere,^ In whose true faith and loyalty exprest Unto his Soveraigne, and his Countries weale : We strove to pay that tribute of our love Your favours merit : let faire Truth he grac'd Since forg'd invention former time defac'd.' ^ We know from Henslowe's Diary that it was written by M(ichael) D(rayton) A(nthony) M(onday), Hathway and Wilson, who were paid in fiill, £\o, October i6, 1599, with a gift of los. for the first playing in November. — Fleay, History of the Stage, p. 108. ^ The astounding inaccuracy of Mr. Carter {Shakespeare : Puritan and Recusant) may be illustrated as above from his handling of this subject. He attributes this line to Shakespeare, and gives it to the Merry Wives ! In the same paragraph, p. 144, he gives the early use of the name Oldcastle to the Merry Wives instead of Henry IV., and the phrase, ' Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is not the man,' also to the Merry Wives instead of to the Epilogue, II. Henry IV. lii INTRODUCTION The villain and principal character of the Play, which follows to 'grace fair truth/ is a Priest who turns highwayman for his leman's sake, robs the King in a scene inverted from Prince Hal's escapade, is discovered, in dicing against him, through staking a stolen angel which the King had marked, commits murder, and is finally hanged in chains. The addition of Shakespeare's name to a missile so violently retorted against his handiwork may well be but an insolent device, for which there are many analogues in the controversial amenities of the time.i VII If there be dark shadows in the life of the Court, there are shadows, also dark enough, in the other brilliant world of letters. Greene starves in a garret (September 1592). Marlowe, his Hero and Leander yet unpublished, is stabbed to death in a tavern brawl (1593). And, apart from the squalid tragedy of their deaths, these great men of letters were literary Mohocks in their lives. There are few parallels to the savage vindictiveness of the Marprelate controversy, and the men who could wield such weapons were ever ready to lay them with amazing truculence about the shoulders of any new adventurer into the arena of their art. Shakespeare came in for his share of the bludgeoning from the outset. The swashing blows of Tom Nash, in his address 'To the Gentlemen students of both Universities' (prefixed to Greene's Menaphon, 1589)2 whistled suspiciously near his head, and must, at least, have been aimed at some of his new colleagues.^ And they are ^ -S.^. Jonson having attacked Dekker in The Poetaster, a play into which he introduces himself as Horace, Dekker retorted in Satironiastix by lifting one of Jonson's characters, Tucca, the better to rail at Jonson, again under his self-chosen name of Horace. '^ Dated by Ed. Arber. ' Ibid. ' It is a common practice now a daies amongst a sort of shifting comparisons, that runne through every arte and thrive by none, to leave the INTRODUCTION liii but a part of the general attack delivered by the ' University pens' upon the actors and authors of the new Drama :— 'Who trade of noverint (.i.e. attorney) whereto they were borne, and busie themselves with the indevors of Art, that could scarcelie latinise their necke-verse (to claim benefit of clei^) if they had neede ; yet English Seneca read by candle night yeeldes manie good sentences, as Blond is a beggar, and so foorth ; and if you intreate him faire on a frostie morning, he will affoord you yihole Hamlets, I should say handfulls of tragical speaches.' Mr. Arber has 'argued that this passage does not refer to Shakespeare, (l) because his p\a.y oi Hai/i lei v/as not yet written, (2) because it applies only to translators. On the other hand (l) the earlier Hatnlet, referred to here and in Dekker's Satiromastix, was acted by Shakespeare's colleagues, and may have been retouched by him before he produced the two versions attributed to his authorship— if indeed the Quarto of 1603 can be called a separate version, and be not a pirated edition made from shorthand notes. (2) Although the whole passage refers to translators, this and other incidental remarks are clearly directed against the new drama. Titus Andronicus is ascribed by Mr. Dowden to the preceding year, and is said by Baynes to reflect the form of Seneca's later plays. Out of four plays acted by Shakespeare's company, June 3-13, 1594, three bear the titles of plays after- wards ascribed to him, viz., Andronicus, Hamlet, The Taming of the Shrew (Fleay, History of the Sta^e, p. 97), Many other plays with titles afterwards borne by plays indubitably rewritten by Shakespeare, were acted even earlier. Fleay and Dowden agree substantially in placing Love's Labour ''s Lost, Lov^s Labour Won (Much Ado about Nothing), Comedy of Errors, Romeo and Juliet, Two Gentlemen of Verona, three parts of Henry VI., All's well that ends well, Troylus and Cressida, The Jealous Comedy (Merry Wives of Windsor), and Twelfth Night in th& early years, 1588-1593. Without even considering the date at which Shakespeare may be called sole author of a play (for that is a wholly different question), we may infer that his practice of adding touches to the stock MSS. of his company was one which grew with the popular success attending it. If that be so, an attack in 1589 on a play, afterwards appropriated to Shakespeare, cannot be said to miss him. The extensive habit of anonymity and collaboration in the production of plays shows that they were regarded simply as the property of the company, and were paid in full when the authors received their fee. The profits were shared : cf. Tucca to Histrio, the impresario, after the exhibition of acting by his two boys: — 'Well, now fare thee well, my honest penny-biter: commend me to seven shares and a half, and remember to-morrow. If you lack a service — (i.e. a patron whose service should protect against the statute) — you shall play in my name, rascals ; but you shall buy your own cloth, and I'll have two shares for my countenance.' It was a matter of business, and remained so until the fame of certain authors led to publication. Drayton's Plays of which he was sole author have all perished. liv INTRODUCTION (^mounted on the stage of arrogance) think to outbrave better pens with the swelling bombast of a bragging blank verse.' 'Players avant' ^ was their war-cry; and, when Greene himself utters itj he does not leave the reference in doubt. In a Groat's Worth of Wit Bought with a Million of Repentance (1 592) he warns Marlowe, Peele, and Lodge, his particular friends in the fraternity of 'ballet makers, pamphleteers, press-haunters, boon pot-poets, and such like,' ^ to beware of players: — 'Those puppets, who speak from our mouths, those anticks garnisht in our colours. . . . Yes,' he goes on, ' trust them not ; for there is an upstart crow, beautified in our feathers, that, with his tiger's heart wrapt in a player's hide/ supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you, and being an absolute Johannes fac iotum, is, in his own conceit, the only Shakescene in a country.' You find the same attitude towards players in The Return from Parnassus.* Acting is the 'basest trade,* (iv. 5), and again (v. 1) : — * Better it is mongst fiddlers to be chiefs, Than at plaiers trenchers beg reliefe.' Such is the conclusion of the two Scholars in the play after exhausting every expedient to win a livelihood by their learning. They go on to attack 'those glorious vagabonds,* ' That carried earst their fardels on their backes/ ^ From a poem by Thomas Brabine, gent. ; also appended to Greene's Menaphon. 2 Lodge : cf. W. Raleigh, TAe English Novel. ' A line parodied from the 3rd Henry VI. -. 'Recently revised, if not originally written, by Shakespeare.' — Baynes, 105. * Acted by the students of St. John's College, Cambridge. INTRODUCTION Iv grudging them their ' coursers/ and ' Sattan sutes ' * ' and pages/ since ' With mouthing words that better wits had framed. They purchase lands, and now Esquires are made.' The last shot must sui-ely have been aimed at Shakespeare, who had procured a grant of arms for his father in 1 599, and had purchased 107 acres of arable for £320 in l602. But the date of this Play is uncertain : Mr. Arber argues for January in that year, and this would cast doubt on the reference. On the other hand, Burbage and Kempe, Shakespeare's colleagues, are introduced in their own persons (iv. 5), when Kempe thus trolls it off: — ' Few of the University pen plaies well, they smell too much of that writer Ovid, and that writer Metamorphosis, and talke too much of Proserpina and Juppiter. Why, heres our fellow Shakespeare puts them all downe, I and Ben Jonson too. O, tliat Ben Jonson is a pestilent fellow, he brought up Horace giving the Poets a pill,^ but our fellow Shakespeare hath given him a purge that made him beray his credit.' Controversy has raged round this passage ; but it seems certain (a) that, in common with the whole scene, it is an ironical reflection on the ignorance and the social success of the players ; and (b) that it refers to Dekker's Satiromastix or The Untrussing of the Humorous Poet. This play, in which Dekker retorted upon The Poetaster, was published in l602 ; but, of course, it had before been pre- sented ' publickly by the Lord Chamberlaine his servants, and privately by the Children of Paules.' ^ VIII Of more importance than all the 'paper warres in Paules Church-yard ' was this famous campaign fought out upon the 1 ' Satin suits ' is one of the catchwords in the duel between Jonson and Dekker. — Infra. " Viz., in The Poetaster, v. i. ' Title-page. e Ivi INTRODUCTION stage — the Poetomachiai in which Dekker and Jonson were protagonists. As distinguished from the onslaught of the ' uni- versity pens/ it was a civil war, involving most of the leading playwrights and actors. It raged for years ; ^ we know that Shakespeare must have been in the thick of it ; and if it be impossible to say for certain on which side he was ranged, it is easy to hazard a guess. Of his attitude towards Jonson we know little. There is the tradition that he inti-oduced him to the stage ; there is the fact that he acted in his plays — in Evert) Man in His Humour, 1598, immediately before the Poetomachia, and in Sejanus, 1604, soon after it; there is Fuller's account of the 'wit combats' between them;^ there is the tradition that Shakespeare enter- ' Dekker's address ' To the World' prefixed to Satiromastix., ^ Jonson, as the Author, in the ' Apology,' appended to lite Poetaster: — ' Three years They did provoke me with their petulant styles On every stage.' ' The History of the Worthies of England, endeavoured by Thomas Fuller, D.D. Published, unfinished, by 'the author's orphan, John Fuller,' in 1662. From its bulk we may judge that it occupied many years of Thomas Fuller's life, so that it brings his account of Shakespeare fairly close to the date of his death (1616), and well within the range of plausible tradition. 1 quote the whole passage for its quaintness : — ' William Shake- speare was born at Stratford on Avon in this coVinty (Warwick) in whom three eminent Poets may seem in some sort to be compounded. I. Martial in the warlike sound of his Sur-name (whence some may conjecture him of a Military extraction), Hasti-vibrans or Shakespeare. ■^, Ovid, the most naturall and witty of all Poets, and hence it was that Queen Elizabeth coming into a Grammar-school made this extempore verse : — ' Persias a Crab-staffe, Bawdy Martial, Ovid afitie wag.' 3. Plautus, who was an exact Comsedian, yet never any scholar, as our Shake- speare (if alive) would confess himself. Adde to all these, that though his Genius generally was jocular, and inclining him to festivity, yet he could (when so disposed) be solemn and serious, as appears by his tragedies, so that Heraclitus himself (I mean if secret and unseen) might afford to smile at his Comedies, they were so merry, and Democritus scarce forbear to smile at his Tragedies, they were so mournfull. ' He was an eminent instance of the truth of that Rule, Poeta non fit, sed INTRODUCTION Ivii tained Jonson and Drayton at Stratford on the eve of his death. ^ Against these proofs of good-fellowship there is the con- jecture,^ founded on Kempe's speech quoted above, that Shakespeare had a hand in the production of Dekker's Satiro- mastix^ and, perhaps, played William Rufus in it. Of Jonson 's attitude towards Shakespeare we know more, but the result is ambiguous. We have the two poems in Underwoods — the second, surely, the most splendid tribute ever paid by one poet to another? But, then, we have Jonson's conversations with Drummond of Hawthornden, in which he spared Shakespeare as little as any, laying down that he ' wanted art and sometimes sense.' We have, also, the strong tradition that Jonson treated Shakespeare with ingratitude. This may have sprung from the charge of malevolence prefeiTcd against Jonson, so he tells us himself, by Shakespeare's comrades (Discoveries : ' De Shak- speare nostrat.'). 'I remember,' he says, ' the players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakspeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never blotted out a line. My answer hath been. Would he had blotted a thousand, which they thought a malevolent speech.' In this passage we nascitur, one is not made, but born a Poet. Indeed, his learning was very little, so that as Cornish diamonds are not polished by any lapidary, but are pointed and smoothed even as they are taken out of the Earth, so Nature itself was all the arl which was used upon him. ' Many were the wit-combates betwixt him and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanish Great Gallion, and an English Man of War; Master Jonson (like the former) was built far higher in learning, solid, but slow in his performances. Shake-spear with the English Man of War, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his Wit and Invention. He died Anno Domini i6 . . and was buried at Stratford upon Avon, the Town of His Nativity. ' ' ' Shakespeare, Drayton, and Ben Jonson ' had a merry meeting, and itt seems drank too hard, for Shakespeare died of a feaver there contracted,' — Diary of Ward, Vicar of Stratford, bearing the date 1662. ^ T. Tyler and R. Simpson. 3 Acted by his Company, the Lord Chamberlain's, Iviii INTRODUCTION probably have Jonson's settled opinion of Shakespeare, the artist and the man. He allows ' his excellent phantasy, brave notions and gentle expressions wherein he flowed,' but, he qualifies, * with that facility, that sometimes it was necessary he should be stopped.' He admits that ' his wit was in his own power,' but adds : — ' Would the rule of it had been so too, many times he fell into those things could not escape laughter.' As arrogant as men (and scholars) are made, Jonson found some of Shakespeare's work ' ridiculous ' ; but he was honest, and when he says, ' I loved the man, and do honour his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any,' we must believe him. But we are not to infer with Gifford that Drummond mis- represented Jonson, or that Jonson, during the Poetomachia, did not trounce Shakespeare for rejecting, with success, the Jonsonian theory of the Drama. Gifford, to minimise the authority of Drummond's report, denounces that Petrarchan for a ' bird of prey ' ; but his whole apology for Ben Jonson is a piece of special pleading too violent and too acerb to command much confidence. He is very wroth with the critics of the eighteenth century, who had scented an attack on Shakespeare in the Prologue to Jonson's Every Man in His Humour. But what are the facts.' The Play, in which Shakespeare had acted (1598), is published (I6OO) without the Prologue. A revised version is published with the Prologue in I616, but, as Mr. Fleay has proved 1 from internal references to the 'Queen' and 'Her Majesty,' that version must also have been acted before Elizabeth's death (1603), and he adds an insjenious argument for assigning its production to the April of I6OI.2 In the added 1 The English Drama, vol. i. p. 358. 2 iii. 2, Bobadil says: — 'To-morrow's St. Mark's day.' It appears from Cob's complaint that the play was acted on a Friday. Cf. Jonson's Bartholomew Fair, 1614 :— ' Tales, Tempests and such like drolleries.' INTRODUCTION Ux Prologue Jonson denounces the ' ill customs of the age ' in neglecting the Unities. He 'must justly hate' to 'purchase' the ' delight ' of his audience by the devices of those who 'With three rusty swords, And help of some few foot and half-foot words. Fight over York and Lancaster's long jars. And in the tyring house hring wounds to scars.* With his usual complacency : — ' He rather prays you will be pleas'd to see One such to-day, as other plays should be ; Where neither chorus wafts you o'er the seas,' etc. etc. Without referring these two gibes specifically to Shakespeare's Henry VI. ii. and iii., and Henry V. (although the second describes what the chorus in Henry V. was actually doing at the time 1), or the remaining lines to other plays from his hand, it is clear that the whole tirade is an attack in set terms on the kind of play which Shakespeare wrote, and which the public preferred before Jonson's.^ The attack is in perfect accord with Jonson's reputation for militant self-sufficiency, and, if he made friends again with Shakespeare, he also made friends again with Marston. Dekker wrote thus of him : — ' 'Tis thy fashion to flirt ink in every man's face ; and then to crawle into his bosome.' ^ 1 Fleay, ibid. " Cf. the copy of verse by Leonard Digges (floruit 1617-1635) 'evidently written,' says HalUwell-Phillipps, 'soon after the opening of the second Fortune Theatre in 1623 : — ' Then some new day they would not brooke a line. Of tedius (though well laboured) Catiline, Sejanus was too irksome ; they prize the more Honest lago, or the jealous Moore. He goes on to say that Jonson's other plays, The Fox and The Alchemist, even when acted ' at a friend's desire . . . have scarce defrai'd the seacole fire'; when 'let but Falstaffe come,' Hal, Poins, or 'Beatrice and Bene- dicke,' and ' loe, in a trice the cock-pit, galleries, boxes, all are full.' 2 Saliromastix, Ix INTRODUCTION In the Poetomachia Dekker and Marston were the victims of Jonson's especial virulence, which spared neither the seami- ness of an opposite's apparel nor the defects in his personal appearance ; but it is hard to say whether they or he began it. Drummond in his Conversations attributes the beginning of Jonson's quarrel with Marston to Marston's having ' repre- sented him on the stage in his youth given to venery ' ; and in Dekker's Patient Grissel (1599)) in which Chettle had a hand, Emulo may be Jonson ; for, the taunt at his thin legs: — ' What 's here ? laths ! Where 's the lime and hair, Emulo ? ' : — is of a piece with innumerable jests at the expense of Jonson's scragginess ^ and his early work at bricklaying. Jonson, at any rate, did not reserve his fire till I6OI, though in his apology to The Poetaster he suggests that he did : — ' Three years They did provoke me with their petulant styles On every stage.' It was in 1599 that he began the practice of staging himself and his fellows : himself as a higli-souled critic, his fellows as poor illiterates whose foibles it was his duty to correct. As Asper in Every Man out of His Humour (1559), as Crites^ in Cynthia's Revels (I6OO), as Horace in The Poetaster (1601), he professes a lofty call to reform the art and manners of his age. This was too much for rivals in a profession in any case highly competitive, and rendered the more precarious by the capricious inhibition of the Companies for which its members wrote. It was hard when their own men were ' travelling ' ^ or idle, on account of the Plague or for having offended the authorities, to be lampooned by 'the children of the Chapel' playing Jonson's pieces before the Queen. And at last in Saiiro' ^ He got fat in later life. ' Criticus in an earlier version. ' £.£■. Shakespeare's Company in 1601. — Fleay. INTRODUCTION Ixi mastix (1602), Dekker gave as good as he got, through the mouth of the Tucca he had borrowed from Jonson : — ' No, you starv'd rascal, thou 't bite off mine eares then, thou must have three or foure suites of names, when like a lousie Pediculous vermin th 'ast but one suite to thy backe ; you must be call'd Asper, and Criticus, and Horace, thy tytle's longer in reading than the stile a the big Turkes : Asper, Criticus, Quintus, Horatius, Flaccus.' Between the opening in 1599 and the end in 1602, the wordy war never relaxes. Jonson staged Marston in Every Man out of His Humour (1599) as Carlo Buffonei :— 'a public, scurrilous and profane jester ... a good feast-hound and banquet-beagle,' whose ' religion is railing and his discourse ribaldry ' j and, in Satiromaslix, Dekker suggests that Jonson- Horace, if at a tavern supper he ' dips his manners in too much sauce/ shall sit for a penalty ' a th' left hand of Carlo Buffon.' Jonson-Crites in Cynthia's Revels (I6OO) attacks Hedon-Dekker and Anaides-Marston (iii. 2) : — ' The one a light, voluptuous reveller. The other a strange, arrogating puif. Both impndent and arrogant enough.* Dekker retorts by quoting the lines in Satiromaslix; while Mar- ston parodies them in What You Will.^ In The Poetaster (I6QI) Jonson-Horace administers pills to Demetrius Fannius-Dekker and Crispinus^ (or Cia-spinas or Crispin-ass)-Marston, so that they vomit on the stage such words in their vocabulary as oiTended his purist taste. Dekker in Satiromaslix, ' untrusses the Humorous poet,' i.e. tries Horace-Jonson, and condemns him to wear a wreath of nettles until he swears, among other thiiigs, ^ Fleay rejects this attribution, but he is alone in his opinion. ' Published 1607, 'written shortly after the appearance of Cynthi(^$ Revels.' A. H. Bullen. Introduction to Works of John Marston, 1887. Acted 1 60 1. — Fleay. * Juvenal's ' Ecce iterum Crispinus '—z. notorious favourite of Domitian. Ixii INTRODUCTION not to protest that he would hang himself if he thought any man could write Plays as well as he ; not ' to exchange compliments with Gallants in the Lordes roomes, to make all the house rise up in Armes, and to cry that 's Horace, that 's he, that 's he, that 's he, that pennes and purges Humours and diseases ' ; nor, when his ' playes are misse-likt at Court,' to ' crye Mew like a Pusse- cat,' and say he is glad to ' write out of the Courtier's Element.' In all these Plays acute literary criticism is mingled with brutal personal abuse. Thus, for sneering at seedy clothes and bald or singular heads,i Horace is countered with his brick- laying and his coppered ' face puncht full of oylet-holes, like the cover of a warming pan.' One might hastily infer that Jonson was the life-long enemy at least of Dekker and Marston. Yet it was not so. Dekker had collaborated with him on the eve of these hostilities,^ though for the last time. Marston's shifting alliances are merely bewildering : the very man whom he libels at one time he assists, at another, in libelling a third. Outraged (you would think) by Jonson's reiterated onslaughts, and conscious of equally outrageous provocation and retort, in 1604 he plasters Sejanus with praise ; but next year, after the failure of that Play, he hits it, so to say, when it is down.^ ^ Tucca. ' Thou wrongst heere a good honest rascall Crispinus, and a poor varlet Demetrius Fannius (brethren in thine owne trade of Poetry); thou sayst Crispinus' sattin dublet is reveal'd out heere, and that this penurious sneaker is out of elboes.' — Satiromastix. Sir Vaughan. ' Master Horace, Master Horace . . . then begiii to make your railes at the poverlie and beggerly want of hair.' Follows a mock heroic eulogy of hair by Horace, thirty-nine lines in length. — I&id. Tucca. 'They have sowed up that broken seame-rent lye of thine that Demetrius is out at Elbowes, and Crispinus is out w h sattin.' — Ibid. ^ Dekker and Jonson are paid for 'Page of Plymouth, Aug. 20 and Sept. 2, 1599. Dekker, Jonson, and Chettle for Robert 2, King of Scots,'' Sept. 3, 15, 16, 27, 1599. — Henslowe's Diary, quoted by Fleay. ' Preface to Sophonisba : — ' Know that I have not laboured in this poem to tie myself to relate anything as an historian, but to enlarge everything as a poet. To transcribe authors, quote authorities and translate Latin prose INTRODUCTION Ixiii Between the two pieces of attention he collaborates with Jonson and Chapman in producing Eastward Ho.^ He, certainly, Avas no friend to Shakespeare j ^ for when The Metamorphosis of Pigmalion, his 'nasty' copy of Venus and Adonis — the epithet is his own — failed as a plagiarism, he had the impudence {Scourge of Villainy, vi.) to declare it a parody, written to note 'The odious spot And blemish that deforms the lineaments Of modem Poesy's habiliments.' Yet he must have sided with Shakespeare now and then. As we shall see. But amidst the welter and confusion of this embroilment, it is possible to discern, if not a clear-cut line between opposed forces, at least a general grouping about two standards. There was the tribe of Ben, with Jonson for leader, and Chapman for his constant,^ Marston for his occasional, ally. And, to borrow the war-cries of 1830, there was opposed to this Classical army a Romantic levy, with Shakespeare, Dekker, and Chettle among orations into English blank verse, hath, in this subject, been the least aim of my studies ' : — an obvious blow at Sejanus. 1 In which Warton {History of English Poetry, iv. 276, ed. 1824) discovers many 'satirical parodies' of Shakespeare. Gifford rephes ; but Gertrude's parody of Ophelia's song, iii. 2, is a hard nut for the apologist, not to insist on the name — Hamlet — given to a footman who is accosted by Potkins with a 'S'foot, Hamlet, are you mad?' ' He harps on one of Shakespeare's lines, 'A man, a man, a kingdom for a man.' The first line of Sat. vii. The Scourge of Villainy (1598). 'A fool, a fool, a fool, my coxcomb for a fool.' Parasitaster, 'A boat, a boat, a full hundred marks for a boat.' Eastward Ho. * Jonson in his Conversations with Drummond said that ' he loved Chap- man.' They were imprisoned together for satirising James First's Scotch Knights in Eastward Ho, but Chapman turned in his old age. One of his latest poems arraigns Ben for his overweening arrogance. Ixiv INTRODUCTION its chiefs. Where much must be left to surmise, we know that Chettle once went out of his way to befriend Shakespeare, apologising handsomely for Greene's onslaught in A Groat's Worth oj Wit, and contrasting him favourably with Marlowe ; and that Dekker, as we gather from Kempe's speech in The Relume from Parnassus, found Shakespeare an ally in his war against Jonson.^ We know, too, from Henslowe's Diary, that Dekker and Chettle collaborated in April and May 1599^ on a play called Troilus and Cressida,^ and, from the Stationei's' Registers, that a play with that name was acted by the Lord Chamberlain's servants (Shakespeare's Company) on February 7, 1603. May we not have herein the explanation of Shakespeare's Troilus, in which he caricatures the manners and motives of everybody in the Greek (i.e. the Classic) tents ? ^ This play and the allusions to rival poets in the Sonnets are the two deepest mysteries of Shakespeare's work. But if we accept the division ^ Some find an allusion to this in Jonson's dialogue acted, only once, at the end of The Poetaster in place of an Author's apology, which the Authorities had suppressed : — ' What they have done 'gainst me, I am not moved with : if it gave them meat Or got them clothes, 'tis well ; that was their end. Only amongst them, I am sorry for Some better natures, by the rest so drawn To run so vile a line.' ' Trojelles atid Cressida. Also in Patient Grissel, October 1599. ^ Shakespeare's Play was published in 1609, apparently in two editions : (l) with 'As it was acted by the King's Majestie's servants at the Globe (the title of Shakespeare's Company after 1603) ; and (2) with a preface stating that the Play had never been 'Stal'd with the Stage.' But the two editions are 'absolutely identical,' even the Title-page being printed from the same forme. — Preface to Cambridge Shakespeare, vol. vi. This mystification does not affect the overmastering presumption that Shakespeare's Play, published in 1609, and acted by his company between 1603-1609, was the Play, or a re-written version of the Play, acted by his Company in 1603. The presumption that the 1603 Play was founded on that of Dekker and Chettle is also strong. Dekker's Satiromasiix was played by Shakespeare's Company in i6oi. INTRODUCTION Ixv of forces which I have suggested, a gleam of light may fall on both. It is reasonable to suppose that Shakespeare^ who habitually vamped old Plays, took the Dekker-Chettle play for the staple of his own ; and, if he did, the satirical portions of his TroUiis and Cressida, so closely akin to the satire of Satiromaslia>, may be a part of Dekker's attack on Chapman, Jonson, and Marston. Chapman's Shield of Achilles and his ' Seaven Bookes of the Iliades of Homere, Prince of Poets'^ appeared in 1598, the year before the Dekker-Chettle Troilus, and were prefaced by arrogant onslaughts, repeated again and again, upon ' apish and impudent braggarts,' ^ men of ' loose capacities,' ' rank riders or readers who have no more souls than bur bolts ' : upon all, in short, who prefer 'sonnets and lascivious ballads' before ' Homerical poems.' ^ If this suggestion be accepted, we have Shakespeare, a Trojan, abetting the Trojan Dekker against Chapman, an insolent Greek. Shakespeare's play, and Dekker's of 1599, if> as I have surmised, it was the sketch which Shake- speare completed, were founded, ultimately, on the mediaeval romance into which the French Trouvfere, Benoit de Sainte- Maure, first introduced the loves of Troilus and Briseida, Roman de Troie (II60) — afterwards imitated by Boccaccio, Guido delle Colonne, Chaucer and Caxton {Recuyell of the Histories of Troy).^ In this traditional story, adapted to flatter a feudal nobility, which really believed itself the seed of Priam, Hector is the hero, treacherously murdered by Achilles. In Lucrece there is no ' Books I, 2, and 7-1 1 inclusive. The copy in the British Museum bears the autograph, ' Sum Ben Jonsonii.' ^ Preface to the Reader. Folio. 3 ' To the Understander,' SAieM of Achilles. His deepest concern is lest he should be thought a 'malicious detractor of so admired a poet as Virgil.' — Epistle dedicatory to the Earl Marshal, Ibid. * TLei, Epic and Romance, p. 378, traces Shakespeare's 'dreadful sagittary,' Troilus and Cressida, V. v. 14) back to Benoit's ' II ot o lui un saietaire Qui moult fu fels et deputaire.' Ixvi INTRODUCTION attack on the Greeks, but Dekker, who calls London Troyno- vant (Seven Deadly Sins, l607), and the Romantic School gener- ally, resented the rehabilitation of Homer's credit — Chaucer had called him a liar — involving, as it did, the comparative dis- grace of their hero : all the more that the new glorification of the Greeks came from arrogant scholars, who presumed on their knowledge of the Greek language to rail at the ignorance and to reject the art of their contemporaries and predecessors. That Shakespeare did so abet Dekker against Chapman is a theory more in harmony with known facts than Gervinus' guess that Shakespeare, chagrined by the low moral tone of Homer's heroes, felt it incumbent on him to travesty their action. Minto and Mr. Dowden find in Chapman the rival poet of Shakespeare's Sonnets — (I should prefer to say one of the rival poets) — and this falls in with the theoiy. The banter of Ben Jonson (Ajax) in the Play is more obvious, and pushes, even beyond reasonable supposition, the view, which I submit, that much of Shakespeare's version was written by him during the Poetomachia. Many of the plainest attacks and counterbuffs of that war are in the Epilogues and Prologues to the Plays involved in it. Tiie Speaker of the Epilogue to Cynthia (I6OO) will not 'crave their favour' of the audience, but will 'only speak what he has heard the maker say ' : — 'By God 'tis good, and if you like't, you may.' As Envy descends slowly, in the Introduction to The Poetaster (1601), the Prologue enters 'hastily in armour,' and replies to censures provoked by this bragging challenge : — ' If any muse why I salute the stage An armed Prologue ; know, 'tis a dangerous age. Wherein who writes, had need present his scenes Forty-fold proof against the conjuring means Of base detractors and illiterate apes. . . . INTRODUCTION Ixvii Whereof the allegory and hid sense Isj that a well erected confidence Can fright their pride and laugh their folly hence. Here now^ put case our author should once more, Swear that his play was good ; he doth implore You would not argue him of arrogance. Marston's Epilogue, added, I imagine, to his Antonio and Mellida^ (I6OI), says : — ^' Gentlemen, though I remain an armed Epilogue, I stand not as a peremptory challenger of desert, either for him that composed the Comedy, or for us that acted it ' ; and, at the lips of the Prologue to Shakespeare's Troilus, the jest runs on — ' Hither am I come A Prologue arm'd, but not in confidence Of Author's pen or actor's voice. . . .' I venture to call this Prologue Shakespeare's, for other lines in it, as those on the Trojan Gates : — ' With massy staples. And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts ' : — are to me audibly his.^ Shakespeare, I hold, wrote this Prologue, and wrote it while the Prologue to The Poetaster was still a fresh object for ridicule.' That Thersites in Shakespeare's ^ It is satirised in The Poetaster ( 1601) ; so that both may have been on the boards together. 2 Mr. Fleay, Chronicles of the English Drama, ii. 190, holds the authorship of the Prologue very doubtful. But this is a question not of evidence but of ear. ' Fleay, Ibid., i. 366: — 'Whoever will take the trouble to compare the description of Crites (Jonson) by Mercury in Cynthia's Revels, ii. i, with that of Ajax by Alexander in Troilus and Cressida, i. 2, will see that Ajax is Jonson.' But he is inconsistent. Ibid., ii. 189: — 'The setting up of Ajax as a rival to Achilles shadows forth the putting forward of Dekker by the King's men to write against Jonson his Satiromastix,' so that Ajax = Dekker, Achilles = Jonson. This inconsistency does not invalidate his con- Ixviii INTRODUCTION Troilus stood for Marston can hardly be doubted. When Agamemnon says ironically (i. iii. 72) : — ' We are confident When rank Thersites opes his mastic ' jaw We shall hear music ' : — the allusion to Marston, who had signed himself ' Theriomastix' to the prose Ermoy of his Scourge of Villaimj, is patent.^ More : apart from this punning taunt there is no parallel for the foul railing of Thersites' every speech outside the persistent black- guardism of Marston's Satires and Scourge of Villainy. Did Shakespeare join elsewhere with his own hand in the Poetomachia ? The question arises when we reflect that the Plays contributed to it by Jonson, Marston, and Dekker fairly bristle with personalities : recognised by the key which Dekker supplied in Satiromastix. Of all Shakespeare's characters, Pistol is the one in which critics have especially scented a personal attack ; and some have thought that Marlowe was the victim. But Marlowe never wrote as Pistol is made to speak ; whilst Marston generally, and particularly in the Satire (Scourge vi.) to which I have already alluded, writes in the very lingo of the Ancient. Urging that his nasty ' Pigmalion was in elusion that rival playwrights are satirised, and in many other passages of Troilus, the 'guying' of the Greek Commander by Patroclus to amuse Achilles (l. iii. 140-196) : — ' And with ridiculous and awkward action Which, Slanderer, he imitation calls, He pageants us' : — and the ' guying ' of Ajax by Thersites (undoubtedly Marston) also to amuse Achilles (III. iii. 266-292), are not to be explained unless as portions easily recognisable at the time of the general ' guying ' in the Poetomachia. ' Rowe suggested mastiff; Boswell mastive. ^ Fleay, again inconsistently, refers this line to Dekker, History of the Stage, 106, and to Marston, Chronicle of the English Drama, i. 366. INTRODUCTION Ixix truth but a reproach upon Fenus and Adonis, he says, and the accent is familiar : — ' Think'st thou that genius that attends my soul. And guides my fist to scourge magnificos. Will deign my mind be rank'd in Paphian shows?' : — Indeed, when we remember the 'wit combats' at the Mermaid, in which these pot companions and public an- tagonists — Carlo Buffone cheek by jowl with Asper — rallied each other on their failings, and Jonson's anecdote ^ that he had once 'beaten Marston and taken his pistol from him,' it is pleasant to imagine that the name of Shakespeare's scur- rilous puff was the nickname of Jonson's shifty ally.^ For in considering this wordy war, it is necessary to remember that the fight was, in the main, a pantomime ' rally,' in which big- sounding blows were given and returned for the amusement of the gallery. Captain Tucca, the character borrowed from The Poetaster to set an edge on Dekker's retort, speaks the Epilogue to Satiromastix, and begs the audience to applaud the piece in order that Horace (Jonson) may be obliged to reply once again. Half in fun and half in earnest did these ink-horn swash-bucklers gibe each other over their cups, and trounce each other on the boards. Yet behind all the chaflf" and bustle 'of that terrible Poetomachia lately commenced between ^ Drummond's Conversations. ^ Jonson comments on some such adventure in his Epigrams, Lxviii. — On Playwright : — ' Playwrit convict of public wrongs to men. Takes private beatings, and begins again. Two kinds of valour he doth shew at once ; Active in's brain, and passive in his bones.' The Quarto of Shakespeare's Henry V. was published in 1600. Pistol is beaten in it, as Thersites is beaten in Troilus. Pistol uses the fustian word 'exhale'; so does Crispinus in Poetaster (noted by Fleay). Pistol's 'Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cresides kinde ' is reminiscent of Troilus, produced the year before. Pistol's ' What, have we Hiren here ' is a mock quotation from an early play of which Marston makes use more than once Ixx INTRODUCTION Horace the Second and a band of lean-witted poetasters/ ^ there was a real conflict of literary aims ; and in that conflict Shakespeare took the part of the Romantics, upon whose ulti- mate success the odds were, in Dekker's nervous phraseology, 'all Mount Helicon to Bun-hill. " Without seeking further to distinguish the champions, it is sufficient to know that Shakesgeare was an actor and \ playwright throughout the alai'ums and excursions of these paste-board hostilities, whose casualties, after all, amounted but to the 'lamentable merry murdering of Innocent Poetry. ' * In examining the relation between the lyrics which Shake- speare wrote and the environment of his life, it was impossible to overlook this controversy which must have lasted longer and bulked larger than any other feature in that life.* For Shakespeare, the man, was in the first place an actor and a playwright bound up in the corporate life of the Company to which he belonged. We are apt to reconstruct this theatric world, in which he had his being, fancifully : from his Plays rather than from the Plays of his contemporaries, and from the few among his Plays which are our favourites, just because they differ most widely from theirs. But his world of every- day effort and experience was not altogether, as at such times ^ Address ' To the World ' prefixed to Satiromastix. The author thanks Venusian Horace for the ' good words ' — detraction, envy, snakes, adders, stings, etc. — which he gives him. They are taken from the Prologue to TTie Poetaster. * ' To the World ' prefixed to Satiromastix. ' Dekker, Epilogue to Satiromastix. In the thick of the firay, 1601, Jonson, Chapman, Marston, and Shakespeare each contributed a poem on The Phcenix and the Turtle to Robert Chester's Love's Martyr ! * The Venus and Lucrece were written, of course, years before the Poetomachia; but, unless we accept the improbable view that Shakespeare brought his Venus wilh him from Stratford, both were written under con- ditions to which the Poetomachia gives a clue. INTRODUCTION Ixxi it may seem to us, a garden of fair flowers and softly sighing winds and delicate perfumes, nor altogether a gorgeous gallery of gallant inventions : it was also garish, strident, pungent ; a Donnybrook Fair of society journalists, a nightmare of Gillray caricature. ' A Gentleman,' you read, ' or an honest Citizen, shall not sit in your pennie-bench Theatres with his squirrel by his side cracking nuttes ; nor sneake into a Taverne with his Mermaid ; but he shall be satyr'd, and epigram'd upon, and his humour must run upo' the Stage : you '11 ha Every Gentleman in 's humour, and Every Gentleman out on 's hwmour.' ^ Shakespeare tells the same story, when he makes Hamlet say of the players : — ' They are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time : after your death you were better to have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.''' Note that he speaks of the actors, not the playwrights : though much of their satire turned on size of leg, scantness of hair, pretensions to gentility and seediness of apparel in well-known individuals veiled under transparent disguises. Far more obvious even than such lampooning was the actors' 'guying' of persons and types which we see reflected in Troilus^ and enacted in Cynthia's Revels. The actor playing Crites (v. 3) takes off" eveiy trick of speech and gesture in the person whom he caricatures, for, says Hedon : — 'Slight, Anaides, you are mocked ' ; and again, in the Induction, one of the three children who play it borrows the Prologue's 1 Dekker's Satiromastix. In his address ' To the World' he instances Cap- tain Hannam as the living prototype taken for Tticca by Jonson. In the earlier Marprelate plays {circa 1589) Nash's antagonist, Gabriel Harvey, was put on the stage. Aubrey, before 1680, wrote that ' Ben Jonson and he (Shakespeare) did gather humour of men dayly wherever they came.' "^Hamlet, II. ii. 501. Fleay, History of the Stage, p. 160:— '1601, May 10, the Council writes to the Middlesex Justices complaining that the players at the Curtain represent on the stage 'under obscure manner, but yet in such sort as all the hearers may take notice both of the matter and the persons that are meant thereby ' : certain gentlemen that are yet alive. * I. iii. 140-196. III. iii- 266-292. Cf. supra. / Ixxii INTRODUCTION cloak, and mimicSj one after another, the gallants who frequent the theatre ; so that here is the 'genteel auditor' to the life, with his ' three sorts of tobacco in his pocket,' swearing — ' By this light' — as he strikes his flint, that the players 'act like so many wrens,' and, as for the poets — ' By this vapour ' — that ' an 'twere not for tobacco the very stench of them would poison ' him. We can picture from other sources both the conditions of Shakespeare's auditors and the upholstering of his stage. Dekker,^ describing 'how a gallant should behave himself at a playhouse,' writes of the groundling who masked the view of the 'prentices : — ' But on the very rushes where the comedy is to dance, yea, under the state of Cambyses himself, must our feathered estridge, like a piece of ordnance, be planted valiantly (because impudently) beating down the mews and hisses of the opposed rascality.' The dignity of ' Cambyses state ' may be guessed from Henslowe's list ^ of grotesque properties — ' Serberosse (Cerberus') three heads ; lerosses (Iris') head and rainbow ; 1 tomb of Dido ; 1 pair of stairs for Fayeton (Phaethon) and his 2 leather antic's coats' and 'the city of Rome(!).' ' The galant in gorgeous apparel, his jerkin ' frotted ' with perfumes, ' spikenard, opoponax, senanthe,' ^ the ' Court- mistress ' in 'Satin cut upon six taffetaes,' the 'prentice and harlot viewed these plays, farced with scurrilous lampoons, and rudely staged on rushes, through an atmosphere laden with tobacco and to an accompaniment of nut-cracking and spitting. This was Shakespeare's shop, the 'Wooden O' into which he crammed 'the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt,' * and in which, year after year, he won fame and wealth and rancorous envy from defeated rivals. We catch a last note of detraction, in Baiseis Ghost (l605-6), ' GulFs Horn-Book. ' Cynthia's /levels. ^ Quoted by Fleay, History of the Stage, 114, * Chorus to Henry V. i. INTRODUCTION Ixxiii wherein the phantom hightobyman advises a strolling Player to repair to London : — ' There thou shalt learn to be frugal (for players were never so thrifty as they are now about London), and to feed upon all men; to let none feed upon thee ; to make thy hand a stranger to thy pocket, thy heart slow to perform thy tongue's promise ; and when thou feelest thy purse well lined, buy thee some place of lordship in the country, that, growing weary of playing, thy money may then bring thee to dignity and reputation : then thou needest care for no man ; no, not for them that before made thee proud with speaking their words on the stage.' ' Sir, I thank you,' quoth the Player, ' for this good council : I promise you I will make use of it, for I have heard, indeed, of some that have gone to London very meanly and have come in time to be ex- ceeding wealthy.' It is significant, almost conclusive, to know that Shakespeare's name appeared on the roll of the King's Players for the last time in 1604< and that in l605 he pur- chased an unexpired term (thirty years) in the lease of tithes, both great and small, in Stratford : thus securing an addition to his income equal to at least £350 ^ a year of our money. X Behind this life of business, on and for the stage, Shake- speare, as the friend of young noblemen, saw something of the Court with its gaiety and learning and display, ever undermined by intrigue, and sometimes eclipsed by tragedy. He was impeded in his art by controversies between puritans, church- men, and precisians, and exercised in his affection for those who to their own ruin championed the old nobility against the growing power of the Crown. As a loyal citizen of London, he must have grieved at her sins and diseases, over which even Dekker, the railing ruffler of Satiromasiix, wailed at last in the ' Baynes. Ixxiv INTRODUCTION accents of a Hebrew prophet : — ' O London, thou art great in glory, and envied for thy greatness ; thy Towers, thy Temples, and thy Pinnacles stand upon thy head like borders of fine gold, thy waters like frindges of silver hang at the hemmes of thy garments. Thou art the goodliest of thy neighbours, but the prowdest, the welthiest, but the most wanton. Thou hast all things in thee to make thee fairest, and all things in thee to make thee foulest ; for thou art attir'd like a Bride, drawing all that looke upon thee, to be in love with thee, but there is much harlot in thine eyes' ... so ' sickness was sent to breathe her unwholesome ayres into thy nosthrills, so that thou, that wert before the only Gallant and Minion of the world, hadst in a short time more diseases (than a common harlot hath) hanging upon thee ; thou suddenly becamst the by-talke of neighbors, the scorne and contempt of Nations.' ^ Thus Dekker in 1606; and, in the next year, Marston, who equalled him in blatant spirits and far excelled him in ruffianism, left writing for the Stage, and entered the ChurcK ! These are aspects of Shakespeare's environment which we cannot neglect in deciding how much or how little of his lyrical art he owed to anything but his own genius and devotion to Beauty. Least of all may we first assume that his art reflects his environment, and then, inverting this imaginary relation, declare it for the product of a golden age which never existed. Yet, thanks to modern idolatry of naked generalisations, it is the fashion to throw Shakespeare in with other fruits of the Renaissance, acknowledging the singularity of his genius, but still labelling it for an organic part of a wide development. And in this development we have been taught to see nothing but a renewal of life and strength, of truth and sanity, following on the senile mystifications of an effete Middle Age. The theory makes for a sharp definition of contrast ; but it is hard to find its * ne Seven Deadly Sins of London (1606). INTRODUCTION Ixxv justification either in the facts of history or in the opinions of Shakespeare's contemporaries, who behaved that, on the con- traiy, they Hved in an epoch of decadence. In any age of rapid development there is much, no doubt, that may fitly be illus- trated by metaphors drawn from sunrise and spring ; but there are also aspects akin to sunset and autumn. The truth seems to be that at such times the processes of both birth and death are abnormally quickened. To every eye life becomes more coloured and eventful daily; but it shines and changes with curiously mingled effects : speaking to these of youth and the hill-tops, and to those of declension and decay. In 1611 Shakespeare withdrew to Stratford-on- A von.^ Of his life in London we know little at first hand. But we know enough of what he did ; enough of what he was said to have done ; enough of the dispositions and the lives of his contemporaries ; to imagine very clearly the world in which he worked for some twenty-three years. He lived the life of a successful artist, rocked on the waves and sunk in the troughs of exhilaration and fatigue. He was befriended for personal and political reasons by brilliant young noblemen, and certainly grieved over their misfortunes. He was intimate with Southampton and William Herbert, and must surely have known Herbert's mistress, Mary Fitton. He suffered, first, rather more than less from the jealousy and de- traction of the scholar-wits, the older University pens, and then, rather less than more, from the histrionic rivalry of his brother playwrights. He was himself a mark for scandal,^ and he ^ Baynes argues that lie left London in 1608. He ceased writing for the stage in 1611, and disposed of his interest in the Globe and Blackfriars Theatres probably in that year. " Sir W. Davenant boasted that he was Shakespeare's son : — ' When he was pleasant over a glass of wine with his most intimate friends ' (Aubrey's Lives of Eminent Persons. Completed before 1680). Cf. Halliwell-Phillipps' Out- lines, ii. 43. And there is that story of the trick the poet played on Burbage : which might hail from the Decameron. See John Manningham's ZJzary, 13th March 1601-2. Ixxvi INTRODUCTION watched the thunder clouds of Politics and Puritanism gathering over the literature and the drama which he loved. ■" Yet far away from the dust and din of these turmoils he bore the sorrows, and prosecuted the success of his other life at Stratford. His only son, Hamnet, died in 1596. His daughter, Susannah, married, and his mother, Mary Arden, died in 1 608, and in the same year he bestowed his name on the child of an old friend, Henry Walker. Through all these years, by lending money and purchasing land, he built up a fortune magnified by legend long after his death. And in the April of l6l6 he died himself, as some have it, on his birthday. He ' was bury'd on the north side of the chancel, in the great Church at Stratford, where a monument is plac'd on the wall. On his grave-stone under- neath is : — " Good friend, for Jesus' sake, forbear To dig the dust inclosed here. Blest be the man that spares these stones, And curst be he that moves my bones." ' " This slight and most imperfect sketch, founded mainly on impressions brought away from the study of many noble portraits, is still sufficient to prove how little the Poems owe, even remotely, to the vicissitudes of an artist's career. Of the wild woodland life in Arden Forest, of boyish memories and of books read at school, there is truly something to be traced in echoes from Ovid and in frequent illustrations drawn from sport and nature. But of the later life in London there is little 1 Warton, Hist, of Eng. Poetry (1824), iv. 320. 'In 1599 . . . Marston's Pygmalion, Marlowe's Ovid, the Satires of Hall and Marston, the epigrams of Davies and the Caltha poetarum, etc., were burnt by order of the prelates, Whitgift and Bancroft. The books of Nash and Harvey were ordered to be confiscated, and it was laid down that no plays should be printed without permission from the Archbishop of Canterbury, nor any " English Historyes" (novels?) without the sanction of the Privy Council.' ^ Rowe, 1709. INTRODUCTION Ixxvii enough, even in the Sonnets that tell of rival poets and a dark lady, and nothing that points so clearly to any single experience as to admit of definite application. For in Shakespeare's Poems, as in every great work of art, single experiences have been generalised or, rather, merged in the passion which they rouse to a height and a pitch of sensitiveness immeasurable in contrast with its puny origins. The volume and the intensity of an artist's passion have led many to beheve that great artists speak for all mankind of joy and sorrow. But to great artists the bliss and martyrdom of man are of less import, so it seems, than to others. The griefs and tragedies that bulk so largely in the lives of the inapt and the inarticulate are — so far as we may divine the secrets of an alien race — but a small part of the great artist's experience : hardly more, perhaps, than stimulants to his general sense of the whole world's infinite appeal to sensation and consciousness. XI Shakespeare's Poems are detached by the perfection of his art from both the personal experience which supplied their matter and the artistic environment which suggested their rough-hewn fonii. Were they newly discovered, you could tell, of course, that they were written in England, and about the end of the Sixteenth Century: just as you can tell a Flemish from an Italian, a Fourteenth from a Sixteenth Century picture ; and every unprejudiced critic has said of the Sonnets that they 'express Shakespeare's own feelings in his own person.' ^ That is true. But it is equally true, and it is vastly ' Mr. Dowden : — ' With Wordsworih, Sir Henry Taylor, and Mr. Swin- burne ; with Fran9ois- Victor Hugo, with Kreyssig, Uhici, Gervinus, and Hermann Isaac ; with Boaden, Armitage Brown, and Hallam ; with Furnivall, Spalding, Rossetti, and Palgrave, I believe that Shakespeare's Sonnets express his own feelings in his own person.' So do Mr. A. E. Harrison and Mr. Tyler. Ixxviii INTRODUCTION more important, that the Sonnets are not an Autobiography. In this Sonnet or that you feel the throb of great passions shaking behind the perfect verse ; here and there you listen to a sigh as of a world awaking to its weariness. Yet the move- ment and sound are elemental : they steal on your senses like a whisper trembling through summer-leaves, and in their vast- ness are removed by far from the suffocation of any one man's tragedy. The writer of the Sonnets has felt more, and thought more, than the writer of the Venus and the Lucrece ; but he remains a poet — not a Rousseau, not a Metaphysician — and his chief concern is still to worship Beauty in the imagery and music of his verse. It is, indeed, strange to find how much of thought, imagery, and rhythm is common to Venus and Adonis and the Sonnets, for the two works could hardly belong by their themes to classes of poetry more widely distinct — (the first is a late Renaissance imitation of late Classical Mythology ; the second a sequence of intimate occasional verses) — nor could they differ more obviously from other poems in the same classes. Many such imitations and sequences of sonnets were written by Shake- speare's contemporaries, but among them all there is not one poem that in the least resembles Venus and Adonis, and there are but few sonnets that remind you, even faintly, of Shakespeare's. And just such distinctions isolate The Rape oj" Lucrece. By its theme, as a romantic story in rhyme, it has nothing in common with its two companions from Shakespeare's hand ; but it is lonelier than they, having indeed no fellow in Elizabethan poetry and not many in English literature. Leaving ballads on one side, you may count the romantic stories in English rhyme, that can by courtesy be called literature, upon the fingers of one hand. There are but two arches in the bridge by which Keats and Chaucer communicate across the centuries, and Shake- speare's Lucrece stands for the solitary pier. Yet, distinct as they are from each other in character, these three things by INTRODUCTION Ixxix Shakespeare are closely united in form by a degree of lyrical excellence in their imagery and rhythm which severs them from kindred competitors : they are the first examples of the highest qualities in Elizabethan lyrical verse. No poet of that day ever doubted that 'poesie dealeth with Katholon, that is to say with the universall consideratiouj ' ^ or that of every language in Europe their own could best 'yeeld the sweet slyding fit for a verse.' ^ But in these three you find the highest expression of this theory and this practice alike : a sense of the mystery of Beauty profound as Plato's, with such a golden cadence as no other singer has been able to sustain. Venus and Adonis was published in 1593, the year of Marlowe's death, and was at once immensely popular, editions following one hard upon another, in 1594, 1596, 1599, l600, and (two editions) 1602. Shakespeare dedicated his poem to Lord Southampton, and called it 'the first heir of his in- vention.' There is nothing remarkable in his choice of a metre — the ' stafFe of sixe verses ' (ab ab cc) ; for four years earlier Puttenham (.-') had described it {The Arte of English Poesie, 1589) as * not only most usual, but also very pleasant to th' eare.' We need not, then, suppose that Shakespeare borrowed it exclusively from Lodge. He may have been guided in his choice. For Lodge had interwoven a short allusion to Adonis' death into his Scyllds Metamorphosis, also published in 1589 and written in this staff of six. But Lodge's melody is not Shakespeare's : — ' Her dainty hand addressed to claw her dear^ Her roseal lip allied to his pale cheek, 1 Sidney, Apologie for Poetrie. ' Ibid. Ixxx INTRODUCTION Her sighs, and then her looks, and heavy cheer. Her bitter threats, and then her passions meek : How on his senseless corpse she lay a-crying. As if the boy were then but now a^dyiflg' : — and, indeed, Shakespeare's poem is, in all essentials, utterly unlike Lodge's Scylla, Marlowe's unfinished Hero and Leander, Drayton's Endymion and Phoebe, and Chapman's Ovid's Banquet oj Sense. Still less does it resemble the earlier adaptations from Ovid's Metamorphosis, as Thomas Peend's ' Salmacis and Herma- phroditus' (1565): — 'Dame Venus once by Mercurye Comprest, a chylde did beare. For beauty farre excellyng all That erst before hym weare.' It borrows from, or lends to, Henry Constable's Sheepheard's Song scarce a phrase,^ and the same may be said still more em- phatically of its relation to Spenser's five stanzas ^ on ' The Love of Venus and her Paramoure,' and to Golding's Ovid. Briefly, it has nothing to do either with studious imitations of the Classics or with the ' rhyme doggerel ' that preceded them, for it throws back to the mediaeval poets' use of Ovid : to ^ The Sheepheard^ s Song of Venus and Adonis. First published in £'«^/3»(fj Helicon, 1600 : it may have been written before Shakespeare's Adonis. The bare theme, which is not to be found in Ovid, of Venus's vain soliciting and of Adonis's reluctance, is alluded to in Marlowe's Hero and Leander : — ' Where Venus in her naked glory strove To please the careless and disdainful eyes Of proud Adonis, that before her lies ' : — and in Robert Greene's pamphlet, Never Too Late (1590) ; — ' Sweet Adon, dar'st not glance thine eye (N'oseres vous, mon bel amy ?) Upon thy Venus that must die? /« vous enprie, pitty me : N'oseres vous, mon bel, mon bel, Noseres vous, mon bel amy I * Faerie Queene, iii. i, 34-38. INTRODUCTION Ixxxi Chretien de Troyes, that is, the authors of the Roman de la Rose, and Chaucer, who first steeped themselves in the Met(v. morphosis, and then made beautiful poems of their own by the light of their genius in the manner of their day. Sometimes you may trace the extraction of an image in Shakespeare's verse back and up the mediaeval tradition. Thus (Sonnet cxix.) :-— ' What potions have 1 drunke of syren teares Distill'd from lymbecks.' Thus Chaucer (Troiltis, iv.) : — 'This Troll us in teares gan distill As licour out of allambick full fast.' And thus the Roman de la Rose (1. 6657) : — ' Per quoi done en tristor demores ? Je vols maintes fois que tu plores. Cum alambic sus alutel.' But with greater frequency comes the evidence of Shakespeare's loving familiarity with Ovid whose effects he fuses : taking the reluctance of Adonis from Hermaphroditus {Metamorphosis, iv.); the description of the boar from Meleager's encounter in viii. ; and other features from the short version of Venus and Adonis which Ovid weaves on to the terrible and beautiful story of Myrrha (x.).i In all Shakespeare's work of this period the same fusion of Ovid's stories and images is obvious. Tarquin and Myrrha are both delayed, but, not daunted, by lugubrious fore- bodings in the dark ; and Titus Andronicus, played for the first time in the year which saw the publication of Venus and Adonis, is full of debts and allusions to Ovid. Ovid, with his power of telling a story and of eloquent discourse, his shining images, his cadences coloured with assonance and weighted with alliteration ; ^ Cf. Le Roman, de la Rose. Chap. cvii. follows the order of Ovid's Tenth Book, passing from Pygmalion to 'Mirra' and adding 11. 21992, ' Li biaus Adonis en fu nes. ' Ixxxii INTRODUCTION Chaucer, with his sweet liquidity of diction, his dialogues and soliloquies — these are the 'only true begetters' of the Ijrric Shakespeare. In these matters we must allow poets to have their own way : merely noting that Ovid, in whom critics see chiefly a brilliant man of the world, has been a mine of delight for all poets who rejoice in the magic of sound, from the dawn of the Middle Ages down to our own incomparable Milton.^ His effects of alliteration : — ' Corpora Cecropidum pennis pendere putares ; Pendebant pennis. . . . Vertitur in volucrem, cui stant, in vertice cristae ' : — his gleaming metaphors, as of Hermaphroditus after his plunge : — ' In liquidis translucet aquis ; ut eburnea si quis Signa tegat claro, vel Candida lUia, vitro ' : — are the very counterpart of Shakespeare's manner in the Poems and the Play which he founded in part on his early love of the Metamorphosis. But in Titus Andronicus and in Venus and Adonis there are effects of the open air which hail, not from Ovid but, from Arden : — ' The birds chant melody on every bush ; The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun ; The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind. And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground ' : — Thus the Play (ii. 3), and thus the Poem : — ' Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth . . . Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.' Indeed in the Poem, round and over the sharp portrayal of every word and gesture of the two who speak and move, you have brakes and trees, horses and hounds, and the silent ' Mackail on ' Milton's Debt to Ovid.' (Latin Literature, 142.) Cf. Ker, B^ic and Romance, 395. INTRODUCTION Ixxxiii transformations of day and night from the first dawn till eve, and through darkness to the second dawn so immediately impressed, that, pausing at any of the cxeix. stanzas, you could almost name the hour. The same express observation of the day's changes may be observed in Romeo and Juliet. It is a note which has often been echoed by men who never look out of their windows, and critics, as narrowly immured, have denounced it for an affectation. Yet a month under canvas, or, better still, without a tent, will convince any one that to speak of the stars and the moon is as natural as to look at your watch or an almanack. In the Venus even the weather changes. The Poem opens soon after sunrise with the ceasing of a shower : — ' Even as the sun with purple colour'd face. Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn.' But by the 89th Stanza, after a burning noon, the clouds close in over the sunset. ' Look,' says Adonis : — ' The world's comforter with weary gate His day's hot task hath ended in the west. The owl (night's herald) shrieks, 'tis very late. The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest. And coal-black clouds, that shadow heaven's light. Do summon us to part and bid good-night.' The next dawn is cloudless after the night's rain : — ' Lo here the gentle lark, weary of rest. From his moist cabinet mounts up on high. And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast The sun ariseth in his majesty ; Who doth the world so gloriously behold. That cedar tops and hills seem burnisht gold.' Beneath these atmospheric effects everything is clearly seen and shai-ply delineated : — ' The studded bridle on a ragged bough Nimbly she fastens.' Ixxxiv INTRODUCTION And when the horse breaks loose : — 'Some time he trots, as if he told the steps.' Then the description of a hunted hare (stanzas 114-118) : — ' Sometimes he runs along a flock of sheep To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell. . . . By this poor Wat far off upon a hill Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear. . . . Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch Turn and return, indenting with the way ; Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch. Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay' : — howbeit a treasure of observation, is no richer than that other of the liounds which have lost their huntsman : — 'Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim. Against the welkin, voUies out his voice. Another and another, answer him. Clapping their proud tails to the gi-ound below. Shaking their scratch-ears, bleeding as they go. The illustrations from nature : — ' As the dive-dapper peering through a wave Who being lookt on, ducks as quickly in . . . As the snail whose tender horns being hit Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain ' : — are so vivid as to snatch your attention from the story ; and when you read that ' lust ' feeding oa ' fresh beauty,' ' Starves and soon bereaves As caterpillars do the tender leaves,' the realism of the illustration does violence to its aptness. It is said that such multiplicity of detail and ornament is out of place in a classic myth. But Shakespeare's Poem is not a classic myth. Mr. Swinburne contrasts it unfavourably with Chapman's Hero and Leander, in which he finds ' a small shrine INTRODUCTION Ixxxv of Parian sculpture amid the rank splendour of a tropical jungle.' Certainly that is the last image which any one could apply to Venus and Adonis. Its wealth of realistic detail reminds you rather of the West Porch at Amiens. But alongside of this realism, and again as in Mediaeval Art, there are wilful and half- humorous perversions of nature. When Shakespeare in praise of Adonis' beauty says that ' To see his face, the lion walked along Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him,' or that ' When he beheld his shadow in the brook. The fishes spread on it their golden gills,' you feel that you are still in the age which painted St. Jerome's lion and St. Francis preaching to the birds. But you feel that you are half way into another. The poem is not Greek, but neither is it Mediseval : it belongs to the debatable dawntime which we call the Renaissance. There is much in it of highly charged colour and of curious insistence on strange beauties of detail ; yet, dyed and daedal as it is out of all kinship with classical repose, neither its intricacy nor its tinting ever suggests the Aladdin's Cave evoked by Mr. Swinburne's Oriental epithets : rather do they suggest a landscape at sunrise. There, too, the lesser features of trees and bushes and knolls are steeped in the foreground with crimson light, or are set on fire with gold at the horizon; there, too, they leap into momentary significance with prolonged and fantastic shadows ; yet overhead, the atmosphere is, not oppressive but, eager and pure and a part of an immense serenity. And so it is in the Poem, for which, if you abandon Mr. Swinburne's illustration, and seek another from painting, you may find a more fitting counterpart in the Florentine treatment of classic myths : in Botticelli's Venus, with veritabl gold on the goddess's hair and Ixxxvi INTRODUCTION on the boles of the pine trees, or in Piero di Cosima's Cepkalus and Procris, with its living animals at gaze before a tragedy that tells much of Beauty and nothing of Pain. Shakespeare's Poem is of love, not death ; but he handles his theme with just the same regard for Beauty, with just the same disregard for all that disfigures Beauty. He portrays an amorous encounter through its every gesture; yet, unless in some dozen lines where he glances aside, like any Mediaeval, at a gaiety not yet divorced from love, his appeal to Beauty persists from first to last; and nowhere is there an appeal to lust. The laughter and sorrow of the Poem belong wholly to the faery world of vision and romance, where there is no sickness, whether of sentiment or of sense. And both are rendered by images, clean-cut as in antique gems, brilliantly enamelled as in mediaeva,l chalices, numerous and interwoven as in Moorish arabesques ; so that their incision, colour, and rapidity of development, apart even from the intricate melodies of the verbal medium in which they live, tax the faculty of artistic appreciation to a point at which it begins to participate in the asceticism of artistic creation. ' As little can a mind thus roused and awakened be brooded on by mean and indistinct emotion, as the low, lazy mist can creep upon the surface of a lake while a strong gale is driving it onward in waves and billows ' : — thus does Coleridge resist the application to shift the venue of criticism on this Poem from the court of Beauty to the court of Morals, and upon that subject little more need be said. How wilful it is to discuss the moral bearing of an invitation couched by an imaginary Goddess in such ima- ginative terms as these : — ' Bid me discourse, I will inchant thine eare, Or like a Fairie, trip upon the greene, Or like a Nymph, with long disheveled heare, Daunce on the sands, and yet no footing seene !' INTRODUCTION Ixxxvii As well essay to launch an ironclad on 'the foam of perilous seas in fairylands forlorn.' When Venus says, ' Bid me discourse, I wiH inchant thine ear,' she instances yet another peculiar excellence of Shake- speare's lyrical art, which shows in this Poem, is redoubled in Lucrece, and in the Sonnets yields the most perfect examples of human speech : — * Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine. Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red. . . . Art thou ashamed to kiss ? Then wink again. And I will wink, so shall the day seem night. . . .' These are the fair words of her soliciting, and Adonis's reply is of the same silvery quality : — ' If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues. And every tongue more meaning than your own. Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs. Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown. . . .' And, as he goes on : — ' Lest the deceiving harmony should run Into the quiet closure of my breast ' : — you catch a note prelusive to the pleading altercation of the Sonnets. It is the discourse in Venus and Adonis and Lucrece which renders them discursive. And indeed they are long poems, on whose first reading Poe's advice, never to begin at the same place, may wisely be followed. You do well, for instance, to begin at Stanza cxxxvi. in order to enjoy the narra- tive of Venus' vain pursuit : with your senses unwearied by the length and sweetness of her argument. The passage hence to the end is in the true romantic tradition : Stanzas cxl. and cxli. are as clearly the forerunners of Keats, as cxliv. is the child or Chaucer. The truth of such art consists in magnifying selected details until their gigantic shapes, edged with a shadowy iridescence, fill the whole field of observation. Certain gestures Ixxxviii INTRODUCTION of the body, certain moods of the mind, are made to tell with the weight of trifles during awe-stricken pauses of delay. Venus, when she is baffled by ' the merciless and pitchy night,' halts 'amazed as one that unaware Hath dropt a precious jewel in the flood. Or stonisht as night wanderers often are. Their light hlown out in some mistrustful! wood.' She starts like ' one that spies an adder ' ; ' the timorous yelp- ing of the hounds appals her senses ' ; and she stands ' in a trembling extasy.' Besides romantic narrative and sweetly modulated discourse, there are two rhetorical tirades by Venus — when she ' exclaimes on death ' ^ : — ' Grim grinning ghost, earth's-worme, what dost thou meane To stifle beautie and to steale his breath,' etc. : — and when she heaps her anathemas on love : — ' It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud. Bud, and be blasted in a breathing while ; The bottome poyson, and the top ore-strawed With sweets, that shall the truest sight beguile. The strongest bodie shall it make most weake. Strike the voice dumbe, and teach the foole to speake ' : — and in both, as also in Adonis's contrast of love and lust : — ' Love comforteth, like sunshine after raine. But lust's effect is tempest after sunne, Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remaine. Lust's winter comes ere summer halfe be donne ; Love surfets not, lust like a glutton dies : Love is all truth, lust fuU of forged lies ' : — you have rhetoric, packed with antithesis, and rapped out on alliterated syllables for which the only equivalent in English ^ I retain the early spelling, as something of the rhetorical force depends on the sounds it suggests. INTRODUCTION Ixxxix is found, but more fully, in the great speech delivered by Lucrece.i The seed of these tirades^ as of the dialogues and the gentle soliloquies, seems derived from Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde; and in his Knight's Tale (lines 1747-1768) there is also a foreshadowing of their effective alliteration, used — and this is the point — not as an ornament of verse, but as an instru- ment of accent. For example : — 'The helmes they to-hewen and to-shrede ; Out brest the blood, with sterne stremes rede. With mighty maces the bones they to-breste ; He thurgh the thikkeste of the throng gon threste,' etc. This use of alliteration by Shakespeare, employed earlier by Lord Vaux : — • ' Since death shall dure till aU the world be waste ' * : — and later by Spenser ^ : — 'Then let thy flinty heart that feeles no paiae, Empierced be with pitiful remorse, And let thy bowels bleede in every vaine. At sight of His most sacred heavenly corse. So tome and mangled with malicious forse ; And let thy soule, whose sins His sorrows wrought. Melt into teares, and grone in grieved thought' : — is not to be confused with ' the absurd following of the letter amongst our English so much of late affected, but now hist out of Paules Church yard ' ; * for it does not consist in collect- ing the greatest number of words with the same initial, but in letting the accent fall, as it does naturally in all impassioned speech, upon syllables of cognate sound. Since in English verse the accent is, and by Shakespeare's contemporaries was understood to be, 'the chief lord and grave Governour of ' In denunciation of Night, Opportunity, and Time (lines 764-1036). " Paradise of Dainty Devices, 1576. * An Hymne of Heavenly Love (September 1596). * Campion, Observations in the Art of English Poesy, 1602. xc INTRODUCTION Numbers/^ this aid to its emphasis is no less legitimate, and is hardly less important, than is that of rhyme to metre in French verse : we inherit it from the Saxon, as we inherit rhyme from the Norman; both are essential elements in the poetry built up by Chaucer out of the ruins of two languages. But Shakespeare is the supreme master of its employment : in these impassioned tirades he wields it with a naked strength that was never approached, in the Sonnets with a veiled and varied subtllty that defies analysis. There are hints here and there in the Venus of this gathering subtilty : — 'These blew-vein'd violets whereon we leane Never can blab, nor know not what we meane . . . Even as a dying coale revives with winde . . . More white and red than doves and roses are.' But apart from the use of cognate sounds, which makes for emphasis without marring melody, in many a line there also lives that more recondite sweetness, which plants so much of Shakespeare's verse in the memory for no assignable cause : — ' Scorning his churlish drum and ensinge red. . . . Dumbly she passions, frantikely she doteth. ... Showed like two silver doves that sit a billing. . . . Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chaine. . . . Were beautie under twentie locks kept fast. Yet love breaks through and picks them all at last. . . . O learne to love, the lesson is but plaine And once made perfect never lost again.' Herein a cadence of obvious simplicity gives birth to an in- explicable charm. I have spoken of Shakespeare's images, blowing fresh from * S. Daniel's Defence of Ryme, 1603 : — ' Though it doth not strictly observe long and short sillables, yet it most religiously respects the accent.' — Ibid. Cf. Sidney's Apologie: — 'Wee observe the accent very precisely.' INTRODUCTION xci the memory of his boyhood, so vivid that at times they are violent, and at others wrought and laboured until they become conceits. You have ' No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears/ with its frank reminiscence of a sportsman's scruple ; or, as an obvious illustration, ' Look how a bird lies tangled in a net ' ; or, in a flash of intimate recollection : — ' Like shrill-tongu'd tapsters answering everie call. Soothing the humours of fantastique wits ' : — the last, an early sketch of the ' Francis ' scene in Henry IV., which, in quaint juxtaposition with 'cedar tops and hills' of ' burnisht gold,' seems instinct with memories of John Shake- speare and his friends, who dared not go to church. But, again, you have conceits : — ' But hers (eyes), which through the crystal tears gave light. Shone like the Moone in water seen by night ' ; 'A lilie prison'd in a gaile of snow' ; and 'Wishing her cheeks were gardens ful of flowers So they were dew'd with such distilling showers.' But, diving deeper than diction, alliteration,'" and rhytlim : deeper than the decoration of blazoned colours and the labyrinthine interweaving of images, now budding as it were from nature, and now beaten as by an artificer out of some precious metal : you discover beneath this general inter- pretation of Phenomenal Beauty, a gospel of Ideal Beauty, a confession of faith in Beauty as a principle of life. And note — for the coincidence is vital — that these, the esoteric themes of Venus and Adonis, are the essential themes of the Sonnets. In Stanza xxit. : — ' Fair flowers that are not gathered in their prime Rot and consume themselves in little time ' ; — and in Stanzas xxvii., xxviii., xxix., you have the whole argu- ment of Sonnets i.-xix. In Stanza clxxx. : — * Alas poore world, what treasure hast thou lost. What face remains alive that's worth the viewing.? xcu INTRODUCTION Whose tongue is musick now ? What canst thou boast, Of things long since^ or any thing insuing ? The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh, and trim, But true sweet beautie liv'd, and di'de with him ' : — you have that metaphysical gauging of the mystical import- ance of some one incarnation of Beauty viewed from imaginary standpoints in time, which was afterwards to be elaborated in Sonnets xiv., xix., lix., lxvii., lxviii., civ., cvi. And in Stanza CLXX. : — 'For he being dead, with him is beautie slaine. And beautie dead, blacke Chaos comes again ' : — you have the succinct credo in that incarnation of an Ideal Beauty, of which all other lovely semblances are but ' shadows ' and 'counterfeits,' which was to find a fuller declaration in Sonnets xxxi. and liii., and xcviii. But in Shakespeare's Poems the beauty and curiosity of the ceremonial ever obscure the worship of the god ; and, per- haps, in the last stanza but one, addressed to the flower born in place of the dead Adonis and let drop into the bosom of the Goddess of Love, you have the most typical expression of those merits and defects which are alike loved and condoned by the slaves of their invincible sweetness : — ' Here was thy father's bed, here in my brest. Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right. So in this hollow cradle take thy rest. My throbbing hart shall rock thee day and night ; There shall not be one minute in an houre Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's floure.' Here are conceits and a strained illustration from the profes- sion of law ; but here, with these, are lovely imagery and perfect diction and, flowing through every line, a rhythm that rises and falls softly, until, after a hurry of ripples, it expends itself in the three last retarding words. INTRODUCTION xciii The Rape of Lucrece was published in 1594, and was dedi- cated in terms of devoted affection to Lord Southampton. It was never so popular as the Venus, yet editions followed in 1598, 1600, 1607, 1616, 1624, and 1632 1; and its subsequent neglect remains one of the enigmas of literature. It is written in the seven-lined stanza borrowed by Chaucer from Guillaume de Machaultj a French poet, whose talent, according to M. Sandras^ was 'essentiellement lyrique.' The measure, indeed, is capable of the most heart-searching lyrical effects. Chaucer chose it, first for his Compleint unto Pile and, more notabl)', for his Troilus and Criseyde; ifl 1589 Puttenham (.'') had noted that 'his meetre Heroicall is very grave and stately,' and, was •most usuall with our auncient makers'; Daniel had used it for his Rosamund, published four years before Lucrece, Spenser for his Hymves, published the year after. The subject lay no further than the form from Shakespeare's hand. He took it from Ovid's Fasti.^ Mr. Furnivall has argued that he may also have read it in Livy's brief version of the tragedy, or in The Rape of LMcrece, from William Painter's The Palace of Pleasure (1566), wherCj he notes, ' Painter is but Livy, with some changes and omissions.' Warton, History of English Poetry (1824, iv. 241-2), cites 'A ballet the grevious complaynt of Lucrece,' 1568; 'A ballet of the death of Lucreessia,' 1569; and yet another of 1576. He adds: — 'Lucretia was the grand example of con- jugal fidelity throughout the Gothic Ages.' That is the point. Shakespeare took the story from Ovid, with the knowledge that Chaucer had drawn on the same source for the Fifth Story in his Legend of Good Women, just as Chaucer had ' Two others of 1596 and 1602 have been cited but never recovered. ^ Etude sur G. Chaucer, 1859. ' Book ii. line 721 et seq. xciv INTRODUCTION taken it from Ovid^ with the knowledge that its appositeness had been consecrated before 1282 in chapter l. of Le Roman de la Rose : — ' Comment Lucrece par grant ire Son cuer point, derrompt et dessire Et chiet morte sur terre adens, Devant son mari et parens.' And Shakespeare must certainly have been familiar with the allusion to it in North's Plutarch, as with the passage in Sidney's Apologie, where a painting of Lucrecia is imagined to illustrate the art of those who are 'indeed right Poets' as distinguished from the authors of religious or of moral and metaphysical verse. This passage, save where it suffers from the constraint of an apologetic attitude, stands still for a sound declaration of the ethics of art; and in Shakespeare's day, when such questions were canvassed as freely as in our own, it may well have determined his choice. But speculation on the literary origins of a poem is idle when the poem is in itself far worthier attention than all the materials out of which it has been contrived — the more so when of these the literary origins are the most remote and the least important. Shakespeare, indeed, owes more to the manner of Chaucer's Troilus than to the matter of his Lucretia, or of its original in Ovid. For in treating that story the two poets omit and retain different poi'tions : Chaucer, on the whole, copying more closely paints on a canvas of about the same size, whereas Shakespeare expands a passage of 132 lines into a poem of 1855 Chaucer omits Ovid's note rendered by Shakespeare's ' Haply that name of chaste unhap'ly set This bateless edge on his keen appetite.' He also omits Lucretia's unsuspecting welcome of Tarquin, making him ' stalke' straight into the house 'ful theefly.' INTRODUCTION xcv Shakespeare retains the welcome, and reserves the phrase, 'Into the chamber wickedly he stalks,' for a later incident. On the other hand, Chaucer renders the passage, 'Tunc quoque jam moriens ne non procumbat honeste, respicit,' somewhat quaintly : — ' And as she fel adown, she cast her look And of her clothes yit she hede took. For in her falling yit she hadde care Lest that her feet or swiche thing lay bare ' : — and Shakespeare omits it. Both keep the image of the lamb and the wolf, together with Lucretia's flavi capilli, which are nowhere mentioned by Livy. In the Lucrece, as in the Venus, you have a true develop- ment of Chaucer's romantic narrative ; of the dialogues, soliloquies, and rhetorical bravuras which render Books iv. and V. of his Troilus perhaps the greatest romance in verse. And yet the points of contrast between the Lucrece and the Venus are of deeper interest than the points of comparison, for they show an ever-widening divergence from the characteristics of Mediaeval romance. If the Venus be a pageant of gesture, the Lucrece is a drama of emotion. You have the same wealth of imagery, but the images are no longer sunlit and sharply defined. They seem, rather, created by the reflex action of a sleepless brain — as it were fantastic symbols shaped from the lying report of tired eyes staring into darkness ; and they are no longer used to decorate the outward play of natural desire and reluctance, but to project the shadows of abnormal passion and acute mental distress. The Poem is full of nameless terror, of • ghastly shadows ' and ' quick-shifting antics.' The First Act passes in the ' dead of night,' with ' no noise ' to break the world's silence ' but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries,' nor any to mar the house's but the grating of doors and, at last. xcvi INTRODUCTION the hoarse whispers of a piteous controversy. The Second shows a cheerless dawn with two women crying, one for sorrow, the other for sympathy. There are never more than two persons on the stage, and there is sometimes only one, until the crowd surges in at the end to witness Lucrece's suicide. I have spoken for convenience of ' acts ' and a ' stage,' yet the sug- gestion of these terms is misleading. Excepting in the last speech and in the death of Lucrece, the Poem is nowhere dramatic : it tells a story, but at each situation the Poet pauses to survey and to illustrate the romantic and emotional values of the relation between his characters, or to analyse the moral passions and the mental debates in any one of them, or even the physiological perturbations responding to these storms and tremors of the mind and soul. When Shakespeare describes Tarquin's stealthy approach : — ' Night wandering weazels shriek to see him there ; They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear ' : — or Lucrece shrinking from the dawn : — ' Revealing day through every cranny spies And seems to point her out where she sits weeping ' : — or Collatine's attempt at railing when he is inarticulate with wrath : — 'Yet some time "Tarquin" was pronounced plain But through his teeth, as if the name he tore ' : — his method is wholly alien from the popular methods of our own day. Yet would they be rash who condemned it out of hand. The illustration of gesture, and of all that passes in the mind, by the copious use of romantic imagery constitutes an artistic process which is obviously charged with sensuous de- light, and is in its way not less realistic than the dramatic method which has superseded it. The hours of life, which INTRODUCTION xcvii even ordinary men and women expend in selfish sensation and a fumbling, half-conscious introspection, far outnumber the hours in which they are clearly apprized of eventful action and speech between themselves and their fellows ; and in men of rarer temperament life often becomes a monodrama. The dramatic convention is also but a convention with its own limitations, staling by over-practice into the senseless rallies of a pantomime or the trivial symbols of a meagre psychology. The common-place sayings and doings of the puppets are meant by the author to suggest much; and, when they are duly explained by the critics, we may all admire the reserved force of the device. But it remains a device. In the romantic narratives of Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Keats, with their imaginative illustrations of the mind's moods and their imaginative use of sights and sounds accidental to moments of exacerbated sensation, you have another device which portrays, perhaps more truly, the hidden mysteries of those temperaments whose secrets are really worth our guessing. It is at least worth while to watch an artist, who has shown the inevitable acts and words of any one man in any one situation, at work within upon the accompanying sequence of inevitable sensations and desires. And sometimes, too, from the analysis of emotion in the Lucrece you catch a side-light on the more subtle revelation in the Sonnets : — 'O happiness, enjoy 'd but of a few. And if possest, as soon decayed and done As is the morning's silver melting dew Against the golden splendour of the sun! The aim of all is but to nurse the life With honour, wealth and ease, in waning age ; And in this aim there is such thwarting strife That one for all or all for one we gage ; As life for honour in fell battle's rage ; Honour for wealth ; and oft that wealth doth cost The death of all, and all together lost. xcvui INTRODUCt^lON *" What win I if I gain the thing I seek ? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week Or selk eternity to get a toy}' Vanitas vanitatum ! Besides this philosophy of pleasure, there is also a pathos in Lucrece which is nowise Mediaeval. The Poem is touched with a compassion for the weakness of women, which is new and alien from the Trouvfere convention of a knight who takes pity on a damsel : — 'Their gentle sex to weep are often willing ; Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts. And then they drown their eyes, or break their hearts . . . Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks. Poor women's faces are their own fault's books.' Then let 'No man inveigh against the withered flower, But chide rough winter that the flower hath kUl'd : Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour Is worthy blame.' But in spite of so much that is new in the Lucrece, there is no absolute break between it and the Venus : the older beauties persist, if they persist more sparsely, among the fresh-blovra. As ever in Shakespeare's earlier work, there are vivid impres- sions of things seen : — 'You mocking birds, quoth she, your tunes entomb Within your hollow swelling feather'd breasts . . . Ay me ! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine. His leaves will wither, and his sap decay . . . As lagging fouls before the Northern blast.' As through an arch the violent roaring tide Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste. Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride Back to the strait that forced him on so fast . . . INTRODUCTION xcix Illustrations are still drawn from sport : — ' Look, as the full fed hound or gorged hawk Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight.' . , . There are, as ever, conceits : — 'Without the had her other fair hand was. On the green coverlet ; whose perfect white Showed like an April daisy on the grass . . ,' ' And now this pale swan in her watery nest Begins the sad dirge of her cei'tain ending ' : — and there are, as I have said, tirades of an astonishing rheto- rical force, passages which, recited by an English Rachel, would still bring down the house. As the denunciations of Night : — * Blind muffled bawd ! dark harbour of defame ! Grim cave of death ! whispering conspirator ' : — of Opportunity : — 'Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame. Thy private feasting to a public fast, Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name : Thy sugard tongue to bitter wormwood tast : Thy violent vanities can never last' : — and of Time : — ' Eater of youth, false slave to false delight, Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, vertue's snare' : — whose glory it is : — ' To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours And smear with dust their glitt'ring golden towers . . To feed oblivion with decay of things.' The form of these tirades is repeated from the Venus, but their music is louder, and is developed into a greater variety of keys. c INTRODUCTION sometimes into the piercing minors of the more metaphysical Sonnets : — ' Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage ? Unless thou could'st return to make amends. One poor retiring minute in an age Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends. . . . Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity ! ' This last apostrophe is great ; but that in Lucrece there should be so many of the same tremendous type, ■which have escaped the fate of hackneyed quotation, is one of the most elusive factors in a difficult problem: — ' Pure thoughts are dead and still While Lust and Murder wake to stain and kill. . . , His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye. . . . Tears harden lust, though marble wears with raining, . . . Soft pity enters at an iron gate. . . . Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring. Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers. The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing. What virtue breeds, iniquity devours.' These, for all their strength and sweetness, might conceivably have been written by some other of the greater poets. But these : — ' And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights. . . . '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. . . . O ! that is gone for which I sought to live. And therefore now I need not fear to die. . . . For Sorrow, like a heavy hanging bell. Once set on ringing with his own weight goes ' : — these, I say, could have been written by Shakespeare only. INTRODUCTION ci They may rank with the few which i\rnold chose for standards from the poetry of all ages ; yet by a caprice of literary criticism they are never quoted, and are scarce so much as known. xrv The fate of Shakespeare's Sonnets has been widely different from the fate of his Narrative Poems. The Venus and the ■ Lucrece were popular at once, and ran through many editions : the S onnets, publis he d in 1 609, were not reprinted until 1640, and were then so effectually disguised by an arbitrary process of interpolation, omission, re-arrangement, and misleading de- scription as to excite but little attention, until in 1780 Malone opened a new era of research into their bearing on the life and character of Shakespeare. Since then the tables have been turned. For while the Venus and the Lucrece have been largely neglected, so many volumes, in support of theories so variously opposed, have been written on this aspect of the Sonnets, that it has become impossible even to sum up the contention except by adding yet another volume to already overladen shelves. The controversy has its own interest ; but that interest, I, submit, is alien from, and even antagonistic to, an appreciation of lyrical excellence. I do not mean that the Sonnets are • mere exercises ' written to ' rival ' or to ' parody ' the efforts of other poets. Such curiosities of criticism are bom of a nervous revulsion from conclusions reached by the more con- fident champions of a ' personal theory'; and their very eccen- tricity measures the amount of damage done, not by those who endeavour, laudably enough, to retrieve a great lost life but, by those who allow such attempts at' biography to bias their con- sideration of poems which we possess intact. If, indeed, we must choose between critics, who discover an autobiography in the Sonnets, and critics, who find in them a train of poetic cii INTRODUCTION exhalations whose airy iridescence never reflects the passionate colours of this earth, then the first are preferable. At least their theory makes certain additions which, though dubious and defective, are still additions to our guesses at Shakespeare the man ; whereas the second subtracts from a known masterpiece its necessary material of experience and emotion. But we need not choose : the middle way remains of accepting from the Sonnets only the matter which they embody and the form which they display. Taking them up, then, as you would take up the Lucrece or another example of Shakespeare's earlier work, there is nothing to note in their metrical form but the perfection of treatment by which Shakespeare has stamped it for his own. They were immediately preceded by many sonnet-sequences : by so many, indeed, that Shakespeare could hardly have taken his place at the head of his lyrical contemporaries without proving that he, too, could write sonnets with the best of them. Sidney's Astrophel and Stella (written 1581-84) had been published in 1591 — (when Tom Nash was constrained to bid some other ' Poets and ' Rimers to put out their ' rush candles,' and bequeath their 'crazed quaterzayns' to the chandlers — for 'loe, here hee cometh that hath broek your legs') — ■ with the sonnets of 'sundry other noblemen and gentlemen' appended, among them twenty-eight by S(amuel) D(aniel), nineteen of which were afterwards reprinted in his Delia; the next year H(enry) C(onstable) published twenty, after- wards reprinted in his Diana; in 1593 B. Barnes published Parthenopkil and Parthenope, containing a hundred and four (besides madrigals, odes, and eclogues) ; and in 1594 W. Percy, to whom this gathering had been dedicated, riposted in twenty, ' to the fairest Ccelia,' which touch the nadir of incompetence. But in -the same memorable year three other sequences appeared, whose excellence and fame rendered an attempt in INTRODUCTION ciii this form almost obligatory upon any one claiming to be a poet : H(enry) C(onstable)'s Diana, with 'divers quatorzains of honourable and learned personages/ — notably, eight by Sidney, afterwards appended to the Third Edition of the Arcadia- Samuel Daniel's Delia, consisting of fifty-five ; ^ and Michael Drayton's Idea's Mirrour, fifty-one strong, augmented to fifty- nine in 1599 and eventually (I619) to sixty-three. Then in 1595 Spenser published his Amoretti (written 1592(?)), and in 1596 R. L(inche) his Diella and B. Griffin his Fidessa. I name these last because an example from R. Linche : — ' My mistress" snow-white skin doth much excell The pure soft wool Arcadian sheep do bear ' : — will show what inept fatuity co-existed with the highest flights of Elizabethan verse ; and because the third number in Fidessa ^ was reprinted by Jaggard in the Passionate Pilgrim (1599), together with other pieces stolen from Shakespeare and Bamefield. The publication of such a medley attests the well- known fact that Elizabethan sonnets were handed about in ms. for years among poetical cliques, and, as W. Percy complains, ' were committed to the Press ' without the autliors' knowledge, although 'concealed ... as things privy' to himself.* It is also worth noting that the Elizabethans I have named, who signed their sonnet-sequences sometimes only with initials, often transfigured them by additions, omissions, and re- arrangings prior to republication ; and this was especially the practice of Daniel and Drayton, whose sonnets, it so happens, offer the closest points of comparison to Shakespeare's. That two of Shakespeare's should have been published with the work of others in 1599, and afterwards, with slight variations, ^ Nineteen of which had appeared, cf. supra. ' Griffin was almost certainly one of Shakespeare's connexions by marriage. See 'Shakespeare's Ancestry,' The Times, Oct. 14, 1895. ' W. Percy to the Reader. h civ INTRODUCTION as units in a fairly consecutive series, is quite in the manner of the time. There is no mention of Delia in all the twenty-eight appended by Daniel to Astrophel and Stella ^ ; but nineteen of these were intei'polated into the later sequence, which bears her name, yet mentions it in thirteen only out of fifty-five. To glance at Drayton's Idea is to be instantly suspicious of another such mystification. The proem begins : — ' Into these loves, who but for Passion looks, At this first sight here let him lay them by ' : — and the author goes on to boast that he sings ' fantasticly ' without a 'far-fetched sigh,' an ' Ah me,' or a 'tear.' Yet the sixty-first in the completed series (ldl9) is that wonderful sob of supplication for which Drayton is chiefly remembered : — 'Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part !' Only by the use of the comparative method can we hope to recover the conditions under which sonnets were written and published in Shakespeare's day. A side-light, for instance, is thrown on the half good-natured, half malicious rivalry between the members of shifting literary cliques, from the fact that Shakespeare, Chapman, Marston, and Jonson all contributed poems on the Phoenix to Rob. Chester's Love's Martyr (l601),2 and that sonnets on the same subject occur in Daniel's additions to Astrophel (Sonnet in.), and in Drayton's Idea (Sonnet XVI.). All six poets are suspected, and some are known, to have been arrayed from time to time on opposed sides in literary quarrels ; yet you find them handling a common theme in more or less friendly emulation. I fancy that many of the coincidences between the Sonnets of Shakespeare and those of Drayton, on which charges of plagiarism have been founded, and ^ Sonnet XIII. opens thus : — ' My Cynlhia hath the waters of mine eyes.' * See Note IV. on The Sonnets. INTRODUCTION cv by whose aid attempts have been made to fix the date of Shake- speare's authorship, may be explained more probably by this general conception of a verse-loving society divided into emulous coteries. Mr. Tyler adduces the conceit of 'eyes ' and 'heart' in Drayton's xxxiii. (Ed. 1599), and compares it to Shakespeare's XLVI. and xlvii. (I609); but it appears in Henry Constable. Again, he instances Drayton's illustration from a 'map' in xun. i; but, perhaps by reason of the fashionable in- terest in the New World, the image was a common one : Daniel employs it in his Defence of Ryme. And if Drayton, in this sonnet, ' strives to eternize ' the object of his affection in accents echoed by Shakespeare, Daniel does the like in his l. : — ' Let others sing of Knights and Palladins In aged accents, and untimely woi-ds,' etc. : — with a hit at Spenser that only differs in being a hit from Shakespeare's reference in cvi. : — 'When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights And beauty making beautiful old rhyme In praise of ladies dead and lovely Knights.' Of course it differs also in poetic excellence ; yet many chancing on Daniel's later line : — ' Against the dark and Time's consuming rage ' : — might mistake it for one by the mightier artist. Drayton, like Shakespeare, upbraids some one, whom he compares to the son — and the sex is significant — 'of some rich penny- father,' for wasting his ' Love ' and ' Beauty,' which Time must conquer, ' on the unworthy ' who cannot make him ' survive ' in ' immortal song.' 2 And tlie next number sounds familial', with its curious metaphysical conceit of identity between the beloved one and ' Ed. i599 = XLiv. of 1619. ' Sonnet x. Ed. 1619. cvi INTRODUCTION the poet who sings him.' If any one had thought it worth his while to investigate the biographical problems of Drayton's obviously doctored Idea, he would have found nuts to crack as hard as any in Shakespeare's Sonnets. It is best, perhaps, to take Sidney's advice, and to ' believe with him that there are many misteries contained in Poetrie, which of purpose were written darkely.' At any rate, the ironic remainder of the passage throws a flood of light on the extent to which the practice of immortalising prevailed: — 'Believe' the poets, he says, 'when they tell you they will make you immortal by their verses,' for, thus doing, ' your name shall flourish in the Printers' shoppes ; thus doing, you shall bee of kinne to many a poetical preface ; thus doing, you shall be most fayre, most rich, most wise, most all, you shall dwell upon superlatives.' ^ Shakespeare's Sonnets, then, belong to a sonneteering age, and exhibit many curious coincidences with the verse of his friends and rivals. But his true distinction in mere metrical form, apart from finer subtleties of art, consists in this : that he established the quatorzain as a separate type of the European Sonnet; he took as it were a sport from the garden of verse, and fixed it for an English variety. The credit for this has been given to Daniel ; but the attribution can- not be sustained. For Daniel sometimes hankered after the Petrarchan model, though in a less degree than any other of Shakespeare's contemporaries : he travels in Italy,^ contrasts his Muse with Petrarch's,* imitates his structure,* and strains after feminine rhymes. Shakespeare alone selected the English quatorzain, and sustained it throughout a sonnet- ' Cf. Shakespeare's xxxix., XLII., LXII. ' Sidney, Afologie. ' Delia, XLVii., XLViii. * Ibid., xxxviii. ' Ibid., XXXI. and xxxill. and x. of the Sonnets appended to Arcadia. INTRODUCTION cvii sequence.^ Even the merit of invention claimed for Daniel must be denied him. When Shakespeare makes Slender say ^ : — ' I had rather than forty shillings I had my book of songs and sonnets here ' :— he refers to Tottel's Miscellany, published in 1557. But the numbers by the Earl of Surrey in that anthology were written many years earlier, and in the Eiglith of his Sonnets tliere printed, you will find as good a model for Shakespeare's form as any in Daniel's Delia : — ' Set me whereas the sunne doth parclie the grene Or where his beames do not dissolve the yse : , In temperate heate where he is felt and sene : In presence prest of people madde or wise. Set me in hye,~ or yet in lowe degree : c In longest night, or in the shortest daye : In clearest skye, or where clowdes thickest be : In lusty youth, or when my heeres are grays. Set me in heaven, in earth or els in hell. In hyll, or dale, or in the fomyug flood : Thrall, or at large, alive where so I dwell : Sicke or in health : in evyll fame or good. Hers will I be, and onely with this thought Conteat my selfe, although my chaunce be nought.' The theme is borrowed from Petrarch; but the form is Surrey's, who used it in nine out of his fourteen sonnets, and essayed the Petrarchan practice in but one. By this invention he achieved a sweetness of rhythm never attained in any strict imitation of the Italian model until the present century. His sonnet is the true precursor of Shakespeare's, and it owes — directly — little more than the number of its lines to France and Italy : being founded on English metres of alternating rhymes, with a final ^ Sidney and Drayton frequently copy French and Italian models. Spenser's linked quatrains are neither sonnets nor quatorzains : they re- present an abortive attempt to create a new form. ^ Merry Wives of Windsor, i. I. ' 'Form and favour' in Shakespeare's Sonnet CXXV., 'golden tresses in his Lxvill. may also be echoes of Surrey. cviii INTRODUCTION couplet copied by Chaucer from the French two centuries before. The number of sonnet-sequences published in the last decade of the Sixteenth Century, during which Shakespeare lived at London in the midst of a literary movement, raises a presump- tion in favour of an early date for his Sonnets, published in 1609 ; and this presumption is confirmed by the publication of two of them in The Passionate Pilgrim (1599). We know from CIV. that three years had elapsed since he first saw the youth to whom the earlier Sonnets were addressed ; and the balance of internal evidence, founded whether on affinities to the plays or on references to political and social events affecting Shakespeare as a dramatist and a man,i points to the years 1599-160^ ^^ the most probable period for th^ ir c ompositio n.^ Further confirmation of an almost decisive character has been adduced by Mr. Tyler.^ But I pass his arguments, since they are based, in part, on the assumption that the youth in question was William Herbert; and, al- though Mr. Tyler would, as I think, win a verdict from any jury composed and deciding after the model of Scots procedure, his case is one which cannot be argued without the broaching of many issues outside the sphere of artistic appreciation. XV Had Shakespeare's Sonnets suffered the fate of Sappho's lyrics, their few surviving fragments would have won him an equal glory, and we should have been damnified in the amount only of a priceless bequest. But our heritage is almost ' Cf. Sonnet Lxvi. : — 'And art made tongue-tied by authority' : — ^with tlie edict of June 1600, inhibiting plays and playgoers. ' See Note III. on The Sonnets. 5 Introduction to the 'Shakespeare Q., No. 30' and Shakespeare's Sonnets. London, D. Nutt, 1890. INTRODUCTION cix certainly intact : the Sonnets, as we find them in the Quarto of 1609, whether or not they were edited by Shakespeare, must so far have commanded his approval as to arouse no protest against the form in which they appeared. It would have been as easy for him to re-shuffle and re-publish as it is impos- sible to believe that he could so re-shuffle and re-publish, and no record of his action survive. Taking the Sonnets, then,] as published in their author s lifetime, you discover their obvious division into two Series : — in the First, one hundred and twenty-five, closed by an Envoy of six couplets, are addressed to a youth ; in the Second, seventeen out of twenty-eight are 1 addressed to the author's mistress, and the others comment, more or less directly, on her infidelity and on his infatuation. Most critics — indeed all not quixotically compelled to reject a reasonable view — are agreed that the order in the First Series can scarce be bettered ; and that within that Series certain Groups may be discerned of sonnets written at the same time, each with the same theme and divided by gaps of silence from the sonnets that succeed them. There is also substantial agreement as to the confines of the principal Groups ; but between these there are shorter sequences and even isolated numbers, among which different critics have succeeded in tracing a greater or lesser degree of connexion. The analogy of a correspondence, carried on over years between friends, offers perhaps the best clue to the varying continuity of the First Series. There, too, you have silences which attest the very frequency of meetings, with silences born of long absence and absorption in diverse pursuits ; there, too, you have spells of voluminous writing on intimate themes, led up to and followed by sparser communications on matters of a less dear importance. The numbers seem to have been chrono- logically arranged ; and, that being so, the alternation of con- tinuous with intermittent production shows naturally in a ex INTRODUCTION collection of poems addressed by one person to another at intervals over a period of more than three years. There are seven main Groups in the First Series : — Group A, I. -XIX. : — The several numbers echo the arguments in Venus mid Adonis, Stanzas xxvii.-xxix. They are written ostensiblyj to urge marriage on a beautiful youth, but, essen- tially, they constitute a continuous poem on Beauty and Decay. That is the subject, varied by the introduction of two subsidiary themes ; the one, philosophic on immortality conferred by breed :— ' From fairest creatures, we desire increase That thereby beauty's Rose might never die ' : — the other, literary, on immortality conferred by verse : — 'My love shall in my verse ever live young.' This line is the last of the sonnet which serves as an envoy to the Group. Here follow Sonnets xx.-xxi., xxii., xxiii.-xxiv., XXV. : occasional verses written, playfully or affectionately, to the youth who is now dear to their author. In giving the occasional sonnets I bracket only those which are obviously connected and obviously written at the same time. Group B, xxvi.-xxxii. : — A continuous poem on absence, dis- patched, it may be, in a single letter, since it opens with a formal address and ends in a full close. In this group there are variations on the disgust of separation and the solace of remembered love ; but it is a poem and not a letter — turning each succeeding emotion to its full artistic account. Group C, xxxm.-xLii. : — The first of the more immediately personal garlands. The writer's friend has wronged him by stealing his mistress's love. The counterpart to this group, evidently written on the same theme and at the same time, will be found in the Second Series (cxxxiii.-cxliv.), addressed in complaint to the writer's mistress, or written in comment on INTRODUCTION cxi her complicity in this wrong. The biographical interest of this Group has won it an undeserved attention at the expense of others. Many suppose that all the Sonnets turn on this themCj or, at least, that the loudest note of passion is here sounded. But this is not so. Of all ten three at the most can be called tragic. These are xxxiv. — but it arises out of the lovely imagery of xxxiii. ; xxxvi., but it ends : — ' I love thee in such sort As thou being mine, mine is thy good report' ; and XL., but it ends : — ' Yet we must not be foes.' xxxni. is indeed beautiful, but the others return to the early theme of mere immortalising, or are expressed in abstruse or playful conceits which make it impossible to believe they mirror a soul in pain. They might be taken for designed interpolations, did they not refer, by the way, to a sorrow, or misfortune, not to be distinguished from the theme of their fellows. Knowing what Shakespeare can do to express anguish and passion, are we not absurd to find the evidence of either in these Sonnets, written, as they are, on a private sorrow, but in the spirit of conscious art ? ' If my slight Muse do please these curious days The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.' — xxxviii. Here follow xliii., xliv.-xlv., xlvi.-xlvii.-xlviii., xlix., l.-li., Lii., connected or occasional pieces on mere absence. Then uii.-Liv., and lv. return to the theme of immortalising. The first two are steeped in Renaissance platonism ; while the last (as Mr. Tyler has shown) does but versify a passage in which Meres quotes Ovid and Horace (1508): it seems to be an Envoy. Group D, Lvi.-Lxxiv. : — The Poet writes again after silence : — ' Sweet love, renew thy force.' The first three are occasioned by a voluntary absence of his friend ; but that absence, un- expectedly prolonged, inspires a mood of contemplation which, cxii INTRODUCTION becoming ever more and more metaphysical, is by much re- moved from the spirit of the earlier poem on absence (Group B, xxvi.-xxxii.) with its realistic handling of the same theme. In Lix. the poet dwells on the illusion of repeated experience, and speculates on the truth of the philosophy of cycles : — ' If there be nothing new, but that which is Hath been before, how are our brains beguUed.' In LX. he watches the changing toil of Time : — ' Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore So do our minutes hasten to their end.' In Lxi. he gazes into the night at the phantasm of his absent friend, and thus leads up to a poem in three parts (lxii.-lxv., Lxvi.-Lxx., Lxxi.-Lxxiv.) on Beauty that Time must ruin, on the disgust of Life, and on Death. These nineteen numbers, conceived in a vein of melancholy contemplation, are among the most beautiful of all, and are more subtly metaphysical than any, save only cxxiii., cxxiv., cxxv. There follow lxxv., LXXVI., LXVII. Group E, Lxxviii.-Lxxxvi., is the second of a more immediate personal interest. It deals with rival poets and their meretricious art — especially with one Poet who by 'the proud full sail of his great verse ' has bereft the writer of his friend's admiration. The nine are written in unbroken sequence and are playful throughout, suggesting no tragedy. But in Group F, lxxxvii.-xcvi., the spirit of the verse suddenly changes : the music becomes plangent, and the theme of utter estrangement is handled with a complete command over dramatic yet sweetly modulated discourse. The Group is, indeed, a single speech of tragic intensity, written in elegiac verse more exquisite than Ovid's own. Here the First Series is most obviously broken, and xcvii. xcviii.-xcix. emphasise the break. They tell of two absences the first in late summer (xcvi.), the second in the spring. INTRODUCTION cxiii They are isolated from the Group which precedes, and the Group which follows them, and they embrace an absence extending, at least, from early autumn in one year to April in the next. The first is of great elegiac beauty, the second of curious metaphysical significance ; the third seems an in- ferior, perhaps a rejected, version of the second. Group G, c.-cxxv., opens after a great silence : — ' Where art thou. Muse, that thou forget' st so long ' : — and the poet develops in it a single sustained attack on the Law of Change, minimising the importance of both outward chances and inward moods. Once more taking his pen, he invokes his Muse (c.) ' to be a satire to Decay,' to bring contempt on ' Time's spoils,' and to ' give fame faster than Time wastes Life.' True, he argued against this in Group E : deprecating (lxxxii.) ' strained touches of rhetoric ' when applied to one ' truely fair ' and, therefore, ' truely sympathized ' by ' true plain words ' : maintaining (lxxxiii.) that silence at least did not ' impair beauty,' and disparaging (lxxxv.) ' comments of praise richly compiled.' But now he puts this same defence into the mouth of his Muse, making her argue in turn (ci.) that Truth and Beauty, which both 'depend on' his Love, need no 'colour' and no 'pencil' since 'best is best, if never intermixed.' Yet he bids her 'excuse not silence so,' since it lies in her to make his love ' outlive a guilded tomb,' and ' seem long hence as he shows now.' In this Group, as in earlier resumptions, the music is at first imperfect. But it soon changes, and in cii. the apology for past silence is sung in accents sweet as the nightingale's described. There are marked irregularities in the poetic excellence of the Sonnets : which ever climbs to its highest pitch in the longer and more closely connected sequences. This is the longest of all : a poem of retrospect over a space of three years to the time when ' love was new, and then but in the spring.' In its survey it goes over the old themes with a cxiv INTRODUCTION soft and silvery touch : Beauty and Decay, Love, Constancy, the Immortalising of the Friend's beauty conceived as an incarna- tion of Ideal Beauty viewed from imaginary standpoints in Time. And interwoven with this re-handling, chiefly of the themes in the First and Fourth Groups, is an apology (cix.- cxii., cxvii.-cxx., cxxii.) for a negligence on the Poet's part of the rites of friendship, which he sets off (cxx.) against his Friend's earlier unkindness : — 'That you were once unkind, befriends me nom.' This apology offers the third, and only other, immediate reference to Shakespeare's personal ex- perience ; and, on these sonnets, as on those which treat of the Dark Lady and the Rival Poet, attention has been unduly concentrated. They seem founded on episodes and moods necessarily incidental to the life which we know Shakespeare must have led. To say that he could never have slighted his art as an actor : — * Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there And made myself a motley to the view , , , My nature is subdued To what it works in like the dyer's hand ' : — and then to seek for far-fetched and fantastic interpretations, is to evince an ignorance, not only of the obloquy to which actors were then exposed, and of the degradations they had to bear, but also of human nature as we know it even in heroes. Well- ington is said to have wept over the carnage at Waterloo ; the grossness of his material often infects the artist, and ' potter's rot' has its analogue in every profession. This feeling of un- deserved degradation is a mood most incident to all who work, whether artists or men of action : an accident, real but transitory, which obliterates the contours of the soul, and leaves them in- tact, as a fog swallows the Town without destroying it. In cxxi. there is a natural digression from this personal apology to reflexions cast on Shakespeare's good name. In cxxii. the INTRODUCTION cxv apology is resumed with particular reference to certain tablets, the gift of the Friend, but which the Poet has bestowed on another. He takes this occasion to resume the main theme of the whole group by pouring contempt on 'dates' and 'records' and 'tallies to score his dear love' : the tablets, though in fact given away, are still ' within his brain, full charactered, beyond all date even to Eternity.' Thus does he lead up directly to the last three sonnets (cxxiir., cxxiv., cxxv.), which close this ' Satire to Decay,' and with it the whole series (i.-cxxv.). They are pieces of mingled splendour and obscurity in which Shakespeare presses home his metaphysical attack on the reality of Time ; and the difficulty, inherent in an argument so transcendental, is further deepened by passing allusions to contemporary events and persons, which many have sought to explain, with little success. Here follows an Envoy of six couplets to the whole Series. The Second Series shows fewer traces of design in its sequence than the First. The magnificent cxxix. on ' lust in action ' is wedged between two : one addressed to Shakespeare's mistress and cne descriptive of her charm ; both playful in their fancy. cxLvi. to his soul, with its grave pathos and beauty, follows on a foolish verbal conceit, written in octosyllabic verse ; while cliii. and cLiv. are contrived in the worst manner of the French Renaissance on the theme of a Greek Epigram.^ But the rest are, all of them, addressed to a Dark Lady whom Shakespeare loved in spite of her infidelity, or they com- ment on the wrong she does him. It cannot be doubted that they were written at the same time and on the same subject as the sonnets in Group C, xxxiii.-xlii., or that they were excluded from that group on any ground except that of their being written to another than the Youth to whom the whole First Series is addressed. Like the numbers in Group C, they are alternately 1 Dowden, 1881. cxvi INTRODUCTION playful and pathetic ; their diction is often as exquisite, their discourse often as eloquent. But sometimes they are sardonic and even fierce : — ' For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright. Who art as blaclc as hell, as dark as night.' XVI The division of the Sonnets into two Series and a number of subsidiary Groups, springs merely from the author's actual experiences, which were the occasions of their production, and from the order in time of tliose experiences. But the poetic themes suggested by such experiences and their treatment by Shakespeare belong to another sphere of con- sideration. They derive — not from the brute chances of life which, in a man not a poet, would have suggested no poetry, and, to a poet not Shakespeare, would have dictated poetry of another character and a lesser perfection, but — from Shake- speare's inborn temperament and acquired skill, both of selection and execution. These poe tic the mes are comparatively few in number, and recur again and again in the several Groups. Some are more closely connected with the facts of Shakespeare's life ; others embody the general experience of man ; others, again, detached, not only from the life of Shakespeare but, from the thought of most men, embody the transcendental speculations of rave minds which, at certain times and places — in Socratic Athens and in the Europe of the Renaissance — have commanded a wide attention. Follows a tabulation. (1) Themes personal to Shakespeare : — His Friend's Error. Group C, xxxiii.-xlii., xciv.-xovi., cxx. cxxxiii. -oxxxv. The Dark Lady. Group C, and the Second Series, cxxvii.-clu. His Own Error, xxxvi., ex., cxii., cxvii.-cxxn. Eis Own Misfortune, xxv., xxix., xxxvii., oxi. The Rival Poets, xxi. , xxxii. Group E, L,xxvin.-txxxvi., and (as I hold) Lxvn., Lxviii., txxvi., and cxxv. INTRODUCTION cxvii That there were more Rival Poets than one is evident from Lxxviii. 3 : — ' Every alien pen hath got mjr use. And under thee their poesy disperse ' : — and from lxxxiii. 12 : — ' For I impair not beauty, being mute When others would give life.' And among these others who still sing, while the Poet is himself silent, two are conspicuous : — ' There lives more life in one of your fair eyes Than both your poets can in praise devise.' (2) Themes which embody general experience : — Love, xx.-xxxii., xxxvii., xijii.-lii., lvi., lxiii., lxvi., lxxi., LXXII., LXXV., LXXXVII.-XCII., XCVI., CII^ CV., CXV.-CXVT. Absence. Group B, xxvi.-xxxi., xxxix., xliii.-lii., tvii., lviii., xcvn.j xcviii. Beauty and Decay. Group A, i.-xix. , xxii. , Lxxvn. At times this Theme is treated in a mood of contemplation remote from general experience — as in uv., lv., lx., lxiii.-lxv., — and, thus handled, may serve, with two Themes, derived from it : — Immortality by Breed, i.-xrv., xvi., xvii. Immortality by Verse, xv., xvn.-xix., xxxviu., liv., lv., lx., lxv., iixxiv., Lxxxi.j c, 01., cvii. : — for a transition to (3) Themes which are more abstruse and demand a more particular examination. Identity with his Friend : — XX. 'My glass shall not persuade me I am old So long as youth and thou are of one date. . . . For all that beauty that doth cover thee Is but the seemly raiment of my heart. ..." XXXIX. 'What can mine own praise to mine own self bring? And what is 't but mine own when 1 praise thee .'',..' cxviii INTRODUCTION xiiii. ' But here 's the joy : my friend and I are one. . . .' liXii. ''Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise. Painting my age with beauty of thy days. . . .' cxii. (See Note.) cxxxiii. ' Me from my self thy cruel eye hath taken And my next self (his friend) thou harder hast ingrossed ' . . . cxxxrv ' My self I '11 forfeit, so that other mine Thou wilt restore.' ^ The conceit of Identity with the person addressed is but a part of the machinery of Renaissance Platonics derived, at many removes, from discussions in the Platonic Academy at Florence. Michelangelo had written in 1553 : — 'If I yearn day and night without intermission to be in Rome, it is only in order to return \ again to life, which I cannot enjoy without the soul ' ^ — viz., his friend. ^^ The Idea of BeatUy. In xxxvri. ' That I ... by a part of all thy glory live * is a 'Shadow,' cast by his Friend's excellence, which yet ' doth such substance give ' that ' I am not lame, poor, nor despised.' In XXXI. all whom the Poet has loved and 'supposed dead' — 'love and all Love's loving parts ' — are not truly dead, ' but things removed that hidden in there lie ' — viz. — in the Friend's bosom : — 'Their images I lov'd I view in thee. And thou, all they, hast all the all of me.' ^ The mystical confusion with and in the Friend of all that is beautiful or lovable in the Poet and others, is a development from the Platonic theory of the Idea of Beauty: the eternal type of which all beautiful things on earth are but shadows. It is derived by poetical hyperbole from the Poet's prior identification of the Friend's beauty with Ideal Beauty. The theory of Ideal Beauty was a common feature of Renaissance , ^ J. A. Symonds' translation. INTRODUCTION cxix Poetry throughout Europe. Du Bellay had sung it in France j fifty years before Shakespeare in England : — ' La, O mon ame, au plus haut ciel guidee, ', Tu y pourras recognoistre I'idee / De la beaute qu'en ce monde j'adore.' / We need not infer that Shakespeare studied Du Bellay's \ verse or the great corpus of Platonic poetry in Italy. Spenser, who translated some of Du Bellay's sonnets at seventeen, had / touched the theory in his Hymne of Heavenly Beautie (1596) : — '' . ' More faire is that (heaven), where those Idees on hie ) Enraunged be, which Plato so admired ' : — and had set it forth at length in his Hymne in Honour of Beautie (1596):— ' What time this world's great Workmaister did cast To make all things such as we now behold. It seems that he before his eyes had plast A goodly Pateme. . . . That wondrous Patei-ne . . . Is perfect Beautie, which all men adore. . . . How vainely then do ydle wits invent. That Beautie is nought else but mixture made Of colours faire. . . . Hath white and red in it such wondrous powre. That it can pierce through th'eyes unto the hart . . , ? That Beautie is not, as fond men misdeeme. An outward shew of things that only seems. , , , But that faire lampe . . . ... is heavenly born(e) and cannot die. Being a parcell of the purest skie. , . , Therefore where-ever that thou doest behold A comely corpse, with beautie faire endowed. Know this for certaine, that the same doth hold A beauteous soul. ..." Mr. Walter Raleigh has pointed out to me that Spenser and Shakespeare must have been familiar with Hoby's translation of y- cxx INTRODUCTION BaldassareCasti^lione's/ZCoWegJano, published in 1561.^ Indeed Spenser in liis Hymne in Honour of Beautie does but versify the argument of Hoby's admirable Fourth Book. ' Of the beamlie,' Hoby writes, ' that we meane, which is onlie it that appeereth in bodies, and especially in the face of man ... we will terme it an in- fluence of ike heavenlie howdifulness, the whiche for all it streteheth over all thynges that be created (like the light of the Sonn) yet when it findeth out a face well proportioned, and framed with a certein livelie agreement of severall colours, and set forth with lightes and shadowes, and with an orderly distance and limites of lines, therinto it distilleth itself and appeereth most welfavoured, and decketh out and lyghtneth the subject, where it shyneth with a marveylous grace and glistringe (like the sonne beames that strike against a beautifull plate of fine golde wrought and sett with precyous jewelles).' In Hoby's exposition the beauty of the human face is the best reflector of the Heavenly Beauty which, like the sunlight, is reflected from all things — from the ' world,' the ' heaven, the ' earth,' the ' sun,' the ' moon,' the ' planets ' — from ' fowls,' ' trees,' ' ships,' ' buildings ' — even from the ' roof of houses ' : so that 'if under the skye where there falleth neyther haile nor rayne a mann should builde a temple without a reared ridge, it is to be thought, that it coulde have neyther a sightly showe nor any beawtie. Beeside other thinges therefore, it giveth great praise to the world, in saying that it is beawtifull. It is praised, in sayinge, the beawtifull heaven, beawtifull earth, beawtifull sea, beawtifull rivers, beawtifull wooddes, trees, gardeines, beawtifull cities, beawtifull churches, houses, ^ ' Thi Courtyer of Count Baldessar Castillo divided into foure bookes. Very necessary and profitable for yonge Gentilmen and Gentilwomen abiding in Court, Palaice or Place, done into Englyshe by Thomas Hoby. Imprinted at London by Wyllyam Seres at the signe of the Hedghogge, 1561.' Cf. ' Adieu, my true court-friend : farewell my dear Castilio ' : — where Malevale addresses Bilioso. — Marston's The Malcontent, I. i. 302. INTRODUCTION cxxi armies. In conclusion this comelye and holye beawtie is a wonderous settinge out of everie thinge. And it may be said that Good and bearvtifull be after a sort one selfe thinge, especiallie in the bodies of men : of the beawtie whereof the nighest cause (I suppose) is the beawtie of the soule : the which as a partner of the right and heavenlye beawtie, maketh sightly and beawtifuU what ever she toucheth.' Plato's theory of Beauty had been ferried long before from Byzantium to Florence, and had there taken root, so that Michelangelo came to write : — * Lo, all the lovely things we find on earth. Resemble for the soul that rightly sees That source of bliss divine which gave us birth : Nor have we first-fruits or remembrances Of heaven elsewhere. Thus, loving loyally, I rise to God, and make death sweet by thee.'' And from Italy young noblemen, accredited to Italian courts or travelling for their pleasure, had brought its influence to France and England. So you have Spenser's Hymne ; Drayton harping on Idea^ ; and Bamfield (1595) apostrophising the sects: — ' The Stoicks thinke (and they come neere the truth) That vertue is the chiefest good of all. The Academicks on Idea call.' Shakespeare must have read Spenser's Hymn and Hoby's Cour- tyer, in which Plato, Socrates, and Plotinus are all instanced : ' J. A. Syraonds's translatiun. The great body of Platonic poetry did not pass without cavil even in Italy, for thus does the Blessed Giovenale Ancina state the defence and his reply : — ' Mi rispose per un poco di scudo alia di- fesa, non esser cio tenuto ivi per lascivo, ne disonesto amore, se ben vano, e leggiero, ma Flatonico, civile, modesto, con simplicita, e senza malitia alcuna, e per consequente poi honesto, gratioso, e comportabile. Al che sogginusi io subito, non amor Platonico, n6, ma si ben veramente Plutonico, cive Satanico, e Infernale. ' Nuove Lazidi Ariose delta Beatissima Virgine. Rome. 1600. ^ On the title-page of The Shepherd's Garland, 1593 ; Ideas Mirrotir, 1594, etc. cxxii INTRODUCTION the phrase — genio Socratem — appUed to him in the epitaph on his monument attests his fondness for Platonic theories; he was conversant with these theories, and in the Sonnets he addressed a little audience equally conversant with them; it is, therefore, not surprising that he should have borrowed their terminology. In some sonnets he does so, but the Sonnets are not, therefore, as some have argued, an exposition of Plato's theory or of its Florentine develop- ments. Shakespeare in certain passages does but lay under contribution the philosophy of his time just as, in other passages, he lays under contribution the art and occupations of his time, and in others, more frequently, the eternal processes of Nature. His Sonnets are no more a treatise of philosophy than they are a treatise of law. So far, indeed, is he from pursuing, as Spenser did pursue, a methodical exposition of the Platonic theory that he wholly inverts the very system whose vocabulary he has rifled. The Friend's beauty is no longer Hoby's ' plate of fine gold/ which reflects Eternal Beauty more brilliantly than aught else. For a greater rhetorical effect it becomes in Shakespeare's hand itself the very archetypal pattern and substance of which all beautiful things are but shadows.^ In I. the Poet ui-ges the youth to marry, 'That thereby \ Beauty's Rose ^ might never die ' : — XIV. ' Truth and Beauty shall together thrive If from thy self to store thou would'st convert : Or else of thee this I prognosticate. Thy end is Truth's and Beauty's doom and date.' XIX. His is 'Beauty's pattern to succeeding men.' ^ 'Shadow' (Lat. umbra) was the term of art in Renaissance Platonifm for the Reflexion of the Eternal Type. Giordano Bruno discoursed in Paris 'De Umbris Idearum. " See Note on Typography of the Quarto (1609). INTRODUCTION cxxiii un. * What is your 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 every shadow lend.' The beauty of Adonis is such a shadow, so is the beauty of Helen: the 'spring of the year . . . doth shadow of your beauty show . . . and you in every blessed shape we know. In all external grace you have some part.' And in xcviii. ' The lily's white, the deep vermilion in the rose ' are : — ' But figures of delight, drawn after you, you pattern of all those,' ' As with your shadow I with these did play.' The Truth of Beauty. The theme of the Idea of Beauty, of his friend's beauty as the incarnation of an eternal type, is often blended with another metaphysical theme — The Truth of Beauty, e.g. in xiv. (supra). Liv. : — Truth is an ornament which makes ' Beauty ' seem more beauteous. Here the Poet seems to equivocate on the double sense, moral and intellectual, of our word Truth, comparable to the double sense of our word Right, if, indeed, this be altogether a confusion of thought arising from poverty of language, and not a mystical perception by poets of some higher harmony between the Beautiful, the Good, and the True. Goethe wrote : — Das Schone enthalt das Gute ; and Keats : — 'Beauty is Truth, Truth Beauty, that is all Ye know on earth and all ye need to know.' Many hold this for madness, but if that it be, it has been a part of the ' divine madness ' of poets since they first sang — ' the most excellent of all forms of enthusiasm (or possession) ' ; i and Shakespeare, when he handles the Truth of Beauty, does so almost always with but a secondary allusion, or with no allusion ^ Flaio's PAadrus. P/ato andl'laiomsm, Fater, 156. cxxiv INTRODUCTION at all, to his Friend's constancy. He argues that the Idea op Beauty, embodied in his Friend's beauty, of which all other beautiful things are but shadows, is also Truth : an exact coin- cidence with an ' eternal form ' to which transitory presentments do but approximate. Plato wrote : — ' Beauty alone has ' any such manifest image of itself: 'so that it is the clearest, the most certain of all things, and the most lovable,' ^ and Shake- speare (Lucrece, 11. 29-30) : — ' Beauty itself doth of itself persuade The eyes of men without an orator.' Thus, in Lxii., the Poet looks in the glass and thinks : — ' No face so gracious is as mine. No shape so true, no truth of such account.' And why is his shape so true and the truth of it so important ? Because, reverting to the theme of Identity, his shape is that of the Friend's beauty : — ' 'Tis thee (myself) that for myself I praise. Painting my age with beauty of thy days. . . .' Again in ci. ; — ' O Truant Muse, what shall be thy amends For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed .'' Both truth and beauty on my love depends.' And the Poet makes his Muse reply : — ■ ' Truth needs no colour with his colour fixt. Beauty no pencil beauty's truth to lay : But best is best, if never intermixt.' False Art Obscures the Truth of Beauty. In this last passage the Poet resumes an argument, put forwai-d in earlier numbers, that the beauty of his Friend, being true, can only suffer from ' false painting ' and ' ornament.' While so defending Beauty, which is Truth, from the disfigurement ^ V\a.to' s Phadrus. Plato and Platonism, Pater, 158. INTRODUCTION cxxv of false ornamentj Shakespeare compares the false art of the Rival Poets, who also sing his Love, with the common practices of painting the cheeks ^ and wearing false hair " : — XXI. ' So is it not with me as with that Muse, Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse. Who heaven itself for ornament doth use. And every fair with his fair doth rehearse. . . . O let me true in love but truly write. And then believe me my love is as fair As any mother's chUd.' In Lxvii. all these themes are brought together : — ' Why should /ii&e painting immitate his cheek And steal dead seeing of his living hue ? Why should poor Beauty indirectly seek Roses of shaddow, since his Rose is true ? ' In Lxviii. ' His cheek is the map of days out-worn, before the golden tresses of the dead . . . were shorn away ... to live a second life bn second head ' : — ' And him as for a map doth nature store To shew false art what Beauty was of yore.' Here ' false art ' cannot refer, at any rate exclusively, to the actual use of fucuses and borrowed locks, for when the theme ' Cf. Richard Baxnfield, Tie Complaint of Chastitie, 1594. An obvious echo of the tirades in Shakespeare's Liurece. He writes of many : — ' Whose lovely cheeks (with rare vermillion tainted) Can never blush because their faire is painted. ' ' O faire — foule tincture, staine of Women-kinde, Mother of Mischiefe, Daughter of Deceate, False traitor to the Soule, blot to the Minde, Usurping Tyrant of true Beautie's seate ; Right Coisner of the eye, lewd FoUie's baite, The flag of filthiness, the sinke of Shame, The Divell's dey, dishonour of thy name.' * Cf. Bassanio's speech, Merchant of Venice, iii. 2 : — ' The world is still deceived by ornament.' cxxvi INTRODUCTION is resumed (lxxxii.)j the illustration of 'gross painting' is directly applied to the ' false art ' of the Rival Poets : — 'When they have devized What strained touches Rhetoric can lend. Thou, truly fair, wert truly sympathised In true plain words, by thy true telling friend. And their gross painting might be better used Where cheeks need blood, in thee it is abused.' Lxxxm. continues : — ' I never saw that you did painting need. And therefore to your fair no painting set. . . . Their lives more life in one of your fair eyes Than both your Poets can in praise devize.' And in lxxxiv. : — ' Who is it that says most, which can say more Than this rich praise, that you alone are you.' This ' false painting ' is the ' false art ' of the Riv'al Poets in Lxxxv., their • praise richly compiled/ their ' golden quill ' and ' precious phrase by all the Muses filed.' Imaginary Standpoints in Time, The Poet views this Ideal Beauty of his friend from Imaginary Standpoints in Time. He looks back on it from an imaginary future (civ.), and tells the ' Age unbred. Ere you were born was Beauty's summer dead.' He looks forward to it from the past, and, the descriptions of the fairest wights in the Chronicle of wasted Time (cvi.) shew him that ' Their antique pen would have exprest Even such Beauty as you master now.' So all their 'praises are but prophesies.' Sometimes, with deeper mj-sticism, he all but accepts the Illusion of Repealed Experience for a truth of Philosophy. ' If there be nothing new, INTRODUCTION cxxvii but that which isj hath been before ' (lix.), then might ' Record with a backward look Even of five hundred courses of the sun Show me your image in some antique book.' For his Friend's beauty is more than a perfect type prophesied in the past : it is a re-embodiment of perfection as perfection was in the prime : — • liXvii. ' O, him she (Nature) stores, to show what wealth she had In days long since before these last so bad . . .' Lxvui. ' And him as for a map doth Nature store To shew false art what Beauty was of yore.' The Unreality of Time. Since this Ideal Beauty is true, is very Truth, it is indepen3ent of Time, and eternal; it, with the love it engenders, is also independent of accident, and is unconditioned : — ovn. ' Eternal love in love's fresh case Weighs not the dust and injury of age. Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place. But makes antiquity for aye his page . . .' cxvn. ' Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come.' Thus does the whole Series culminate in an Attack on the Reality of Time. — cxxiii., cxxiv., cxxv. are obscure to us ; yet they are writ-ten in so obvious a sequence, and with so unbroken a rhythmical swing, as to preclude the idea of ex- tensive corruption in the text. They must once have been intelligible. Some attempts at elucidation have been made by fixing on single words, such as 'state' (cxxiv. 1) and •canopy' (cxxv. 1), and then endeavouring to discover an allusion to historical events or to the supposed nobility of the person to whom the verses were addressed. But these attempts dissemble the main drift of the verses' meaning, which cxxviii INTRODUCTION is clearly directed, at least in cxxiii. and cxxiv., against the reality and importance of Time. In c, which opens this Group (c.-cxxv.), the Poet has bidden his Muse to 'make Time's spoils despised everywhere.' In cxvi. he has declared that Love is an eternal power, of a worth unknown, but im- measurably superior to the accidents of Time. In lix. he has urged that even our thoughts may be vain repetitions of a prior experience : — * If there be nothing new, but that which is Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled Which labouring for invention bear amiss, The second burthen of a former child .-' ' And here, in a magnificent hyperbole, he asserts that 'pyramids' (1, S) built up by Time with a might which is 'newer' by comparison to his own changelessness, are, for all their antiquity, but ' new dressings ' of sights familiar to ante-natal existence : — ' Our dates are brief and therefore we admire What thou dost foist upon us that is old.' So far there is fairly plain sailing, but the ensuing Lines 7, 8, constitute a real crux : — ' And rather make them born(e) to our desire Than think that we before have heard them told ' : Assuming these lines to refer to ' what ' Time ' foists upon us,' the second implies that we ought to recognise the old things foisted upon us by Time for objects previously known, but that we 'prefer to regard them as really new' — as just 'born' — (Tyler), and ' specially created for our satisfaction ' (Dowden). The explanation is not satisfactory, though probably the best to be got from the assumed reference. But (1) this reference of ' them ' to ' what,' followed by a singular ' that is,' can hardly be sustained grammatically, and (2) it scarce makes sense. Shakespeare cannot have intended that we admire things for their age while ' we regard them as really new.' I suggest that INTRODUCTION cxxix the plural 'them' refers grammatically to the plural 'dates/ and that the word usually printed ' born ' ^ in line 7, had best be printed 'borne' as it is in the Quarto ^ (^=' bourn'). We make our brief dates into a bourn or limit to our desire (cf. ' confined doom," cvii. 4) instead of recollecting that 'we have heard them told ' (^reckoned) 'before.' There is but a colon in the Quarto after Line 8. And the third Quatrain continues to discuss dates {=:registers. Line 9, and records, Line 11). In Line 11 Shake- speare denies the absolute truth both of Time's records and the witness of our senses : — ' For thy records and what we see doth lie.' The sonnet, in fact, does but develop the attack of the one before it (cxxii.), in which he declares that the memory of his Friend's gift 'shall remain beyond all date even to Eternity; that such a ' record ' is better than the ' poor retention ' of tablets ; and that he needs no ' " tallies " to " score " his dear love.' In cxxrv. Line 1 : — ' If my dear love were but the child of State ' : — ' State ' may contain a secondaiy allusion (as so often with Shakespeare) to the dignity of the person addressed ; but its primary meaning, continuing the sense of the preceding sonnet, and indeed of all the numbers from c, is ' condition ' or ' circumstance.' (Cf. ' Interchange of state and state itself confounded to decay,' lxiv. ; and ' Love's great case ' in cviii.). If his Love were the child of circumstance it might be dis- inherited by any chance result of Fortune; but on the contrary, 'it was builded far from accident' And 'accident,' as were 'case' and 'State,' is also a term of metaphysic : his Love belongs to the absolute and unconditioned, to Eternity and not to Time. In developing the idea of mutations in ^ Printed so first by Gildon, and accepted by subsequent editors. ^ Borne (French), and in Hamlet, Folio 1623 and Quarto. cxxx INTRODUCTION fortune, Shakespeare glances aside at some contemporary reverse in politics or art which we cannot decipher. It may have been the closing of the Theatres, the censorship of Plays, the imprisonment of Southampton or of Herbert. No one can tell, nor does it matter, for the main meaning is clear : namely, that this absolute Love is outside the world of politics, which are limited by Time, and count on leases of short numbered hours ; but in itself is ' hugely politic,' is an independent and self-sufficing State. In the couplet : — ' To this I witness, call the fools of time Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime ' : — some find an allusion to the merited execution of Essex, popularly called 'the good Earl.' But the probability is that Shakespeare sympathised with Essex and those of the old nobility who were jealous of the Crown. And, again, it is simpler to take the lines as a fitting close to the metaphysical disquisition, and to see in them a rebuke of those who are so much the slaves of Time and its dates as to imagine that a moment of repentance cancels the essentia] iniquity of their lives. cxxv. is even more obscure. Yet the sense, to my mind, again seems clearer if we dismiss the theory that Shakespeare is here dwelling exclusively on the dignity of the person he addresses. Most of the sonnets, in the First Series, handle the themes of an Ideal Beauty incarnate in a mortal body, yet saved from decay by the immortality which verse confers ; of the need that such verse should truly express the Truth and Beauty of its object ; and of Love and Constancy which tran- scend the limitations of Time. Since cxxv. comes at the end of the peroration to the last twenty-six Sonnets, which are all retrospective, and immediately before the Envoy, it seems to me only reasonable to read it in the light of its immediate INTRODUCTION cxxxi predecessors and of the principal themes recurring throughout the whole Series. The search for direct allusions to life in the Sonnets distracts us from the truths that the selection of their themes was based quite as much upon current philosophy and artistic tradition as upon any actual experience. Something of all is involvedj and we should lose sight of none. The poetry of Europe was steeped in Platonism, and, since the Trionf of Petrarch, the ' Triumph of Time ' and his ultimate defeat had been a common theme in many forms of art, especially in the Tapestries of Arras intro- duced into great English houses during the Sixteenth Century : — ' The wals were round about apparelled With costly cloths of Arras and of Toure.' Faerie Queen, in. i. 34. Shakespeare wrote out of his own experience, but also under these influences of contemporary Art and Philosophy. And here, pursuing the earlier themes, he asks if it were ought to him, holding his views, to worship the outward show of Beauty with external homage, or, as I interpret Lines 3, 4, to win eternity by the mere form of his verse. This interpretation of 3-4 is borne out by the second quatrain. We have in it, as I submit, a recurrence to his attacks on the styles of poetry which he deprecated in the ' false painting ' of lxvii. ; the ' false art ' of lxviii. ; the • compounds strange ' of lxxvi. ; the ' strained touches of rhetoric ' and • gross painting ' of Lxxxii. ; the ' comments of praise richly compiled ' of lxxxv. These are the ' compounds sweet ' of Line 7, for which dwellers on form and favour pay too much rent. 'That you are you' (lxxxiv.) is all that needs to be said, for (lxxxiii.) : — 'There lives more life in one of your fair eyes Than both your poets can in praise devise.' Therefore he tenders his ' oblation poor hut free, Which is not mixed with seconds' cxxxii INTRODUCTION That last word — ' seconds ' — has been a stumbling-block for more than a century, thanks to Steevens. His note runs thus: — 'I am just informed by an old lady that seconds is a provincial term for the second kind of jlour, which is col- lected after the smaller bran is sifted. That our author's oblation was pure, unmixed with baser mailer, is all that he meant to say.* But may not seconds mean 'assistants' and refer to the collaboration of the Two Poets in lxxxiii. .' It can hardly mean ' baser matter ' ; since the contrast is between an offering humble, poor, and without art, and some other offering pre- sumably rich and artificial, such as the verse of the Rival Poets criticised in the group concerned with their efforts. As for Line 1 3, ' Hence thou suborned Informer,' I have argued else- where 1 that the words in italics with capitals are not accidents of printing. This word of violent apostrophe refers to some person whose identity was obvious to the object of Shake- speare's verse, and if, as I have tried to show, these Sonnets belong to one sequence, it may be compared to the 'frailer spies ' of cxxi. Imagery. — These poetic themes are figured and displayed throughout the Sonnets by means of an Imagery which, as in Venus and Lucrece, is often so vividly seized and so minutely presented as to engross attention to the prejudice of the theme. Indeed, at some times the poet himself seems rather the quarry than the pursuer of his own images — as it were a magician hounded by spirits of his summoning. Conceits were a fashion, and Shakespeare sometimes followed the fashion ; but this characteristic of his lyrical verse is rather a passive consequence of such obsession than the result of any deliberate pursuit of an ' Note on typography of the Quarto (1609). INTRODUCTION cxxxiii image until it become a conceit. Put ' his ' for ' her,' and, in Lucrece he, himself, describes the process : — ' Much like a press of people at a door. Throng his inventions which shall go hefore.' The retina of his mind's eye, like a child's, or that of a man feverish from the excitement of some high day, is as it were a shadow-sheet, on which images received long since revive and grow to the very act and radiancy of life. A true poet, it is tritely said, ever remains a child, but especially in this, that his vision is never dulled. The glass of the windows through which he looks out on the world is never ground of set purpose that his mind may the better attend to business within. And to a poet, as to a child, the primal processes of the earth never lose tlieir wonder. So the most of Shakespeare's images are taken from Nature, and then are painted — but the word is too gross to convey the clarity of his art — in so transparent an atmosphere as to seem still a part of Nature, showing her uses of perpetual change. In the Sonnets we watch the ceaseless Passing of the Year : — CIV. 'Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers' pride ; Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd ; In process of the seasons have I seen. Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd. . . .' V. ' Sap check'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone. ..." XII. ' . . . lofty trees . . . barren of leaves Which erst from heat did canopy the herd. . . . ' xiu. ' . . . the stormy gusts of winter's day And barren rage of death's eternal cold. . . .' I2XIII. ' That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold. Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang' : — cxxxiv INTRODUCTION or, in a narrower cycle we follow the Decline of Dai/ : — XXXIII. ' Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye. Kissing with golden face the meadows green. Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy ; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face. And fi"om the forlorn world his visag'e hide. Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace. . . Mcxiii. ' In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west ; Which by and by black night doth take away Death's second self, that seals up all the rest.' Taine insists, perhaps too exclusively, on the vivid imagery of Shakespeare's verse ; Minto and Mrs. Meynell, perhaps too exclusively, on the magic of sound and association which springs from his unexpected collocation of words till then unmated. The truth seems to lie in a fusion of the two theories. When Shakespeare takes his images from Nature, the first excellence is predominant ; the second, when he takes them from the occupations of men. Often, in the Sonnets, he illustrates his theme with images from Inheritarwe,^ or Usury ^ or the L.am ; ^ and then his effects ' I. 'tender heir.' II. 'by succession.' iv. 'legacy'; 'bequest.' ' IV. 'usurer.' VI. 'usury'; 'loan.' XXXI. 'tears' are 'interest of the dead.' ' XIII. lease ; determination, xviii. lease ; date. XXX. sessions ; sum- mon. XLVi. defendant's plea ; title ; impannelled ; quest ; tenants ; verdict. XLIX. 'And this my hand against myself uprear,' viz., in taking an oath. Lxxiv. arrest ; trial. Lxxxvii. charter ; bonds ; determinate ; patent ; mis- prision ; judgment. CXX. fee ; ransoms. CXXVl. audit ; quietus, ' a technical term for the acquittance which every Sheriff (or accountant) receives on sell- ing his account, at the Exchequer.' The frequency of these terms in the Sonnets and Plays led Malone to conclude that Shakespeare must at one time have been an attorney. If so, we may the better believe that Ben Jonson intended Ovid for Shakespeare in The Poetaster, i. I : — ' Poetry ! Ovid, whom I thought to see the pleader, became Ovid the play-maker ! ' Ibid, ' Misprize I ay, marry, I would have him use such words now. , , . He should make him- self a style out of these.' AdA passim. INTRODUCTION cxxxv are rather produced by the successful impressment of technical terms to the service of poetry than by the recollections they revive of legal processes : — ' When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up i-emembrance of things past.' Among such occupations he draws also upon Jowneys (l.) ; Navigation (lxxx., lxxxvi., cxyi.) : — ' Oj no ! it is an ever-fixed mark (sea-mark) That looks on tempests and is never shaken ; It is the star to every wandering bark ' : — Husbandry (in.) ; Medicine (cxviii.) ; Sieges (ii.) : — ' When forty winters shall besiege thy brow And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's _^eAi' : — and a Courtier's Career (vii., cxiv.) : — xxxm. ' Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain-tops with so^^ereign eye. . . .' XXV. 'Great princes' /avowrites their fair leaves spread But as the marygold at the sun's eye ' : — and this last was of a more striking application than now in the days of Elizabeth or James. He draws also on the arts of Painting (frequently), of Music (viii., cxxviii.), of the Stage (xxiii.) ; on the Dark Sciences : — XV. 'Whereon the stars in secret influence comment.' cvn. 'The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured. And the sad augurs mock their own presage ' — xrv. 'Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck. And yet, methinks, I have Astronomy ' (Astrology) : — so prognosticating from his friend's ' eyes ' ; on Alchemy (xxxiii.), and Distillation (vi., liv.) : — V. 'Then were not summer's distillation left A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass. . . .'' 4 cxxxvi INTRODUCTION cxix. ' What potions have I drunk of Syren tears DisHll'd from lymbecks (alembics) foul as hell within.' — When, as in these examples, he takes his illustrations from professions and occupations, or from arts and sciences, his magic, no doubt, is mainly verbal ; but it springs from immediate perception (as in the case of annual and diurnal changes), when his images are taken from subtler effects of sensuous appreciation, be it of Shadows ; of the Transparency of Windows (hi., XXIV.); of Reflections in Mirrors (iii., xxii., lxii., lxxvii., cm.), or of Hallucinations in the Dark : — xxvii. ' Save that my soul's imaginary sight Presents their shaddow to my sightless view. Which, like a Jewell hung in ghastly night. Makes black night beauteous. . . .' XLiii. ' When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay ! ' Lxi. ' Is it thy will thy image should keep open My heavy eyelids to the weary night? ' And this source of his magic is evident also, when, as frequently, he makes use of Jewels (xxvii., xxxiv., xlviii., lii., lxv., xcvi.); — Apparel (ii., xxvi., Lxxvi.) ; — the Rose (i., xxxv., liv., lxvii., xcv., xcix., cix.); — the Grave (i., iv., vi., xvii., xxxi., xxxii., lxxi., Lxxii., lxxvii., lxxxi.) ; — Sepulchral Monuments (lv., lxxxi., cvii.) ; — the Alternation of Sunshine with Showers (xxxiii., xxxiv.) ; — the Singing of Birds (xxix.), and their Silence (xcvii., oil). Realism is the note of these imaginative perceptions, as it is when he writes : — XXXIV. ' 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face. . . .' xzin. ' As an imperfect actor on the Stage, Who with his fear is put beside his part. . . .* Ik ' The beast that bears me, tired with my woe Plods dully on. . . .' INTRODUCTION cxxxvii Lx. ' Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore. . . .' Lxxui. ' When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang Upon those boughs ' : — when he instances the ' Dyer's Hand ' (cxi.) and the ' crow that files in heaven's sweetest air' (lxx.) — a clue to carrion — or when he captures a vivid scene of nursery comedy : — cxLin. * Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch One of her feather'd creatures broke away, Sets down her babe, and makes all swift despatch In pursuit of the thing she would have stay ; Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent To follow that which ilies before her face. Not prizing her fair infant's discontent.' In all such passages the magic springs from imaginative observation rather than from unexpected verbal coUocutions. And, while this observation is no less keen, the rendering of it no less faithful, than in the earlier Lyrical Poems, Conceits, though still to be found, are fewer : — e.g., of the Eye and Heart (xxiv., XLVi. XLVii) ; Of the Fotir Elements — earth, air, fire, water (xLiv., XLV.) ; and of the taster to a King (cxiv.). Eloquent Discourse. — On the other hand the Eloquent Dis- course of the earlier Poems becomes the staple of the Sonnets and their highest excellence. It is for this that we chiefly read them : — XXXVI. 'Let me confess that we two must be twain Although our undivided loves are one. . . .' xiu ' Take aU my loves, my love, yea, take them all ; What hast thou then more than thou hadst before ? . . .' cxxxix. 'O call me not to justify the wrong That thy unkindness lays upon my heart . , / cxxxviii INTRODUCTION cxL, 'Be wise as thou art cruel ; do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain ; Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express The manner of my pity-wanting pain. If I might teach thee wit, better it were. Though not to love, yet, love to tell me so. . . . For if I should despair, 1 should grow mad. And in my madness might speak ill of thee.' The last, addressed to the Dark Lady, are, it may be, as elo- quent as any addressed to the Youth, but they lack something of those others' silvery sadness : — Lxxi. 'No longer mourn for me when I am deadj Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell. Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell : Nay, if you jead this line, remember not The hand that wrote it ; for I love you so. That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking of me then should make you woe. O, if, I say, you look upon this verse When I perhaps compounded am with clay, Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, But let your love even with my life decay ; Lest the wise world should look into your moan,- And mock you with me after I am gone. I.XZII. ' O, lest the world should task you to recite What merit lived in me that you should love. After my death, dear love, forget me quite. For you in me can nothing worthy prove ; Unless you would devise some virtuous lie. To do more for me than mine own desert. And hang more praise upon deceased I Than niggard truth would willingly impart : O, lest your true love m.ay seem false in this. That you for love speak well of me untrue. My name be buried where my body is. And live no more to shame nor me nor you. For I am sham'd by that which I bring forth, And so should you, to love things nothing worth.' INTRODUCTION cxxxix ' Then hate me when ihou wilt ; if ever, now ; Now while the world is hent my deeds to cross. Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow. And do not drop in for an after-loss : Ah ! do not when my heart hath scap'd this sorrow. Come in the rearward of a conquei-'d woe ; Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, To linger out a purpos'd overthrow. If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last. When other petty griefs have done their spite ; But in the onset come ; so shall I taste At first the very worst of fortune's might ; And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, Compar'd with loss of thee will not seem so.' XIX Verbal Melody. — The theme of xc. is a sorrow which has, I suppose, been suffered, at one time or another, by most men : it is hackneyed as dying. Yet the eloquence is peer- less. I doubt if in all recorded speech such faultless perfec- tion may be found, so sustained through fourteen consecutive lines. That perfection does not arise from any thought in the piece itself, for none is abstruse ; nor from its sentiment, which is common to all who love, and suffer or fear a diminu- tion in their love's return ; nor even from its imagery, though the line, 'Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,' holds its own against Keats's ' There is a budding morrow in midnight,' which Rossetti once chose for the best in English poetry. It arises from perfect verbal execution : from diction, rhythm, and the just incidence of accentual stresses enforced by assonance and alliteration. The charm of Shakespeare's verbal surprises — e.g., ' a lass unparalleled,' ' multitudinous seas,' instanced by Mrs. Meynell — once noted, is readily recognised, but much of his Verbal Melody defies analysis. Yet some of it, reminding *2 cxl INTRODUCTION you of Chaucer's ' divine liquidness of diction, his divine fluidity of movement ' : — ^ ' Feel I no wind that souneth so lilce peyne It seith "Alas ! why tw;^nned be we twe^e*" : — or of Surrey : — 'The golden gift that nature did thee^'eve To/asten/rendes, and./ede them at thy will Withybrm and favour, taught me to beVve How thou art made to shew her gr^iest skill : — may be explained by that absolute mastery he had over the rhythmical use of our English accent. Mr, Coventry Patmore has justly observed ^ that 'the early poetical critics' — notably Sidney and Daniel — ' commonly manifest a much clearer dis- cernment of the main importance of rhyme and accentual stress, in English verse, than is to be found among later writers.' And this because, as he goes on to say, ' the true spirit of English verse appears in its highest excellence in the writings of the poets of Elizabeth and James.' If we neglect Qtiantity, that is to say the duration of syllables, whose sum makes up an equal duration for each line — and we must neglect it, for, except in the classical age of Greece, and of Rome in imitation of Greece, no language observes so constant a quantity for its syllables as to afford a governing element in verse — we find in English verse Rhyme and Accentual Stress or Ictus. Now, Rhyme, but falteringly nascent in Folk-song before his day, was fully acclimatised by Chaucer from French, which has no emphatic accents, at a time when French was the natural tongue of the cultured in England. In a language without emphatic accents, or exact quantity. Rhyme was, and Rhyme is, a necessity to mark off and enforce the only con- stant element, viz.. Metre or the number of syllables in each line. But in the homely and corrupt English of Chaucer's 1 Matthew Arnold. " Essay on English Metrical Law. INTRODUCTION cxli day, and side by side with the Court poetry, another poetry persisted, which was based exclusively upon the accentual stresses natural to northern languages. And it persisted down even to Shakespeare's day. We find so curious and artful a metrist as Dunbar pursuing both traditions: — Chaucer's rhymed ' staff of seven ' and the unrhymed, alliterative verse of Piers Plowman. Dunbar died, c. 1513 (as some think, at Flodden). But after his voice was silenced we have a contemporary poem on the battle — Scottish Fielcf^: — There was girding forth of guns, with many great stones ; Archers uttered out their arrows and eagerly they shotten ; They proched us with spears and put many over ; That the hlood outhrast at their broken harness. There was swinging out of swords, and swapping of heads. We blanked them with bills through all their bright armour. That all the dale dinned of the derf strokes : — and editions of Piers Plowman were published in 1551 and 156l, showing a continuous appreciation of our indigenous but archaic mode. In that mode the major accents fall on syllables either consonantal or of cognate sound. This was no device of mere artifice : the impassioned speech of any Englishman becomes charged with stresses so heavy as to demand syllables of kindred sound on to which they may fall, and the demand is met unconsciously, since otherwise the weight of the accent would interrupt and shatter the flow of discourse. The heavy beat at the end of a French line and the heavy accents in an Ejiglish line must be met and supported in the first case by Rhyme, in the second, by syllables similarly produced. Shake- speare, in the Sonnets, whilst revelling in the joy of Rhyme, handed down from the French origin of English verse and con- firmed by the imitation of Italian models, also turned the other ^ Cited by Ker with the reference : — Ed. Robson, Chetham Society, 1855, from the Lyme MS. ; ed. Furnivall and Hales, Percy Folio Manuscript, 1867.' cxlii INTRODUCTION and indigenous feature of English verse to the best conceivable advantage. No other English poet lets the accent fall so justly in accord with the melody of his rhythm and the em- phasis of his speech, or meets it with a greater variety of subtly affiliated sounds. This may be illustrated from any one of the more melodious and, therefore, the more characteristic; Sonnets. Take the First :— 1. From fairest CVeatures we desire increase 2. That thereby beauty's Rose might never Die 3. But as the Riper should by Time rfecease 4. His lender heir might bear his memory. 6. But thou confrocted to thine own bright eyes 6. iileed'st thy light's/lame with sej^-substantial/uel 7. Making a/amine where aiundance lies, 8. Thyseli thy ./be to thy sweet self too cruel 9. ThoM that art now the world's fresh ornament 10. And only herald to the giaudy spring 11. Within thine own buA Jariest thy content 12. And ierader churl mak'st 'waste in mggarding 13. Pity the world, or else this ^/utton be 14. To eat the world's due by the grave and thee : — and you observe (1) the use of kindred sounds, of alliteration or of assonance or of both, to mark the principal stresses in any one line : — E.g., Line 1, Creatures and increase, where both are used ; Line 3, iJiper and Time ; Line 4, heir and bear ; Line 5, contracted and bright ; Line 9> TAom and now : — and (2), and this is most characteristic, the juxtaposition of assonantal sounds where two syllables consecutive, but in separate words, are ac- cented with a marked pause between them: — E.g., Line 5, brin-ht c^es; Line 8, too crael ; Line 11, bad bwriest; Line 12, mai'st wa«te. Mr. Patmore points out^ that 'ordinary English phrases exhibit a great preponderance of emphatic and unemphatic syl- ' Essay on English Metrical Law. INTRODUCTION cxliii lables in consecutive couples/ and our eighteenth century poets, absorbed in Metre and negligent of varied Rhythm, traded on this feature of our tongue to produce a number of dull iambic lines by the use of their banal trochaic epithets, 'balmy,' • mazy,' and the rest. Shakespeare constantly varies his Rhythm in the Sonnets, and frequently by this bringing of two accented syllables together, with a pause between. But, when he does so, he ensures a correct delivery by affiliating the two syllables in sound, and prefixing to the first a delaying word which pre- cludes any scamping of the next ensuing accent : — E.g. ' own ' before 'bright eyes'; 'self before 'too cruel'; 'churl' before ' mak'st waste.' Cf. ' Earth ' before ' sings hymns ' in xxix. 12; and xv. 8, 'and wear their brave state out of memory.' It is by this combination of Accent with Rhyme that Shake- speare links the lines of each quatrain in his Sonnets into one perfect measure. If you except two — ' Let me not to the marriage of true minds,' and ' The expense of spirit in a waste of shame' — you find that he does not, as Milton did afterwards, buUd up his sonnet, line upon line, into one monumental whole : he writes three lyrical quatrains, with a pronounced pause after the second and a couplet after the third. Taking the First Sonnet once more, you observe (,8) The binding together of the lines in each quatrain by passing on a kindred sound from the last, or most important, accent in one line to the first, or most important, in the next: — E.g. from 2 to 3, from Die to Riper by assonance ; from 3 to 4, from Time to Tender by alliteration; from 6 to 7, from Fuel to Famine ; from 7 to 8, from i^amine . . . lies to Th_?/self . . . Foe; from 9 to 10, from Ornament to Herald; from 11 to 12, from content to tender; from 13 to 14, from be to eat. Cf. ix. lines 6, 7 : — ' Crawls to maturity wherewith being crown'd CVooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight.' cxliv INTRODUCTION and cviii. 9, 10: — ' So that eternal love in love's fresh case Weighs not the dust.' In a Petrarchan sonnet any such assonance, if it embraced the rhyme, would prove a blemish, but in the Shakespearian quatorzain it is a pleasant and legitimate accessory to the general binding together of the quatrain. Most subtle of all is the pent-up emphasis brought to bear on Rose in i. 2 — a word not easily stressed — by the frequency of R's in the first line and their absence till Rose is reached in the second. (4) For a further binding together of the quatrain the Rhyme, or last syllable, though not accented, is often tied by assonance to the first syllable, though not accented, of the next line : — E.g. I. lines 3, 4, decease — Hi*; lines 7, 8, lies — tki/se\{; lines 10, 11, Sprjrag — tvilhin, lines 12, 13, niggardiwg — Pity. Shake- speare's effects of alliteration, apart from this use of them for the binding together of the quatrain, are at some times of astonishing strength : — Lxv. 7, 8. ' When rocks impregnahle are not so stont Nor gates of steel so strong hut Time decays ' : — and at others of a strange sweetness : — IX. 5. 'The world will be thy widow and still weep.' Again, at others he uses the device antithetically in dis- course : — XXXIX. 10. ' Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave' : — and his rhythm is at all times infinitely varied : — XIX. 14. ' My love shall in my verse e«er live long. . . .' xxxin. 7. ' And from the ybr/orra loorW his visage hide. ..." Lxxxvi. 4. ' Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew. . . ,' XI. 10. 'Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish.' INTRODUCTION cxlv Apart from all else, it is the sheer beauty of diction in Shakespeare's Sonnets which has endeared them to poets. The passages, which I have quoted to other ends, must abund- antly have proved this. Yet let me add these : — V. 6, 6. ' For never-resting time leads summer on To hideous winter, and confounds him there.' XVII. 7-12. 'The age to come would say. This Poet lies. Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces. So should my papers, yellowed with their age. Be scorn' d, like old men of less truth than tongue, And your true rights be termed a poet's rage. And stretched metre of an antique song.' xvin. 1-4. ' Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ? Thou art more lovely and more temperate : Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May And summer's lease hath all too short a date.' xLvin, 10, 11. ' Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art Within the gentle closure of my breast.' Liv. 5, 6. 'The canker-blooms have all as deep a die As the perfumed tincture of the roses.' MC. 9, 10. ' Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth. And delves the pai-allels in beauty's brow.' Lxiv. 5, 6. ' When I have seen the hungiy ocean gain Advantage on the kingdom of the shore.' Lxv. 1-4. ' Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea. But sad mortality o'ersways their power. How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea. Whose action is no stronger than a flower .'' ' i/xxxix. 8. ' I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange.' zoiv. 9, 10. 'The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, ; Though to itself it only live and die.' cxlvi INTRODUCTION xcvii. 1-4. ' How like a winter hath my absence been. From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen ! What old December's bareness everywhere.' XCVII. 12-14. ' And thou away, the very birds are mute : Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer. That leaves look pale, dreading the winter 's near. xcviii. 9, 10. ' Nor did I wonder at the lily's white. Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose.' ov. 1. ' Let not my love be call'd idolatry.' cxxxii. 5, 6. 'And truly not the morning sun in heaven Better becomes the gray cheeks of the East' cxLH. 5, 6. ' Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine That have profaned their scarlet ornaments.' CXLVI. 13, 14. ' So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men. And death once dead, there 's no more dying then.' It matters nothing to Art that Titian may have painted his Venus from the Medici's wife : Antinous gave the world a Type of Beauty to be gazed at without a thought of Hadrian. But the case is not altered when the man who rejoices or suffers is also' the man who labours and achieves. It matters nothing to Art that Luca Signorelli painted the corpse of his beloved son, and it is an open question if Dante loved indeed a living Beatrice. Works of perfect Art are the tombs in which artists lay to rest the passions they would fain make immortal. The more perfect their execution, the longer does the sepulchre endure, the sooner does the passion perish. Only where the hand has faltered do ghosts of love and anguish still complain. In the most of his Sonnets Shake- speare's hand does not falter. The wonder of them lies in INTRODUCTION cxlvii the art of his poetry, not in the accidents of his life ; and, within that art, not so much in his choice of poetic themes as in the wealth of his Imagery, which grows and shines and changes : above all, in the perfect execution of his Verbal Melody. That is the body of which his Imagery is the soul, and the two make one creation so beautiful that we are not concerned with anything but its beauty. G. W. P.S. — Let me here acknowledge my great debt to Mr. W. E. Henley for his constant help in the preparation of this Edition. But for his persuasion I should never have attempted a task which, but for his encouragement, I could never have accomplished. VENUS AND ADONIS ' Vilia miretur vulgus ; mihi flavus Apollo Focula Castalia plena ministiet aqua.' TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE HENRE WRIOTHESLEY, EABIiE OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OP TITCHFIELD. Right Honoubable, — I know not how I shall offend in dedi- cating my unpolisht lines to your Lordship, nor how the worlde will censure rase for choosing so strong a proppe to support so weak a hurthen : onelye, if your Honour seeme but pleased, I account my selfe highly praised, and vowe to take aduantage of all idle houres, till I have honoured you with some grauer labour. But if the first heire of my inuention proue deformed, I shall be sorie it had so noble a god-father, and neuer after eare so barren a land, for feare it yeeld me still so bad a haruest. I leaue it to your Honourable suruey, and your Honor to your heart's con- tent ; which I wish may always answere your owne wish and the world's hopefuU expectation. — Your Honor's in all dutie, William Shakespeare. VENUS AND ADONIS I Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn, Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chace ; Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn ; 4 Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him. II ' Thrice-fairer than myself/ thus she began, 7 * 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 ; lo Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. Ill 'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to ahght thy steed, 13 And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow ; If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know : 16 Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses. And being set, I '11 smother thee with kisses : IV * And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety, 19 But rather famish them amid their plenty. Making them red, and pale, with fresh variety ; Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty : 22 A summer's day wHl seem an hour but short. Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.* 8 VENUS AND ADONIS V With this she seizeth on his sweating palm, as The precedent of pith and UveHhoodj And trembling in her passionj calls it balm. Earth's sovereign salve, to do a goddess good : 28 Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force Courageously to pluck him from his horse. VI Over one arm the lusty courser's rein, 31 Under her other was the tender boy. Who blush'd, and pouted in a dull disdain. With leaden appetite, unapt to toy ; 34 She red and hot as coals of glowing fire, He red for shame, but frosty in desire. VII The studded bridle on a ragged bough 37 Nimbly she fastens :— O, how quick is love ! — The steed is stalled up, and even now To tie the rider she begins to prove : 40 Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust. And govem'd him in strength, though not in lust So soon was she along as he was down, 43 Each leaning on their elbows and their hips : Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown. And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips ; 46 And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken, • If thou wilt chide, thy Ups shall never open.' IX He bums with bashful shame, she with her tears 49 Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks ; Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs To fan, and blow them dry again she seeks : 5a He saith she is immodest, blames her miss ; What follows more she murders with a kiss. VENUS AND ADONIS 5 Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast, SS Tires with her beak on feathers, ilesh, and bone. Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste, Till either gorge be stuff 'd or prey be gone ; 58 Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin. And where she ends she doth anew begin. XI Forced to content, but never to obey, 61 Panting he lies and breatheth in her face ; She feedeth on the steam as on a prey. And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace ; 64 Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers. So they were dew'd with such distilUng showers. XII Look, how a bird hes tangled in a net, 6'> So fast'ned in her arms Adonis lies ; Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret. Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes : ya Rain added to a river that is rank Perforce will force it overflow the bank. Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, 73 For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale ; Still is he sullen, stiU he lours and frets, Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale ; 76 Being red, she loves him best ; and being white. Her best is better'd with a more deUght. XIV Look how he can, she cannot choose but love ; 79 And by her fair immortal hand she swears, From his soft bosom never to remove. Till he take truce with her contending tears, 8a Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet ; And one sweet kiss shall pay this comptless debt. 6 VENUS AND ADONIS XV Upon this promise did he raise his chin, 8s Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave. Who, being look'd on, ducks as quickly in ; So offers he to give what she did crave ; 88 But when her lips were ready for his pay. He winks, and turns his lips another way. XVI Never did passenger in summer's heat 91 More thirst for drink than she for this good turn : Her help she sees, but help she cannot get ; She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn : 94 ' O, pity,' 'gan she cry, ' flint-hearted boy ! 'Tis but a kiss I beg ; why art thou coy ? XVII ' I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now, 97 Even by the ste:rn and direful god of war. Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow. Who conquers where he comes in every jar ; 100 Yet hath he been my captive and my slave. And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have. XVIII ' Over my Altars hath he hung his lance, 103 His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest. And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance, To toy, to wanton, dally, smile and jest, 106 Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red. Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. XIX ' Thus he that overruled I overswayed, 109 Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain : Strong-temper'd steel his stronger strength obeyed, Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. iia O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, For mast' ring her that foil'd the god of fight ' VENUS AND ADONIS 7 XX 'Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine, — 115 Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red — The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine : What seest thou in the ground ? hold up thy head : 118 Look in mine eye-balls, there thy beauty lies ; Then why not lips on Ups, since eyes in eyes ? XXI • Art thou ashamed to kiss ? then wink again, 121 And I will wink ; so shall the day seem night ; Love keeps his revels where there are but twain ; Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight : 124 These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean. Never can blab, nor know not what we mean. ' The tender spring upon thy tempting Up 127 Shows thee unripe ; yet mayst thou well be tasted : Make use of time, let not advantage slip ; Beauty within itself should not be wasted : 130 Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime Rot and consume themselves in little time. ' Were I hard-favour' d, foul, or wrinkled-old, 133 Ill-nurtured, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, O'erworn, despised, rheumatic and cold. Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, 136 Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee; But having no defects, why dost abhor me ? XXIV ' Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow ; 139 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 ; 143 My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt. Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. 8 VENUS AND ADONIS XXV ' Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear, 14s Or, like a Fairy, trip upon the green. Or, like a Njrmph, with long dishevell'd hair, Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen : 148 Love is a spirit all compact of fire. Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire. XXVI ' Witness this Primrose bank whereon I Ue ; 151 These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me ; Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky. From morn tiU night, even where I list to sport me : 154 Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee ? XXVII ' Is thine own heart to thine own face affected ? 157 Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left ? Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected : Steal thine own freedom, and complain on theft. 160 Narcissus so himself himself forsook. And died to kiss his shadow in the brook. XXVIII 'Torches are made to light, jewels to wear, 163 Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use. Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear ; Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse : i65 Seeds spring from seeds and beauty breedeth beauty; Thou wast begot ; to get it is thy duty. XXIX ' Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed, 169 Unless the earth with thy increase be fed ? By law of nature thou art bound to breed. That thine may live when thou thyself art dead ; 17a And so, in spite of death, thou dost survive. In that thy likeness still is left alive.' VENUS AND ADONIS 9 XXX By this the love-sick Queen began to sweat, 175 For where they lay, the shadow had forsook them, And Titan, tired in the mid-day heat. With burning eye did hotly overlook them ; 178 Wishing Adonis had his team to guide. So he were hke him and by Venus' side. XXXI And now Adonis, with a lazy spright, 181 And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye. His louring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight. Like misty vapours when they blot the sky, 184 Soming his cheeks, cries ' Fie, no more of love ! The sun doth bum my face ; I must remove.' XXXII ' Ay me,' quoth Venus, ' young, and so unkind .'' 187 What bare excuses mak'st thou to be gone ! I '11 sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind Shall cool the heat of this descending sun : 190 I '11 make a shadow for thee of my hairs ; If they bum too, I '11 quench them with my tears. XXXIII * The sun that shines from heaven, shines but warm, 193 And, lo, I lie between that sun and thee : The heat I have from thence doth little harm. Thine eye darts forth the fire that bumeth me ; 196 And were I not immortal, life were done Between this heavenly and earthly sun. XXXIV ' Art thou obdiirate, flinty, hard as steel .'' 199 Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth : Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel What 'tis to love ? how want of love tormenteth } 202 O, had thy mother borne so hard a mind. She had not brought forth thee, but died unkinn'd. 10 VENUS AND ADONIS XXXV 'What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this ? 205 Or what great danger dwells upon my suit ? What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss ? Speak, fair ; but speak fair words, or else be mute : 208 Give me one kiss, I '11 give it thee again. And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain. xxxvi ' Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone, an Well-painted idol, image dull and dead. Statue contenting but the eye alone. Thing like a man, but of no woman bred ! 214 Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion. For men will kiss even by their own direction.' This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue, 217 And swelling passion doth provoke a pause ; Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong ; Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause : 220 And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak. And now her sobs do her intendments break. XXXVIII Sometime she shakes her head, and then his hand, 223 Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground ; Sometime her arms infold him like a band : She would, he will not in her arms be bound ; 226 And when from thence he struggles to be gone. She locks her lily fingers one in one. XXXIX Fondling, she saith, ' Since I have hemm'd thee here 229 Within the circuit of this ivory pale, I '11 be a park, and thou shalt be my deer ; Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale : 23a Graze on my Ups ; and if those hills be dry. Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie. VENUS AND ADONIS 11 XL 'Within this limit is relief enough, 235 Sweet bottom-grass and high delightful plain. Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough, To shelter thee from tempest and from rain : 338 Then be my deer, since I am such a park : No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark. XLI At this Adonis smiles as in disdain, 241 That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple ; Love made those hoUows, if himself were slain. He might be buried in a tomb so simple ; 244 Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie. Why, there Love Uved and there he could not die. XLII These lovely caves, these round enchanting pits, 247 Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' hking : Being mad before, how doth she now for wits ? Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking ? 250 Poor Queen of love, in thine own law forlorn. To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn ! XLIII Now which way shall she turn ? what shall she say ? 253 Her words are done, her woes the more increasing ; The time is spent, her object will away. And from her twining arms doth urge releasing : 256 ' Pity,' she cries, ' some favour, some remorse ! ' Away he springs and hasteth to his horse. XLIV But, lo, from forth a copse that neighboiurs by, 259 A breeding jennet, lusty, young and proud, Adonis' trampling courser doth espy. And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud : 262 The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree, Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. 12 VENUS AND ADONIS XLV Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds, 265 And now his woven girths he breaks asunder ; The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds. Whose hollow womb resounds Uke heaven's thunder ; 268 The iron bit he crusheth 'tween his teeth. Controlling what he was controlled with. XLVI His ears up-prick'd ; his braided hanging mane 271 Upon his compass'd crest now stand on end ; His nostrils drink the air, and forth again, As from a furnace, vapours doth he send : 274 His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire. Shows his hot courage and his high desire. XLVII Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps, 277 With gentle majesty and modest pride ; Anon he rears upright, curvets, and leaps. As who should say ' Lo, thus my strength is tried ; 2S0 And this I do to captivate the eye Of the fair breeder that is standing by.' XLVIII What recketh he his rider's angry stir, 283 His flattering ' Holla,' or his ' Stand, I say ' ? What cares he now for curb or pricking spin- ? For rich caparisons or trappings gay ? 286 He sees his love, and nothing else he sees. For nothing else with his proud sight agrees. XLIX Look, when a Painter would surpass the life, 289 In limning out a well-proportion' d steed. His Art with Nature's workmanship at strife. As if the dead the living should exceed ; 292 So did this horse excel a common one In shape, in courage, colour, pace, and bone. VENUS AND ADONIS 13 L Round-hoof dj short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, 29s Broad breast, fuU eye, small head, and nostril wide, High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong, Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide : 298 Look, what a horse should have he did not lack. Save a proud rider on so proud a back. LI Sometime he scuds far off and there he stares ; 301 Anon he starts at stirring of a feather ; To bid the wind a base he now prepares. And whe'r he run or fly they know not whether ; . 304 For through his mane and tail the high wind sings. Fanning the hairs, who wave like feath'red wings. LII He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her ; 307 She answers him as if she knew his mind : Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her. She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind, 310 Spurns at liis love and scorns the heat he feels. Beating his kind embracements with her heels. LIII Then, like a melancholy malcontent, 313 He vails his tail that, like a falling plume, Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent : He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume. 316 His love, perceiving how he is enraged. Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged. LIV His testy master goeth about to take him ; 319 When, lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear. Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him. With her the horse, and left Adonis there : 322 As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them. Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them. 14 VENUS AND ADONIS LV All swobi with chafing, down Adonis sits, 3*5 Banning his boist'rous and unruly beast : And now the happy season once more fits. That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest ; 328 For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue. LVI An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd, 331 Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage : So of concealed sorrow may be said ; Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage ; 334 But when the heart's attorney once is mute. The cUent breaks, as desperate in his suit. LVII He sees her coming, and begins to glow : — 337 Even as a dying coal revives with wind — And with his bonnet hides his angry brow. Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind : 340 Taking no notice that she is so nigh. For all askance he holds her in his eye. LVIII O, what a sight it was, wistly to view 343 How she came steahng to the wayward boy ! To note the fighting conflict of her hue. How white and red each other did destroy ! 346 But now her cheek was pale, and by ajid by It flash' d forth fire, as lightning from the sky. LIX Now was she just before him as he sat, 349 And like a lowly lover down she kneels ; With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat. Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels : 352 His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's print, As apt as new-faU'n snow takes any dint. VENUS AND ADONIS 15 3SS LX O, what a war of looks was then between them ! Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing ; His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them ; Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing : 358 And all this dumb play had his acts made plain With tearsj which, Chorus-Uke, her eyes did rain. LXI FuU gently now she takes him by the hand, 361 A hly prison'd in a gaol of snow. Or ivory in an alabaster band ; So white a friend engirts so white a foe : 364 This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, Show'd like two silver doves that sit a-biUing. LXII Once more the engine of her thoughts began : 367 ' O fairest mover on this mortal round. Would thou wert as I am, and I a man, My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound ; 370 For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee. Though nothing but my body's bane would cure thee.' LXIII * Give me my hand,' saith he, ' why dost thou feel it ? ' 373 ' Give me my heart,' saith she, ' and thou shalt have it ; O, give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it. And being steel' d, soft sighs can never grave it : 376 Then love's deep groans I never shall regard. Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard.' LXIV * For shame,' he cries, ' let go, and let me go ; 379 My day's delight is past, my horse is gone. And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so : I pray you hence, and leave me here alone ; 38s For all my mind, my thought, my busy care. Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.' 16 VENUS AND ADONIS LXV Thus she repUes : ' Thy palfrey, as he should, 385 Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desu'e : Affection is a coal that must be cool'd, Else, suffer' d, it will set the heart on fire, 388 The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none ; Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone. ' How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree, 391 Servilely master'd with a leathern rein ! But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee. He held such petty bondage in disdain ; 394 Throwing the base thong from his bending crest. Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. LXVII ' Who sees his true-love in her naked bed, 397 Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white. But, when his glutton eyes so full hath fed. His other agents aim at like delight ? 400 Who is so faint, that dares not be so bold To touch the fire, the weather being cold ? LXVIII ' Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy ; 403 And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee. To take advantage on presented joy ; Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee : 406 O, learn to love ; the lesson is but plain. And once made perfect, never lost again.' LXIX * I know not love,' quoth he, ' nor will not know it, 409 Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it ; 'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it ; My love to love is love but to disgrace it ; 41a For I have heard it is a life in death, That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath. VENUS AND ADONIS 17 LXX ' Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd ? 413 Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth ? If springing things be any jot diminish' d. They Addther in their prime, prove nothing worth : 418 The colt that's back'd and burthen'd being young Loseth his pride and never waxeth strong. LXXl ' You hurt my hand mth wringing ; let us part, 421 And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat : Remove your siege from m^y unyielding heart ; To love's alarms it will not ope the gate : 424 Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattery ; For where a heart is hard they make no battery.' LXXII * What ! canst thou talk .'' ' quoth she, ' hast thou a tongue ? O, would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing ! 428 Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong ; I had my load before ; now press'd with bearing, 430 Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh-sounding. Ear's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore wounding. LXXIII ' Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love 433 That inward beauty an^^ invisible ; Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move Each part in me that were but sensible : 436 Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, Yet should I be in love by touching thee. LXXIV ' Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me, 439 And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch. And nothing but the very smell were left nit. Yet would my love to thee be still as much ; 442 For from the stillitory of thy face excelling Comes breath perfumed that breedeth love by smelling. B 18 VENUS AND ADONIS LXXV ' Butj O, what banquet wert thou to the taste, 445 Being nurse and feeder of the other four ! Would they not wish the feast might ever last, And bid Suspicion double-lock the door, 448 Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest, Should by his stealing in disturb the feast ? ' LXXVI Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd, 451 Which to his speech did honey passage yield ; Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd Wrack to the seaman, tempest to the field, 454 Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds. Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds. This ill presage advisedly she marketh : 457 Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth. Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh, Or as the berry breaks before it staineth, 460 Or like the deadly bullet of a gun, His meaning struck her ere his words begun. Lxxvm And at his look she flatly falleth down, 463 For looks kill love, and love by looks revivetli : A smile recures the wounding of a frown ; But blessed banki'upt, that by love so thriveth ! 466 The silly boy, believing she is dead. Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red ; LXXIX And all amazed brake off his late intent, 469 For sharply he did think to reprehend her. Which cunning love did wittily prevent : Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her ! 472 For on the grass she lies as she were slain, Till his breath breatheth life in her again. VENUS AND ADONIS 19 LXXX He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks, 475 He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard. He chafes her hps ; a thousand ways he seeks To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd : 478 He kisses her ; and she, by her good will, Will never rise, so he will kiss her still. LXXXI The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day : 481 Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth. Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array He cheers the morn and all the earth relieveth ; 484 And as the bright sun glorifies the sky. So is her face illumin'd with her eye ; LXXXII Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd, 487 As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine. Were never four such lamps together mix'd. Had not his clouded with his brow's repine ; 490 But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light, Shone like the Moon in water seen by night. LXXXIII ' O, where am I ? ' quoth she, ' in earth or heaven, 493 Or in the Ocean drench' d, or in the fire ? What hour is this ? or morn, or weary even ? Do I dehght to die, or life desire ? 496 But now I liv'd, and hfe was death's annoy ; But now I died, and death was lively joy. LXXXIV ' O, thou didst kill me : kill me once again : 499 Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine. Hath taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain. That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine ; 502 And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen. But for thy piteous Hps no more had seen. 20 VENUS AND ADONIS LXXXV ' Long may they kiss each other, for this cure ' 505 O, never let their crimson hveries wear ! And as they last, their verdure still endure. To drive infection from the dangerous year ! 508 That the star-gazers, having writ on death. May say, the plague is banish'd by thy breath. LXXXVI ' Pure Hps, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted, 511 What bargains may I make, still to be seaUng ? To sell myself I can be well contented. So thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing ; 514 Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips. Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips. LXXXVH ' A thousand kisses buys my heart from me ; 517 And pay them at thy leisure, one by one. What is ten hundred touches unto thee ? Are they not quickly told and quickly gone ? 32° Say, for non-pajnuent that the debt should double. Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble ? ' LXXXVIII ' Fair Queen,' quoth he, ' if any love you owe me, 523 Measure my strangeness with my unripe years : Before I know myself, seek not to know me ; No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears : 326 The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast. Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste LXXXIX 'Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait, 529 His day's hot task hath ended in the west ; The owl, night's herald, shrieks ; 'tis very late ; The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest, 53= And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's light Do summon us to part and bid good-night. VENUS AND ADONIS 21 xc • Now let me say " Good night," and so say you ; 535 If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.' ' Good night,' quoth she, and, ere he says ' Adieu,' The honey fee of parting tender'd is : 538 Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace ; Incorporate then they seem ; face grows to face. xci Till breathless he disjoin' d, and backward drew S4i The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth. Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew. Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth : S44 He with her plenty press' d, she faint with dearth. Their lips together glued, fall to the earth. XCII Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey, 547 And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth ; Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey. Paying what ransom the insulter willeth ; S5° Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high. That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry. XCIII And having felt the sweetness of the spoil, 553 With blindfold fury she begins to forage ; Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boU, And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage, 556 Planting oblivion, beating reason back. Forgetting shame's pure blush and honour's wrack. xciv Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing, 559 Like a wild bird being tamed with too much handling, Or as the fleet-foot roe that 's tired with chasing. Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling, 568 He now obeys, and now no more resisteth, WTiile she takes all she can, not all she listeth. 22 VENUS AND ADONIS What wax so frozen but dissolves with temp'ring, $6$ And yields at last to every light impression ? Things out of hope are compass'd oft with vent' ring. Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission : 568 Affection faints not Uke a pale-faced coward. But then woos best when most his choice is froward. When he did frown, O, had she then gave over, 571 Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd. Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover ; What though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis pluck'd ! 574 Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast. Yet love breaks through and picks them aU at last. XCVII For pity now she can no more detain him ; 577 The poor fool prays her that he may depart : She is resolv'd no longer to restrain him ; Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart, 580 The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest. He carries thence incaged in his breast. XCVIII Sweet boy,' she says, ' this night I 'U waste in sorrow, 383 For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. Tell me, love's master, shall we meet to-morrow .' Say, shall we ? shall we ? wilt thou make the match ? ' 586 He tells her, no ; to-morrow he intends To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. xcix ' The boar ! ' quoth she ; whereat a sudden pale, 589 Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose. Usurps her cheek ; she trembles at his tale. And on his neck her yoking arms she throws : sga She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck. He on her belly falls, she on her back. VENUS AND ADONIS 23 c Now is she in the very lists of love, S9S Her champion mounted for the hot encoimter : All is imaginary she doth prove. He will not manege her, although he mount her ; 598 That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy. To chp Elysium and to lack her joy. Even so poor birds, deceiv'd with painted grapes, 6oi Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw : Even so she languisheth in her mishaps. As those poor birds that helpless berries saw. 604 The warm effects which she in him finds missing. She seeks to kindle with continual kissing. CII But all in vain ; good Queen, it will not be : 607 She hath assay'd as much as may be prov'd ; Her pleading hath deserv'd a greater fee ; She's Lovfe, she loves, and yet she is not lov'd. 610 ' Fie, fie,' he says, ' you crush me ; let me go ; You have no reason to withhold me so.' cm ' Thou hadst been gone,' quoth she, ' sweet boy, ere this, But that thou told'st me thou would'st hunt the boar. 614 O, be advised : thou know'st not what it is With javehn's point a churlish swine to gore, 616 Whose tushes never sheath'd he whetteth still. Like to a mortal butcher bent to kill. CIV ' On his bow-back he hath a battel set 619 Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes ; His eyes, like glow-worms, shine when he doth fret ; His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes ; 622 Being moved, he strikes whate'er is in his way. And whom he strikes his crooked tushes slay. 24 VENUS AND ADONIS ' His brawny sides, with haiiy bristles armed, 625 Are bettef proof than thy spear's point can enter ; His short thick neck cannot be easily harmed ; Being ireful, on the lion he will venture : 628 The thorny brambles and embracing bushes. As fearful of him, part ; through whom he rushes. CVI ' Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine, 631 To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes ; Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips and crystal eyne. Whose full perfection all the world amazes ; 634 But having thee at vantage, — wondrous dread ! — Would root these beauties as he roots the mead. CVII ' O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still ; 637 Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends : Come not within his danger by thy will ; They that thrive well take counsel of their friends. 640 When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble, I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble. CVIII ' Didst thou not mark my face ? was it not white ? 643 Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye .'' Grew I not faint .'' and fell I not downright .'' Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie, 646 My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest. But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast. cix ' For where Love reigns, disturbing Jealousy 649 Doth call himself affection's sentinel ; Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny. And in a peaceful hour doth cry " Kill, kiU ! " 653 Distemp'ring gentle Love in his desire. As air and water do abate the fire. VENUS AND ADONIS 25 ex ' This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy, 655 This canker that eats up Love's tender spring. This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy, That sometime true news, sometime false doth bring, 658 Knocks at my heart and whispers in mine ear That if I love thee, I thy death should fear : cxr ' And more than so, presenteth to mine eye 661 The picture of an angry, chafing boar. Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth He An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore ; 664 Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head. CXI I ' What should I do, seeing thee, so indeed, 667 That tremble at th' imagination ? The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed. And fear doth teach it divination : 670 I prophesy thy death, my Uving sorrow. If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow. CXIII 'But if thou needs wilt hunt, be ruled by me ; 673 Uncouple at the timorous flying hare. Or at the fox which lives by subtilty. Or at the roe which no encounter dare : 676 Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs. And on thy well-breath'd horse keep with thy hounds. cxiv ' And when thou hast on foot the pm-blind hare, 679 Mark the poor wretch, to overshut his troubles. How he outruns the wind, and with what care He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles : 682 The many musits through the which he goes Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes 26 VENUS AND ADONIS cxv * Sometime he runs among a flock of sheepj 685 To make the cumiing hounds mistake their smell ; And sometime where earth-delving conies keepj To stop the loud pursuers in their yell ; 688 And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer : Danger deviseth shifts ; wit waits on fear : cxvi ' For there his smell with others being mingled, 691 The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt. Ceasing their clamorous cry, till they have singled With much ado the cold fault cleanly out ; 694 Then do they spend their mouths : Echo repUes, As if another chase were in the skies. cxvii ' By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, 697 Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear. To hearken if his foes pursue him still : Anon their loud alarums he doth hear ; 700 And now his grief may be compared well To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell. CXVIII ' Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch 703 Turn, and return, indenting with the way ; Each envious brier his weary legs doth scratch. Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay : 706 For misery is trodden on by many, And being low never relieved by any. cxix * Lie quietly, and hear a little more ; 709 Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise : To make thee hate the hunting of the boar. Unlike myself thou hear'st me moralize, 713 Applying this to that, and so to so ; For love can conunent upon every woe. VENUS AND ADONIS 27 cxx • Where did I leave ? ' ' No matter where ; ' quoth he, 715 ' Leave me, and then the story aptly ends : The night is spent.' ' Why, what of that ? ' quoth she. ' I am,' quoth he, ' expected of my friends ; 718 And now 'tis dark, and going 1 shall fall.' ' In night,' quoth she, ' desire sees best of all. cxxi 'But if thou fall, O, then imagine tliis, 721 The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips. And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. Rich preys make true men thieves ; so do thy lips 724 Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn, Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn. ' Now of this dark night I perceive the reason : 727 Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine. Till forging Nature be condemn'd of treason. For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine ; 730 Wherein she framed thee in high heaven's despite. To shame the sun by day and her by night. cxxin 'And therefore hath she bribed the Destinies 733 To cross the curious workmansliip of nature. To mingle beauty with infirmities. And pure perfection with impure defeature, 736 Making it subject to the tyranny Of mad mischances and much misery ; cxxiv *As burning fevers, agues pale and faint, 739 Life-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood, The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint Disorder breeds by heating of the blood : 742 Siu;feits, imposthumes, grief, and damn'd despair, Swear Nature's death for framing thee so fair. 28 VENUS AND ADONIS cxxv ' And not the least of all these maladies 745 But in one minute's fight brings beauty under : Both favourj savour, hue, and qualities. Whereat th' impartial gazer late did wonder, 748 Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd, and done. As mountain snow melts with the midday sim. ' Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity, 751 Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns. That on the earth would breed a scarcity And barren dearth of daughters and of sons, 754 Be prodigal : the lamp that burns by night Dries up his oil to lend the world his light. CXXVII ' What is thy body but a swallowing grave, 757 Seeming to bury that posterity Which by the rights of time thou needs must have. If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity ? 760 If so, the world will hold thee in disdain, Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain. CXXVIII ' So in thyself thyself art made away ; 763 A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife. Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay. Or butcher-sire that reaves his son of life. 766 Foul-cankering rust the hidden treasure frets. But gold that 's put to use more gold begets.' cxxix ' Nay, then,' quoth Adon, ' you will fall again 769 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 ; 77a For, by this black-faced night, desire's foul nurse. Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse. VENUS ADN ADONIS 29 cxxx ' If love have lent you twenty thousand tongneSj 77s And every tongue more moving than your own^ Bewitching like the wanton Mermaid's songs. Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown ; 778 For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear, And will not let a false sound enter there ; CXXXI ' Lest the deceiving harmony should run 781 Into the quiet closure of my breast ; And then my little heart were quite undone. In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest. 784 No, Lady, no ; my heart longs not to groan. But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone. cxxxn 'What have you urged that I cannot reprove? 7S7 The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger : I hate not love, but your device in love, That lends embracements unto every stranger. 793 You do it for increase : O strange excuse, When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse ! CXXXIII ' Call it not love, for Love to heaven is fled, 793 Since sweating Lust on earth usurp'd his name ; Under whose simple semblance he hath fed Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame ; 796 Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves. As caterpillars do the tender leaves. cxxxiv ' Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, 799 But Lust's eifect is tempest after sun ; Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain. Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done ; 803 Love surfeits not. Lust like a glutton dies ; Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies. 30 VENUS AND ADONIS cxxxv ' More 1 could tell, but more I dare not say ; 80s The text is old, the Orator too green. Therefore, in sadness, now I will away ; My face is full of shame, my heart of teen : 808 Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended. Do bum themselves for having so offended.' cxxxvi With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace 811 Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast, And homeward through the dark lawnd runs apace ; Leaves Love upon her back, deeply distress'd : 814 — Look, how a bright star shooteth from the sky, So glides he in the night from Venus' eye — Which after him she darts, as one on shore 817 Gazing upon a late-embarked friend. Till the wild waves will have him seen no more. Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend : 820 So did the merciless and pitchy night Fold in the object that did feed her sight. CXXXVIII Whereat amazed, as one that unaware 823 Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood. Or stonish'd as night-wand'rers often are. Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood ; 826 Even so confounded in the dark she lay. Having lost the fair discovery of her way. CXXXIX And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans, 829 That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled. Make verbal repetition of her moans ; Passion on passion deeply is redoubled : 83a ' Ay me ! ' she cries, and twenty times *■ Woe, woe ! ' And twenty echoes twenty times cry so. VENUS AND ADONIS 81 CXL She marking them begins a wailing note, 835 And sings extemporally a woeful ditty ; How love makes young men thrall, and old men dote ; How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty : 838 Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe. And still the choir of echoes answer so. Her song was tedious, and outwore the night, 841 For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short • If pleas'd themselves, others, they think, delight In such like circumstance, mtli such hke sport : 844 Their copious stories, oftentimes begun. End without audience, and are never done. cxui For who hath she to spend the night withal 847 But idle sounds resembling parasites. Like shriU-tongued tapsters answering every call. Soothing the humour of fantastic wits ? 850 She says ' 'Tis so : ' they answer all ''Tis so ; " And would say after her, if she said ' No.' Lo, here the gentle lark, weaiy of rest, 853 From his moist cabinet mounts up on high. And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast The sun ariseth in his majesty ; 856 Who doth the world so gloriously behold \ , That Cedar-tops and hills seem bumish'd gold. * Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow : 859 ' O thou clear god, and patron of all light. From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow The beauteous influence that makes him bright, 862 There lives a son that suck'd an earthly mother, May lend tliee light, as thou dost lend to other.' 32 VENUS AND ADONIS CXLV This said, she hasteth to a mjrrtle grove, 865 Musing the morning is so much o'erwom. And yet she hears no tidings of her love : She hearkens for his hounds, and for his horn : 868 Anon she hears them chant it lustily, And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. CXLVI And, as she runs the bushes in the way, 871 Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, Some twined about her thigh to make her stay : She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace, 874 Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache. Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake. CXLVII By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay ; 877 Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder Wreath'd up in fatal folds just in his way. The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder ; 880 Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds Appals her senses and her spirit confounds. cxLvni For now she knows it is no gentle chase, 883 But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud. Because the cry remaineth in one place. Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud : 886 Finding their enemy to be so curst. They all strain court' sy who shall cope him first. CXLIX This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear, 889 Through which it enters to suirprise her heart ; Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear. With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part : 892 Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield. They basely fly, and dare not stay the field. VENUS AND ADONIS 33 CL Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy ; 895 Tillj cheering up her senses all dismay' d. She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy. And childish errorj that they are afraid ; 898 Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more : — And with that word she spied the hunted boar ; Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red, goi Like milk and blood being mingled both together, A second fear through all her sinews spread. Which madly hurries her, she knows not whither : 904 This way she runs, and now she will no further. But back retires to rate the boar for murther. A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways ; 907 She treads the path that she untreads again ; Her more than haste is mated with delays. Like the proceedings of a drunken brain, 910 Full of respects, yet naught at all respecting ; In hand with all things, nought at all effecting. CLIII Here kennell'd in a brake she finds a hound, 913 And asks the weary caitiff for his master. And there another licking of his woimd, 'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster ; 916 And here she meets another sadly scowling. To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling. CLIV When he hath ceased his ill-resounding noise, 919 Another flap-mouth'd moiuner, black and grim. Against the welkin volleys out his voice ; Another and another answer him, 922 Clapping their proud tails to the ground below. Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go. C 34 VENUS AND ADONIS CLV Lookj how the world's poor people are amazdd 925 At apparitions^ signs, and prodigies. Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed. Infusing them with dreadful prophecies ; 928 So she at these sad signs draws up her breath And sighing it again, exclaims on Death. CLVI ' Hard-favour'd t3T:ant, ugly, meagre, lean, 931 Hateful divorce of love,' — thus chides she Death, — ' Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou mean To stifle beauty and to steal his breath, 934 Who when he lived, his breath and beauty set Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet ? ' If he be dead, — O no, it cannot be, 937 Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it : — O yes, it may ; thou hast no eyes to see. But hatefully at random dost thou hit. 940 Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart Mistakes that aim and cleaves an infant's heart. ' Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke, 943 And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power. The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke ; They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower : 946 Love's golden arrow at him should have fled. And not Death's ebon dart, to strike him dead. CLIX 'Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st such weeping ? What may a heavy groan advantage thee ? 950 Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see ? 952 Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour. Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour.' VENUS AND ADONIS 35 CLX Here overcome, as one full of despair, 955 She vail'd her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopt The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair In the sweet channel of her bosom dropt ; 958 But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain. And with his strong course opens them again. CLXI O, how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow ! 961 Her eye seen in the tears, tears in her eye ; Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow : Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry ; 964 But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain. Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again. CLXII Variable passions throng her constant woe, 967 As striving who should best become her grief; All entertain'dj each passion labours so. That every present sorrow seemeth chief, 970 But none is best : then join they all together. Like many clouds consulting for foul weather. CLXIII By this, far off she hears some huntsman halloo ; 973 A nurse's song ne'er pleased her babe so well : The dire imagination she did follow This sound of hope doth labour to expel ; 976 For now reviving joy bids her rejoice. And flatters her it is Adonis' voice. CLXIV Whereat her tears began to turn their tide, 979 Being prison'd in her eye, like pearls in glass ; Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside. Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass 982 To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground. Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd. 36 VENUS AND ADONIS CLXV hard-believing love, how strange it seems ! — 983 Not to believe, and yet too credulous : Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes ; Despair and hope makes thee ridiculous : 988 The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely. In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. CLXVI Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought ; ggi Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame ; It was not she that call'd him all to nought : Now she adds honours to his hateful name ; 994 She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings. Imperious, supreme of all mortal things. CLXVII ' No, no,' quoth she, ' sweet Death, I did but jest ; 997 Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear When as I met the boar, that bloody beast. Which knows no pity, but is still severe ; 1000 Then, gentle shadow, — truth I must confess, — I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease. CLXVIII ''Tis not my fault : the boar provok'd my tongue ; 1003 Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander ; 'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong ; 1 did but act, he 's author of thy slander : 1006 Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet Could rule them both without ten women's wit.' Thus hoping that Adonis is alive, 1009 Her rash suspect she doth extenuate ; And that his beauty may the better thrive. With Death she humbly doth insinuate ; 1012 Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs, and stories His victories, his triumphs and his glories. VENUS AND ADONIS 87 CLXX ' O Jove,' quoth she, ' how much a fool was I, 1015 To be of such a weak and silly mind. To wail his death who lives, and must not die TiU mutual overthrow of mortal kind ! 1018 For he being dead, with him is beauty slain, And, beauty dead, black Chaos comes again. CLXXI ' Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear 1021 As one with treasure laden, hemm'd with thieves ; Trifles unwitnessed with eye, or ear. Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.' 1024 Even at this word she hears a merry horn. Whereat she leaps that wa^ but late forlorn. CLXXII As falcons to the lure, away she flies ; 1027 The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light ; And in her haste unfortunately spies The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight ; 1030 Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view, Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew ; CLXXIII Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit, 1033 Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain. And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit. Long after fearing to creep forth again ; 1036 So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled Into the deep dark cabins of her head : CLXXIV Where they resign their ofiice and their light 1039 To the disposing of her troubled brain ; Who bids them still consort with ugly night. And never wound the heart with looks again ; 104a Who, like a king perplexed in his throne. By their suggestion gives a deadly groan. 38 VENUS AND ADONIS CLXXV Whereat each tributary subject quakes ; 1045 As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground, Strugghng for passage, earth's foundation shakes. Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound. 1048 This mutiny each part doth so surprise. That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes ; CLXXVI And, being open'd, threw unwilling light 1051 Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd In his soft flank ; whose wonted lily white With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench'd : No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed, 1055 But stole his blood and seem'd with him to bleed. CLXXVII This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth ; 1057 Over one shoulder doth she hang her head ; Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth ; She thinks he could not die, he is not dead : 1060 Her voice is stopt, her joints forget to bow ; Her eyes are mad that they have wept tiU now. CLXXVIII Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly, 1063 That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three ; And then she reprehends her mangling eye. That makes more gashes where no breach should be : 1066 His face seems twain, each several Umb is doubled ; For oft the eye mistakes, the braili being troubled. CLXXIX ' My tongue cannot express my grief for one, 1069 And yet,' quoth she, ' behold two Adons dead ! My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone. Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead : 107a Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' red fire ! So shall I die by drops of hot desire. VENUS AND ADONIS 39 CLXXX ' Alas, poor worldj what treasure hast thou lost ! 1075 What face remains ahve that's worth the viewing? Whose tongue is music now ? what canst thou boast Of things long since, or any thing ensuing ? 1078 The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim ; But true, sweet beauty liv'd and died with him. CLXXXI • * Boimet nor veil henceforth no creature wear ! 1081 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 : 1084 But when Adonis liv'd, sun and sharp air Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair : CLXXXU 'And therefore would he put his bonnet on, 1087 Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep ; The wind would blow it off and, being gone. Play with his locks : then would Adonis weep ; 1090 And straight, in pity of his tender years. They both would strive who first should dry his tears. • To see his face the Uon walk'd along 1093 Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him ; To recreate himself when he hath sung. The tiger would be tame and gently hear him ; 1096 If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey And never fright the silly lamb that day. CLXXXIV ' When he beheld his shadow in the brook, 1099 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 bills 1102 Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries ; He fed them with his sight, they him with berries. 40 VENUS AND ADONIS CLXXXV ' But this foulj grinij and urchin-snouted boar, 1105 Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave. Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore ; Witness the entertainment that he gave : iio3 If he did see his face, why then I know He thought to kiss him, and hath killed him so. CLXXXVI ' 'Tis true, 'tis true ; thus was Adonis slain : mi He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear. Who did not whet his teeth at him again. But by a kiss thought to persuade him there ; 1114 And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine Sheath'd unaware the tusk in his soft groin. CLXXXVII " Had I been tooth'd Hke him, I must confess, A117 With kissing him I should have kill'd him first ; But he is dead, and never did he bless My youth with his ; the more am I accurst.' 1120 With this, she falleth in the place she stood. And stains her face with his congealed blood. CLXXXVTII She looks upon his lips, and they are pale ; 1123 She takes him by the hand, and that is cold ; She whispers in his ears a heavy tale. As if they heard the woeful words she told ; 1126 She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes. Where, lo, two lamps, burnt out, in darkness hes ; CLXXXIX Two glasses, where herself herself beheld 1129 A thousand times, and now no more reflect ; Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd. And every beauty robb'd of his effect : 113a ' Wonder of time,' quoth she, ' this is my spite. That, thou being dead, the day should yet be light. VENUS AND ADONIS 41 cxc ' Since thou art dead^ loj here I prophesy : 1135 Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend : It shall be waited on with jealousy, Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end ; 1138 Ne'er settled equally, but high or low. That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe. cxci ' It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud, 1141 Bud, and be blasted, in a breathing-whUe ; The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile : 1144 The strongest body shall it make most weak. Strike the wise dumb and teach the fool to speak. CXCII • It shall be sparing and too full of riot, 1147 Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures ; The staring ruffian shaU it keep in quiet. Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures ; 1130 It shall be raging-mad and silly-mild. Make the young old, the old become a child. CXCIII ' It shall suspect where is no cause of fear ; 1153 It shall not fear where it should most mistrust ; It shall be merciful and too severe. And most deceiving when it seems most just ; 1156 Perverse it shall be where it shows most toward, Put fear to valour, courage to the coward. cxciv * It shall be cause of war and dire events, iiS9 And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire ; Subject and servile to all discontents. As dry combustions matter is to fire : 1162 Sith in his prime Death doth my love destroy, They that love best their loves shall not enjoy.' 42 VENUS AND ADONIS cxcv By thiSj the boy that by her side lay kill'd 1163 Was melted like a vapour from her sight. And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd, A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white, 1168 Resembling well his pale cheeks and the blood Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. cxcvi She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell, 1171 Comparing it to her Adonis' breath. And says, within her bosom it shall dwell. Since he himself is reft from her by death : 1174 She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears. CXCVII ' Poor flower,' quoth she, ' this was thy father's guise — 1177 Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire — For every little grief to wet his eyes : To grow unto himself was his desire, 1180 And so 'tis thine ; but know, it is as good To wither in my breast as in his blood. CXCVIII ' Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast ; 1183 Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right : Lo, in this hollow cradle take thy rest. My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night : 1186 There shall not be one minute in an hour Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.' cxcix Thus weary of the world, away she hies, 1189 And yokes her silver doves ; by whose swift aid, Their mistress, mounted through the empty skies In her light chariot, quickly is convey'd ; 1192 Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen Means to immure herself and not be seen. THE RAPE OF LUCRECE TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLEY, EABLE OP SOUTHAMPTONj AND BAHON OF TITCHFIELD. The loue I dedicate to your Lordship is without end : whereof this Pamphlet without beginning is but a superfluous Moity. The warrant I haue of your Honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutord Lines makes it assured of acceptance. What I haue done is yours, what I haue to doe is yours, being part in all I haue, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duety would shew greater, meane time, as it is, it is bound to your Lordship ; To whom I wish long life still lengthned with all happinesse. Your Lordship's in all duety, William Shakespeare. THE ARGUMENT. Lucius Tarquinius, for his excessive pride sumamed Superbus, after Jlie had caused his own father-in-law Servius TuUius to be cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or staying- for the people's suffrages, had possessed himself of the kingdom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege Ardea. During which siege the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king's son, in their discourses after supper every one commended the virtues of his own wife : am^ing whom CoUatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome; and intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of that which every one had before avouched, only CoUatinus finds his wife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her maids : the other ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded CoUatinus the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being inilamed with Lucrece' beauty, yet smothering his passions for the present, departed with the rest back to the camp ; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and was, according to his estate, royally entertained and lodged by Lucrece at CoUatium. The same night he treacherously stealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the morning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily dispatcheth messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the other with Publius Valerius ; and finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of his dealing, and withal 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 Rome, Brutus acquainted the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter invective against the tyranny of the king : wherewith the people were so moved, that with one consent and a, general acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state government changed from kings to consuls. THE RAPE OF LUCRECE I From the besieged Ardea all in post, Borne by the trustless wings of false desire, Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host. And to CoUatium bears the lightless fire Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire And girdle with embracing flames the waist Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste. Haply that name of ' chaste ' unhaply set 8 This bate] ess edge on his keen appetite ; When Collatine unwisely did not let To praise the clear unmatched red and white Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight, 12 Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's Beauties, With ptire aspects did him peculiar duties. For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent, 15 Unlock'd the treasure of hi? happy state ; What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent In the possession of his beauteous mate ; Reck'ning his fortune at such high-proud rate, 19 That Kings might be espoused to more fame. But King nor Peer to such a peerless dame. 46 46 LUCRECE IV O happiness enjoy'd but of a few ! aa And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done As is the morning's silver-melting dew Against the golden splendour of the Sun ! An 6xpired date, cancell'd ere well begun ; 26 Honour and Beauty, in the owner's arms. Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms. Beauty itself doth of itself persuade 29 The eyes of men without an Orator ; What needeth then apologies be made. To set forth that which is so singular ? Or why is Collatine the publisher 33 Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown From thievish ears, because it is his ovra ? Perchance his boast of Lucrece' Sov'reignty 36 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 40 His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt That golden hap which their superiors want. But some untimely thought did instigate 43 His aU-too-timeless speed, if none of those : His honour, his affairs, his ffiends, his state. Neglected all, with swift intent he goes To quench the coal which in his liver glows. 47 O rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold. Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old ! LUCRECE 47 When at CoUatium this false Lord arrived, 50 Well was he welcom'd by the Roman dame. Within whose face Beauty and Virtue strived Which of them both should underprop her fame : When Virtue bragg'd. Beauty would blush for shame ; 54 When Beauty boasted blushes, in despite Virtue would stain that or with silver white. IX But Beauty, in that white intituled 57 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 ; 61 Teaching them thus to use it in the fight. When shame assail'd, the red should fence the white. This Heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen, 64 Argued 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 malkes them still to fight ; 68 The sovereignty of either being so great. That oft they interchange each other's seat. This silent war of Lilies and of Roses, ^x Wliich Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field, In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses ; Wliere, lest between them both it should be kiU'd, The coward captive vanquished doth yield 75 To those two armies that would let him go, » Rather than triumph in so false a foe. 48 LUCRECE XII Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue, — 78 The niggard prodigal that praised her so, — In that high task hath done her beauty wrong, Which far exceeds his barren skill to show : Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe, 82 Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise. In silent wonder of still gazing eyes. XIII This earthly saint, adored by this devil, 85 Little suspecteth the false worshipper ; For ' unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil ' ; ' Birds never limed no secret bushes fear ' ; So guiltless she securely gives good cheer 89 And reverend welcome to her princely guest, Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd : For that he colour' d with his high estate, 93 Hiding base sin in pleats of Majesty ; That nothing in him seem'd inordinate. Save sometime too much wonder of his eye. Which, having all, all could not satisfy ; 96 But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store, That, cloy'd with much, he pineth stiU for more. XV But she, that never coped with stranger eyes, 99 Could pick no meaning from their parling looks. Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies Writ in the glassy raargents of such books : She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks ; 103 Nor could she moralize his wanton sight. More than his eyes were open'd to the Ught LUCRECE 49 XVI He stories to her ears her husband's fame, io6 Won in the fields of fruitful Italy ; And decks with praises Collatine's high name, Made glorious by his manly chivalry With bruised arms and wreaths of victory : no Her joy with heaved-up hand she doth express. And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success. Far from the purpose of his coming thither, 113 He makes excuses for his being there : No cloudy show of stormy blust'ring weather Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear ; Till sable Night, mother of dread and fear, 117 Upon the world dim darkness doth display. And in her vaulty prison stows the day. For then is Tarquin brought imto his bed, 120 Intending weariness with heavy spright ; For, after supper, long he questioned With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night : Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight ; 124 And every one to rest themselves betake. Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, that wake. XIX As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving 127 The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining ; Yet ever to obtain his will resolving. Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining : Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining, 131 And when great treasure is the meed proposed. Though death be adjunct, there 's no death suppos6d. D 50 LUCRECE Those that much covet are with gain so fond 134 That what they have not, that which they possess. They scatter and unloose it from their bond, And so, by hoping more, they have but less ; Or, gaining more, the profit of excess 138 Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain. That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain. XXI The aim of all is but to nurse the life 141 With honour, wealth, and ease in waning age ; And in this aim there is such thwarting strife, That one for all, or all for one we gage ; As life for honour in fell battle's rage ; 145 Honour for wealth ; and oft that wealth doth cost The death of all, and all together lost. So that in venturing ill we leave to be 148 The things we are for that which we expect ; And this ambitious, foul infirmity. In having much, torments us with defect Of that we have : so then we do neglect 152 The thing we have, and, all for want of wit. Make something nothing by augmenting it. Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make, 155 Pawning his honour to obtain his lust ; And for himself himself he must forsake : Then where is truth, if there be no self- trust ? When shall he think to find a stranger just, 159 When he himself himself confoimds, betrays To slanderous tongues and wretched hateful days ? LUCRECE 51 XXIV Now stole upon the time the dead of night, 162 MTien heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes : No comfortable star did lend his light, No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries ; Now serves the season that they may surprise 166 The silly lambs : pure thoughts are dead and still. While Lust and Murder wakes to stain and kill. XXV And now this lustful Lord leap'd from his bed, i6g Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm ; 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, 173 Doth too too oft betake him to retire. Beaten away by brain-sick rude desire. His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth, 176 That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly ; Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth. Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye ; And to the flame thus speaks advisedly, 180 ' As from this cold flint I enforced this fire. So Lucrece must I force to my desire.' xxvn Here pale with fear he doth premeditate 183 The dangers of his loathsome enterprise. And in his inward mind he doth debate What following sorrow may on this arise : Then looking scornfully, he doth despise 187 His naked armour of still, slaughter'd Lust, And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust ; 52 LUCRECE ' Fair torch, bum out thy light, and lend it not 19a To darken her whose light excelleth thine : And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot With your uncleanness that which is divine ; OflPer pure incense to so pure a shrine : 194 Let fair humanity abhor the deed That spots and stains love's modest snow-white weed. ' O shame to knighthood and to shining Arms ! 197 O foul dishonour to my household's grave ! O impious act, including all foul harms ! A martial man to be soft fancy's slave ! True valour still a true respect should have ; 201 Then my digression is so vile, so base, Thait it will live engraven in my face. XXX * Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive, 204 And be an eye-sore in my golden coat ; Some loathsome dash the Herald will contrive. To cipher me how fondly I did dote ; That my posterity, shamed with the note, 208 Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin To wish that I their father had not been. XXXI ' What ynn I, if I gain the thing I seek ? 211 A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week ? Or sells eternity to get a toy ? For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy .'' 215 Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown. Would ynth the sceptre straight be strucken down ? LUCRECE 53 XXXII ' If Collatinus dream of my intent, 218 Will he not wake, and in a desp'rate rage Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent ? This siege that hath engirt his marriage. This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage, 222 This djring virtue, this surviving shame. Whose crime wiU bear an ever-during blame ? ' O, what excuse can my invention make, 225 When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed ? WiU not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake ? Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed ? The guilt, being great, the fear doth still exceed ; 229 And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly. But coward-hke with trembling terror die. xxxiv ' Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire, 232 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 quittal of such strife : 236 But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend. The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end. * Shameful it is ; ay, if the fact be known : 239 Hateful it is ; there is no hate in loving : I 'U beg her love ; but she is not her own : The worst is but denial and reproving : My will is strong, past reason's weak removing. 243 Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe." 54 LUCRECE XXXVI Thus graceless holds he disputation 246 'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will. And with good thoughts makes dispensation. Urging the worser sense for vantage still ; Which in a moment doth confound and kill 250 All pure eifects, and doth so far proceed. That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed. XXXVII Quoth he, ' She took me kindly by the hand, 253 And gazed for tidings in my eager eyes. Fearing some hard news from the warlike band. Where her beloved Collatinus lies. O, how her fear did make her colour rise ! 257 First red as Roses that on lawn we lay. Then white as lawn, the Roses took away. ' And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd, 260 Forced it to tremble with her loyal fear ! Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd. Until her husband's welfare she did hear ; Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer, 264 That had Narcissus seen her as she stood. Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood. ' Why hunt I then for colour or excuses ? 267 All Orators are dumb when Beauty pleadeth ; Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses ; Love thrives not in the he£|.rt that shadows dreadeth : Affection is my Captain, and he leadeth ; 271 And when his gaudy banner is display'd. The coward fights and will not be dism^^y'd. LUCRECE 55 XL ' Then, childish fear, avaunt ! debating, die ! 274 Respect and reason wait on wrinkled age : My heart shall never countermand mine eye ; Sad pause and deep regard beseems the sage ; My part is youth, and beats these from the stage. 278 Desire my Pilot is. Beauty my prize ; Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies ? ' As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear 281 Is almost choked by unresisted lust : Away he steals with open list'ning ear. Full of foul hope and full of fond mistrust ; Both which, as servitors to the unjust, 285 So cross him with their opposite persuasion. That now he vows a league, and now invasion. Within his thought her heavenly image sits, 288 And in the self-same seat sits Collatine : That eye wliich looks on her confounds his wits ; That eye which him beholds, as more divine, Unto a view so false vrill not incline ; 29a But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart. Which once corrupted takes the worser part ; And therein heartens up his servile powers, 295 Who, flatter'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. 299 By reprobate desire thus madly led. The Roman Lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed. 56 LUCRECE The locks between her chamber and his willj 30a Each one by him enforced, retires his ward ; But, as they open, they all rate his Ul, Which drives the creeping thief to some regard : The threshold grates the door to have him heard ; 306 Night-wand'ring weasels shriek to see him there ; They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear. XLV As each unwilling portal jdelds him way, 309 Through Httle vents and crannies of the place The wind wars with his torch to make him stay, And blows the smoke of it into his face. Extinguishing his conduct in this case ; 313 But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch. Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch : And being Ughted, by the light he spies 316 Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks : He takes it from the rushes where it lies. And griping it, the needle his finger pricks ; As who should say, ' This glove to wanton tricks 320 Is not inured ; return again in haste ; Thou see'st our mistress' ornaments are chaste.' But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him ; 323 He in the worst sense construes their denial : The doors, the wind, the glove, that did delay him. He takes for accidental things of trial ; Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial, 327 Who with a lingering stay his course doth let, Till every minute pays the hour his debt. LUCRECE 57 XLVIII ' So, so/ quoth he, ' these lets attend the time, 330 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 ; 334 Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands. The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.' Now is he come unto the chamber door, 337 That shuts him from the Heaven of his thought. Which with a yielding latch, and with no more, Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he sought. So from himself impiety hath wrought, 341 That for his prey to pray he doth begin, As if the Heavens should coimtenance his sin. But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer, 344 Having solicited th' eternal power That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair. And they would stand auspicious to the hour. Even there he starts : quoth he, ' I must deflower : 348 The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact, How can they then assist me in the act ? LI ' Then Love and Fortune be my Gods, my guide ! 351 My will is back'd wth resolution : Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried : The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution ; Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution. 355 The eye of Heaven is out, and misty night Covers the shame that follows sweet deUght.' 58 LUCRECE LII This saidj his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch, 338 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 espied. Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside ; 36a But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing. Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. LIII Into the chamber wickedly he stalks, 36s And gazeth on her yet unstained bed. The curtains being close, about he walks, Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head : By their high treason is his heart misled ; 369 Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon To draw the cloud that hides the silver Moon. Look, as the fair and fiery-pointed Sun, 372 Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight ; Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun To wink, being blinded by a greater light : Whether it is that she reflects so bright, 376 That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed ; But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed. LV O, had they in that darksome prison died ! 379 Then had they seen the period of their iU ; Then CoUatine again, by Lucrece' side. In his clear bed might have reposed still : But they must ope, this blessed league to kill ; 383 And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight. LUCRECE 59 LVI Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under, 386 Coz'ning the pUlow of a lawful kiss ; Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder. Swelling on either side to want his bliss ; Between whose hills her head entombed is : 390 Where, like a virtuous monument, she Ues, To be admired of lewd unhallowed eyes. LVII Without the bed her other fair hand was, 393 On the green coverlet ; whose perfect white Show'd Uke an April daisy on the grass, With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night. Her eyes, like Marigolds, had sheath'd their light, 397 And canopied in darkness sweetly lay. Till they might open to adorn the day. Her hair, hke golden threads, play'd with her breath ; O modest wantons ! wanton modesty ! 401 Showing life's triumph in the map of death. And death's dim look in Ufe's mortality : Each in her sleep themselves so beautify, 404 As if between them twain there were no strife. But that life Uv'd in death, and death in hfe. Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue, 407 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 Tarquin new ambition bred ; 411 Who, like a foul usurper, went about From this fair throne to heave the owner out. 60 LUCRECE What could he see but mightily he noted ? 414 What did he note but strongly he desired ? ■ What he beheld, on that he firmly doted. And in his will his mlful eye he tired. With more than admiration he admired 418 Her aziu-e veins, her alabaster skin. Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin. As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey, 421 Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied : So o'er this sleeping sovl doth Tarquin stay. His rage of lust by gazing quaUfied ; Slack'd, not suppress'd ; for standing by her side, 42s His eye, which late this mutiny restrains. Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins : LXII And they, like straggUng slaves for pillage fighting, 428 Obdurate vassals fell exploits effecting. In bloody death and ravishment dehghting. Nor children's tears nor mother's groans respecting. Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting : 432 Anon his beating heart, alarum striking. Gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking. His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye, 43s His eye commends the leading to his hand ; His hand, as proud of such a dignity. Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand On her bare breast, the heart of all her land ; 439 Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale. Left their rovmd turrets destitute and pale. LUCRECE 61 LXIV They, mustering to the quiet cabinet 442 Where their dear governess and lady lies. Do tell her she is dreadfully beset. And fright her with confusion of their cries : She, much amazed, breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes, 446 Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold. Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and controU'd. LXV Imagine her as one in dead of night 449 From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking, That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite. Whose grim aspect sets every joint a-shaking ; What terror 'tis ! but she, in worser taking, 453 From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view The sight which makes supposed terror true. LXVI Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears, 456 Like to a new-kill' 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 ; 460 Who, angry that the eyes fly from their Ughts, In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights. LXVII His hand, that yet remains upon her breast, — 463 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 hand shakes withal. 467 This moves in him more rage and lesser pity. To make the breach and enter this sweet city. 62 LUCRECE Firstj like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin 470 To sound a parley to his heartless foe ; Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin The reason of this rash alarm to know. Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show ; 474 But she with vehement prayers urgeth still Under what colour he commits this ill. LXIX Thus he replies : ' The colour in thy face, 477 That even for anger makes the Lily pale. And the red rose blush at her own disgrace. Shall plead for me and tell my loving tale : Under that colour am I come to scale 481 Thy never-conquer'd fort : the fault is thine. For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine. LXX ' Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide : 484 Thy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night. Where thou with patience must my will abide ; My will that marks thee for my earth's delight, Which I to conquer sought with aU my might ; 488 But as reproof and reason beat it dead. By thy bright beauty was it newly bred. LXXI ' I see what crosses my attempt will bring ; 491 I know what thorns the growing rose defends ; I think the honey guarded with a sting ; All this beforehand counsel comprehends : But Will is deaf and hears no heedful friends ; 495 Only he hath an eye to gaze on Beauty, And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law or duty. LUCRECE 63 * I have debated, even in my soul, 498 What wrong, what shame, what sorrow 1 shall breed ; But nothing can affection's course control. Or stop the headlong fury of his speed. I know repentant tears ensue the deed, 502 Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity ; Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy.' LXXIII This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade, 505 Which, like a falcon tow'ring in the skies, Coucheth the fowl below with his wings' shade, Whose crooked beak threats, if he mount, he dies : So imder his insulting falchion lies 509 Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon's bells. LXXIV • Lucrece,' quoth he, ' this night I must enjoy thee : 512 If thou deny, then force must work my way. For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee : That done, some worthless slave of thine I '11 slay. To kill thine honour with thy life's decay ; 516 And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him. Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him. ' So thy surviving husband shall remain 519 The scornful mark of every open eye ; Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain, Thy issue bliur'd with nameless bastardy : And thou, the author of their obloquy, 523 Shalt have thy ti-espass cited up in rhymes. And sung by children in succeeding times. 64 LUCRECE LXXVI ' But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend : 526 The fault unknown is as a thought unacted ; " A little harm done to a great good end " For lawful policy remains enacted. The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted 530 In a pure compound ; being so applied. His venom in effect is purified. LXXVII ' Then, for thy husband and thy children's sake, 533 Tender my suit : bequeath not to their lot The shame that from them no device can take. The blemish that will never be forgot ; Worse than a slavish wipe or birth-hour's blot : S37 For marks descried in men's nativity Are nature's faults, not their own infamy.' Lxxvm Here with a Cockatrice' dead-killing eye 540 He rouseth up 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 no laws, 544 To the rough beast that knows no gentle right. Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite. But when a black-faced cloud the world doth threat, In his dim mist th' aspiring mountains hiding, 548 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 ; 551 So his unhallow'd haste her words delays. And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays. LUCRECE 65 Yetj foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally, 554 While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth : Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly, A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth : His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth 558 No penetrable entrance to her plaining : Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining. Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fixed 561 In the remorseless wrinkles of his face ; Her modest eloquence witn sighs is mixed. Which to her oratory adds more grace. She puts the period often from his place, 565 And midst the sentence so her accent breaks. That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks. She conjures him by high Almighty Jove, 568 By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's oath. By her untimely tears, her husband's love, By holy human law, and common troth. By Heaven and Earth, and all the power of both, 572 That to his borrow'd bed he make retire. And stoop to honour, not to foul desire. LXXXIII Quoth she, ' Reward not hospitality 575 With such black payment as thou hast pretended ; Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee j Mar not the thing that cannot be amended ; End thy ill aim before thy shoot be ended ; 579 He is no woodman that doth bend his bow To strike a poor unseasonable doe. £ 66 LUCRECE LXXXIV ' My husband is thy friend ; for his sake spare me : 582 Thyself art mighty ; for thine own sake leave me : Myself a weakling ; do not then ensnare me : Thou look' St not like deceit ; do not deceive me. My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee : If ever man were moved with woman's moans, 587 Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans : ' AU which together, like a troubled ocean, 589 Beat at thy rocky and wrack-threat'ning heart. To soften it with their continual motion ; For stones dissolv'd to water do convert. O, if no harder than a stone thou art, 593 Melt at my tears, and be compassionate ! Soft pity enters at an iron gate. LXXXVI ' In Tarquin's hkeness I did entertain thee : 596 Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame ? To all the Host of Heaven I complain me. Thou wrong' st his honour, woimd'st his princely name : Thou art not what thou seem'st ; and if the same, 600 Thou seem'st not what thou art, a God, a King ; For Kings like Gods should govern every thing. LXXXVII ' How will thy shame be seeded in thine age, 603 When thus thy vices bud before thy spring ! If in thy hope thou dar'st do such outrage. What dar'st thou not when once thou art a King ? O, be rememb'red, no outrageous thing 607 From vassal actors can be wiped away ; Then Kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay. LUCRECE 67 LXXXVIII * This deed will make thee only lov'd for fear ; 6ia But happy Monarchs still are fear'd for love : With foul oifenders thou perforce must bear, When they in thee the like offences prove : If but for fear of this, thy will remove ; 614 For Princes are the glass, the school, the book, Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look. I/XXXIX * And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn ? 617 Must he in thee read lectures of such shame ? Wilt thou be glass wherein it shall discern Authority for sin, warrant for blame. To privilege dishonour in thy name ? 621 Thou back'st reproach against long-living laud, And mak'st fair reputation but a bawd. xc ' Hast thou command .'' by him that gave it thee, 624 From a pure heart command thy rebel will : Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity. For it was lent thee all that brood to kill. Thy Princely office how canst thou fulfil, 628 When, pattem'd by thy fault, foul sin may say. He leam'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way } xci * Think but how vile a spectacle it were, 631 To view thy present trespass in another : Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear ; Their own transgressions partially they smother : This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother. 63s O how are they wrapp'd in with infamies That from their own misdeeds askance their eyes ! 68 LUCRECE ' To theCj to theCj my heav'd-up hands appeal, 638 Not to seducing Lust, thy rash relier : I sue for exiled majesty's repeal; Let him return, and flatt'ring thoughts retire : His true respect will prison false desire, 642 And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne. That thou shalt see thy state and pity mine.' ' Have done,' quoth he : '. my uncontrolled tide 645 Turns not, but swells the higher by this let. Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide. And with the wind in greater fury fret : The petty streams that pay a daily debt 649 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 ; 652 And lo, there falls into thy boundless flood Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning, Who seek to stain the Ocean of thy blood. If all those petty ills shall change thy good, 656 Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hearsed. And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed. xcv ' So shall these slaves be King, and thou their slave ; Thou nobly base, they basely dignified ; 660 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 ; 663 The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot. But low shmbs wither at the cedar's root. LUCRECE 69 XCVI * So let thy thoughts^ low vassals to thy state ' — 666 ' No more, 'quoth he ; 'by Heaven, I will not hear thee : Yield to my love ; if not, enforced hate. Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee ; That done, despitefuUy I mean to bear thee 670 Unto the base bed of some rascal groom. To be thy partner in this shameful doom.' xcvii This said, he sets his foot upon the light, 673 For light and lust are deadly enemies : Shame folded up in blind concealing night, When most unseen, then most doth tjrrannise. The wolf hath seized his prey, the poor lamb cries ; 677 Till with her own white fleece her voice controll'd Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold : XCVIII For with the nightly linen that she wears 680 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 ! 684 The spots whereof could weeping purify. Her tears should drop on them perpetually. But she hath lost a dearer thing than life, 687 And he hath won what he would lose again : This forced league doth force a further strife ; This momentary joy breeds months of pain ; This hot desire converts to cold disdain : 691 Pure Chastity is rifled of her store. And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before. 70 LUCRECE Look, as the full-fed hound, or gorged hawk, 69/1 Unapt for tender smell, or speedy flight. Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk The prey wherein by nature they delight ; So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night : 698 His taste delicious, in digestion souring. Devours his will, that lived by foul devouring. O, deeper sin than bottomless conceit 701 Can comprehend in still imagination ! Drunken Desire must vomit his receipt. Ere he can see his own abomination. While Lust is in his pride, no exclamation 705 Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire. Till like a jade Self-will himself doth tire. And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek, 708 With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace. Feeble Desire, all recreant, poor, and meek. Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case : The flesh being proud. Desire doth fight with Grace, For there it revels ; and when that decays, 713 The guilty rebel for remission prays. cm So fares it with this faultful Lord of Rome, 715 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 ; 719 To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares. To ask the spotted Princess how she fares. LUCRECE 71 CIV She says, her subjects with foul insurrection 722 Have batter 'd down her consecrated wall. And by their mortal fault brought in subjection Her immortality, and made her thrall To living death and pain perpetual : 726 Which in her prescience she controlled still, But her foresight could not forestall their will. Ev'n in this thought through the dark night he stealeth, A captive victor that hath lost in gain ; 730 Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth, The scar that will, despite of cure, remain ; Leaving his spoil pejplex'd in greater pain. 733 She bears the load of lust he left behind. And he the burthen of a guilty mind. He like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence ; 736 She like a wearied lamb lies panting there ; He scowls and hates himself for his offence ; She, desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear ; He faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear ; 740 She stays, exclaiming on the direful night; He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loath'd delight. cvii He thence departs a heavy convertite ; 743 She there remains a hopeless castaway ; He in his speed looks for the morning light ; She prays she never may behold the day, 'For day,' quoth she, 'night's scapes doth open lay, 747 And my true eyes have never practis'd how To cloak offences with a cunning brow. 72 LUCRECE CVIII ' They think not but that every eye can see 750 The same disgrace which they themselves behold ; And therefore vcould they still in darkness be, To have their unseen sin remain untold ; For they their guilt with weeping will unfold, 754 And grave, like water that doth eat in steel. Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.' Here she exclaims against repose and rest, 757 And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind : She wakes her heart by beating on her breast, And bids it leap from thence, where it may find Some purer chest to close so pure a mind. 761 Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite Against the unseen secrecy of night : ' O comfort-killing Night, image of Hell ! 764 Dim register and notary of shame ! Black stage for tragedies and murders fell ! Vast sin-concealing Chaos ! nurse of blame ! Blind muffled bawd ! dark harbour for defame ! 768 Grim cave of death ! whisp'ring conspirator With close-tongu'd treason and the ravisher ! ' O hateful, vaporous, and foggy Night ! 771 Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime. Muster thy mists to meet the Eastern light. Make war against proportion'd course of time ; Or if thou wilt permit the Sun to climb 775 His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed. Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head. LUCRECE 73 ' With rotten damps ravish the morning air ; 778 Let their exhaled unwholesome breaths make sick The life of purity, the supreme fair, Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick ; And let thy musty vapours march so thick, 782 That in their smoky ranks his smoth'red light May set at noon, and make perpetual night. CXIII ' Were Tarquin Night, as he is but Night's child, 785 The silver-shining Queen he would distain ; Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defiled. Through Night's black bosom should not peep again . So should I have co-partners in my pain ; 789 And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage. As Palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage. cxiv ' Where now I have no one to blush with me, 792 To cross their arms and hang their heads with mine. To mask their brows and hide their infamy ; But I alone, alone must sit and pine. Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine, 796 Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans. Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans. ' O Night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke, 799 Let not the jealous Day behold that face Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace ! Keep still possession of thy gloomy place, 803 That all the faults which in thy reign are made May likewise be sepiilchred in thy shade. 74 LUCRECE CXVI ' Make me not object to the tell-tale Day ! 806 The light will show, character' d in my brow, The story of sweet chastity's decay, The impious breach of holy wedlock vow : Yea, the illiterate, that know not how 810 To cipher what is writ in learned books. Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks. CXVII 'The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story, 813 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, tuning my defame, 817 Will tie the hearers to attend each line. How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine. I CXVIII ' Let my good name, that senseless reputation, 820 For CoUatine's dear love be kept unspotted : If that be made a theme for disputation. The branches of another root ai-e rotted. And undeserv'd reproach to him allotted 824 That is as clear from this attaint of mine As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine. ' O unseen shame ! invisible disgrace ! 827 O imfelt sore ! crest- wounding, private scar ! Reproach is stamp'd in CoUatinus' face. And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar. How " He in peace is wounded, not in war." 831 Alas, how many bear such shameful blows. Which not themselves, but he that gives them knows! LUCRECE 75 * If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me, 834 From me by strong assault it is bereft. My Honey lost, and I, a Drone-like Bee, Have no perfection of my summer left. But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft : 838 In thy weak Hive a wandering wasp hath crept. And suck'd the Honey which thy chaste Bee kept. cxxi ' Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wrack ; 841 Yet for thy honour did I entertain him ; Coming from thee, I could not put him back, For it had been dishonom* to disdain him : Besides, of weariness he did complain him, 845 And talk'd of virtue : O unlook'd-for evil, When virtue is profaned in such a Devil ! CXXII ' Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud ? 848 Or hateful Cuckoos hatch in Sparrows' nests ? Or Toads infect fair founts with venom mud ? Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts ? Or Kings be breakers of their own behests .'' 852 But no perfection is so absolute. That some impurity doth not pollute. CXXIII • The aged man that coiFers-up his gold 855 Is plagued with cramps and gouts and painful fits ; And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold, But Uke stUl-pining Tantalus he sits. And useless bams the harvest of his wits ; 859 Having no other pleasm-e of his gain But tomient that it cannot cure his pain. 76 LUCRECE ' So then he hath it when he cannot use it, 86a And leaves it to be master'd by his young ; Who in their pride do presently abuse it : Their father was too weak, and they too strong, To hold their cursed-blessed Fortune long. 866 The sweets we wish for, turn to loathed sours Even in the moment that we caU them ours. ' Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring ; 869 Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers ; The Adder hisses where the sweet Birds sing ; What Virtue breeds Iniquity devours : We have no good that we can say is ours, 873 But ill-annexed Opportunity Or kills his life or else his quality. cxxvi ' O Opportunity, thy guilt is great ! 876 'Tis thou that execut'st the traitor's treason : Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may get ; Whoever plots the sin, thou poiat'st the season ; 'Tis thou that spum'st at right, at law, at reason ; 880 And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him. Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him. cxxvii * Thou makest the vestal violate her oath ; 883 Thou blowest the fire when temperance is thaw'd ; Thou smother' st honesty, thou murder'st troth ; Thou foul abettor ! thou notorious bawd ! Thou plantest scandal, and displacest laud : 887 Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief. Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief! LUCRECE 77 CXXVIII ' Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame, 890 Thy private feasting to a pubHc fast. Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name. Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste : Thy violent vanities can never last. 894 How comes it then, vile Opportunity, Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee ? ' When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend, 897 And bring him where his suit may be obtained ? When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end ? Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chained ? Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain6d ? 901 The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee ; But they ne'er meet with Opportunity. ' The Patient dies while the Physician sleeps ; 904 The Orphan pines while the Oppressor feeds ; Justice is feasting while the Widow weeps ; Advice is sporting while Infection breeds : Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds : go8 Wrath, Envy, Treason, Rape, and Murder's rages. Thy heinous hours wait on them as their Pages. cxxxi ' When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee, 911 A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid : They buy thy help ; but Sin ne'er gives a fee, He gratis comes ; and thou art well appaid, As well to hear as grant wliat he hath said. 915 My Collatine would else have come to me. When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee. 78 LUCRECE ' Guilty thou art of murder, and of theft, 918 Guilty of perjuryj and subornation. Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift. Guilty of incest, that abomination ; An accessdry by thine inclination 922 To aU sins past, and all that are to come. From the creation to the general doom. ' Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly Night, 925 Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care, Eater of youth, false slave of false delight. Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's snare ; Thou nursest all and murd'rest all that are : 929 O, hear me then, injurious, shifting Time ! Be guilty of my death, since of my crime. cxxxiv ' Why hath thy servant. Opportunity, 932 Betray'd the hours thou gav'st me to repose ? Cancell'd my fortunes, and enchained me To endless date of never-ending woes ? Time's office is to fine the hate of foes ; 936 To eat up errors by opinion bred. Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed. ' Time's glory is to calm contending Kings, 939 To unmask falsehood and bring truth to light. To stamp the seal of time in aged things. To wake the morn and sentinel the night. To wrong the wronger tiU he render right, 943 To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours. And smear with dust their glitt'ring golden towers ; LUCRECE 79 ' To fill with worm-holes stately monuments, 946 To feed oblivion with decay of things^ To blot old books and alter their contents, To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings, To dry the old oak's sap, and cherish springs, 950 To spoil Antiquities of hammer'd steel. And turn the giddy round of Fortune's wheel ; CXXXVII ' To show the beldam daughters of her daughter, 953 To make the child a man, the man a child. To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter. To tame the unicorn and lion wild. To mock the subtle in themselves beguiled, 957 To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops, And waste huge stones with little water-drops. ' Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage, 960 Unless thou couldst return to make amends ? One poor retiring minute in an age Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends. Lending him wit that to bad debtors lends : 964 O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour come back, I could prevent this storm and shun thy wrack 1 I CXXXIX ' Thou ceaseless lackey to Eternity, 967 With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight : Devise extremes beyond extremity. To make him curse this cursed crimeful night : Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright ; 971 And the dire thought of his committed evil Shape eveiy bush a hideous shapeless devil 80 LUCRECE CXL ' Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances, 974 Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans ; Let there bechance him pitiful mischances. To make him moan ; but pity not his moans : Stone him with harden'd hearts, harder than stones ; And let mild women to him lose their mildness, 979 Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness. CXLI ' Let him have time to tear his curled hair, 981 Let him have time against himself to rave, Let him have time of Time's help to despair. Let him have time to live a loathed slave, Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave, 985 And time to see one that by alms doth live Disdain to him disdained scraps to give. ' Let him have time to see his friends his foes, 988 And merry fools to mock at him resort ; Let him have time to mark how slow time goes In time of sorrow, and how swift and short His time of folly, and his time of sport ; 992 And ever let his unrecalling crime Have time to wail th' abusing of his time. ' O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad, 995 Teach me to curse him that thou taught' st this ill ! At his own shadow let the thief run mad. Himself himself seek every hour to kill ! Such wretched hands such wretched blood should spill ; For who so base would such an office have 1000 As slanderous deathsman to so base a slave ? LUCRECE 81 ' Tlie baser is he, coming from a King, 1002 To shame his hope with deeds degenerate : The mightier man, the mightier is the thing That makes him honour' d, or begets him hate ; For greatest scandal waits on greatest state. 1006 The Moon being clouded presently is miss'd, But little stars may hide them when they list. ' The Crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire, And unperceiv'd fly with the filth away ; loio But if the like the snow-white Swan desire, The stain upon his silver down will stay. Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day : Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly, 1014 But Eagles gazed upon with every eye. * Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools ! 1016 Unprofitable somids, weak arbitrators ! Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools ; Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters , To trembling clients be you mediators : 1020 For me, I force not argument a straw. Since that my case is past the help of law. ' In vain I rail at Opportunity, 1023 At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful Night ; In vain I cavil with mine infamy. In vain I spurn at my confirm' d despite : This helpless smoke of words doth me no right, 1027 The remedy indeed to do me good Is to let forth my foul defiled blood. F 82 LUCRECE CXLVIII ' Poor hand, why quiver' st thou at this decree ? 1030 Honour thyself to rid me of this shame ; For if I die, my honour hves in thee ; But if I live, thou liv'st in my defame : Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal Dame, 1034 And wast afeard to scratch her wicked foe. Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.' This said, from her be-turabled couch she startetli, 1037 To find some desp'rate instrument of death : But this no slaughter-house no tool imparteth To make more vent for passage of her breath ; Which, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth 1041 As smoke from iEtna, that in air consumes. Or that which from discharged cannon fumes. ' In vain,' quoth she, ' I live, and seek in vain 1044 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 : 1048 So am I now : O no, that cannot be ; Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me. 'O, that is gone for which I sought to live, 1051 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 life to living infamy : 1055 Poor helpless help, the treasure stol'n away, To bum the guiltless casket where it lay ! LUCRECE 83 cm ' Wellj well, dear Collatinej thou shalt not know 1058 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 growth : 1062 He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute That thou art doting father of his fruit. 'Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought, 1065 Nor laugh with his companions at thy state ; But thou shalt know thy int'rest was not bought Basely with gold, but stol'n from forth thy gate. For me, I am the mistress of my fate, 1069 And with my trespass never will dispense. Till hfe to death acquit my forced offence. CLIV ' I will not poison thee with my attaint, 1072 Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses ; My sable ground of sin I will not paint. To hide the truth of this false night's abuses : My tongue shall utter all ; mine eyes, like sluices, 1076 As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale. Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.' CLV By this, lamenting Philomel had ended 1079 The well-tuned warble of her nightly sorrow. And solemn night with slow sad gait descended To ugly Hell ; when, lo, the blushing morrow Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow : 1083 But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see. And therefore still in night would cloister'd be. 84 LUCRECE Revealing day through every cranny spies, 1086 And seems to point her out where she sits weeping ; To whom she sobbing speaks : ' O eye of eyes. Why pry'st thou through my window ? leave thy peeping : Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping : 1090 Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light. For day hath nought to do what 's done by night.' CLVII Thus cavils she with every thing she sees : 1093 True grief is fond and testy as a child. Who wayward once, his mood with nought agrees : Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild ; Continuance tames the one ; the other wild, 1097 Like an unpractis'd swimmer plunging still, With too much labour drowns for want of skill. CLVIII So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care, iioo Holds disputation with each thing she views. And to herself all sorrow doth compare ; No object but her passion's strength renews ; And as one shifts, another straight ensues : 1104 Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words ; Sometime 'tis mad and too much talk affords. The little birds that tune their morning's joy 1107 Make her moans mad with their sweet melody : For "mirth doth search the bottom of annoy " ; " Sad souls are slain in merry company " ; •' Grief best is pleas'd with grief's society " : iiw " True sorrow then is feelingly sufficed When with like semblance it is sympathised." LUCRECE 85 CLX " 'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore " ; 1114 " He ten times pines that pines beholding food " ; " To see the salve doth make the wound ache more " ; " Great grief grieves most at that would do it good " ; "Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood," 1118 WTiOj being stopp'dj the bounding banks o'erflows ; Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows. CLXI * You mocking birds/ quoth she, ' your tunes entomb 1121 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 woeful Hostess brooks not merry guests " : 1125 Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears ; " Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears." CLXII 'Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment, 1128 Make thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair : As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment. So I at each sad strain vsdll strain a tear. And with deep groans the diapason bear; 1132 For burden-wise I '11 hum on Tarquin stdl, While thou on Tereus descant'st better skill. CLXIII ' And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part, 1135 To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I, To imitate thee well, against my heart Will fix a sharp knife to affright mine eye ; Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die. 1139 These means, as frets upon an instrument. Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment 86 LUCRECE CLXIV ' And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day, 1142 As shaming any eye should thee behold. Some dark deep desert, seated from the way. That knows not parching heat nor freezing cold, Will we find out ; and there we will unfold 1146 To creatures stem sad tunes, to change their kinds : Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.' As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze, 1149 Wildly determining which way to fly. Or one encompass' d with a winding maze. That cannot tread the way out readily ; So with herself is she in mutiny, 1153 To live or die which of the twain were better. When life is shamed, and death reproach's debtor. CLXVI t. ' To kill myself,' quoth she, ' alack, what were it, 1156 But with my body my poor soul's pollution ? They that lose half with greater patience bear it Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion. That mother tries a merciless conclusion 1160 Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes one. Will slay the other and be nurse to none. ' My body or my soul, which was the dearer, 1163 When the one pure, the other made divine .' Whose love of either to myself was nearer. When both were kept for Heaven and Collatine ." Ay me ! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine, 1167 His leaves will wither and his sap decay ; So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away. LUCRECE 87 ' Her house is sack'dj her quiet interrupted, 1170 Her mansion batter'd by the enemy ; Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted. Grossly engirt with daring infamy : Then let it not be call'd impiety, 1174 If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole Through which I may convey this troubled soul. * Yet die I will not till my Collatine 1177 Have heard the cause of my untimely death ; That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine, Revenge on him that made me stop my breath. My stained blood to Tarquin I 'II bequeath, 1181 Which by him tainted shall for him be spent. And as his due writ in my testament. CLXX ' My honour I '11 bequeath unto the knife 1184 That wounds my body so dishonoured. 'Tis honour to deprive dishonour'd life ; The one will live, the other being dead : So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred ; n88 For in my death I murder shameful scorn : My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born. CLXXI 'Dear Lord of that dear jewel I have lost, 1191 What legacy shall I bequeath to thee ? My resolution, love, shall be thy boast, By whose example thou reveng'd mayst be. How Tarquin must be used, read it in me : 1195 Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe. And for my sake serve thou false Tarquin so. 88 LUCRECE ' This brief abridgement of my will I make : 1198 My soul and body to the skies and ground ; My resolution, husband, do thou take ; Mine honour be the knife's that makes my wound ; My shame be his that did my fame confound ; 1202 And all my fame that lives disbursed be To those that live, and think no shame of me. ' Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will ; 1205 How was I overseen that thou shalt see it ! My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill ; My life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free it. Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say " So be it " : 1209 Yield to ray hand ; my hand shall conquer thee : Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.' CLXXiV This plot of death when sadly she had laid, 1212 And wiped the brinish pearl from her bright eyes, With untuned tongue she hoarsely calls her maid. Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies ; For " fleet- wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies." Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so 1217 As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow. CLXX\ Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow, 1219 With soft slow tongue, true mark of modesty, And sorts a sad look to her Lady's sorrow ; (For why .' her face wore sorrow's livery) But durst not ask of her audaciously 1223 Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so. Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash'd with woe. LUCRECE 89 But as the earth doth weep, the Sun being set, 1226 Each flower moist'ned like a melting eye ; Even so the maid with swelling drops gan wet, Her circled eyne, enforced by sympathy Of those fair Suns set in her mistress' sky, 1230 Who in a salt-waved Ocean quench their light. Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night. CLXXVII A pretty while these pretty creatures stand, 1233 Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling : One justly weeps ; the other takes in hand No cause, but company, of her drops spilling : Their gentle sex to weep are often willing ; 1237 Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts. And then they drown their eyes or break their hearts. CLxxvni For men have marble, women waxen, minds, 1240 And therefore are they form'd as marble will ; The weak oppress' d, th' impression of strange kinds Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill : Then call them not the authors of their ill, 1244 No more than wax shall be accounted evil Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a Devil. CLXXIX Their smoothness, Hke a goodly champaign plain, 1247 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 walls each little mote will peep : 1251 Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks. Poor women's faces are their own faults' books. 90 LUCRECE No man inveigh against the withered flower, 1254 But chide rough winter that the flower hath kill'd ; Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour. Is worthy blame. O, let it not be hild Poor women's faults, that they are so fulfiU'd 1258 With men's abuses : those proud Lords to blame Make weak-made women tenants to their shame. The precedent whereof in Lucrece view ; 1261 Assail'd by night with circumstances strong Of present death, and shame that might ensue By that her death, to do her husband wrong : Such danger to resistance did belong, 1265 That dying fear through all her body spread : And who cannot abuse a body dead ? CLXXXII By this, mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak 1268 To the poor counterfeit of her complaining : ' My girl,' quoth she, ' on what occasion break Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are raining ? If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining, 1272 Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood : If tears could help, mine own would do me good. ' But tell me, girl, when went ' — and there she stay'd 1275 Till after a deep groan — ' Tarquin from hence ? ' ' Madam, ere I was up,' replied the maid, ' The more to blame my sluggard negligence : Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense ; 1279 Myself was stirring ere the break of day. And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away. LUCRECE 91 CLXXXIV ' Butj Lady, if your maid may be so bold, 1282 She would request to know your heaviness.' ' O, peace ! ' quoth Lucrece : ' if it should be told. The repetition cannot make it less ; For more it is than I can well express : 1286 And that deep torture may be call'd a Hell When more is felt than one hath power to tell. ' Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen : 1289 Yet save that labour, for I have them here. What should I say i" — One of my husband's men Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear A letter to my Lord, my Love, my Dear : 1293 Bid him with speed prepare to carry it ; The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ,' Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write, 1296 Fu-st 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 : 1300 Much Hke a press of people at a door. Throng her inventions, which shall go before. CLXXXVII At last she thus begins : ' Thou worthy Lord 1303 Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee. Health to thy person ! next vouchsafe t' afford — If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see — Some present speed to come and visit me. 1307 So, I commend me from our house in grief: My woes are tedious, though my words are brief.' 92 LUCRECE CLXXXVIII Here folds she up the tenure of her woe, 1310 Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly. By this short schedule CoUatine may know Her griefj but not her griefs true quality : She dares not thereof make discovery, 1314 Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse, Ere she with blood had stain'd her stain'd excuse. Besides, the life and feeling of her passion 1317 She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her ; When sighs and 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. 1331 To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter With words, till action might become them better. cxc To see sad sights moves more than hear them told j 1324 For then the eye 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 : 1328 Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords. And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words. cxci Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ 1331 ' At Ardea to my lord with more than haste.' The post attends, and she delivers it. Charging the sour-faced groom to hie as fast As lagging fowls before the Northern blast : 1335 Speed more than speed but dull and slow she deems : Extremity stUl urgeth such extremes. LUCRECE 93 The homely villain court' sies to her low ; 1338 And, blushing on her with a steadfast eye, Receives the scroll without or yea or no. And forth with bashful innocence doth hie. But they whose guilt within their bosoms lie 1342 Imagine every eye beholds their blame ; For Lucrece thought he blush'd to see her shame. CXCIII When, silly groom ! God wot, it was defect 1345 Of spirit, life, and bold audacity. Such harmless creatures have a true respect To talk in deeds, while others saucily Promise more speed, but do it leisurely : 1349 Even so the pattern of this worn-out age Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage. His kindled duty kindled her mistrust, , 1352 That two red fires in both their faces blazed ; She thought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquin's lust. And, blushing with him, vidstly on him gazed ; Her earnest eye did make him more amazed : 1336 The more she saw the blood his cheeks replenish, The more she thought he spied in her some blemish. But long she thinks till he return again, 1359 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, 1363 That she her plaints a little while doth stay. Pausing for means to mourn some newer way. 94 LUCRECE CXCVI At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece 1366 Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy : Before the which is drawn the power of Greece, For Helen's rape, the city to destroy, Threat'ning cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy ; 1370 Which the conceited Painter drew so proud. As Heaven (it seem'd) to kiss the turrets bow'd. CXCVII A thousand lamentable objects there, 1373 In scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life : Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear. Shed for the slaughter'd huaband by the wife : The red blood reek'd, to show the Painter's strife ; 1377 And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights. Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights. There might you see the labouring pioneer 1380 Begrimed with sweat, and smeared all with dust ; And from the towers of Troy there would appear The very eyes of men through loop-holes thrust. Gazing upon the Greeks with httle lust : 1384 Such sweet observance in this work was had. That one might see those far-off eyes look sad. cxcix In great commanders grace and majesty 1387 You might behold, triumphing in their faces ; In youth, quick bearing and dexterity ; And here and there the Painter interlaces Pale cowards, marching on with trembling paces ; 1391 Which heartless peasants did so well resemble. That one would swear he saw them quake and tremble. LUCRECE 95 In Ajax and Ulysses, O, what Art 1394 Of Physiognomy might one behold ! The face of either cipher'd either's heart ; Their face their manners most expressly told : In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigour roU'd ; 1398 But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent Show'd deep regard and smiling government. There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand, 1401 As 'irwere encouraging the Greeks to fight ; Making such sober action with his hand. That it beguiled attention, charm'd the sight : In speech, it seem'd, his beard, all silver white, 1405 Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky. About him were a press of gaping faces, 1408 Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice ; All jointly list'ning, but with several graces. As if some Mermaid did their ears entice. Some high, some low, the Painter was so nice ; 1413 The scalps of many, almost hid behind. To jump up higher seem'd, to mock the mind. Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head, 1415 His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear ; Here one being throng'd bears back, all boll'n and red ; Another smother'd seems to pelt and swear ; And in their rage such signs of rage they bear, 1419 As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words. It seem'd they would debate with angry swords. LUCRECE CCIV For much imaginary work was there ; 1422 Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind, That for Achilles' image stood his spear, Gripp'd in an armed hand ; himself behind. Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind : 1426 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 1429 When their brave hope, bold 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, 1433 That through their light joy seemed to appear, Like bright things stain'd, a kind of heavy fear. And from the strand of Dardan, where they fought. To Simois' reedy banks the red blood ran, 1437 Whose waves to imitate the battle sought With swelling ridges ; and their ranks began To break upon the galled shore, and than 1440 Retire again, till, meeting greater ranks, They join and shoot their foam at Simois' banks. ccvn To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come, 1443 To find a face where all distress is steel'd. Many she sees where cares have carved some. But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd. Till she despairing Hecuba beheld, 1447 Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes. Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies. LUCRECE 97 In her the Painter had anatomised 1450 Time's ruin, beauty's wrack, and grim care's reign : Her cheeks with chops and wrinkles were disguised ; Of what she was, no semblance did remain : Her blue blood changed to black in every vein, 1454 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, 1457 And shapes her sorrow to the beldame's woes. Who nothing wants to answer her but cries. And bitter words to ban her cruel foes : The Painter was no God to lend her those ; 1461 And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong. To give her so much grief and not a tongue. OCX ' Poor instrument,' quoth she, ' without a sound, 1464 I '11 tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue ; And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound. And rail on Pjnrhus that hath done him wrong ; And with my tears quench Troy that burns so long ; 1468 And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies. ccxi ' Show me the strumpet that began this stir, 1471 That with my nails her beauty I may tear. Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear : Thy eye kindled the fire that bumeth here ; 1475 And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye. The Sire, the son, the Dame, and daughter die. G 98 LUCRECE ' Why should the private pleasure of some one 1478 Become the public plague of many moe ? Let sin^ alone committed^ light alone Upon his head that hath transgressed so ; Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe : 1^182 For one's offence why should so many fall. To plague a private sin in general ? ' Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies, 1485 Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds. Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies. And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds. And one man's lust these many lives confounds : 1489 Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire, Troy had been bright with fame and not with fire.' Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes : 1492 For sorrow, like a heavy hanging bell. Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes ; Then little strength rings out the doleful knell : So Lucrece, set awork, sad tales doth tell 1496 To pencill'd pensiveness and colour'd sorrow ; She lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow. She throws her eyes about the painting round, 1499 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 cares, yet show'd content ; 1503 Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes. So mild, that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes. LUCRECE 99 In him the Painter labour'd with his skill 1506 To hide deceit, and give the harmless show An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still, A brow mibent, that seem'd to welcome woe ; Cheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so 1510 That blushing red no guilty instance gave, Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have. But, like a constant and confirmed Devil, 1513 He entertain'd a show so seeming just. And therein so ensconced his secret evil, That Jealousy itself could not mistrust False-creeping Craft and Perjury should thrust 1517 Into so bright a day such black-faced storms. Or blot with Hell-born sin such Saint-like forms. The well-skill'd workman this mild image drew 1520 For perjur'd Sinon, whose enchanting story The credulous old Priam after slew ; Whose words like wildfire burnt the shining glory Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry, 1524 And little stars shot from their fixed places, When their glass fell wherein they view'd their faces. ccxix This picture she advisedly perused, 1527 And chid the Painter for his wondrous skill, Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abused; So fair a form lodged not a mind so ill : And still on him she gazed ; and gazing still, 1531 Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied. That she concludes the picture was belied. 100 LUCRECE ' It cannot be/ quoth she, ' that so much guile ' — 1534 She would have said ' can lurk in such a look ' ; But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while. And from her tongue ' can lurk ' from ' cannot ' took : • It cannot be/ she in that sense forsook, 1538 And turn'd it thus, ' It cannot be, I find. But such a face should bear a wicked mind : ' For even as subtle Sinon here is painted, 1541 So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild, (As if with grief or travail he had fainted). To me came Tarquin, armed to begild With outward honesty, but yet defiled 1545 With inward vice : as Priam him did cherish. So did I Tarquin ; so my Troy did perish. ' Look, look, how list'ning Priam wets his eyes, 1548 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 thence proceeds ; 1552 Those round clear pearls of his, that move thy pity, Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city. CCXXIII ' Such Devils steal effects from lightless Hell ; 1555 For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold, And in that cold hot burning fire doth dwell ; These contraries such unity do hold, Only to flatter fools and make them bold : 1559 S,o Priam's trust false Sinon's tears doth flatter. That he finds means to burn his Troy with water.' LUCRECE 101 ccxxiv Here, all enraged, such passion her assails, 1562 That patience is quite beaten from her breast. She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails, Comparing him to that unhappy guest Whose deed hath made herself herself detest : 1566 At last she smilingly with this gives o'er ; ' Fool, fool ! ' quoth she, ' his wounds will not be sore. ccxxv Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow, 1569 And time doth weary time with her complaining. She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow, And both she thinks too long with her remaining : Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining : 1573 Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps ; And they that watch, see time, how slow it creeps. ccxxvi Which all this time hath overslipp'd her thought, 1576 That she with painted images hath spent ; Being from the feeling of her own grief brought By deep surmise of others' detriment ; Losing her woes in sliows of discontent. 1580 It easeth some, though none it ever cured, To think their dolour others have endured. CCXXVII But now the mindful messenger, come back, 1383 Brings home his Lord and other company ; Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black : And round about her tear-distained eye Blue circles stream'd, like rainbows in the sky : 1587 These water-galls in her dim element Foretell new storms to those already spent. 102 LUCRECE ccxxvin Which when her sad-beholding husband saw, 159c Amazedly in her sad face he stares : Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw. Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares. He hath no power to ask her how she fares : 1594 Both stood, like old acquaintance in a trance. Met far from home, wond'ring each other's chance. ccxxix At last he takes her by the bloodless hand, 1597 And thus begins : ' What uncouth ill event Hath thee befall'n, that thou dost trembling stand ? Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent ? Why art thou thus attired in discontent ? 1601 Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness. And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.' Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire, 1604 Ere once she can discharge one word of woe : At length address'd to answer his desire. She modestly prepares to let them know Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe ; 1608 While CoUatine and his consorted lords With sad attention long to hear her words. And now this pale Swan in her watery nest 1611 Begins the sad Dirge of her certain ending ; ' Few words,' quoth she, ' shall fit the trespass best, Where no excuse can give the fault amending : In me moe woes than words are now depending ; 1615 And my laments would be drawn out too long, To tell them all with one poor tir6d tongue. LUCRECE 103 CCXXXII • Then be this all the task it hath to say : 1618 Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed A stranger came, and on that pillow lay Where thou wast wont to rest thy weary head ; And what wrong else may be imagined 1622 By foul enforcement might be done to me, From that, alas, thy Lucrece is not free. ' For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight, 1625 With shining falchion in my chamber came A creeping creature, with a flaming light, And softly cried, " Awake, thou Roman Dame, And entertain my love ; else lasting shame 1629 On thee and thine this night I will inflict. If thou my love's desire do contradict. ccxxxiv ' " For some hard-favour'd groom of thine," quoth he, " Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will, 1633 I'll murder 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 1636 The lechers in their deed : this act will be My fame and thy perpetual infamy." ' With this, I did begin to start and cry ; 1639 And then against my heart he sets his sword. Swearing, unless I took all patiently, I should not live to speak another word ; So should my shame still rest upon record, 1643 And never be forgot in mighty Rome Th' adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom. 104 LUCRECE ' Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak, 1646 And far the weaker with so strong a fear : My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak ; No rightful plea might plead for justice there : His scarlet Lust came evidence to swear 1650 That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes ; And when the judge is robb'd the prisoner dies. CCXXXVII ' O, teach me how to make mine own excuse ! 1653 Or at the least this refuge let me find ; Though my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse. Immaculate and spotless is my mind ; That was not forced ; that never was inclined 1657 To accessary yieldings, but still pure Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure.' ccxxxvm Lo, here, the hopeless merchant of this loss, 1660 With head declined, and voice damm'd up with woe, With sad set eyes, and wretched arms across. From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow The grief away that stops his answer so : 1664 But, wretched as he is, he strives in vain ; What he breathes out his breath drinks up again. As through an arch the violent roaring tide 1667 Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste. Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride Back to the strait that forced him on so fast ; In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past : 1671 Even so his sighs, his soitows, make a saw. To push grief on, and back the same grief draw. LUCRECE 105 CCXL Which speechless woe of his poor she attendeth, 1674 And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh : ' Dear Lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth Another power ; no flood by raining slaketh. My woe too sensible thy passion maketh 1678 More feeling-painful : let it then suffice To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes. • And for my sake, when I might charm thee so, 1681 For she that was thy Lucrece, — now attend me : Be suddenly revenged on my foe. Thine, mine, his own : suppose thou dost defend me From what is past : the help that thou shalt lend me 1685 Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die ; For " sparing justice feeds iniquity." CCXLII ' But ere I name him, you fair Lords,' quoth she, 1688 Speaking to those that came with Collatine, ' Shall plight your honourable faiths to me, With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine ; For 'tis a meritorious fair design 1692 To chase injustice with revengeful arms : Knights, by their oaths, should right poor Ladies' harms.' CCXLIII At this request, with noble disposition 1695 Each present Lord began to promise aid, As bound in Knighthood to her imposition. Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd. But she, that yet her sad task hath not said, 1699 The protestation stops. ' O, speak,' quoth she, ' How may this forced stain be wiped from me ? 106 LUCRECE CCXLIV ' What is the quality of my offence, iTm Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance ? May my pure mind with the foul act dispense, My low-declin6d honour to advance ? May any terms acquit me from this chance ? 1706 The poisoned fountain clears itself again ; And why not I from this compelled stain ? ' CCXLV With this, they all at once began to say, 1709 Her body's stain her mind untainted clears ; While with a joyless smile she turns away The face, that map which deep impression bears Of hard misfortune, carv'd in it with tears, 1713 ' No, no,' quoth she, ' no Dame, hereafter living, By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving.' CCXLVI Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break, 1716 She throws forth Tarquin's name : ' He, he,' she says. But more than ' he ' her poor tongue could not speak ; Till after many accents and delays. Untimely breathings, sick and short assays, 1720 She utters this, ' He, he, fair Lords, 'tis he. That guides this hand to give this wound to me.' CCXLVII Even here she sheathdd in her harmless breast 1723 A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheathed : That blow did bail it from the deep unrest Of that polluted prison where it breathed : Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeathed 1727 Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny. LUCRECE 107 CCXLVIII Stone-stillj astonish'd with this deadly deed, 1730 Stood Collatine and all his Lordly crew ; Till Lucrece' father, that beholds her bleed. Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw ; And from the purple fountain Brutus drew 1734 The murderous knife, and, as it left the place, Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase ; CCXLIX And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide 1737 In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood Circles her body in on every side, Who, like a late-sack'd island, vastly stood Bare and unpeopled in this fearful flood. 1741 Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd. And some look'd black, and that false Tarquin stain'd. COL About the mourning and congealed face 1744 Of that black blood a wat'ry rigol goes, Wliich seems to weep upon the tainted place : And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes, Corrupted blood some watery token shows ; 1748 And blood untainted still doth red abide. Blushing at that which is so putrified. • CCLI ' Daughter, dear daughter,' old Lucretius cries, 1751 '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. 1755 If children predecease progenitors. We are their offspring, and they none of ours. 108 LUCRECE CCLII 'Poor broken glass, I often did behold 1758 In thy sweet semblance my old age new born ; But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old. Shows me a bare-boned death by time outworn : O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn, 1762 And shiver'd all the beauty of my glass. That I no more can see what once I was ! ' O time, cease thou thy course and last no longer 1765 If they surcease to be that should survive. Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger And leave the falt'ring feeble souls alive ? The old Bees die, the young possess their hive : 1769 Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again and see Thy father die, and not thy father thee ! ' By this, starts Collatine as from a dream, 1772 And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place ; And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face, And counterfeits to die with her a space ; 1776 Till manly shame bids him possess his breath And live to be revenged on her death. The deep vexation of his inward soul 1779 Hath serv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue ; Who, mad that sorrow should his use control. Or keep him from heart-easing words so long, Begins to talk ; but through his lips do throng 1783 Weak words, so thick come in his poor heart's aid, That no man could distinguish what he said. LUCRECE 109 CCLVI Yet sometime ' Tarquin ' was pronouncM plain, 1786 But through his teeth, as if the name he tore. This windy tempest, till it blow up rain. Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more ; At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er : 179c Then son and father weep with equal strife Who should weep most, for daughter or for wife, The one doth call her his, the other his, 1793 Yet neither may possess the claim they lay. The father says ' She 's mine.' ' O, mine she is,' Replies her husband : ' do not take away My sorrow's interest ; let no mourner say 1797 He weeps for her, for she was only mine. And only must be wail'd by CoUatine.' CCLVIII ' O,' quoth Lucretius, ' I did give that life 1800 Which she too early and too late hath spill'd.' ' Woe, woe,' quoth CoUatine, ' she was my wife, I owed her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd.' ' My daughter ' and ' my wife ' with clamours fiU'd 1804 The dispers'd air, who, holding Lucrece' life, Answer'd their cries, ' my daughter ' and ' my wife.' Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' side, 1807 Seeing such emulation in their woe. Began to clothe his wit in state and pride. Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show. He with the Romans was esteemed so 1811 As silly-jeering idiots are with Kings, For sportive words and utt'ring foolish things : no LUCRECE CCLX But now he throws that shallow habit by, 1814 Wherein deep policy did him disguise ; And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly, To cheek the tears in CoUatinus' eyes. ' Thou wronged Lord of Rome,' quoth he, ' arise : 1818 Let my unsounded self, suppos'd a fool. Now set thy long-experienced wit to school. ' Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe ? 1821 Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds ? Is it revenge to give thyself a blow For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds ? Such childish humour from weak minds proceeds : 1825 Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so. To slay herself, that should have slain her foe. ' Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart 1828 In such relenting dew of lamentations ; But kneet with me and help to bear thy part, To rouse our Roman Gods with invocations. That they will suffer these abominations 1832 (Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgraced), By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chased. ' Now, by the Capitol that we adore, 1835 And by this chaste blood so unjustly stain6d. By heaven's fair sun that breeds the fat earth's store. By all our country rights in Rome maintained. And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late complained 1839 Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife. We will revenge the death of this true wife.' LUCRECE 111 CCLXIV This said, he struck his hand upon his breast, 1842 And kiss'd the fatal knife, to end his vow ; And to his protestation urged the rest, Who, wond'ring at him, did his words allow : Then jointly to the ground their knees they. bow : 1846 And that deep vow, which Brutus made before. He doth again repeat, and that they swore. When they had sworn to this advised doom, 1849 They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence ; To phow her bleeding body thorough Rome, And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence : Which being done with speedy diligence, 1B53 The Romans plausibly did give consent To Tarquin's everlasting banishment. SONNETS TO . THE . ONLIE . BEGETTER . OF THESE . INSVING . SONNETS. M^. W. H. ALL . HAPPINESSE . AND . THAT . ETERNITIE . PROMISED. BY. OUR . EVER-LIVING . POET WISHETH. THE . WELL-WISHING. ADVENTURER . IN. SETTING . FORTH T. T. lit SONNETS From fairest creatures we desire increase. That thereby beauty's Rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory : But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy Hght'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, makest waste in niggajding : Pity the world, or else this glutton be. To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. When forty Winters shall besiege thy brow. And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now. Will be a tatter'd weed of small worth held : Then being ask'd, where all thy beauty lies. Where all the treasure of thy lusty days ; To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes, -Were an all-eating shame and thqJJJess praise How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use. If thou couldst answer, ' This fair child of mine Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,' Proving his beauty by succession thine ! This were to be new made when thou art old. And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold. 116 SONNETS m Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest, Now is the time that face should form another ; Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. TTor where is she so fair whose unear'd womb ,_JJ)isdains the tillag e of thy husbandry ? Or who is he so fond will be the tomb Of his self-love, to stop posterity ? Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime : So thou through windows of thine age shalt see Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time. But if thou live, rememb'red not to be, Die single, and thine image dies with thee. IV Unthrifty loveliness, why 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 sum of sums, yet canst not live ? For having traffic with thyself alone, Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive : Then how, when nature calls thee to begone. What acceptable Audit canst thou leave ? Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with thee. Which, us6d, lives th' executor to be. SONNETS 117 Those hours, that with gentle work did frame The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell. Will play the tyrants to the very same. And that unfair which fairly doth excel : For never-resting time leads summer on j To hideous winter and confounds him there ; Sap check'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness everywhere : Then, were not summer's distillation left, ■ A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, lo 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 show ; their substance still lives sweel . VI Then let not winter's ragged hand deface In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd : Make sweet some vial ; treasure thou some place With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd. That use is not forbidden usury i 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 times thyself were happier than thou art. If ten of thine ten times refigured thee : n Then what could death do, if thou shouldst 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 heir. 118 SONNETS VII Lo, in the Orient when the gracious light Lifts up his burning head, each under eye Doth homage to his new-appearing sight. Serving with looks his sacred majesty ; And having cHmb'd the steep-up heavenly hill. Resembling strong youth in his middle age. Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, Attending on his golden pilgrimage ; But when from highmost pitch, with weary car. Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day. The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are From his low tract and look another way : So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon, Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son. 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 but sweetly chide thee, who confounds In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear. Mark how one string, sweet husband to another. Strikes each in each by mutual ordering ; Resembling sire, and child, and happy mother. Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing : Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one, Sings this to thee : 'thou single wilt prove none.' SONNETS 119 I Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye, I That thou consum'st thyself in single life ? I Ah ! if thou issueless shalt hap to die, I The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife ; The world will be thy widow and still weep. That thou no form of thee hast left behind. When every private widow well may keep, By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind. Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend. Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it ; But beauty's waste hath in the world an end. And kept unused, the user so destroys it. No love toward others in that bosom sits That on himself such murd'rous shame commits. For shame deny that thou bear'st love to any. Who for thyself art so unprovident. Grant, if thou wilt, thou art belov'd of many, But that thou none lov'st is most evident ; For thou art so possess'd with murd'rous hate s That 'gainst thyself thou 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 ! Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love .'' la 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. 120 SONNETS XI As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st, In one of thine from that which thou departest ; And that fresh bl ood which youngly thou bestow'st Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest. Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase ; 5 Without this, folly, age, and cold decay : If all were minded so, the times should cease And threescore year would make the world away. Let those whom Nature hath not made for store, Harsh featureless, and rude, barrenly perish : ic Look, whom she best endow'd, she gave the more ; Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish : She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die. When I do count the clock that tells the time. And see the brave day sunk in hid p"'"? "ight ; When I behold the violet past prime. And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white ; When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, 5 Which erst from heat did canopy the herd. And Summer's green all girded up in sheaves. Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard : Then of thy beauty do I question make. That thou among the wastes of time must go, 10 Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake And die as fast as they sec others grow ; And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence. SONNETS 121 XIII 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 sweet semblance to some other give. So should that beauty which you hold in lease Find no determination ; then you were Yourself again after your self's decease. When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. 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 know You had a father ; let your son say so. xrv Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck ; And yet methinks I have Astronomy, But not to tell of good, or evil luck. Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality ; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell. Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind. Or say with Princes if it shall go well. By oft predict that I in heaven find : But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive. And, constant stars, in them I read such art As truth and beauty shall together thrive. If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert; Or else of thee this I prognosticate : Thy end is Truth's and Beauty's doom and date. 122 SONNETS When I consider everything that grows Holds in perfection but a little moment. That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows Whereon the Stars in secret influence comment : When I perceive that men as plants increase. Cheered and check'd even by the self-same sky ; Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, And wear their brave state out of memory : Then the conceit of this inconstant stay Sets you most rich in youth before my sight. Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay, To change your day of youth to sullied night ; And all in war with Time for love of you, As he takes from you, I engraft you new. But wherefore do not you a mightier way Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time ? And fortify yourself in your decay \ With means more blessed than my barren rhyme ? Now stand you on the top of happy hours. And many maiden gardens, yet unset. With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers. Much liker than your painted counterfeit : So should the lines of life that life repair. Which this (Time's pencil or my pupil pen) Neither in inward worth nor outward fair. Can make you live your self in eyes of men. (( To give away your self keeps your self still. And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill. SONNETS 123 xvn Who will believe 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 shows not half your parts. If I could write the beauty of your eyes And in fresh numbers number all your graces. The age to come would say ' This Poet lies ; Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.' So should my papers, yellowed with their age, Be scorn' d like old men of less truth than tongue. And your true rights be termed a Poet's rage. And stretched metre of an antique song ; But were some child of yours alive that time. You should live twice ; in it and in my rhyme. '^Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day ? f Thou art more lovely and more temperate : Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And Summer's lease hath all too short a date : Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd ; And every fair from fair sometime declines. By chance, or nature's changing course untrimm'd: But thy eternal Summer shall not fade. Nor loose possession of that fair thou ow'st ; Nor shall Death brag thou wand' rest in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st : So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee. 124 SONNETS XIX Devouring Time, blunt thou the Lion's paws, And make the earth devour her own sweet brood ; Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce Tiger s jaws. And burn the long-liv'd Phoenix in her blood ; Make glad and sony seasons as thou fleet' st. And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, To the wide world and all her fading sweets ; But I forbid thee one most heinous crime : O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow. Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen ; Him ill thy course untainted do allow For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. Yet do thy worst, old Time : despite thy wrong. My love shall in my verse ever live young. A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted. Hast thou, the Master Mistress of my passion ; A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted With shifting change, as is false women's fashion; An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, t Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth ; A man in hue, all Hetvs in his controlling. Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth. And for a woman wert thou first created ; Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, ic And by addition me of thee defeated, By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure. Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure. SONNETS 125 So is it not with me as with that Muse, Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse. Who heaven itself for ornament doth use. And every fair with his fair doth rehearse ; Making a couplement of proud compare, With Sun and Moon, with earth and sea's rich gems, With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare -That heaven's air in this huge rendure hems. O, let me, true in love, but truly write. And then believe me, my love is as fair As any mother's child, though not so bright As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air : —Let them say more that like of hearsay well ; I will not praise that purpose notto sell. My glass shall not persuade me I am old. So long as youth and thou are of one date ; But when in thee time's furrows I behold. Then look I death my days should expiate. For all 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 ; Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again. 126 SONNETS XXIII ; As an unperfect actor on the stage, Who with his fear is put besides his part, 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 S The perfect ceremony of love's rite. And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might. O, let my books be then the eloquence And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, lo Who plead for love and look for recompense. More than that tongue that more hath more express'd. ; O, learn to read what silent love hath writ : To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath steel'd Thy beauty's form in table of my heart ; My body is the frame wherein 'tis held, And perspective it is best Painter's art. For through the Painter must you see his skill, s To find where your true image pictured lies. Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still. That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. Now see what good-turns eyes for eyes have done : Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me lo Are windows to my breast, where-through the Sun Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee ; Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art; They draw but what they see, know not the heart. SONNETS 127 XXV Let those who are in favour with their stars Of public honour and proud titles boast, Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most. Great Princes' favourites their fair leaves spread But as the Marygold at the sun's eye. And in themselves their pride lies buried, For at a frown they in their glory die. The painful warrior famoused for fight. After a thousand victories once foil'd. Is from the book of honour razed quite. And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd : Then happy I, that love and am beloved Where I may not remove nor be removed. Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit. To thee I send this written ambassage. To witness duty, not to show my wit : Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine 5 May make seem bare, in wanting words to show 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 10 And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving, To show me worthy of thy sweet respect : Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee ; Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me. 128 SONNETS XXVII Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed. The dear repose for limbs with travel tirdd ; But then begins a journey in my head. To work my mind, when body's work 's expired : For then my thoughts, 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 my limbs, by night my mind. For thee, and for myself, no quiet find. How can I then return in happy plight. That am debarr'd the benefit of rest ? When day's oppression is not eas'd by night. But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd ? And each, though enemies to either's reign, s Do in consent shake hands to torture me. The one by toil, the other to complain How far I toil, still farther off from thee. I tell the Day, to please him thou art brifrht. And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven : lo So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night. When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even. But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger. SONNETS 129 When, in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep 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. Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least ; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising. Haply I 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 rememb'red such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with Kings. XXX When to the Sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought. And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste : Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow. For precious friends hid in death's dateless night. And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe, And moan th' expense of many a vanish'd sight : Then can I grieve at grievances foregone. And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan. Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end. I 130 SONNETS XXXI Thy bosom is endeared with all heartSj Which I by lacking have supposed dead, And 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 from mine eye As interest of the dead, which now appear But things removed that hidden in there 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 me. XXXII If thou survive my well-contented day. When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude lines of thy deceased Lover : Compare them with the bett'ring of the time, 5 And though they be outstripp'd by every pen. Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme. Exceeded by the height of happier men. O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought : ' Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, 10 A dearer birth than this his love had brought, To march in ranks of better equipage : But since he died and Poets better prove, Tlieirs for their style I '11 read, his for his love.' SONNETS 131 Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye^ Kissing with golden face the meadows green ; Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy : Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide. Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace : Even so my Sun one early morn did shine With all-triumphant splendour on my brow ; But out, alack ! he was but one hour mine ; The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth ; Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth. xxxiv Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day. And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way. Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke ? 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, j To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face. For no man well of such a salve can speak That heals the wound and cures not the disgrace : Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss : i< The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief To him that bears the strong offence's cross. Ah ! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds. And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds. 132 SONNETS XXXV No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done : Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud ; Clouds and eclipses stain both Moon and Sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. All men make faults, and even I in this, Auth6rising thy trespass with compare, Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss. Excusing thy sins, more than their sins are : For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense — Thy adverse party is thy Advocate — And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence : Such civil war is in my love and hate. That I an accessary needs must be To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me. Let me confess that we two must be twain, Although our undivided loves are one : So shall those blots that do with me remain. Without thy help, by me be borne alone. In our two loves there is but one respect, Though in our lives a separable spite. Which though it alter not love's sole effect. Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. I may not ever more acknowledge thee. Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, Nor thou with public kindness honour me. Unless thou take that honour from thy name : I But do not so ; I love thee in such sort ! As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report. SONNETS 133 XXXVII As a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by Fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth. For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, s Or any of these all, or all, or more, Entituled in their parts, do crowned sit, I make my love engrafted to this store : So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised. Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give, lo That I in thy abundance am sufficed And by a part of all thy glory live. Look, what is best, that best I wish in thee : This wish I have ; then ten times happy me ! XXXVIII How can my Muse want subject to invent, While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse Thine own sweet argument, too excellent For every vulgar paper to rehearse .'' O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me Worthy perusal stand against thy sight ; For who 's so dumb that cannot write to thee, When thou thyself dost give invention light .'' Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth Than those old nine which rhymers invocate ; n And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth Eternal numbers to outlive long date. If my slight Muse do please these curious days. The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. 134 SONNETS O, how thy worth with manners may 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 love lose name of single one. That by this separation I may give That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone. O absence, what a torment wouldst 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 dost deceive ' And that thou teachest how to make one twain. By praising him here who doth hence remain ! XL Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all ; What hast thou then more than thou hadst before ? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call ; All mine was thine before thou hadst this more. Then if for my love, thou my love receivest, I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest. But yet be blamed, if thou this self deceivest By wilful taste of what thy self refusest. I do forgive thy robb'ry, gentle thief, Although thou steal thee all my poverty ; And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury. Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, (l Kill me with spites ; yet wejaastirot-be joes. SONNETS 135 XLI Those pretty wrongs 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 he have prevailed ? Aye me ! but yet thou mightst my seat forbear, And chfide thy beauty and thy straying youth, Who lead thee in their riot even there Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth; Hers, by thy beauty tempting her to thee. Thine, by thy beauty being false to me. That thou hast her, it is not all my grief. And yet it may be said I lov'd her dearly ; That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief, A loss in love that touches me more nearly. Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye : 5 Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love her ; And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, SufTring my friend for my sake to approve her. If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, And losing her, my friend hath found that loss ; ic Both find each other, and I lose both twain. And both for my saker lay on me this cross : But here 's the joy ; my friend and I are one ; Sweet flattery ! then she loves but me alone. 136 SONNETS When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see. For all the day they view things unrespected ; But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee. And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed. Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright, s How would thy shadow's form form happy show To the clear day with thy much clearer light. When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so ! How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made By looking on thee in the living day ! " lo When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay ! All days are nights to see till I see thee. And nights bright days when dreams do show thee XLIV If the dull substance of my flesh were thought. Injurious distance should not stop my way ; For then despite of space I would be brought. From limits far remote, where thou dost stay. No matter then although my foot did stand Upon the farthest earth removed from thee ; For nimble thought can jump both sea and land As soon as think the place where he would be. But, ah ! thought kills me that I am not thought. To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone, But that, so much of earth and water wrought, I must attend time's leisure with my moan. Receiving naught by Elements so slow But heavy tears, badges of either's woe. SONNETS 137 XLT The other two^ slight air, and purging fire. Are both with thee, wherever I abide ; The first my thought, the other my desire. These present-absent with swift motion shde. 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 recured By those swift messengers return'd from thee. 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 sad. XLVI Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war. How to divide the conquest of thy sight ; Mine eye, my heart thy picture's sight would bar. My heart, mine eye the freedom of that right. My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie, — A closet never pierced with crystal eyes — But the defendant doth that plea deny And says in him thy fair appearance lies. To side this title is impanneled A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart. And by their verdict is determined The clear eye's moiety and the dear heart's part : As thus; mine eye's due is thy outward part. And my heart's right thy inward love of heart. 138 SONNETS Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took. And each doth good turns now unto the other When that mine eye is famish'd for a look, Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother. With my love's picture then my eye doth feast And to the painted banquet bids my heart ; Another time mine eye is my heart's guest And in his thoughts of love doth share a part : So, either by thy picture or my love. Thyself away art present still with me ; For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move And I am still with them and they with thee ; Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight. How careful was I, when I took my way, Each trifle under truest bars to thrust. That to my use it might unused stay From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust ! But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, 5 Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief. Thou, best of dearest and mine only care. Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest, Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, 10 Within the gentle closure of my breast. From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part ; And even thence thou wilt be stol'n, I fear. For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear SONNETS 139 XLIX Against that time, if ever that time come. When I shall see thee frown on my defects. When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, Call'd to that audit by advised respects ; Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye. When love, converted from the thing it was, Shall reasons find of settled gravity ; Against that time do I ensconce me here Within the knowledge of mine own desert. And this my hand against myself uprear, To guard the lawful reasons on thy part : To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws, Since why to love I can allege no cause. How heavy do I journey on the way. When what I seek, my weary travel's end. Doth teach that ease and that repose to say ' Thus far the miles are measur'd from thy friend ! ' The beast that bears me, tired with my woe. Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me. As if by some instinct the wretch did know His rider lov'd not speed, being made from thee : The bloody spur cannot provoke him on That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide ; Which heavily he answers with a groan, More sharp to me than spurring to his side : For that same groan doth put this in my mind ; My grief lies onward and my joy behind. UO SONNETS u Thus can my love excuse the slow offence Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed : From where thou art, why should I haste me thence ? Till I return, of posting is no need. O, what excuse will my poor beast then find. When swift extremity can seem but slow ? Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind ; In winged speed no motion shall I know : Then can no horse with my desire keep pace ; Therefore desire, of perfect'st love being made, n Shall neigh, no duU flesh in his fiery race ; But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade ; Since from thee going he went wilful-slow. Towards thee I '11 run, and give him leave to go. LII So am I as the rich, whose blessed key Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure. The which he will not eveiy hour survey. For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare. Since, seldom coming, in the long year set, Like stones of worth they thinly placed are. Or captain jewels in the carcanet. So is the time that keeps you as my chest. Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide To make some special instant special blest. By new unfolding his imprison'd pride. Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope, Being had, to triumph, being lack'd to hope. SONNETS 141 Lni What is your substance, whereof are you made, That milUons of strange shadows on you tend ? Since every one hath, every one, one shade. And you, but one, can every 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 show. The other as your bounty doth appear; And you in every blessed shape we know. In all external grace you have some part. But you like none, none you, for constant heart. LIV O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give ! The Rose looks 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 show. 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 vade, my verse distils your truth 142 SONNETS LV Not marble, nor the gilded monuments Of Princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme ; But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone besmear'd with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall Statues overturn, s And broils root out the work of masonry. Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn The living record of your memory. 'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity Shall you pace forth ; your praise shall still find room, lo Even in the eyes of all posterity That wear this world out to the ending doom. So, till the judgment that yourself arise, You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. LVI Sweet love, renew thy force ,- be it not said Thy edge should blunter be than appetite. Which but to-day by feeding is allay' d. To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might : So, love, be thou ; although to-day thou fill i Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fulness. To-morrow see again, and do not kiU The spirit of Love with a perpetual dulness. Let this sad Int'rim like the Ocean be Which parts the shore, where two contracted new n Come daily to the banks, that, when they see Return of love, more blest may be the view ; Or call it Winter, which being full of care Makes Summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare. SONNETS 143 LVII Being your slave, what stould I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire ? I have no precious time at all to spend. Nor services to do, till you require. Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour When you have bid your servant once adieu ; Nor dare I question with my jealous thought Where you may be, or your affairs suppose. But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought. Save, where you are, how happy you make those. So true a fool is love that in your Will, Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill. LVIIl That God forbid, that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure. Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave. Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure ! O, let me suffer, being at your beck, g Th' imprison'd absence of your liberty ; And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check. Without accusing you of injury. Be where you list, your charter is so strong. That you yourself may privilege your time lo To what you will ; to you it doth belong Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. I am to wait, though waiting so be hell ; Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well. 144 SONNETS LIX If there be nothing new^ but that which is Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled. Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss The second burthen of a former child ! O, that record could with a backward look, Even of five hundred courses of the sun. Show me your image in some antique book. Since mind at first in character was done ! That I might see what the old world could say To this composed wonder of your frame ; Whether we are mended, or whe'r better they, Or whether revolution be the same. O, sure I am, the wits of former days To subjects worse have given admiring praise. IX Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore. So do our minutes hasten to theii' end ; Each changing place with that which goes before. In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light. Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown' d, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight. And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth. And delves the parallels in beauty's brow. Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth. And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow : And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand. Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. SONNETS 145 LXI Is it thy will thy image should keep open My heavy eyelids to the weary night ? Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, While shadows like to thee do mock my sight ? Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee s So far from home into my deeds to pry. To find out shames and idle hours in me. The scope and tenure of thy jealousy ? O, no ! thy love, though much, is not so great : It is my love that keeps mine eye awake ; lo Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat. To play the watchman ever for thy sake : For thee watch I whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, From me far off, with others all too near. LXII Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye. And all my soul, and all my every part; And for this sin there is no remedy. It is so grounded inward in my heart. Methinks no face so gracious is as mine. No shape so true, no truth of such account ; And for myself mine own worth do define. As 1 all other in all worths surmount. But when my glass shows me myself indeed, Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity, Mine own self-love quite contrary I read ; Self so self-loving were iniquity. 'Tis thee, my self, that for myself I praise, Painting my age with beauty of thy days. E 146 SONNETS LXIII Against my love shall be^ as I am now, With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn ; When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his brow With lines and wrinkles ; when his youthful morn Hath travell'd on to Age's steepy night. And all those beauties whereof now he's King Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight, Stealing away the treasure of his Spring ; For such a time do I now fortify Against confounding Age's cruel knife, i That he shall never cut from memory My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life : His beauty shall in these black lines be seen. And they shall live, and he in them still green. Lxnr When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced The rich proud cost of outworn buried age ; When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed And brass eternal slave to mortal rage ; When I have seen the hungry Ocean gain Advantage on the Kingdom of the shore. And the firm soil win of the watery main. Increasing store with loss, and loss with store ; When I have seen such interchange of state, Or state itself confounded to decay ; Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate. That Time will come and take my love away. This thought is as a death, which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose. SONNETS 147 LXV Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'er-sways their power. How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea. Whose action is no stronger than a flower ? O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out Against the wrackful siege of battering days. When rocks impregnable are not so stout. Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays ? O fearful meditation ! where, alack. Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid ? Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back ? Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ? O, none, unless this miracle have might, That in black ink my love may still shine bright. LXVI Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, As, to behold Desert a beggar born. And needy Nothing trimm'd in jollity. And purest Faith unhappily forsworn. And gilded Honour shamefully misplaced, And maiden Virtue rudely strumpeted, And right Perfection wrongfully disgraced. And Strength by limping Sway disabled. And Art made tongue-tied by Authority, And Folly, Doctor-like, controlling skill. And simple Tnith miscall'd Simplicity, And captive Good attending captain 111 : Tired with all these, from these would I be gone. Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. 148 SONNETS LXVII Ah ! wherefore with infection should he live. And with his presence grace impiety, That sin by him advantage should achieve And lace itself with his society ? Why should false painting imitate his cheek And steal dead seeing of his living hue ? Why should poor Beauty indirectly seek Roses of shadow, since his Rose is true ? 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. Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn. When beauty liv'd and died as flowers do now, Before these bastard signs of fair were borne. Or durst inhabit on a living brow ; Before the golden 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 are 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 Nature store, To show false Art what beauty was of yore. SONNETS 149 Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view, Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend ; All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due, Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown'd ; s But those same tongues that give thee so thiue own, In other accents do this praise confound By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. They look into the beauty of thy mind. And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds ; lo Then,churls,theirthoughts, althoughtheireyes were kind. To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds : But why thy odour matcheth not thy show. The soil is this, that thou dost common grow. LXX That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; The ornament of beauty is suspect, A Crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. So thou be good, slander doth but approve Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of Time ; For Canker- Vice the sweetest buds doth love. And thou present' st a pure unstained prime. Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days. Either not assail'd, or victor being charged ; Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise. To tie up envy evermore enlarged : If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show, Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe. 150 SONNETS No longer mourn for me when I am dead. Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell : Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it ; for I love you so. That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot. If thinking on me then should make you woe. O, if, 1 say, you look upon this verse. When I, perhaps, compounded am with clay. Do not so much as my poor name rehearse ; But let your love even with my life decay : Lest the wise world should look in to your moan. And mock you with me after I am gone. LXXII O, lest the world should task you to recite What merit llv'd in me, that you should love After my death, dear love, forget me quite. For you in me can nothing worthy prove ; Unless you would devise some virtuous lie. To do more for me than mine own desert, And hang more praise upon deceased I Than niggard truth would willingly impart : O, lest your true love may seem false in this, That you for love speak well of me untrue, My name be buried where my body is, And live no more to shame nor me nor you. For I am shamed by that which I bring forth. And so should you, to love things nothing worth. SONNETS 151 LXXIII That time of year thou mayst in me behold. When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day s As after Sunset fadeth in the West, Which by and by black night doth take away. Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire. That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, lo As the death-bed whereon it must expire. Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long. Lxxrv But be contented : when that fell arrest Without all bail shall carry me away, My life hath in this line some interest. Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. When thou reviewest this, thou 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 that is this, and this with thee remains. 152 SONNETS LXXV So are you to my thoughts as food to life, Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground ; And for the peace of you I hold such strife As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found ; Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure. Now counting best to be with you alone. Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure ; Sometime all full with feasting on your sight. And by and by clean starved for a look ; Possessing or pursuing no delight. Save what is had or must from you be took. Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day. Or gluttoning on all, or all away. LXXVI Why is my verse so barren of new pride ? So far from variation or quick change ? Why with the time do I not glance aside To new-found methods and to compounds strange ? Why write I still all one, ever the same. And keep invention in a noted weed. That every word doth almost tell my name. Showing their birth and where they did proceed ? O, know, sweet love, I always write of you. And you and love are still my argument ; So all my best is dressing old words new, Spending again what is already spent : For as the Sun is daily new and old. So is my love still telling what is told. SONNETS 153 LXXVII Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste ; The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear. And of this book this learning mayst thou taste. The wrinkles, which thy glass will truly show Of mouthed graves will give thee memory; Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know Time's thievish progress to eternity. Look, what thy memory cannot contain Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find Those children nurs'd, deliver'd from thy brain. To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. These ofBces, so oft as thou wilt look. Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book. LXXVIII So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse, And found such fair assistance in my verse, As every Alien pen hath got my use. And under thee their poesy disperse. Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing. And heavy ignorance aloft to fly. Have added feathers to the learned's wing. And given grace a double Majesty. Yet be most proud of that wliich I compile. Whose influence is thine, and born of thee : In others' works thou dost but mend the style. And Arts with thy sweet graces graced be ; But thou art all my art, and dost advance As high as learning my rude ignorance. 154 SONNETS LXXIX Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, My verse alone had all thy gentle grace. But now my gracious numbers are decay' d. And my sick Muse doth give another place. I grantj sweet love, thy lovely argument Deserves the travail of a worthier pen. Yet what of thee thy Poet doth invent He robs thee of and pays it thee again. He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word From thy behaviour ; beauty doth he give And found it in thy cheek : he can afford No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live. Then thank him not for that which he doth say. Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay. LXXX O, how I faint when I of you do write. Knowing a better spirit doth use your name. And in the praise thereof spends all his might, To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame ! But since your worth, wide as the Ocean is, The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, My saucy bark, inferior far to his. On your broad main doth wilfully appear. Your shallowest help will' hold me up afloat, Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride ; Or, being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat. He of tall building and of goodly pride : Then if he thrive and 1 be cast away. The worst was this ; my love was my decay. SONNETS 155 LXXXI Or I shall live your epitaph to make, Or you survive wheia I in earth am rotten ; From hence your memory death cannot take. Although in me each part will be forgotten. Your name from hence immortal life shall have, s Though I, once gone, to all the vrorld must die : The earth can yield me but a common grave. When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. Your monument shall be my gentle verse. Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read, lo And tongues to be your being shall rehearse When all the breathers of this vs^orld are dead ; You still shall live— such virtue hath my pen — Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men. Lxxxri I grant thou vrert not married to my Muse, And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook The dedicated words which writers use Of their fair subject, blessing every book. Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, Finding thy worth a limit past my praise. And therefore art enforced to seek anew Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. And do so, love ; yet when they have devised What strained touches Rhetoric can lend, Thou truly fair wert truly sympathized In true plain words by thy true-telling friend ; And their gross painting might be better used Where cheeks need blood ; in thee it is abused. 156 SONNETS LXXXIII I never saw that you did painting need, And therefore to your fair no painting set ; I foundj or thought I found, you did exceed The barren tender of a Poet's debt : And therefore have I slept in your report. That you yourself being extant well might show How far a modern quill doth come too short. Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. This silence for my sin you did impute. Which shall be most my gloiy, being dumb ; For I impair not beauty being mute. When others would give life and bring a tomb. There lives more life in one of your fair eyeS' Than both your Poets can in praise devise. Who is it that says most ? which can say more Than this rich praise, that you alone are you ? In whose confine immured is the store Which should example where your equal grew. Lean penury within that pen doth dwell, s That to his subject lends not some small glory ; But he that writes of you, if he can tell That you are you, so dignifies his story. Let him but copy what in you is writ. Not making worse what nature made so clear, la And such a counterpart shall fame his wit. Making his style admired every where. You to your beauteous blessings add a curse. Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse SONNETS 157 LXXXV My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still, While comments of your praise, richly compiled. Reserve their character with golden quill And precious phrase by all the Muses filed. I think good thoughts whilst other write good words, 5 And like unletter'd clerk still cry ' Amen ' To every Hymn that able spirit affords In polish'd form of well-refined pen. Hearing you praised, I say ''Tis so, 'tis true,' And to the most of praise add something more ; 10 But that is in my thought, whose love to you. Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before. Then others for the breath of words respect. Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, Bound for the prize of (all-too-precious) you. That did my ripe thoughts in my brain ir.hearse, Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew ? Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead ? No, neither he, nor his compeers by night Giving him aid, my verse astonished. He, nor that affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence. As victors of my silence cannot boast; I was not sick of any fear from thence : But when your countenance fill'd up his line, Then lack'd I matter ; that enfeebled mine. 158 SONNETS LXXXVII I Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing, I And like enough thou know'st thy estimate : / The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing ; ' My bonds in thee are all determinate. For how do I hold thee but by thy granting ? And for that riches where is my deserving ? The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, And so my patent back again is swerving. Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing. Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking ; k So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, Comes home again, on better judgment making. Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter. In sleep a King, but waking no such matter. When thou shalt be disposed to set me light, And place my merit in the eye of scorn. Upon thy side against myself I '11 fight. And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn. With mine own weakness being best acquainted. Upon thy part I can set down a story Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted ; That thou in losing me shalt win much glory : And I by this will be a gainer too ; For bending all my loving thoughts on thee. The injuries that to myself I do. Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. I Such is my love, to thee I so belong, \ That for thy right, myself will bear all wrong. SONNETS 159 Say that thou didst 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. Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so iU, To set a form upon desired change. As I 'U myself disgrace : knowing thy will, I will acquaintance strangle and look strange ; Be absent from thy walks ; and in my tongue Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell, Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong. And haply of our old acquaintance tell. For thee against myself I '11 vow debate. For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate. xc Then hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now ; Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow. And do not drop in for an after-loss : Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow, s Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe. Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, To linger out a purpos'd overthrow. If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, When other petty griefs have done their spite, lo But in the onset come ; so shall I taste At first the very worst of fortune's might ; And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, Compared with loss of thee will not seem so. 160 SONNETS XCI Some glory in their birth, some in their skill. Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' force. Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill, Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse ; And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure. Wherein it finds a joy above the rest : But these particulars are not my measure ; All these I better in one general best. Thy love is better than high birth to me, Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost, i Of more delight than hawks or horses be ; And having thee, of all men's pride I boast : Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take All this away, and me most wretched make. XCII But do thy worst to steal thyself away, For term of life thou art assured mine. And life no longer than thy love will stay. For it depends upon that love of thine. Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs. When in the least of them my life hath end ; I see a better state to me belongs Than that which on thy humour doth depend. Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind. Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie ; — O, what a happy title do I find, Happy to have thy love, happy to die ! But what 's so blessed-fair that fears no blot ? Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not. SONNETS 161 xcm So shall I live, supposing thou art true, Like a deceived husband ; so love's face May still seem love to me, though alter'd new : Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place. For there can live no hatred in thine eye. Therefore in that I cannot know thy change — In many's looks the false heart's history Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange. But heaven in thy creation did decree That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell ; i Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be. Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell. How like I^ves apple doth thy beauty grow, If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show ! xcrv They that have power to hurt, and will do none. That do not do the thing they most do show. Who, moving others, are themselves as stone. Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow : They rightly do inherit heaven's graces And husband nature's riches from expense ; They are the Lords and owners of their faces. Others, but stewards of their excellence. The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, Though to itself it only live and die. But if that flower with base infection meet. The basest weed outbraves his dignity : For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. L 162 SONNETS xcv How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame Which, like a canker in the fragrant Rose, Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name ! O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose ! That tongue that tells the story of thy days. Making lascivious comments on thy sport, Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise ; Naming thy name, blesses an ill report. O, what a mansion have those vices got. Which for their habitation chose out thee. Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot. And all things turn to fair that eyes can see ! Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege; The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge. xcvi Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness ; Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport ; Both grace and faults are lov'd of more and less : Thou mak'st faults graces, that to thee resort. As on the finger of a throned Queen The basest jewel will be well esteem'd ; So are those errors that in thee are seen To truths translated and for true things deem'd. How many Lambs might the stern Wolf betray, If like a Lamb he could his looks translate ! How many gazers mightst thou lead away. If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state ! But do not so ; I love thee in such sort. As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report SONNETS 163 XCVII How like a Winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen ! What old December's bareness every where ! And yet this time removed was summer's time, s The teeming Autumn, big with rich increase, Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime. Like widowed wombs after their Lord's decease : Yet this abxmdant issue seem'd to me But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit ; lo For Summer and his pleasures wait on thee. And, thou away, the very birds are mute ; Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer. That leaves look pale, dreading the Winter 's near. XCVIII From you have I been absent in the spring. When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing. That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue Could make me any summer's story tell. Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew ; ' Nor did I wonder at the Lily's white, i Nor praise the deep vermilion in the Rose ; lo They were but sweet, but figures of delight. Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. Yet seem'd it Winter still, and, you away, As with your shadow I with these did play. 164 SONNETS XCIX The forward violet thus did I chide : Sweet thiefj whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, If not from my love's breath ? The purple pride Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed. s The Lily I condemned for thy hand. And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair; The Roses fearfully on thorns did stand. One blushing shame, another white despair ; A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both, lo And to his robb'ry had annex'd thy breath ; But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth A vengeful canker eat him up to death. More flowers I noted, yet I none could see But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee. Where art thou. Muse, that thou forget' st so long To speak of that which gives thee all thy might ? Spend' st thou thy fury on some worthless song, Dark'ning thy power to lend base subjects light ? Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem In gentle numbers time so idly spent ; Sing to the ear 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 j So thou prevent' st his scythe and crooked knife. SONNETS 165 CI O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends For thy neglect of truth in bea:uty dyed ? Both truth and beauty on my love depends ; So dost thou too, and therein dignified. Make answer, Muse : wilt thou not haply say ' Truth needs no colour with his colour fix'd ; Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay ; But best is best, if never intermix'd ? ' Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb ? Excuse not silence so ; for 't lies in thee To make him much outlive a gilded tomb, And to be praised of ages yet to be. Then do thy office. Muse ; I teach thee how To make him seem long hence as he shows now. CII My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming ; I love not less, though less the show appear : That love is merchandised whose rich esteeming The owner's tongue doth publish every where. Our love was new, and then but in the spring, s When I was wont to greet it with my lays. As Philomel in summer's front doth sing. And stops his pipe in growth of riper days : Not that the summer is les.<: pleasant now Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, lo But that wild music burthens every bough. And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. Therefore, like her, I sometime hold my tongue. Because I would not dull you with my song. 166 SONNETS cm Alackj what poverty my Muse brings forth. That having such a scope to show her pride. The argument all bare is of more worth Than when it hath my added praise beside ! O, blame me not, if I no more can write ! Look in your glass, and there appears a face That over-goes my blunt invention quite, Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace. Were it not sinful then, striving to mend. To mar the subject that before was well ? For to no other pass my verses tend. Than of your graces and your gifts to tell ; And more, much more, than in ray verse can sit Your own glass shows you when you look in it. CIV To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed. Such seems your beauty still. Three Winters cold Have from the forests shook three Summers' pride ; Three beauteous springs to yellow Autumn turn'd. In process of the seasons have I seen ; Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd. Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. Ah ! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, Steal from his figure and no pace perceived ; So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived : For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred ; Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. SONNETS 167 cv Let not my love be call'd idolatry. Nor my beloved as an idol show. Since all alike my songs and praises be To one, of one, still such, and ever so. Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, i Still constant in a wondrous excellence ; Therefore my verse to constancy confined. One thing expressing, leaves out difference. ' Fair, kind, and true ' is all my argument, ' Fair, kind, and true ' varying to other words ; k And in this change is my invention spent. Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords. 'Fair, kind, and true,' have often liv'd alone. Which three, till now, never kept seat in one. cvi When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights. And beauty making beautiful old rhyme In praise of Ladies dead and lovely Knights, Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best. Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have express'd Even such a beauty as you master now. So all their praises are but prophecies Of this our time, all you prefiguring; ] And, for they look'd but with divining eyes, They had not still enough your worth to sing : For we, which now behold these present days. Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 168 SONNETS CVII Not mine own fearSj nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come. Can yet the lease of my true love control. Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. The mortal Moon hath her eclipse endured, ; And the sad Augurs mock their own presage ; Incertainties now crown themselves assured. And peace proclaims olives of endless age. Now with the drops of this most balmy time My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribeSj ic Since, spite of him, I '11 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 spent. V What 's in the brain that ink may character. Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit ? What 's new to speak, what now to register. That may express my love or thy dear merit ? Nothing, sweet boy ; but yet, like prayers divine, s I must each day say o'er the very same. Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine. Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name. So that eternal love in love's fresh case Weighs not the dust and injury of age, lo Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place. But makes antiquity for aye his page. Finding the first conceit of love there bred Where time and outward form would show it dead. SONNETS 169 CIX O, never say that I was false of heart. Though absence seem'd my flame to quahfy ! As easy might I from myself depart. As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie : That is my home of love : if I have ranged. Like him that travels I return again. Just to the time, not with the time exchanged. So that myself bring water for my stam. 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 this wide Universe I call. Save thou, my Rose ; in it thou art my all. ex Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there, And made myself a motley to the view, Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear. Made old offences of affections new ; Most true it is that I have look'd on truth Askance and strangely : but, by all above. These blenches gave my heart another youth. And worse essays proved thee my best of love. Now all is done, have what shall have no end : Mine appetite I never more will grind i On newer proof, to try an older friend, A God in love, to \vhom I am confined. Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best. Even to thy pure and most most loving brea st. 170 SONNETS CXI O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide. The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide, Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand. And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the Dyer's hand : Pity me then and wish I were renew'd ; Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection ; No bitterness that I will bitter think. Nor double penance, to correct correction. Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye Even that your pity is enough to cure me. Your love and pity doth th' impression fill Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow; For what care I 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 know 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 so profound Ahysm I throw all care Of others' voices, that my Adder's sense i To critic and to flatterer stopped are : — Mark how with my neglect I do dispense — You are so strongly in my purpose bred That all the world besides me thinks y' are dead. SONNETS 171 Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind ; And that which governs me to go about Doth part his function, and is partly blind. Seems seeing, but effectually is out ; For it no form delivers to the heart Of bird, of flower, or shape, which it doth latch ; Of his quick objects hath the mind no part. Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch ; For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight, The most sweet favour or deformed' st creature. The mountain or the sea, the day or night. The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature : Incapable of more, replete with you. My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue. cxiv Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you. Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery ? Or whether shall I say, mine eye saith true. And that your love taught it this Alchemy, To make of monsters and things indigest Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble. Creating every bad a perfect best. As fast as objects to his beams assemble ? O, 'tis the first ; 'tis flatt'ry in my seeing. And my great mind most kingly drinks it up : Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 'greeing. And to his palate doth prepare the cup : If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin. That mine eye loves it and doth first begin. 172 SONNETS cxv Those lines that I before have writ do lie. Even those that said I could not love you dearer : Yet then ray judgment knew no reason why My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer. But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of Kings, Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp' st intents, Divert strong minds to th' course of alt' ring things : Alas, why, fearing of Time's tyranny. Might I not then say ' 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 doth grow. Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds. Or bends with the remover to remove : O, no ! it is an ever-fixed mark 5 That looks on tempests and is never shaken ; It is the star to every wand'ring bark. Whose worth 's unknown, although his height be taken. Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come ; lo Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. SONNETS 173 CXVII Accuse me 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 unknovcn minds, c And given to Time your own dear-purchas'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 ; lo Bring me within the level of your frown. But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate ; Since my appeal says I did strive to prove The constancy and virtue of your love. Like as, to make our appetites more keen. With eager compounds we our palate urge ; As, to prevent our maladies unseen. We sicken to shun sickness when we purge ; Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness, s To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding ; And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness To be diseas'd, ere that there was true needing. Thus policy in love, t' anticipate The ills that were not, grew to faults assured lo And brought to medicine a healthful state Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured : But thence I learn, and find the lesson true. Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you. 174 SONNETS What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within, Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears. Still losing when I saw myself to win ! What wretched errors hath my heart committed, j Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never ! How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted In the distraction of this madding fever ! O benefit of ill ! now I find true That better is by evil still made better ; lo And ruin'd love, when it is built anew, Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. So I return rebuked to my content And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent. cxx That you were once unkind befriends me now. And for that sorrow, which I then did feel. Needs must I under my transgression bow. Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel. For if you were by my unkindness shaken As I by yours, y' have pass'd a hell of time. And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken To weigh how once I sufFer'd in your crime. O, that our night of woe might have rememb'red My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits, And soon to you, as you to me, then tend'red The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits ! But that, your trespass, now becomes a fee ; Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. SONNETS 175 CXXI 'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemM, When not to be, receives reproach of being; And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed. Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing : For why should others' false adulterate eyes 5 Give salutation to my sportive blood ? Or on my frailties why are frailer spies. Which in their wills count bad what I think good ? No, I am that I am, and they that level At my abuses, reckon up their own : 10 I may be straight, though they themselves be bevel ; By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shown ; Unless this general evil they maintain. All men are bad, and in their badness reign. CXXII Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain Full character'd with lasting memory. Which shall above that idle rank remain Beyond all date, even to eternity ; Or at the least, so long as brain and heart Have faculty by nature to subsist ; Till each to razed 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 more ; To keep an adjunct to remember thee Were to import forgetfulness in me. 176 SONNETS No ! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change : Thy pyramids built up with newer might To me are nothing novel, nothing strange ; They are but dressings of a former sight : Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire What thou dost foist upon us that is old, And rather make them borne to our desire Than think that we before have heard them told : Thy registers and thee I both defy. Not wond'ring at the present nor the past. For thy records, and what we see doth lie. Made more or less by thy continual haste : This I do vow and this shall ever be ; I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee. cxxiv If my dear love were but the child of state. It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd. As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate. Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather' d. No, it was builded far from accident ; It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls Under the blow of thralled discontent. Whereto th' inviting time our fashion calls : It fears not policy, that Heretic, Which works on leases of short-numb'red hours, But all alone stands hugely politic. That it nor grows with heat nor drowns with showers. To this I witness call the fools of Time, Which die for goodness, who have liv'd for crime. SONNETS 177 cxxv Were 't aught to me I bore the canopy, With my extern the outward honourhig, Or laid great bases for eternity. Which proves 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 thrivers, in their gazing spent ? No, let me be obsequious in thy heart. And take thou my oblation, poor but free^ k Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art, But mutual render, only me for thee. Hence, thou suborn'd Informer ! a true soul When most impeach'd stands least in thy control. cxxvi O thou, my lovely Boy, who in thy power Dost hold I'ime's fickle glass, his sickle, hour ; Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st ! If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack. As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back, She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill May Time disgrace and wretched minutes kill. Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure ! She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure : Her Audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be. And her Quietus is to render thee. M 178 SONNETS CXXVII In the old age black was not counted fair. Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name ; But now is black beauty's successive heir. And Beauty slander'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 profaned, if not lives in disgrace. Therefore my Mistress' eyes are raven black. Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack, Sland'ring Creation with a false esteem : Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe. That every tongue says beauty should look so. How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st. Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap 5 To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap, At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand ! To be so tickled, they would change their state And situation with those dancing chips, 10 O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait Making dead wood more blest than living lips : Since saucy jacks so happy are in this. Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss SONNETS 179 Th" expense of Spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action ; and till action, lust Is peijur'd, murd'rous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust ; Enjoy'd no sooner, but despis6d straight, ; Past reason hunted ; and no sooner had. Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait, On purpose laid to make the taker mad : Mad in pursuit, and in possession so ; Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme ; ic A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe ; Before, a joy proposed ; behind, a dream. All this the world well knows ; yet none knows well To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. cxxx My Mistress' eyes are nothing like the Sun ; Coral is far more red than her lips' red ; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun ; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen Roses damask'd, red and white. But no such Roses see I in her cheeks ; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my Mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That Music hath a far more pleasing sound ; I grant I never saw a goddess go ; My Mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground : And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare. 180 SONNETS CXXXI Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art. As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel ; For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. Yet in good faith some say that thee behold. Thy face hath not the power to make love groan : To say they err, I dare not be so bold, Although I swear it to myself alone. And, to be sure that is not false I swear, A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face, i One on another's neck, do witness bear Thy black is fairest in ray judgment's place. In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds. CXXXII Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me. Knowing thy heart torments 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 : O, let it then as well beseem thy heart To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace. And suit thy pity like in every part. Then will I swear beauty herself is black And all they foul that thy complexion lack. SONNETS 181 CXXXIII Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me ! Is 't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet' st friend must be ? Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken. And ray next self thou harder hast engrossed : Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken ; A torment thrice threefold thus to be crossed. Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward, But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail ; Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard ; Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol : And yet thou wilt ; for I, being pent in thee. Perforce am thine, and all that is in me. cxxxiv So, now I have confess'd that he is thine, And I myself am mortgaged to thy will. Myself I '11 forfeit, so that other mine Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still : But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free. For thou art covetous and he is kind ; He learn'd but surety-like to write for me Under that bond that him as fast doth bind. The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take. Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use. And sue a friend came debtor for my sake ; So him I lose through my unkind abuse. Him have I lost ; thou hast both him and me : He pays the whole, and yet am I not free. 182 SONNETS cxxxv Whoever hath her wish^ thou hast thy Will, And Will to boot, and Will in overplus ; More than enough am I that vex thee still, To thy sweet will making addition thus. Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious. Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine ? Shall will in others seem right gracious. And in my will no fair acceptance shine ? The sea, all water, yet receives rain still And in abundance addeth to his store ; So thou, being rich in Will, add to thy Will One will of mine, to make thy large Will more. Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill ; Think all but one, and me in that one Will. If thy soul check thee that I come so near. Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will, And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there ; Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfil. Will will fuMl the treasure of thy love. Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one. In things of great receipt with ease we prove Among a number one is reckon'd none : Then in the number let me pass untold. Though in thy stores' account I one must be ; For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold That nothing me, a something sweet to thee : Make but my name thy love, and love that still, And then thou lovest me, for my name is Will. SONNETS 183 CXXXVII Thou blind fool. Love, what dost thou to mine eyes. 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, S Be anchor d in the bay where all men ride, Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied ? Why should my heart think that a several plot Which my heart knows the wide world's common place? Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not, n To put fair truth upon so foul a face ? In things right true my heart and eyes have err^d. And to this false plague are they now transferred. When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do believe her, though I know she lies. That she might think me some untutor'd youth, Unlearned in the world'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 suppress'd. But wherefore says she not she is unjust ? And wherefore say not I that I am old .'' O, 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 flattered be. 184 SONNETS cxxxix O, call not me to justify the wrong, That thy unkindness lays upon my heart ; Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue ; Use power with power, and slay me not by Art. Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere ; but in my sight, $ Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside : What need'st thou wound with cunning, when thy might Is more than my o'er-press'd defence can bide ? Let me excuse thee : ah ! my love well knows Her pretty looks have been mine enemies, lo And therefore from my face she turns my foes. That they elsewhere might dart their injuries : Yet do not so ; but since I am near slain. Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain. CXL Be wise as thou art cruel ; do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain ; Lest sorrow lend me words and words express The manner of my pity-wanting pain. If I might teach thee wit, better it were, 5 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 : 10 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. Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide. SONNETS 185 In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes. For they in thee a thousand errors note ; But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise^ Who in despite of view is pleas'd to dote ; Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted, Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone. Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited To any sensual feast with thee alone : But my five wits nor my five senses can Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee. Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man, Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be : Only my plague thus far I count my gain. That she that makes me sin awards me pain. Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving : O, but with mine compare thou thine own state. And thou shalt find it merits not reproving ; Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine. That have profaned their scarlet ornaments, And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine, Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents. Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee : Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, By self-example mayst thou be denied ! 186 SONNETS CXLIII Lo ! as a careful housewife runs to catch One of her feathered creatures broke away, Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch In pursuit of the thing she would have stay; Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase. Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent To follow that which flies before her face. Not prizing her poor infant's discontent ; So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee. Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind ; But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me. And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind : So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will, If thou turn back, and my loud ciying still. Two loves I have of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still : The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman colour' d ill. To win me soon to hell, my female evil Tempteth my better angel from my side, And would corrupt my saint to be a devil. Wooing his purity with her foul pride. And whether that my angel be tuvn'd fiend Suspect I may, yet not directly tell ; But being both from me, both to each friend, I guess one angel in another's hell : Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt. Till my bad angel fire my good one out. SONNETS 187 CXLV Those lips that Love's own hand did make Breath'd forth the sound that said ' I hate ' To me that languish'd for her sake ; But when she saw my woeful state. Straight in her heart did mercy come, Chiding that tongue that ever sweet Was used in giving gentle doom, And taught it thus anew to greet ; ' I hate ' she alter' d with an end. That follow'd it as gentle day Doth follow night, who like a fiend From heaven to hell is flown away ; ' I hate ' from hate away she threw. And saved my life, saying ' not you.' Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth — My sinful earth these rebel powers array — Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth. Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, s Dost thou upon 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 loss. And let that pine to aggravate thy store ; lo Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ; Within be fed, without be rich no more : So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men. And Death once dead, there 's no more dying then. 188 SONNETS My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease. Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please. My reason, the Physician to my love, s Angry that his prescriptions are not kept. Hath left me, and I desperate now approve Desire is death, which Physic did except. Past cure I am, now Reason is past care, And frantic-mad with evermore unrest ; lo My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are. At random from the truth vainly express'd ; For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright. Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. CXLVIII O me ! what eyes hath Love put in my head. Which have no correspondence with true sight ! Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled. That censures falsely what they see aright .' If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, s What means the world to say it is not so ? If it be not, then love 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 so vex'd with watching and with tears ? lo No marvel then, though I mistake my view ; The sun itself sees not till heaven clears. O cunning Love ! with tears thou keep'st me blind. Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. SONNETS 189 CXLIX Canst thouj O cruel ! say I lore thee not. When I against myself with thee partake ? Do I not think on thee, when I forgot Am of myself, all tyrant for thy sake ? Who hateth thee that I do call my friend ? On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon ? Nay, if thou lour'st on me, do I not spend Revenge upon myself with present moan ? What merit do I in myself respect. That is so proud thy service to despise, When aU my best doth worship thy defect. Commanded by the motion of thine eyes ? But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind ; Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind. O, from what power hast thou this powerful might. With insufficiency my heart to sway ? To make me give the lie to my true sight. And swear that brightness doth not grace the day ? Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, 5 That in the very refuse of thy deeds There is such strength and warrantise of skill That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds ? Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, The more I hear and see just cause of hate ? 10 O, though I love what others do abhor. With others thou shouldst not abhor my state : If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me. More worthy I to be belov'd of thee. 190 SONNETS CLI Love is too young to know what conscience is ; Yet who knows not conscience is born of love ? Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss. 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 is 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 whose dear love I rise and fall. GUI In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn. But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing ; In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn In vowing new hate after new love bearing. But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee. When I break twenty ? I am perjur'd most ; For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee. And all my honest faith in thee is lost : For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness, Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy. And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness. Or made them swear against the thing they see ; For I have sworn thee fair ; more perjured I, To swear against the truth so foul a lie ! SONNETS 191 CUII Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep : A maid of Dian's this advantage found. And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground ; Which borrow'd from this holy fire of love A dateless lively heat, still to endure, And grew a seething bath, vchich yet men prove Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired. The boy for trial needs would touch my breast ; I, sick withal, the help of bath desired. And thither hied, a sad distemper' d guest, But found no cure : the bath for my help lies Where Cupid got new fire — my mistress' eyes. CLIV The little Love-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 hand The fairest votary took up that fire 5 Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd ; And so the General of liot desire Was sleeping by a Virgin hand disarm' d. This brand she quenched in a cool well by. Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual, lo 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. A LOVER'S COMPLAINT A LOVER'S COMPLAINT I From off a hill whose concave womb re-worded A plaintful story from a sist'ring vale, My spirits t' attend this double voice accorded, And down I laid to list the sad-tmied tale ; Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale, Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twaiUj Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain. Upon her head a platted hive of straw, Which fortified her visage from the Sun, Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw The carcass of a beauty spent and done : Time had not scythed all that youth begun. Nor youth all quit ,• but, spite of heaven's fell rage. Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age. Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne, 15 Which on it had conceited characters, Laund'ring the silken figures in the brine That season'd woe had pelleted in tears,' And often reading what contents it bears ; 19 As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe. In clamours of all size, both high and low. 195 196 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT IV Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride, ia As they did batt'ry to the spheres intend ; Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied To th' orb6d earth ; sometimes they do extend Their view right on ; anon their gazes lend 26 To every place at once, and, nowhere fix'd. The mind and sight distractedly commix'd. Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat, 29 Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride ; For some, untuck' d, descended her sheav'd hat. Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside ; Some in her threaden fillet still did bide, 33 And true to bondage would not break from thence. Though slackly braided in loose negligence. A thousand favours from a maund she drew 36 Of amber, crystal, and of bedded jet, Which one by one she in a river threw. Upon whose weeping margent she was set; Like usuiy, applying wet to wet, 40 Or Monarchs' hands that let not bounty fall Where want cries some, but where excess begs all. Of folded schedules had she many a one, 43 Which she perused, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood ; Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone. Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud ; Found yet raoe letters sadly penn'd in blood, 47 With sleided silk feat and affectedly FiHswath'd, and seal'd to curious secrecy. A LOVER'S COMPLAINT 197 These often bath'd she in her fluxive eyes, 50 And often kiss'd, and often gave to tear ; Cried ' O false blood, thou register of lies, What unapproved witness dost thou bear ! Ink would have seem'd more black and damndd here ! ' 54 This said, in top of rage the lines she rents. Big discontent so breaking their contents. A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh — 57 Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew Of Court, of City, and had let go by The swiftest hours observed as they flew — Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew : 61 And, privileged by age, desires to know In brief the grounds and motives of her woe So slides he down upon his grained bat, 64 And comely-distant sits he by her side ; When he again desires her, being sat. Her grievance with his hearing to divide : If that from him there may be aught applied 63 Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage, 'Tis promised in the charity of age. ' Father,' she says, ' though in me you behold 71 The injury of many a blasting hour. Let it not tell your judgment I am old ; Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power : I might as yet have been a spreading flower, 7s Fresh to myself, if I had self-applied Love to myself and to no Love beside. 198 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT ' But, woe is me ! too early I attended 78 A youthful suit — it was to gain my grace — Of one by nature's outwards so commended, That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face : Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her place ; 82 And when in his fair parts she did abide. She was new lodg'd and newly Deified. ' His browny locks did hang in crooked curls ; 85 And every light occasion of the wind Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls. What 's sweet to do, to do will aptly find : Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind, 89 For on his visage was in little drawn What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn. ' Small show of man was yet upon his chin ; 92 His phoenix down began but to appear Like unshorn velvet on that termless skin Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to wear : Yet show'd his visage by that cost more dear ; 96 And nice affections wavering stood in doubt If best were as it was, or best without. XV ' His qualities were beauteous as his form, 99 For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free ; Yet, if men moved him, was he such a storm As oft 'twixt May and April is to see. When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be. 103 His rudeness so with his authorised youth Did livery falseness in a pride of truth. A LOVER'S COMPLAINT 199 XVI ' Well could he ridCj and often men would say io6 " That horse his mettle from his rider takes : Proud of subjection^ noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes !" And controversy hence a question takes, no Whether the horse by him became his deed. Or he his manege by th' well-doing steed. ' But quickly on this side the verdict went : 113 His real habitude gave life and grace To appertainings and to ornament, Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case . All aids, themselves made fairer by their place, 117 Can for additions ; yet their purposed trim Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him. ' So on the tip of his subduing tongue isj All kind of arguments and question deep, All replication prompt, and reason strong. For his advantage still did wake and sleep : To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep, 124 He had the dialect and different skill. Catching all passions in his craft of wiU : XIX ' That he did in the general bosom reign 127 Of young, of old, and sexes both enchanted To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain In personal duty, following where he haunted : Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted, 131 And, dialogu'd for him what he would say, Ask'd their own wills and made their wills obey. 200 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT ' Many there were that did his picture get, 134 To serve their eyeSj and in it put their mind ; Like fools that in th' imagination set The goodly objects which abroad they find Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd; 138 And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them : ' So many have, that never touch'd his hand, 141 Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart : My woeful self, that did in freedom stand, And was my own fee-simple, not in part. What with his art in youth, and youth in art, 145 Threw my affections in his charmed power, Reserv'd the stalk and gave him all my flower. ' Yet did I not, as some my equals did, 148 Demand of him, nor being desired yielded ; Finding myself in honour so forbid. With safest distance I mine honour shielded : Experience for me many bulwarks builded 152 Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil, xxin ' But, ah, who ever shunn'd by precedent 155 The destin'd ill she must herself assay ? Or forced examples 'gainst her own content. To put the by-past perils in her way ? Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay ; 159 For when we rage, advice is often seen By blunting us to make our wits more keen. A LOVER'S COMPLAINT 201 XXIV ' Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood, 162 That we must curb it upon others' proof : To be forbid the sweets that seem so good. For fear of harms that preach in our behoof. O appetite, from judgment stand aloof! 166 The one a palate hath that needs will taste. Though Reason weep, and cry " It is thy last." XXV ' For further I could say "This man's untrue," 169 And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling ; Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew. Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling ; Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling ; 173 Thought characters and words merely but art, And bastards of his foul adulterate heart. ' And long upon these terms I held my city, 176 Till thus he gan besiege me : " Gentle maid. Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity. And be not of my holy vows afraid : That 's to ye sworn to none was ever said ; 180 For feasts of love I have been call'd unto. Till now did ne'er invite, nor never vow. ' " All my offences that abroad you see 183 Are errors of the blood, none of the mind ; Love made them not : with acture they may be. Where neither party is nor true nor kind : They sought their shame that so their shame did find. And so much less of shame in me remains, 188 By how much of me their reproach contains. 202 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT ' " Among the many that mine eyes have seen^ 190 Not one whose flame my heart so much as warmed, Or my affection put to th' smallest teen. Or any of my leisures ever charmed : Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harm6d ; 194 Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free, And reign' d, commanding in his monarchy. ' " Look here, what tributes wounded fancies sent me, Of palid pearls and rubies red as blood ; 198 Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me Of grief and blushes, aptly understood In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood ; 201 • Effects of terror and dear modesty, Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly. ' " And, lo, behold these talents of their hair, 204 With twisted metal amorously impleach'd, I have receiv'd from many a several fair. Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd, With the annexions of fair gems enrich' d, 208 And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality : ' " The Diamond,— why, 'twas beautiful and hard, 211 Whereto his invised 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 215 With objects manifold : each several stone. With wit well blazon' d, smiled or made some moan. A LOVER'S COMPLAINT 203 ' " Loj all these trophies of affections hot, 218 Of pensiv'd and subdued desires the tender. Nature hath charged me that I hoard them not. But yield them up where I myself must render ; — That is, to you, my origin and ender : 222 For these, of force, must your oblations be, Since I their altar, you enpatron me. XXXIII ' " O, then, advance of yours that phraseless hand, 225 Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise ; Take all these similes to your own command, Hollow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise ; What me your minister, for you obeys, 229 Works under you ; and to your audit comes Their distract parcels in combined sums. '" Lo, this device was sent me from a Nun, 232 Or Sister sanctified, of holiest note ; Which late her noble suit in court did shun, Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote ; For she was sought by spirits of richest coat, 236 But kept cold distance, and did thence remove. To spend her living in eternal love. XXXV ' " But, O my sweet, what labour is 't to leave 239 The thing we have not, mast' ring what not strives. Playing the place which did no form receive. Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves } She that her fame so to herself contrives, 243 The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight. And makes her absence valiant, not her might. 204 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT ' " O, pardon me, in that my boast is true : 246 The accident which brought me to her eye Upon the moment did her force subdue. And now she would the caged cloister fly : Religious love put out Religion's eye : 250 Not to be tempted, would she be immured, And now, to tempt all, liberty procured. ' " How mighty then you are, O, hear me tell ! 253 The broken bosoms that to me belong Have emptied all their fountains in my well. And mine I pour your Ocean all among : I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong, 257 Must for your victory us all congest. As compound love to physic your cold breast. ' " My parts had power to charm a sacred Sun, 260 Who, disciplin'd, ay, 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, 264 In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine. For thou art all, and all things else are thine. ' " When thou impressest, what are precepts worth 267 Of stale example .'' When thou wilt inflame. How coldly those impediments stand forth Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame ! Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 'gainst shame, 271 And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears, The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears. A LOVER'S COMPLAINT 205 • " Now all these hearts that do on mine depend, 274 Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine ; And supplicant their sighs to you extend^ To leave the batt'ry that you make 'gainst mine. Lending soft audience to my sweet design, 278 And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath That shall prefer and undertake my troth." XLI * This said, his wat'ry eyes he did dismount, 281 Whose sights till then were levell'd on my face ; Each cheek a river running from a fount With brinish current downward flow'd apace : O, how the channel to the stream gave grace ! 285 Who glazed with Crystal gate the glowing Roses That flame through water which their hue encloses. ' O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies 288 In the small orb of one particular tear ! But with the inundation of the eyes What rocky heart to water will not wear ? What breast so cold that is not warmed here .'' 292 O cleft effect ! cold modesty, hot wrath : Both fire, from hence, and chill extincture, hath. ' For, lo, his passion, but an art of craft, 295 Even there resolv'd my reason into tears ; There my white stole of chastity I daif'd, Shook off my sober guards and civil fears ; Appear to him, as he to me appears, 299 All melting ; though our drops this diff"rence bore. His poison'd me, and mine did him restore. 206 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT ' In him a plenitude of subtle matter, 30a Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives. Of burning blushes, or of weeping water. Or swounding paleness ; and he takes and leaves. In either's aptness, as it best deceives, 306 To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes, Or to turn white and swound at tragic shows : ' That not a heart which in his level came 309 Could 'scape the hail of his all-hurting aim. Showing fair Nature is both kind and tame ; And, veil'd in them, did win whom he would maim : Against the thing he sought, he would exclaim; 313 When he most burn'd in heart-wish'd luxury. He preach'd pure maid, and prais'd cold chastity. XLVI ' Thus merely with the garment of a Grace 316 The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd ; That th' unexperient gave the tempter place. Which like a Cherubin above them hover'd. Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd ? 320 Ay me ! I fell ; and yet do question make What I should do again for such a sake. ' O, that infected moisture of his eye, 323 O, that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd, O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly, O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow' d, O, all that borrow'd motion seeming ow'd, 327 Would yet again betray the fore-betray' d. And new pervert a reconciled maid ! ' NOTES NOTES VENUS AND ADONIS I. The Text. — The Text is taken from the First Quarto^ 1593, as re- produced in facsimile by William Griggs from the unique original in the Bodleian Library, Oxford (Shakspere — Quarto Facsimiles, No. 12). Spelling and punctuation have been modernised generally, but not invariably, in accordance with the use of The Cambridge Shakespeare. In every other case of a departure from the Quarto text the fact is noted. This Quarto, according to the Editors of The Cambridge Shakespeare, 'is printed with remarkable accuracy, doubtless from the author's own ms.' The Variorum Shakespeare of 1821, Shakespeare's Poems (Kelmscott), and The Poems of William Shakspeare (Robert Bell) have also been used for the Text and Notes. Throughout the Notes the Fii'st Quarto is referred to as Q. II. The Use of the Apostrophe as a Guideto the Metrical Pronunciation. — In this the practice of The Cambridge Shakespeare has not been followed. In the First Quartos of Ventis, Lucrece, and The Sonnets a mute ' e ' is omitted, and an apostrophe substituted, so uniformly as to reveal the practice of the author, which, indeed, was the practice of his age. When, therefore, in the Quartos the ' e ' is not omitted from the word which furnishes the rhyme, that word must be pronounced as a dissyllable, e.g. 'His brawny sides with hairy bristles armed' {Venus, 625). ' To retain the " e " when it is an essential part of the verb and to substitute an apostrophe where the " e " is a part of the inflection,' in accordance with the use of the Cambridge Editors, does not obviate all ambiguity. Such words as ' lovest ' and ' owest ' are not always monosyllabic, even in modern poetry. Thus Shelley : — ' I love all that thou lovest, Spirit of Delight ! The fresh Earth in new leaves drest ' : — and, in Shakespeare's day, the legitimate ' auricular figures of adding and rabbating ' {The Arte of English Poesie, 1589) gave a wider licence. The o 210 NOTES Elizabethans added and suppressed syllables, shifted the accent, and varied the spelling of words with a freedom accorded by contemporary critics 'sometimes . . . for pleasure to give a better sound, sometimes upon necessitie' (Ibid.). But they were ever careful to indicate what they had done, and to ensure the correct delivery of their lines. It would be awkward to omit the mute 'e' where such omission must suggest an unpleasing mispronunciation; for example, to write, as they did, ' plac'd ' for ' placed,' when that word scans as a monosyllable. In order, therefore, to avoid such phonetic suggestions, and at the same time to i-etain that certainty of correct delivery which their method ensured, the practice adoped in this Edition is : (1) to accent ambiguous ' e 's that are to be sounded ; (2) to print without an accent mute ' e 's, the omission of which would suggest a mispronunciation ; (3) to omit all other mute 'e's, substituting an apostrophe. 'The wrong ranging the accent of « sillable ... as to say gratious for grdtious' {Arte of English Poesie) has also been indicated by an accent ; and 'your swallowing or eating up of one letter by another' (Ibid.), by its omission and an apostrophe, e.g. Ventis and Adonis, 1. 668 : — ' That tremble at th' imagination ' ;— and Sonnet cxxxv. 7 : — ' Shall will in others seem right graciooB.' III. — The Use of Capitals. See Note III. on Lucrece, and Note V. on the Sonnets. The practice therein described has been followed in Venus and Adonis. IV. — Date of the Composition of Venus and Adonis. See Notes on 11. 397, 607-8-9-10. v. — Notes on the Text. 3. ' Rose cheek' d Adonis ' ; cf. Marlowe's Hero and Leander : — ' The men of wealthy Sestos every yeare, Fur his sake whom their goddess held so deare, Bose-cheek'd Adonis, kept a solenme fast.' 9. Stain, injury. Cf. Sonnet oix. : — ' So that myself bring water for thy stain.' 14. rein, raine Q. here and passim, 19. satiety, sacietie Q. 26. The precedent (president Q.) of pith and livelilwod. Cf. Antony and Cleopatra, i. ii. 63 ; Othello, in. iv. 36. The idea occurs in Ban- dello's novel of Romeo and Juliet. VENUS AND ADONIS 211 61. hairs, heares Q. rhyming with 'teares.' 63. miss, misse Q. Malone suggests 'miss for amiss. Cf. Sonnet XXXV. : — ' Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss.' In tracing the meaning of obsolete words I have availed myself of an interesting workj ' HrEMQN EI2 TAS rAQ22A2 | id est | Ductor in Linguas | The Guide Into Tongues \ an etymological dictionary in eleven languages,' published 'By the Industry and Labor of John Minshasus, and dedicated to James i., anno 1617.' Among the sub- scribera were Sir Francis Bacon, the Earls of Pembroke and South- ampton, the Duke of Lennox, etc. I am indebted to Dr. Gatty for the loan of his copy, which once belonged to James i. In it two meanings are given for the verb to misse : — to missb, or erre . . . vide to erbe, or WANDER, b. to MISSE, Or want . . . vide to want. The noun in this passage is from the first meaning of the verb = error. 66. Tires, from French tirer, a term of falconry used of a hawk tearing its food. Cf. Jonson's Poetaster, iv. 1 : — ' Horace. What, and be tired on by yond vulture ! ' 63. prey, pray Q. 68. fast'ned, fastned Q. 78. best, brest in Q. 11, Q. 12, Q. 13. Lintott and Gildon, 'Her breast.' 84. comptless, comptlesse Q. = inestimable. 86. dive-dapper, didapper, dabchick, from its habit of diving : the little grebe {Podiceps minor.) 90. minks, here akin to wince, formerly also winch, from O. Fr. guinchir, guenchir, to start aside, no doubt sometimes written winchir : from O. G. wenken, to start aside. Imp. Die., cf. hlink, blench. 110. Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain. Malone refers to Ronsard : — ' Les muses liirent un jour De ohaines de Roses Amour.' Odes, bk. iv. 23 (ed. 1623). Richelet points out that the Ode is taken from Anacreon, published in France, 1564. Sidney, Daniel, and Drayton, later Wither and Herrick, discover unmistakable traces of Ronsard's influence. Ronsard travelled in England. Queen Elizabeth gave him a diamond, com- paring its water to the purity of his verse. Puttenham, Arte of EngH-ih Poesie, 1589, denounces plagiarisms from Ronsard : — 'Another of reasonable good facilitie in translation finding cei'taine of the hymnes 212 NOTES of Pyndarus and of Amcreon's Odes . . . very well translated by Rounsard, the French Poet . . . comes our minion and translates the same out of French into English . . . but doth so impudently robbe the French Poet both of his prayse and also of his J'rench Termes, that I cannot so much pittie him as be angry with him for his injurious dealing.' 114. mastring, maistring Q. 131-2. Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime Rot, and consume themselves in little time : — an echo of Ronsard's reiterated maxim : — ' Je vous envoye un bouquet que ma main Yieut de trier de ces flenrs ^panles ; Qui ne les eust h ce vespre cueillies, Cheutes k terre elles fussent demain. Cela vous solt un exemple certain Que V03 beautez, bien qu'elles soient fleuries, En peu de temps seront toutes flaitries, Et comme fleurs, perixont tout soudain.' — 1560. Ronsard made this theme his own, but it has ever appealed to poets. Before Ronsard, Wyatt had written : — ' What vaileth the flower To stand still and wither, If no man it savour It serves only for sight, And fadeth towards night ' — and, long before Wyatt, Ovid : — *Nec violse semper, nee hiantia lilia florent, Et riget amissa spina relicta rosa.' 137-8. for thee . . . abhor me. The rhyme is imperfect. 151. Primrose, Primrose Q. See Note 111. (5), Lucrece. 177. <«>ed = attired. Boswell. 184-5. lAIce . . . Souring, Likd ... So wring, Q. 191. hairs, heares Q. rhyming with 'teares,' as above, 1. 51. 204. unkinn'd, unkind Q. 'That is, unnatural. Kind and nature were formerly synonymous ' — Malone. But unlcind, 1. 187, is spelt unkinde, Q., whilst here we have unkind although rhyming to minde. I am persuaded by the sense of the couplet, and specially by the but : — ' O had thy mother borne so hard a minde. She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind ' : — VENUS AND ADONIS 213 that the word is not the adjective hut a past participle^ which would now he spelt unkinned, without offspring, cf. : — ' Unfathered heirs and loathly births of nature.' 2 Henry IV., iv. iv. 122. 'But hope of orphans and unfathered fruit.' Sonnet xcvn. The poet, prohably, played on the double meaning. Cf. Hamlet : — 'A little more than kin and less than kind.' 205. What am I that thou shouldst contemn me this ? Steevens : — ' I suppose, without regard to the exactness of the rhyme, it should read — thus.' Malone interprets: — 'That thou shouldst contemptuously refuse this favour that I ask.' 213. Statue, statue Q. Cf. Sonnet lv. 6, where the word is printed in italics. It was but newly accepted and occurs four times in the Plays as statua. See Note III. (8), Lucrece. 220. judge, ludge Q. See Note III. (1), Lucrece. 222. intendments =in\.tntmns. Cf. As You Like It, i. i. : — ' Either you shall stay him from his intendment or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into.' 'But fear the main intendment of the Scot.' — Henry V., i. ii. 'Ay, and said nothing but what I protest intendment of doing.' Othello, rv. ii. ' But I spying his intendment, discharged my petronel in his bosom.' JoNSON, Every Man in his Hwmowr. 229. Fondling, she saith,' Since . . . The Cambridge has : — 'Fond- ling,' she saith, 'since . . . But the word is descriptive of Venus' action, not a term of endearment applied to Adonis. 231 and 239. deer, deare Q. A play upon words. 240. rouse, a. term of art in venery. GuUlim in A Display of Heraldrie, 2nd Ed., 1632; — Enlarged by the Author himselfe in his lifetime: Together with his owne Addition of explaining the Termes of Hawking and Hunting, lays down in detail ' apt termes of Hunting pertaining both to Beasts of Venery and of Chase* : — Dislodge ' Bucke Start Hare 'You shall say un-Kennell the Foxe Bowse Hart Bowlt . Couie.' 214 NOTES 257. remorse = compunction, tenderness, pity. ''If so your heart were touched with that remorse As mine to him.' Measure for Measure, n. ii. ' Curse on th' unpard'ning prince, whom tears can draw To no remorse.' Dbtden. 260-1. jennet . . . courser, lennet . . . Courser, Q. See Note III. (4), Lucrece. 272. compass' d = a,rch'd. 'A compass'd ceiling ' is a phrase yet in use. — Malone. Troilus and Cressida, i. 2: — 'She came to him the other day in the compass'd window,' i.e. the how window.— Stbevbns. 272. stand. This verb is governed by mane, which, as composed of many hairs, is used in the plural. 279. curvets, a term of the manege, 'the ground of all high airs,' is generally derived from French courbette, but more properly, according to ancient manuals on horsemanship, from Italian corvetta = a curvet ; corvo=a, raven. The horse was made to rear and prance for- ward with his hind legs together, and this action was likened to the hopping of a raven. The Guide into Tongues, 1617 (see note on 1. 53), gives : — to curvet, or praunce. Italian, corvettare. The manege seems to have originated in Italy, the French word being derived from the Italian maneggio, a riding-school. 279. leaps, rhyming with steps. The word is still pronounced 'leps' in Ireland. 284. holla. 'This seems to have been formerly a term of the manege. So, in As You Like It, " Cry holla to thy tongue, I pr'ythee : it curvets unseasonably." See Cotgrave's i^«ncA Dictionary, "Hola, interjection. Enough, soft, soft ; no more of that if you love me." ' — Thus Malone. But the term seems, before it entered the manege, to have hailed from the Champ Clos. Littre quotes ' la pluie fit le holla ' [entre des combattants], D'Aub., Hist., i. 289. Charles D'Orleans, bidding his heart be still, wrote : — ' Si, lui dis je : mon cueur hola ! ' — Chanson, li. Owing to modern pronunciation, and a lax use resulting from it in literature, 'Holla' is often confounded with 'Halloo,' from the French Haler=to halloo on hounds. Its sense is exactly the opposite, and survives, I am told, in a street cry : — ' Stop-thief. Stop- thief. Holla! HoUa! Holla!' Holla = stop, as in the pleasant Elizabethan ditty, 'Holla, my Fancy, whither wilt thou stray?' Sir Walter Scott places the two expressions, accurately, in the mouth of the Earl of Huntinglen : — ' " Ho la," said the Earl of Huntinglen, "halt there'" and, in the same passage: — 'I should love well to make the oaks of my old forest of Dalgarno ring once more with haUoo, and horn, and hound.' — The Fortunes of Nigel. VENUS AND ADONIS 215 299. horse, Horse Q. See Note III. (4), Lucrece. 303. ' To bid the wind a base ' = to challenge the wind for speed. Cf. Two Genikmen of Verona, i. ii. 97: — ' Indeed I bid the base for Proteus.' And Marlowe : — ' We will find comfort, money, men, and friends, Ere long to bid the English King a base.' From the game base, prisoner's base, or county base as it was originally caUed. Cf. Oymbeline, v. 3 : — ' Lads more like to run The county base, than to commit such slaughter.' ' So ran they aU as they had been at baoe.' Spensek, Faery Queen, v. viii. 304. whe'r, where Q=whether. Cf. Sonnet mx. 11, Q : — ' Whether we are mended, or where better they.' Soj in King John (ii. i. 166) : — ' Now shame upon thee whe'r he does or no ' :— and in a poem by G. Turhei-viUe, 1567 : — ' I doubt where Paris would have chose Dame Venus for the best.' — ILuxone. 314. uai/«= lowers. French avaler, from Latin ad; valHs. Cf. Merchant of Venice, i. i. : — ' Vailing her high top lower than her ribs.' 322. horse, Horse Q. 331. oven. Oven Q. 335. the heart's attorney =the tongue. Cf. Richard IIL, vr. iv. : — 'Why should calamity be full of words ? Windy attorneys to their client woes.' 343. ««« ' Drayton 's condemned of some for imitation But others say 'twas the best Poets fashion.' Drayton in the Epistle to Henry Reynolds, whilst lavishing warm, but orthodox, praise on ' learn'd Jonson ' and ' revereild Chapman,' gives to Shakespeare the cool, but orthodox, tribute of the ' learned,' for his 'smoothe comickvein' and ' natural brain.' He had praised him (in the Matilda) more frankly, together with Daniel and Elstred. But the stanza in which he applauds Lucrece in the Edition of 1594 was omitted from the Edition of 1596, and never reprinted. For Drayton, too, was one of the 'learned' — hailed as such by Barnefield in his Encomium of the Lady Pecunia in 1598. And, finally, Drayton was part author of The True and Honorable History of Sir John Oldcastle (1600), which (see Introduction, pp. 1., li., Iii.) was a retort on Shake- speare's Henry IV. Such were the relations between Drayton, one of the learned fraternity, and Shakespeare, in so far as we may divine them. In Idea, where many sonnets resemble Shakespeare's, let me instance the one which is obviously addressed to a man : — ' To nothing fitter can I thee compare, Than to the son of some rich penny-father . , , Thy Gifts, thou in obscurity dost waste ! False friends, thy Kindness ! born but to deceive thee. SONNETS 257 Thy Love that ia on the unworthy placed ! Time hath thy Beauty, which with age will leave thee ! Only that little, which to me was lent, I give thee back ! when aU the rest is spent.' This Sonnet x. in Edition 1619 appears for the first timSj as xii., in 1599. It is followed in both Editions by one on Shakespeare's theme of Identity : — ' Since You one were, I never since was one ; Since You in Me, my self since out of Me . . . Give me my self ! and take your self again ! . . . O that I could fly From my self You, or from j'our own self I ! ' xLm. (only in Edition 1619) attacks the unlearned, who are favoured by the object of Drayton's verse : — • ' Wliy should your fair eyes, with such sovereign grace, Disperse their rays on every vulgar spirit. Whilst I in darkness, in the self -same place. Get not one glance to recompense my merit ? ' The second quatrain seems suggested by Shakespeare's cxvi. (see Note). The third goes, on : — ' O why should Beauty (custom to obey) To their gross sense apply herself so ill I Would God ! I were as ignorant as they ! When I am made unhappy by my skill ! ' This modest expression of regret is the symmetrical opposite at every point to Shakespeare's references to the Rival. He is the 'unletter'd clerk' who 'cries. Amen,' to the 'precious phrase by all the Muses filed.' In xLiv. (only in Edition 1619) Drayton 'eternizes' in Shakespeare's very accent : — ' Whilst thus my pen strives to eternize thee, Age rules my lines with wrinkles in my face ; Where, in the Map of all my misery Is modelled out the World of my disgrace : Whilst in despite of tyrannising times, Medea like, I make thee young again ! I^oudly thou scom'st my world-outwearing rhymes, And murder'st Virtue with thy coy disdain ! And though in youth, my youth untimely perish. To keep Thee from oblivion and the grave ; Ensuing Ages yet my Rhymes shall cherish, Where I entombed, my better part shall save ; And though this earthly bodj' fade and die, My Name shall mount upon eternity ! ' R 258 NOTES In xLvii. (only in Edition 1619) Drayton explains that lie despised the applause of the ' thronged theatres ' : — ' Wlieii the proud Eound on every side hath rung . , , No public glory vainly I pursue : All that I seek is to eternize you ! ' Shakespeare twice (lxxx., lxxxvi.) compares the Rival's verse to a ship ' of proud full sail ' that rides the ' soundless deep ' : and Drayton in I. (only in Edition 1619) introduces himself — ' Like an adventurous seafarer am I . . . called to tell of his discovery, how far he sailed^ what countries he had seen.' Shakespeare dwells on the simplicity of his verse; on the 'false art/ 'strained touches,' 'false painting,' and ' precious phrase,' of the Rival ; and Drajrton boasts, ' fantasticly I sing' (1599), and asks (ix. 1619) :— ' "Why in this sort I wrest Invention so ? And why these giddy metaphors I use. . . .' If compelled to select one of Shakespeare's contemporaries for the Rival Poet, I should select Drayton; although his sonnets, twice recast, were ostensibly addressed to Idea, and although in some numbers he addresses Idea, the Type of Heavenly Beauty, in the feminine gender. But there is no compulsion, nor possibility, of certitude, and this much of knowledge must be the sole certain reward of a wild-goose-chase : — that Jonson, Chapman, Marston, and Drajrton constituted a society for mutual admiration, whose members applauded each other's efforts, whilst they ignored, burlesqued, or patronised Shakespeare's. Three of the four seem to have opposed Shakespeare in the Poetomachia (see Introduction, chap, viii.), and the fourth, Drayton, was similarly employed in The True and Honorable History of Sir John Oldcastle. Curiously enough, the three all wrote obscure poems on the Phoenix and the Turtle, appended, with one by Shakespeare, to Robert Chester's Love's Martyr, And Drayton, also, had a sonnet on the same theme. It is impossible to understand exactly what these poems are about. But it is interesting to note that they all contain attacks on Time and that they all draw on the catch-words of Platonism : — ' Nought lasts that doth to outward worth contend All love in smooth brows bom is tomb'd in wrinkles . . , And Time and Change (that all things else devours, But truth eternized in a constant heart). . . .' — Chapman. ' Now, true love No such effects doth prove ; That Is an essence, far more gentle, fine, Pure, perfect, nay divine ; It is a golden chain let down from Heaven, , , .' — Joksoh. SONNETS 259 •Now yield your aids, you spirits that infuse A sacred rapture, light my weaker eye . . . That whilst of this same Metaphysical, God, man, nor woman, but elix'd of all, My laboring thoughts with strained ardour sing, My muse may mount with an uncommon wing.' Dares then thy too audacious sense Presume define that boundless Ens That amplest thought transcendeth. , , . By it all beings deok'd and strained, Ideas that are idly feigned Only here subsist invested . . .' — Mabston. • Property was thus appalled That the self was not the same Single nature's double name Neither two nor one was called. . . . Truth may seem, but cannot be ; Beauty brag, but 'tis not she ; Truth and beauty buried be.' — Shakespeare, These four poems were thus announced : — ' Divers Poeticall Essaies on the Turtle and Phceniar. Done by the best and chiefest of our moderne writers, with their names subscribed to their particular workes ; never before extant. And now first consecrated by them all generally to the love and merit of the true noble Knight, Sir John Salisburie. Dignum laude virum musa vetat mori. MDC.I. (Printed at the end of Love's Martyr, etc., by Robert Chester) London : Imprinted for E. B. 1601. page 176.' Drayton's sonnet to the Phoenix — one of the many numbers of Idea (xvi. in Edition 1619, rewritten from Amour, vi. , Edition 1594) — evidently not addressed to a living lady, ends : — 'As you are consuming, Only by dying born the very same, Aad winged by Fame, you to the stars ascend ! So you, of time shall live beyond the end.' V. The Typography of the Quarto (1609), considered in its bearing on the authority of that text, with an analysis of the system of Punctuation observed therein (see Note III. on Lucreee). — In Sonnet i. 2, Rose stands thus in Q. I retain the initial capital and italics, because I am satisfied that the words in this type were printed so designedly through- out the Sonnets. Controversy has centred round two of them : — Hews, XX. 7, and Will, cxxxv. 1, 2, 11, 12, 14; cxxxvi. 2, 5, 14 ; cxliii. 13. Mr. Sidney Lee writes (Dictionary of National Biography, vol. li. p. 365): — •There is nothing in the wording of these punning Sonnets to warrant 260 NOTES the assumption that his friend bore the same appellation (this misin- terpretation is attributable to the misprinting in the early editions of the second "will" as " Will" in cxxxv. 1)' — an error for 2. Mr. Dowden, in discussing 1. 7 of xx. as printed in the Quarto : — 'A man in hew all JSTeros in his controwling' : — discounts the possible significance of 'hews' (hues) having been printed 'Hews,' by pointing out that other words in the Sonnets 'have also capital letters and are in italics. ' That is true. But Mr. Dowden does not give a complete list. Had he done so he might have been struck, as I have been struck, by the fact that, excepting Rose, i. 2 ; Hews, xx. 7; Informer, cxxv. 13; and the Wills, cxxxv., cxxxvi., cxliu., every word so printed, is either a proper name, or else, of Greek or Latin extraction. Viz. : — Audit, iv. 12 ; Adonis, Hellens, Grecian, liii. 5, 7, 8 ; Statues, lv. 5 (and note that this word is printed Statue — Venus and Adonis, 213 — and Statua four times in the Plays) ; Mars, uv. 7 Intrim, lvi. 9 ; Alien, lxxviii. 3 ; Eaves (Eve's), apple, xom. 13 Saturne, xcviii. 4 ; Satire, c. 11 ; Philomell, cii. 7 ; Autumne, civ. 5 Abisme, cxii. 9 ; Alcumie, cxrv. 4 ; Syren, cxix. 1 ; Heriticke, cxxiv. 9 Audite, Quietus, cxxvi. 11, 12 ; Cupid, Dyans, Cupid, cliii. 1, 2, 14. These words, if other than proper names, were so printed then, as French words are so printed now, viz. : — because they were but par- tially incorporated into the English language (see Note III. on Lucrece). This destroys the presumption of accident and creates a presumption of design, leaving the commentator still free to draw such conclusions as he can from the selection of capitals and italics for Rose, Hews, Informer, and Will. The last two present no difficulty, except to those who would abstract every personal element out of the Sonnets. 'Informer' is clearly a personal apostrophe ; ' Will,' as clearly embodies a, play on the poet's name, and occasionally, as I hold with Dowden, but against Mr. Lee, on the name of his Friend also. ' Will,' although not in italics, has a capital in lvii. 13 : — ' So true a f oole is love, that in your Will, (Though you doe any thing) he thinks no ill' : — and it is, obviously, so printed there with a like reference to the poet's name. It is only fair to note, once more, in this connection the ' Will ' in Lucrece, 495 :— 'But Will is deafe, and hears no heedfull friends, Onely he hath an eye to gaze on Beautie, And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law or duty.' SONNETS 261 For if it be a misprint, it may be urged in support of Mr. Lee's con- tention in respect of the second Will (cxxxv. 2), and, if it be not a mis- print, it may serve tlie turn of those wlio, holding the ' personal theory,' differ from my conclusion on the date of the Sonnets (supra, Note III.)j and accept Mr. Sidney Lee's, viz. that the Sonnets were written immediately after Lucrece. Returning to the two which do present a difficulty — Rose and Hews — I believe, as I have stated in the Introduction, that ' Beauty's Rose ' stands here poetically for the Idea or Eternal Type of Beauty, or, at least, for the emblem of that idea. It stands, indeed, for one of the many things which, according to Sir Philip Sidney {Apologie for Poetrie, 1695), 'lye darke before the imaginatione and judging power, if they bee not illuminated or iigured foorth by the speaking picture of Poesie.' It is used to this end with a capital, lxvii. 8 : — ' Why should poore beautie indirectly seeke Rosea of shaddow, since his Rose is true ? ' — and, again with a capital, as the emblem of the Friend, cix. 14 : — ' For nothing this wide Universe I call, Save thou my Rose, in it thou art my all.' Of Hews it is enough to say here that, if its capital and italics be a freak of the printer, they constitute the only freak of that kind in the whole edition of 1609. This goes far to show that the Quai*to was not carelessly issued, and to defeat many conclusions drawn from the opposite assumption, e.g. that it was a pirated edition published with- out Shakespeare's knowledge or against his wishes, and that the present order of the Sonnets may therefore be treated as hap-hazard. To press this home, another feature of the Quarto's typography must now be considered. The number of capitals employed, apart from italics where we employ them no longer, has been urged in support of the view that the Quarto was unauthorised. It is therefore necessary, in order to conlirm my argument, that I should trace design in the use of capitals throughout the edition, even when given to words in ordinary type. If all such-words be collected, it will be found that they fall, with scarce an exception, into well-defined classes ; that the employment of capitals for such classes, though now obsolete, is rational and not arbitrary; and that it was of a kind sanctioned by contemporary usage. Some words, with a double justification for their capitals, might be placed with almost equal propriety under either of two headings ; but, in order to avoid confusion, I shall content myself 262 NOTES with accounting for every word so printed under some one heading. Proceeding from the more to the less obvious classes, all these words may be grouped thus : — (1) They are Personal Appellations. — ' Will,' lvii. ; ' deceased Lover,' XXXII.; 'thou the Master Mistris, xx. ; 'my lovely Boy,' cxxvi. ; ' Mistersse,' = mistresse, cxxvii. ; 'Mistres,' cxxx. ; 'Mistrisse,' cliv. ; 'little Love-God/ cliv. (2) Of foreign extraction borrowed, often from Greek or Latin, as terms of art. — 'Antique,' xvii. ; 'Image,' xxiv., lxi; 'Nymphes,' CLIV.; 'Chronicle,' cvi. ; 'Elements,' xlv. ; 'Lymbecks,' cxix. ; 'Augurs,' cvii. ; ' Epitaph,' lxxxi. ; 'Idolatrie,' 'Idoll,'cv. ; 'Char- acter,' ' Himne,' ' Amen,' lxxxv. ; and three, which are also legal — 'Sessions,' xxx. ; 'Advocate,' xxxv. ; 'Charter,' lxxxvii. The em- pressment of legal terms into the service of poetry is noticed in the Arte of English Poesie, 1689, viz. : — ' A terme borrowed of our common Lawyers impression, also a new terme, but well expressing the matter and more than our English word.' And, in The Guide into Tongues, 1617, a special feature is made of legal terms. (3) Titles of Dignity. — 'God,' lviii., ex. ; 'King(s)j' xxix., lxiii., lxxxvii., cxv. ; 'Queene,' xcvi. ; 'Princes,' xiv., xxv. ; 'Lords,' xciv., xcvii. ; 'Ladies,' 'Knights,' cvi. ; 'Generall,' cliv. ; used of the Love-God in a conceit with Legions {Ibid.) : — ' Which many Legions of true hearts had wann'd And so the Generall of hot desire.' 'Legions' might have been placed under (2), but, apart from that and its use in this conceit, it is akin to what may be termed words of magnitude, though not titles, e.g. 'Kingdome,' lxiv. ; 'Maiestie,' lxxviii. ; 'Embassie,' xlv. Of a kindred character are : — (4) The Names of the Greater Divisions of Time, of Oosmieal Processes, the Luminaries, and the Larger Features of the Universe. — 'Winter(s),' il,lvi., xcvii., xcviii., CIV. ; 'Sommer(s),' xii., xviii. (3), lvi., xcvii. ; 'Spring,' lxiii. ; ' Autumne,' xcvii. ; 'ApriU,' iii., xxi., xcviii., civ. ; 'Male,' XVIII. ; 'December,' xcvii. ; 'Creation,' cxxvii. ; 'Universe,' cix. ; 'Ocean,' lvl, lxiv., lxxx. ; 'Heaven,' xxix., cxxxii. ; 'Sunne,* XXI., XXXIII., XXXV., Lix., cxxx., cxxxiL ; 'Moone,' xxi., xxxv., cvn. ; 'Stars,' 'Starre,' xv., cxxxii. ; 'Eaven,' cxxxii. ; 'Sunset fadeth in the West,' lxxiil ; 'West,' cxxxii. ; 'East,' oxxxii. ; 'Orient,' vii. (5) Personifications. — 'Beautie,' cxxvii. ; 'Time,' xv., xix., lxiv., cxxiii. ; 'Times fool,' cxvl ; 'Love,' 'Love's,' xxxl, lvi., cxlv. ; 'Fortune,' xxix., xxxvii. ; 'JVIuse,' xxi., xxxii., xxxviii., lxxix., Lxxxii., Lxxxv., c, CI., cm.; 'Age's,' lxiii.; 'Day,' xxvm. ; SONNETS 263 'Reason/ cxlvh. ; 'Phisick/ cxlvii. ; 'Nothing/ 'Folly/ 'Truth/ 'Simplicity/ 'Captaine,' '111,'lxvi. ; 'Nature,' 'Art,'Lxvin.j cxxvii. ; 'Nature,' cxxvi. ; 'Art,' cxxxix. Here Art is not, properly, personi- fied, and might be classed under the next heading : — (6) Names of Arts and Sciences. — 'Astronomy,' xiv. ; 'Musicke,' oxxx. ; 'Rhetorick,' lxxxii. ; and those who practise them: 'Poet,' 'Poets,' XVII., XXXII., Lxxix., ijcxxiii. ; ' Painter('s),' xxiv. ; 'Phisi- tion('s),' cxL., cxLVU. ; ' Doctor-like," lxvi. ; ' the Dyers hand,' cxi. ; and the instrument of an art, used as its emblem — ' such vertue hath my Pen,' Lxxxi. ; 'Leane penurie within that Pen doth dwell,' lxxxiv.; ' their antique Pen would have exprest/ cvi. The last example may serve for a transition to the last class, which is harder to define, viz. : — (7) Names of Animals and Plants used Emblematically, Proverbially, or Typically. — 'How many Lambs might the sterne Wolfe betray,' xcvi. ; ' Croe or Dove,' cxiii. ; ' A Crow that flies in heavens sweetest ayre'=a clue to carrion, lxx. ; 'my Adders sense,' oxii.j 'Raven- black,' CXXVII. ; ' The Lyons pawes,' ' the fierce Tygers yawes,' ' the long liv'd Phaenix, xix. ; ' the Larke at breake of daye,' xxix. ; ' Some (glory) in their Hawkes and Hounds, some in their Horse,' xci. : — where Hawkes, Hounds, Horse stand for the establishments and pur- suits of Hawking, Hunting, and the Manege. 'Roses/ 'Rose,' uv., lxvii., cxxx.; 'Rose,' xov., cix. ; 'Rose(s)' compared with 'Lillie(s),' xcviii., xcix. ; 'Canker bloomes' contrasted with 'Roses,' liv.; 'For Canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,' Lxx.; 'But as the Marygold at the Suns eye,' xxv. ; 'And peace proclaimes Olives of endless age,' cvii. ; ' Potions of Eysell gainst my strong infection,' cxi. Also emblematical are — 'Dyall hand,' civ.; 'Virgin hand,' cliv. ; 'But hope of Orphans and unfathered fruite,' xcvii. ; 'Love is a Babe,' cxv.; 'Captaine lewells,' ui. ; 'lewell,' xcvi. The 'sausie lackes' (oxxviii.) are quasi-personified. But, in the last examples, I believe that the awkwardness of the letter j as a consonant before a vowel had something to do with determining the type. There remain some few instances, too complex for any simple scheme of classification, but which, most certainly, are not mis- printed : — 'Thy end is Truthes and Beauties doome and date.' — xiv. 'Unless my Nerves were brasse or hammered Steele.' — cxx. 'Th'expence of Spirit in a waste of shame.' — oxxix. 'As I by yours, y' have past a hell of Time.' — cxz. 264 NOTES Every word in the Quarto printed with a capital, which does not depend on punctuation, is thus susceptible of rational explanation, except two. These may or may not be misprints : — ' Uttring bare truth, even so as foes Commend.' — lxix. ' This brand she quenched in a cool Well by.' — oliv. The Quarto may therefore be accepted on this count as an edition carefully revised and corrected. Further evidence is forthcoming from 13ie fact that, whereas the thirteen remaining lines of each sonnet begin with a roman capital, according to the usual practice of printing verse, the first line begins with a large initial for which space is invariably allowed by setting the second line somewhat to the right. And this large initial is followed, invariably, by a Roman capital for the second letter of line 1, immediately above the Roman capital for the first letter of line 2 ; thus : — ' 'C'Eom fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauties Hose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease. , . .' ' f~\ Least the world should taske you to recite, ^-^ What merit liVd in me that you should loue. After my death (deare love) for get me quite. . . .' ' Four words remain printed with capitals which do depend on punctuation : — 'They live unwoo'd, and unrespeoted fade, Die to themselves. Sweet Eoses doe not so.' — liv. 11. A capital is still retained after a period in modern printing. But in the Quarto a capital is also placed, twice, after a colon — a use which survives in our Book of Common Prayer — ' 'X'O me faire friend you never can be old. For as you were when &st your eye I eyde. Such seemes your beautie still : Three Winters colde, Have from the forests shooke. . . .' — oiv. * Most true it is, that I have lookt on truth Asconoe and strangely : But by all above.' — ox.; — and once after a semi-colon : — ' Lose all and more by paying too much rent For compound sweet ; Forgoing simple savor.' — cxxv. 1 I find that I have overlooked one other exception : — ' ^rOe Longer mourue.' — t.^vt. SONNETS 265 The capital in the last example may be accidentally repeated from the beginning of the line, and modern editors remove the semi-colon, acting on the assumption that the Quarto was carelessly printed in respect of punctuation. This I doubt. It is therefore necessary to examine next, the system, or absence of system, in the punctuation of the Quarto. Punctuation. — In the Quarto — let it be said at once — stops are not used, as now they are, exclusively to point the syntax of each sentence. They are also used, frequently, to point rhythmical or rhetorical pauses. Thus a comma is placed often at the end, occasion- ally at some other point in a line, to emphasise such a pause. This practice may pertain to the poet's idiosyncrasy as much as to the fashion of printing in his day : it has been observed in the poetry of Shelley and of others engrossed in the music of their verse. But, if this constant feature be excepted and a moderate allowance be made for the transposition of stops at the ends of two consecutive lines, the remainder of error to be accounted for by careless editing is by no means abnormal. On the other hand, in many instances the punctua- tion is so exquisitely adapted to the sense, rhetoric, and rhythm of the phrase as to confirm my plea for the authority of the text. The examples quoted to illustrate the use of capitals from civ. and ex. serve also to illustrate the rhetorical use of punctuation. In them a capital followed the colon, as I hold, to emphasise the rhetorical pause ; whereas in the examples which I am about to quote the effect is produced by punctuation alone : — . ' But why of two othes breach doe I accuse thee, When I break twenty : I am perjured most, For all my vowes are othes but to misuse thee : And all my honest faith in thee is lost.' — OLit. 6, 'Then let not winters wragged hand deface, In thee thy summer ere thou be distil'd : Make sweet some viall ; treasure thou some place, With beauties treasure ere it be seUe kil'd' : — vi. 3. 'He lends thee vertue, and he stole that word. From thy behaviour, beautie doth he give And found it in thy cheeke : he can affoord No praise to thee, but what in thee doth Uve.' — t.xxix. 11. ' Tell me thou lov'st elie- where ; but in my sight, Dear heart forbeare to glance thine eye aside. What needst thou wound with cunning when thy might Is more than my ore-prest defence can bide ? '— cxxxix. 5. The pause in the first line of this quatrain is heavily pointed to pre- 266 NOTES pare for the unpausing outburst of the last two. And, in the only remaining example of a colon set elsewhere than at the end of a line, there is revealed a piece of punctuation so exquisite as to affirm an author's hand ^ : — ' K it be not, then lore doth well denote, Lovea('s) eye is not so true as all mena('s) : no. How can it ? O how can loves('s) eye be true, That is so vext with watching and with teares ?' — oxLvrn. 7-10. No journeyman-printer, no pirate-publisher, achieved that effect. It leads up, with the prescience of consummate art, to the rhythmical stress on the second 'can' in line 9, and, in its own way, it is as subtle. A like intention may be traced in the handling of the comma. Its frequency may suggest accident, rather than design. But this frequency arises from a use which has now been abandoned, in addition to the grammatical use which is still retained. Commas in the Quarto serve a double purpose : they point the syntax, but they also, and often, mark the end of a line or the major pause after the fourth or the sixth syllable, and this even when the sense demands no stop. That they were not peppered over the page at random is apparent from their unvarying coincidence with pauses, whether of grammar, rhythm, or rhetoric, e.g. : — ' Take all my loves, my love, yea take them alL What hast thou then more than thou hadst before ? No love, my love, that thou maist true love call, , All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more ' : — xl. 1-4. ' Nay if you read this line, remember not. The hand that writ it, for I love you so. That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot. If thinking on me then should make you woe.' — lxxi. 5-8. 'And do so love, yet when they have deviade. What strained touches Shethorick can lend. Thou truly faire, wert truly simpathLzde, In true plaine words, by thy true telUng friend.' — issrsn, 9-13. ' So shall I live, supposing thou art true. Like a deceived husband, so loves face. May still seeme love to me, though alter'd new : Thy lookes with me, thy heart in other place.' — xoiii. 1-4. These stops are rhythmical : for Shakespeare's quatrains and the Psalms were 'printed as they are to be sung or said.' Like SheUey, he preferred rhythmical effect to 'syntactical standing.' IX. 3, the Quarto has 'Ah; it thou issulesse,' for 'Ah I' SONNETS 267 Incidentallyj the punctuation of the Sonnets exhibits their structure ; showing that they were built up of three quatrains^ each of which is a separate measure, with a couplet at the close. The Sonnets proper number one hundred and fifty-three in all, for cxxvi. is not a sonnet but an envoy in. six couplets to the first series, and out of this possible maximum the Quarto has a comma or no stop but twenty-three times at the end of the first quatrain, but eighteen times at the end of the second, and but thirty-two times at the end of the third. By adopting the modern system of punctuation even these numbers are by much reduced. The Cambridge Shakespeare has a heavier stop than a comma after the first quatrain in all but nine cases ; after the second, in all but seven ; after the third, in all but five. The significance of this pro- portion of heavy stops to commas at the end of the quatrains is apparent if contrasted with the single instance in the Quarto of a period, and the eight instances of a colon or semi-colon, being placed in the body of a line. But the alterations made in the Cambridge Shakespeare in the direction of heavier stops at the end of the quatrains do not prove that the Quarto was carelessly printed. For, taking the most important pause, viz. after the second quatrain, in only two instances (v. 8 and xxi. 8) can it be said with confidence that the comma in the Quarto is due to a misprint, and in one instance (cxii.) the Cambridge seems to err in substituting a period. But the reduc- tion, efi«cted by modern grammatical use in the number of commas at this break, does confirm the theory of structure in quatrains. Accepting these alterations in all but cxii., you have a heavy stop after the second quatrain in all the sonnets but eight. And this figure can be reduced st'ill further, for in three sonnets (xii. , lxxxiv. , xcm.) I hope to show, when I reach them, that the Cambridge Shake- speare errs in substituting commas for a colon and two periods. Out of one hundred and fifty-three sonnets, therefore, only five have but commas after line 8, viz. lxvi., but it proceeds by continuous enumera- tion from I. 2 to 1. 12 ; xcix., but the explanation is apparent, for the sonnet is irregular with a fifth line added to the first quatrain ; and CXII., cxxxii., cxLviii., in each of which an exceptional effect is pro- duced by departing, intentionally, from the normal practice. By the insignificance of their number, these five exceptions, confirm the con- sistency of Shakespeare's practice ; by the fact that each can be ex- plained they confirm the authority of the Quarto text. Additional confirmation may be found in the unerring, though obsolete, use of parentheses, e.g. : — ' O if (I say) you looke upon tliis verse, When I (perhaps) compounded am with clay.' 268 NOTES Against this argument must be set three undoubted corruptions of the text : — 1. 2. ' Poore sonle the center of my sinf ull earth, My a JTifiill earth these rebbell powres that thee array.' OXITI. 1, 2 J ' Though thou repent, yet I have still the losse. To him that beares the strong offences lo^e.' — xxxiv. 10-12 : — where the second ' losse ' may fairly he set down to the com- positor in view of xlii. 10 and 12 : — ' And loosing her, my friend hath found that losse. And both for my sake lay on me this crosse' ; 3. The occasional confusion of their with thy; cf. Malone: 'The same mistake has several times happened in these Sonnets, owing probably to abbreviations having been formerly used for the words their and thy, so nearly resembling each other as not to be easily distinguished. I have observed the same error in some of the old English plays ' ; and three suspicious features : — 1. Line 11, xxv., ending 'quite' does not rhyme with line 9, ending 'worth.' 2. The couplet of xcvi. is repeated from xxxvi. 3. Empty parentheses are placed after cxxvi., which is not a sonnet {supra), as if to indicate the compositor's expectation of a couplet. There are also some half-dozen of trifling misprints, but these, both in number and character, can be paralleled from the Quarto of Venus and Adonis (1593) a text the authority of which has never been challenged. To sura up : — The use of italics, capitals, and stops in the Quarto of 1609, though often obsolete, is most rarely irrational ; the number of undoubted corruptions is so small as to be negligible ; the weight, therefore, of the argument inclines irresistibly towards maintaining the text wherever it wiU yield a meaning. Acting on this conclusion, I have more than once reinstated the Quarto text in preference to a modern emendation. SONNETS 269 VI. The Use of the Apostrophe as a Guide to the Metrical Pro- nunciation. See Note II. on Venus and Adonis. The scrupulous employment of the Apostrophe througfhout the Quarto (1609), when- ever a syllable is not to be sounded, gives further support to the authority of that text. Having considered every case in which a word imports an extra syllable into a line, I can find but two in which the Quarto can be said with any certainty to err : — civ. 10-12 . . . perceiu'd . . . deceaued ; cxxiv. 2-4 . . . unfathered . . . gatherd. No question arises out of certain lightly sounded words which then, as now, were printed with their full number of syllables, e.g. : — euery ll'-times, euen 12-times, spirit 4- times, heauen 3-times. With these may be classed : — Soueraine, xxxui. 2, lvh. 6 ; geiierall, oxxi. 13 ; severall, cxxxvii. 9 ; Being, u. 10 ; We are, lix. 11 ; Be it, cxLii. 9. And no question arises where the extra syllable adds an obviously intended charm to the rhythm as in : — livery, ii. 3 ; flattery, xLH. 14 ; melancholie, xlv. 8 ; sufferance, lviii. 7 ; laboring, ux. 3 ; shallowest, lxxx. 9; varrying = varying, cy. 10; preposterously, cix. 11 ; reckening, cxv. 5 ; adulterat, cxxi. 6 ; slanderers, cxl. 12 ; desperate, cxlvii. 7. There remain eight cases of ambiguous e's in Q. : — yellowed, xvii. 9 ; widdowed,xcvn. 8; swollowed = swallowed, cxxix. 7 ; louest, cxxxvi. 14; in which the e has been printed hut not accented, and : — unlettered, Lxxxv. 6 ; unfathered, xcvii. 10 ; suffered, oxx. 8 ; fethered, cxuir. 2— in which the e has been omitted in accordance with the usage of modem editions. VII. Notes on the Text. Group A, i.-xix. See Introduction, p. ex. I. 2. Rose : — Printed thus with a capital and italics in Q. See Note V. on the Typography of the Quarto (1609), and Introduction, p. cxxii. 6. contracted ■.—not the adjective=narro«Jed, but the participle = betrothed. Cf. Measure for Measure, v. i. 380 : — 'Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman?' Twelfth Night, v. i. 268 :— ' You would have been contracted to a maid ' ; and 1 Henry IV., iv. ii. 17 : — 'Inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as had been asked twice on the banns.' 6. self-aubstandal fuel, hyphened by Sewell=fuel of the same 270 NOTES substance as thy ' light's flame,' viz. thine eye-sight : — Bound by vow to your own eyes you feed your sight on the sight of your-self. 13-14. Pity the world, or else this glutton be, To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee: — Pity the world, of which you are the present orna- ment and only earnest of future increase in beauty (9-10), or else prevent the confirmation of that earnest, which is due to the world, by the grave (=your death) and thee ( = your refusal to propagate your beauty before dying). II. 4. tatter'd, Gildon ; totter'd Q. 7. deep-sunken, hyphened by Sewell. Cf. i. 5, contracted to thine own bright eyes. 8. thriftless =-protLt\ess. Cf. Winter's Tale, i. ii. 109: — ' Their profits Their own particular thrifts ' ; and Twelfth Night, ii. ii. 40 : — ' What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe ! ' 10-11. This . . . excuse: — first marked as a quotation by Malone (Capell MS.). 11. shall sum my coM«i = shall complete and balance my account, i.e. with the world, since (1. 12) the child's beauty is, being in- herited, the father's : 'and make my old excuse.' This is obscure. Old may be a noun for ' eld,' as in lxviii. 12 : — ' Eobbing no old to dress his beauty new.' Cf. ' to rob him of his fair,' Ventis and Adonis, 1086. In that case excuse is a participle for 'excused.' Old, sometimes = ' more than enough, copious, abundant' {Imp. Diet), e.g. : — ' If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. Macbeth, n. iii. 2; 'Here will be an old abusing of God's patience and the king's English.' Merry Wives of Windsor, i. iv. 5 ; 'There was old to do about ransoming the Bridegroom.' "Walter Scott: — but not, to my knowledge, outside humorous application. 12. thine I Knight, thine. Q. 13-14. ould . . . could : — The first word is thus spelt five times as against thirteen of ' old,' the second four times thus against two of 'cold.' III. 6. unear'd, to ear is to plough or till. SONNETS 271 v. 1. hours, howers Q., a dissyllable. 4. 'mji/(h>'= deprive of beauty. Cf. 'to rob him of his fair,' Venus and Adonis, 108G, and ' Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face,' cxxvii. 6. Shakespeare has ' unfather'd,' xcvii. 10, 2 Henry IV., IV. iv. 122; and 'I'll unhair thy head.' — Antony and Cleopatra, n. V. 64. 7,8. gone,. . . everywhere: gon. . . , everywhere, Q., a misprint ; the stops have been transposed. 14. i«e«e=lose, a form used constantly by Chaucer. VI. 1. ragged, wragged Q. 4. beauty's, beautits Q. The t is very like an e. 8. one; one, Q. A slight pause only is indicated because of the rhetorical run on the repetitions, of 'ten.' VII. 5. steep-up, steepe up Q., hyphened by Gildon. 9. pitch, pich Q. VIII. 6-14: — Cf. this conceit drawn from harmony with Lucrece, 1132-1154. 8. the parts that, a parte, woh ; — thus in a copy of this Sonnet MS. (B. M. Add., 15226), which Dowden assigns to James i.'s reign. 14. 'thou single wilt prove none,' marked as a quotation by Malone. Tyler compares oxxxvi. 8, 'Among a number one is reckoned none.' This is not ' according to Cocker,' who states this view : — ' Most Authors maintain that Unit is the Beginning of Numbers and it self no Number,' but argues learnedly against it (Cocker's Arithmetick). Cf. Marlowe, Hero and Leander : — ' One is no number ; maids are nothing, then. Without the sweet society of men.' IX. a Ah! Ah; Q. 4. TOaA;e/e«« = mateless, from Anglo-Saxon maca, a mate; match is another form, as in Kirk and Church. Cf. The Faerie Queens : — 'And of faire Eritomart enaample take That was as true in love, as turtle to her make ;' ' Th' Elfe, therewith astownd. Upstarted lightly from his looser Make ' : — and Surrey (The Second Number in Tottel's Miscellany, 1557) : — 'The turtle to her make hath tolde her tale. 10. his = its. 272 NOTES X. 1. For shame=ior very shamej for shame's sake. Modem Editions have ' For shame ! ' (Sewell). But this destroys the rhythm. 9. mind!, mind, Q. 12. kind-hearted, kind harted Q. XI. 2. departest, transitive. Cf. 2 Henry IV., iv. v. 91 : — ' Depart the chamber, leave us here alone ' : — and 3 Eenry VI., u. ii. 73 : — ' I would your highness would depart the field.' 3. youngly = in youth. 4. corauerte*< = turnest from youth to age. Cf. xiv. 13: — ' If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert.' The quatrain is obscure. Tyler explains 1, 2, ' As fast as the father declines, so fast in his child, his second self, does he grow towards, or in, that youthful beauty which he is leaving behind — " from that which thou departest." ' This, no doubt, is the meaning, but it is hard to see how the construction bears it out. It would be easy if the line ran : — ' In one of thine, tow'rds that which thou departest ' : but it does not. I retain the comma after 'grow'st,' as in Q., and remove the comma after 'thine,' to make clearer the only meaning which I can ex- tract : — So Just thou grow'st, in one of thine from that ( = in one of thy children deriving from that = the period of youth) which thou departest ( = leavest behind). The next two lines would, then, develop the idea naturally : — and the fresh blood which you bestow in your youth on your child, you may still call yours when you yourself turn from youth to age. 9. store = multiplication, reproduction, from the meaning, multitude, as in Two Gentlemen of Verona, iii. i. 205 : — ' Here 's too small a pasture for such store of muttons.' XII. 4. all silver'd o'er Malone, or silver'd ore Q. Malone's emen- dation is rendered probable by ' all girded up,' in 1. 7. 8. beard: Q. and Kelmscott; beard:— Bell; beard, Cambridge. 14. Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence. Save breed to brave him, when he takes thee hence, Q. , where the comma marks the delivery and not the grammar of the line. XIII. 1. but, love, you GOdon, but love you Q. 6. determination, the proper legal term. SONNETS 273 7. Yourself . . . your self's, You selfe . . . your selfes Q. 13. unthrifts ! Dear my love Kelmscott, Bell, Dowden ; unthrifts, deare my love Q. ; unthrifts : dear Cambridge. 14. You had a father ; let your son say so. You had a Father, let your Son say so. Q. This is simply another poetical turn for the advice : — ' beget a son. ' It does not mean that the Friend's father was dead. Tyler cites Merry Wives of Windsor, iii. iv. 36, ' where Shallow, urging Slender to woo Ann Page in manly fashion — to do as his father did — says : — " She 's coming, to her, coz, O boy, thou had!st a father," a hint which, however. Slender misunderstands.' XIV. 2. Astronomy = astrology. 4, 5. In Q. . . . quality, . . . tell ; the stops have been trans- posed. 5. minutes, mynuits Q. 9, 10. But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive. And, constant stars, in them I read such art. Cf. Sidney, Astrophel and Stella (1591) : — ' Though dusty "Wits dare scorn astrology. . . . Proof makes me sure Who oft fore- judge my after-following race, By only those two stars in Stella's face.' 12. to store, supra, xi. 9. XV. 6. CheerM and check'd, Cheared and checkt Q. I have accented cheered, for the e if mute is invariably cut out in Q. The music of the line depends on its being sounded. 7. Vaunt = exn].t, display themselves. Cf. Richard III., v. iii. 288:— 'The foe vaunts in the field.' 9. coracei<= conception, apprehension. XVI. 9-12. This quatrain is obscure at the first reading, owing to the complicated play on the word ' lines,' in ' lines of life,' 1. 9. Tyler and Dowden agree, substantially, that it connotes (1) children, refer- ring back to 'living flowers' in 7; (2) delineation in a portrait, echoing ' painted counterfeit ' in 8 ; (3) lines of the poet's verse. I believe that the conceit, while including those meanings which are subsequently developed, starts from a fourth drawn from Palmistry, and that this determined its unusual cast ;— lines of life. The line of life in Palmistry exhibits the principal events in life, particularly S 274 NOTES marriage and the birth of children. Cf. Merchant of Venice, n. ii. 146:— ' Here 's a simple line of life : here 's a small trifle of wives : alas, fifteen wives is nothing ! a'leven widows and nine maids is a simple coming in for a man . . .' Thus the sense is : — Many a maid, 1. 6, if you should marry, would bear you ' living flowers ' = children, 1. 7, much liker than any portrait of yourself, 1. 8 ; so should tjie lines of life— marriage and procreation, with a play on the meaning, (2) = delineation, repair that life of yours^ 1. 9, which this = my record, with a play on the meaning lines of verse — and then in parentheses, Q.— ('Times penser = history, record at large, 'or my pupill pen' = my humbler art); 'neither in inward worth nor outward fair ' = beauty, 1. 11, can (do, for it cannot) make you live your self (i.e. very self) in eyes of men, L 12. The use of the relative ' which,' 1. 10, is irregular. The play on the double sense line = delineation, and line = a verse is developed in xvn. 1, 2 : — ' My verse ... if it were fill'd with your most high deserts ? ' Cf. Lxiii. 13 :— ' His beauty shall in these black lines be seen ' ; and Lxxxvi. 13, of the Rival Poet : — ' But when your countenance fill'd up his lime.' In xvH. 13, 14, there is a transition from this double sense, line = lineage and verse, to xvm. in 1. 12 : — ' When in eternal lines to time thou groVst ' : — where the poet attributes the gift of immortality to his verse alone. Many parallels for these several uses of 'line' may be found in the Plays, e.g. lineage. Cf. Henry V., i. ii. 71 : — 'Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great.' A child's reproduction of his father's image. Cf. Winter's Tale, i. ii. 153:— ' Looking on the lines Of my boy's face methought I did recoil Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech'd.' XVII. 12. metre Gildon, miter Q. "" XVIII. 10-12. . . . otci'st . . , grovfst : thus in Q. ; owest . . . growest Malone, for which there is no authority. Owest . . . grow'st SONNETS 275 CambridgBj which exhibits the inconvenience of forsaking the strictly phonetic practice observed in Q. XIX. 6. fleet' St. An imperfect rhyme to 'sweets.' Dyce puts 'fleets.' This Sonnet closes Group A. XX. 2. Master Mistress, Master Mistris Q.j master-mistress Malone. I omit Malone's hyphen, as it is risky to tamper with enigmas. 7. Hews : — I retain the Q. type and spellingj being persuaded that the word was so printed intentionally. (See Note V.) The line in Q. is :— 'A man in hew all Hews in his controwling.' Hew is the usual spelling for ' hue,' and here means shape, figure, and not tint. Dowden cites Nash's Pierce Pennilesse, pp. 82, 83 (Shakespeare Society's Reprint): — -'The spirits of the water have slow bodies, resembling birds and women, of which kinde the Naiades and Nereides are much celebrated amongst poets. Nevertheless, however they are restrayned to their severall similitudes, it is certain that all of them desire no forme or figure so much as the likenesse of a man, and doo thinke themselves in heaven when they are infeoft in that hue.' Spenser uses 'hew' twice for shape, embodiment. The line, then, means *a man in shape all shapes in his controlling.' Cf. liii. fi-8, 12 :— ' Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit Is poorly imitated after you ; On HeUen'a cheek all art of beauty set, And you In Grecian tires are painted new . . . And you in every blessed shape we know.' It states that the Friend was the eternal pattern of Beauty. But the type selected for ' hues,' thanks to contemporary spelling. Hews, enabled the poet to convey something more which was apparent to the person addressed and is not apparent now. Of this I am convinced. But beyond this all is guess-work. Some hold that Mr. W. H. of the dedication was the Friend, and that his name was William Hughes J others seek an anagram in the letters. Fortunately they serve the turn of both the two chief camps which identify the Friend, the one with William Herbert, the other with Southampton. Ana- grams were fashionable : — ' Henry "Wriothesley Earle of Southampton Anagram : Vertue is thy Honour ; O the praise of aU men': — 276 NOTES and Hews contains the initials of his name and title. Others may riddle it : He = Herbert, W. S. = Shakespeare, or they may find in H. W. S. the initials of the two with an E added to sound them. Many identify the Rival Poet with Chapman, and, viewing the ardour with which this riddle-maree is prosecuted, it is strange that a passage in Chapman's Preface to the Reader {Homer's Iliads) has so far escaped their attention : ' another right learned, honest, and entirely loved friend of mine, M. Robert Hews.' It is improbable that we shall ever know the hidden suggestion of this word. It remains cos ingenioram. XXI. So is it not with me, etc. : — This sonnet offers the first attack on the false art of a Rival Poet. It is intimately connected with the preceding sonnet, and is obviously personal. Yet it does not follow that the events which suggested it were to the poet more than an occasion for writing in a strain of contemporary fashion. Cf. Du Bellay (Contre les Petrarquides), who, deriding the false art of Petrarcfa imitators, writes : — * De voz beautez, ce n'est que tout fin or, Perles, crystal, marbre, et ivoyre encor, Et tout rhonneur de I'lndique thresor, FleuTS, lis, oeiUets, et roses.' The whole poem, of several pages, offers a close parallel to the similai attacks in the Sonnets. A poet was expected to disclaim the practice of Petrarch's imitators and to trounce his rivals for observing it. Drayton does both. 13, 14. Let them say more that like of hearsay well; I will not praise that purpose not to sell. Cf. Love's Labour 's Lost, iv. iii. 234 : — ' Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues, — Fie painted rhetoric ! O, she needs it not ; To things of sale a seller's praise belongs, She passes praise. . . .' and Daniel, to Delia, 1594 : — ' None other fame, mine unambitious Muse Affected ever, but t' eternize Thee ! All other honours do my hopes refuse. Which meaner prized and momentary be. For, God forbid ! I should my papers blot With mercenary lines, with servile pen ; Praising virtues in them that have them not. Basely attending on the hopes of men.' — Sonnet Lin. SONNETS 277 XXII. 8. furrows, forrwes Q., sorrows Gildoiij sorrowes Kelmscott. Cf. Richard II., i. iii. 229 :— "Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle.' 4. expiate. Expiate = to atone for a crime and thus to close the last chapter of its history. Here the sense of completing is kept and the sense of atoning dropped ; Malone paraphrases ' should fill up the measure of my days,' and cites Richard III., iii. iii. 23 : — 'Make haste; the hour of death is expiate.' XXIII. 6. rite Malone, right Q. 9. hooks, looks Sewell. 14. viith . . . wit, wit . . . wiht Q. XXIV. (connected with the preceding sonnet) 1. steetd, steeld Q. See notes on Lucrece, 1444, and Venus and Adonis, 376. 4. And perspective it is best Painter's art, viz. the art of depicting objects on the plane of a canvas, but so that they appear, as in nature, to be in many planes, one behind the other, seen through the frame as if through a square aperture. The conceit begins, 1. 1, with the Poet's ' eye ' as a Painter, who has drawn the Friend's beauty on the Poet's heart. It goes on to a play oit the word 'frame,' 1. 3 ; the body is the physiological frame which holds the heart and other organs, but, taking the other sense of frame, perspective, 1. 4, is the best of a painter's art ; and, 1. 5, taking the etymological derivation of perspective with a reversion to the conceit that the Friend's beauty is engraved on the Poet's physical heart, to see the skill of the Picture you must look through the Painter = the Poet's eye. The Poet's bosom, 1. 7, being the shop wherein the picture hangs, has, 1. 8, borrowed the Friend's eyes : making, 1. 9, a good exchange of ' eyes for eyes.' The Poet's eyes, 1. 10, have been engaged in drawing the Friend's shape; the Friend's eyes, 1. 11, meanwhile have been windows, in their place, to the Post's breast, through which, 1. 12, the sun delights to peep, to gaze at the image of the Friend. This is a conceit with a vengeance, but it does work out ! Cf. Henry Constable's Diana, Sonnet v. (1594) :— 'Thine eyes, the glass where I behold my heart. Mine eye, the window through the which thine eye May see my heart ; and there thyself espy In bloudy colours, how thou painted art ! ' 9, Qood-tums, good-turnes Q. I retain the hyphen because it 278 NOTES ensures the correct delivery of the line. The locution is used for a service rendered no less than nine times in the Plays. XXV. 4. Unlook'd for=not sought out, not ' distinguished^' as a favourite was said to he ' distinguished ' hy a look or word from his sovereign. It is not possible to prove the date of the Sonnets from in- ternal evidence ; but if, as to me seems probable, the earlier Sonnets were written in 1699, no lines could have been penned more apposite than the next eight (5-12) to the fall and disgrace of Essex after his military failure in Ireland. They breathe the very spirit of Rowland White's regret for that dazzling favourite and famous Captain, foiled at last {supra Introduction) : — ' Great Princes' favourites their fair leaves spread. But as the Marygold at the sun's eye, And in themselves their pride lies buried, For at a frown they in their glory die. The painful warrior famous^d for fight After a thousand victories once foil'd. Is from the book of honour raz^d quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd' : — Tliey might, indeed, have been written by a follower of Essex after the fatal eve of Michaelmas, 1699, for the epitaph of his reputation. 6. Marygold : — Cf. The Interpreter, 1622, a Puritan satire reprinted by Arber, An English, Gamer, vi. p. 235 : — ' He 's as bold And confident as the bright marigold ! That flatterer, that favourite of the sun' : — where Buckingham is evidently intended. Dowden describes the flower: — 'The garden marigold, or Ruddes (calendula officinalis); it turns its flowers to the sun, and follows his guidance in theii' opening and shutting. The old name is goldes ; it was the Heliotrope, Solsequium, or Turnesol of our forefathers. (Condensed from '' Marigold " in EUacombe's Plant Lore and Garden Craft of Shake- speare. ) ' The Guide into Tongues (1617) gives :— (1) Marigolde = Orange Flower. French, Soulsi, quasi solem sequens. German, Ringel-blum ; and adds, ' ofiicin : vocant calthulam, solis sponsam, caltham poeticam seu Virgilii Calendulam. (2) Marigold of Peru = sun-flower, or golden flower of Peru. 9. fight, worth Q. Malone accepted this emendation from Theo- bald, ' who likewise proposed, if worth were retained, to read : razed forth,' in 1. 11. This neglect of the rhyme may be due to an oversight SONNETS 279 of the author^ but the emendation by the ' Person of Shakespeare ' has passed into the language. 13, 14. beloved . . . removed. I have accented the final syllables, in accordance with the principle explained in Note II. on Venus and Adonis, of which the use observed by the Quartos in respect of the two words — loved, beloved — affords a good example. The words occur in all fourteen times ; nine times, where the metre demands that the e should be mute, it is omitted ; three times, where the metre demands that the e should be sounded, it is printed : there remain two cases in the final couplets of this sonnet and of cxvi. In both Q. prints the e with, 1 cannot doubt, the intention that it should be sounded. Group B, xxvi.-xxxii. XXVI. 3. ambassage Q. embassage, Ewing. 8. In thy soul's thought (all naked) will bestow it : — Bestow =' lodge' (Dowden), also ' equip ' ; ' clothe ' (Tyler) ; ' put him up,' as we say, colloquially. ' It,' which is to be so entertained = ' Duty ' of 1. 6, made to seem 'bare,' 1. 6, and (all naked) refers to this 'bare Duty.' I retain the parenthesis, of Q. as it makes the reference back to 'Duty' clearer. 11. tatter'd, tottered Q. ; cf. ri. 4. 12. thy, 'their' Q. Malone's emendation. See (supra) Note V. He has made a like change, xxvii. 10, xxxv. 8, xxxvii. 7, xliii. 11, XLv. 12, xLvi. 3, 8, 13, 14, etc., and not always with adequate warrant from the sense. Even in this case it is possible that ' their,' Q., may be the right reading, referring to the stars, suggested by 'whatsoever star' in 1. 9; for this, in turn, refers back to 'their itoM ' of the preceding sonnet. XXVII. 10. thy Malone, their Q. It is just conceivable that 'their' should stand, referring to ' my thoughts ' in 1. 6. 11. hung in ghastly night, (hunge in gastly night) Q. XXVIII. 1, 2. The marked query in these two lines suggests that they are a rejoinder to some kindly expression of good wishes for the poet's happy return in a letter from the Friend. 9. I tell the Day, to please him thou art bright, Cambridge, Kelmscott ; I tell the Day to please him thou art bright, Q. ; I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright, Malone, Dowden, Tyler, Bell. 12. twire, 'peep. Cf. Ben Jonson, Sad Shepherd, Act ii. Sc. i. : — "Which maids will twire at, tween their fingers, thus"; 280 NOTES Beaumont and Fletcherj Woman Pleas' d, Act rv., Sc. L: — " I saw the wench that twii^d and twinkled at thee The other day " ; Marston, Antonio and Mellida, Act iv. (Works, vol. i. p. 32, ed. Halliwell) :— "I aawe a thing stirre under a hedge, and I peep't, and a spyed a thing, and I peer'd and I tweerd underneath." ' — Dowden. Scott, whose Fortunes of Nigel proves that he had steeped him- self in Elizabethan Drama, has there : — ' all of them are twiring and peeping betwixt their fingers when you pass.' 12. gild'st the even, guil'st tli' eauen Q. 13, 14. Printed in Q.:— 'But day doth daily draw my sorrowes longer, [stronger And night doth nightly make greefes length seeme The Cambridge, following Dyce 1857 (Capell ms. and Collier, conj.), has 'longer . . . strength seem stronger.' Malone, Dowden, Tyler, Bell, Kelmscott, retain length. The sense is : — ' Day daily draws out my sorrows to a greater length, but they are not attenuated or weakened for all their length : night nightly makes that length seem stronger.' XXIX. 2. outcast, out-cast Q. 4. fate, fate. Q. 11. (Like to the Larke at breake of daye arising), Q. Modem editions omit the parentheses and put no comma after 'arising.' But it is his ' state ' which sings at heaven's gate from the sullen earth — like to the lark. XXX. 1. Sessions Q., i.e. the Court, as it were. Assizes. Cf. Othello, III. iii. 140: — ' Who haa a breast so pure, But some uncleanly apprehensions Keep leets and law-days, and in session sit "With meditations lawful.' 6. dateless = eniless. 8. moan the expense. Dowden : — ' pay my account of moans for. The words are explained by what follows : — "TeUo'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan."' sight. Malone would understand 'sigh.' 'sight' might stand for 'sighed'— it is so used by Chaucer— but not for the noun. The SONNETS 281 change is not needed: — ' sight ' = sight of persons beloved. Cf. 2 Henry VI., i. i. 32 :— ' Her sight did ravisli ; but her grace in speeoli.' XXXI. 5. oftsei/uiou* =' dutiful,' Tyler ; =' funereal,', Dowden. I agree. Cf Titas Andronicus, v. iii. 152 : — ' Draw you near To shed ohsequious tears upon this trunk.' 7. interest. Cf. Lucrece, 1796-9 : — ' Do not talce away My sorroVs interest, let no mourner say He weeps for her, for she was only mine And only must be wail'd by Colatine.' 8. there Q., thee Gildon. I retain the Q. reading : — 'there' refers back to 'thy bosom,' 1. 1; 'And there,' 1. 3. Thus: — 'hidden in there ' = hidden in thy bosom, the subject of all the first eight lines with which the sonnet opens. The third quatrain, after a period, opens with a second idea, developed from the first : — ' Thou art the grave.' XXXII. If thou survive, etc. : — Closes Group B. 7. Reserve »"W-««ttou<-en