SliAllCSPeARCS ui\ieP\A S I P\ e D V\/A R D HAM UeV CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY FROM Mrs.f'.'f.E.Gurley The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013152503 f\\oizs(pl BLACKWOOD'S EDINBUKGH MAGAZINE. No. DCXC. APEIL 1873. Vol. CXni. ^' ' ' , - " " ' SHAKESPEARE S FUNEEAL. Place. — Steatpobd-on-Avon. Time. — The 25th of Apbil 1616. ScEKE I. — The Taproom of the Falcon Tavern in the High Street, kept by Eleanor Oomyng. Hostess and Sly. Hostess. Kit Sly, Kit Sly, dost thou hear ? There he guests alighting in the yard; run thou and help Eobin ostler hold theii stirrups, and so do somewhat for the ale thou ne'er pay'st for. Sly. If I do, -wilt thou let this one day slip without rating and prating of thy score that I owe thee ? Hostess. Tea, good Kit, if thou run quickly. Sly. But wilt thou Md Francis draw me what ale I may chance call for 1 Hostess. Nay, that will I not, or thou wouldst empty my great tun. Thou wouldst serve me as thou didst the ale-wife of Wincot,* who says, poor soul, that she ne'er had cask in cellar these twelve years hut thou wert more fatal to it than a leaking tap. By these ears, I heard her say so when the deputy's men were seizing her goods. Thou shalt not cozen me as thou didst Marian. Sly. Hold stirrup thyself, then. I'll not budge. I'U to sleep agaia by the chimney tDl it please God send me drink. Enter Deatton+ {the poet) and Young Ealeigh % {son of Sir Waltei-). Drayton. Sly, said she ! Didst thou not hear, Walter, yon varlet's * "Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not," says Kit Sly in the "Taming of the Shrew." Wincot is a village ahout three nules from Stratford. + Michael Drayton, a Warwickshire poet of great repute in his day, was about a year older than Shakespeare, and had known him long and familiarly. . J Young Walter Ealeigh was Sir Walter's eldest son, and was now twenty-two VOL. CXIII. — NO. PCXC. , 2 380 Shakespeare's Funeral [April name ? tut 'twas scarce needful. The sodden face, the shaking nether lip, the eye watery and impudent, the paunch ale-swelled, the doublet liquor- stained, the hat crushed from being much slept in, the apparel ruinous, because the tapster intercepts the fee that should be the tailor's and the cobbler's— hath not the master, without cataloguing one of these things, implied all, in half-a^score of pregnant words, for aU the future ? What a skill is that can make a poor sot immortal ! Sly. Sot, saidst thou!— but I care not. Will ye stand me, gentles, in a pot of ale ? Ealeigh. Wilt thou answer, then, a few questions I would put to thee? Sly_ Ay — but the ale first; and be brief; I love not much question. Say on, and let the world slide. Raleigh. A pot of ale, drawer, for this worthy man. And now tell me, Sly, is't not thy custom to use that phrase ' let the world slide ' 1 * Sly. It may well be ; 'tis a maxim I love ; 'tis a cure for much. I am cold — let the world slide, for anon I shall be warmer. I am dry — ^let the world slide, for time will bring ale. I sit, pottle-pot in hand, i' the chimney-nook — let the world shde while I taste it. Drayton. 'Tis a pretty philosophy, and might serve for greater uses. But, for a further question — ^Wert thou acquainted with old John Faps of Greece 1 1 Sly. John mps, quotha! what, old John! by Jeronimy, I knew him many a year, mended his pots and helped him empty them. 'A had been a sailor, or to say pirate would be to shoot nearer the clout; when sober his fashion was to say nought, but when drunk his talk was of the things 'a had seen in Greece — whereby they called him 2Taps of Greece. Drayton. And didst thou know, too, Peter Turf and Henry Pimpernell'! Sly. Yea, as this pot-handle knows these fingers. For Tuif, he was deputy-sexton of Wincot, and indeed digged Naps' grave, and was found lying drunk therein, with his spade beside him, at the hour of burial. For PimperneU, 'twas a half-witted companion, but his grandam kept money in 's purse, and 'a served to pay scores, and 'a could join in a catch on occasion, thof 'a had but a small, cracked voice, and mostly sung his part to psalm-tunes. And, now, masters, a question to ye — an ye answer not, faith, I care not — but how should such as ye know K"aps and the others ? Drayton. They have been recorded, and thou too, in what will outlast jour epitaphs. Doubtless thou hast heard of Master William Shakespeare of New Place. I Sly. Heard of him, said he ! Ay, and seen him and talked with him years old. He accompanied his father, soon after, to South America, as commander of one of the companies that formed the military part of the expedition, to prepare for which was the express condition on which Sir Walter was released from the Tower in January 1616. * A phrase much affected by Sly the Tinker in the prelude to the " Taming of the Shrew." + One of Sly's acquaintances at Wincot. " Stephen Sly, and Old John Naps of Greece, And Peter Turt and Henry Pimpernell."—" Taming of the Shrew." A manuscript memorandum, in which Stephen Sly is mentioned, written at Stratford ill 1614, is still extant. J New Place was a large house, with garden attached, in the town of Stratford — buil t by Sir Hugh Cloptoii in Henry VII. 's time, and purchased by Shakespeare in 1597. 1873.] S/iokespeare's Funeral. 381 both here and at Wincot when he came thither to his kinsfolk.* By this malt-juice, a merry gentleman, and a free — 'a should have been a lord, for, look you,' to bestow liquor on the thirsty is a lordly fashion, and I have owed him many a skinful. Marry, that tap's dry now. Drayton. "What, knave, hath he found at last that it is more virtuous to forget thee than to countenance thee ? Sly. Na.j, I wOl say nought in his dispraise ; 'a was good to me, and hath oft spoke with me, and I'll ne'er deny it now's dead and gone. Mayhap ye have come to the burial ? Drayton. Dead ! Raleigh. Master Shakespeare dead ! Hostess. Oh, masters, he hath spoke the truth, tho' he be no true man ; by these tears, he hath. Master Shakespeare ^parted o' Tuesday, and ho wUl be buried this dientical day ; the coffin" will be brought forth of New Place upon the stroke of two. I have talked with the bearers, and aU. Raleigh. Thus perish the hopes which drew me to Stratford. I thought to look on the foremost poet of the world — to hear his voice — perchance to be honoured with some discourse of him — and now I shall look but on his coffin. Oh, Master Drayton ! Drayton. We looked not, indeed, for this. 'Tis as if the sun were drawn from the firmament, and had left us to perpetual twilight. The radiant intellect is gone, and hath left but its pale reflection in his works — tho' these shall be immortal. Methinks, in future, the sky will be less blue, the air less warm, the flowers less gay; for I honoured this man more than any, and whate'cr I essayed to do 'twas with a secret thought of his judgment over me, as if he had been the conscience of mine intellect. Hostess. Ye look pale — a cup of sack, sweet sirs; for, ye know, a cheerful cup the heart bears up. Drayton. Ifay, woman, nay. Hostess. 'Tis of the best, I warrant you ; 'tis from the stores of Master Quiney — him that hath married Master Shakespeare's daughter Judith, and he deals in none but the best. Drayton. 'Tis not sack that will help us. But canst thou teU us, good hostess, aught concerning his end ? Hostess. Yea, weU-a-day, that can I, for 'twas Gossip Joan Tisick who goeth out nursing, the same, your worships, that brought young Eliz- abeth Hall, his grandchild, into the world, that was sent for to him when 'twas seen which way 'a was likely to go ; whereby, she told me thereof yesternight over a cup of ale and sugar with a toasted crab in 't — ^for, said she, there's none in Stratford, Mistress Comyng, that Master Shake- speare thought more on than you. The doctor. Master HaU, says to her, " Have a care, Joan, of my father-iu-law Shakespeare, says he ; for 'tis a parlous case, says he ; we be aU mortal, says he — and the breath goeth when it listeth — therefore keep thou the better watch, for 'tis a ma* we could iU. spare." " Fear not. Master HaU," quoth Joan, " I'll tend him an 'twere his mother." So, o' Tuesday night he said he felt easier, and he bid Mistress HaU and the Doctor that they should leave him and take * The Ardens, Shakespeare's relations by the mother's side, lived in the parish of ■Wincot. 382 SJiaJcespeare's Funeral. [April good rest. And 'a says to Joan, " Art drowsy, good Joan ? " "Whereupon she made answer "A little; for I haye heen up," saith she, " all last night at a labour with Mistress Coney her thirteenth child." " Ay," quoth he, " in thy calling thou seest hoth ends of life ; well, thou shalt sleep to- night, and all night if thou wilt." " Nay, sir,'" saith Joan, " not so ; but your worship being of so good cheer to-night, mayhap if I take a short nap 'twill do no harm." "If thou take a long one, good Joan," said Master Shakespeare, "it matters not, for, I warrant you, I shall take a longer." " It doth me good to hear your worship speak so," says Joan, "for sleep well is keep well, and a night's rest physic's best" — and so tucks up the bedclothes, and draws the hangings, and leaves him as 'a was closing his eyes. Well, sweet sirs, all the night he lay quiet, and with the dawn Joan peeps me in through the curtains, and there he lay, quiet and smiling — and as the sun rose she peeps me in again and he was still quiet and smiUng — and she touched his forehead ; — and he had been lying for hours (so the Doctor said when Joan caEed him) as dead as his grandam. Drayton. 'Twas, then, with good heart that this great soul passed to what himself hath called the undiscovered country : of whose inhabitants he must sure take his place among the most illustrious. Thou art sad, Walter — ^this grief touches thee, and, sooth, it becomes thee well. It bespeaks thy youth generous ; 'tis an assurance that thou hast thy father's spirit, who, great himself, owns near kinship with greatness, and will sorrow for Shakespeare as for a brother. Raleigh. 'Twas my father's wish, when he knew I was to be thy guest in Warwickshire, that I should pay my. duty to Master Shakespeare, for, said he, there is no worthier thing in life than to take note of the greatest of thy companions in earth's pilgrimage ; in them thou seest the quintessence of man's spirit, cleared of the muddy vapours which make common humanity so base and foolish : and this man is of the greatest, a companion indeed for princes, nay, himself a king, whose kingdom is of the imagination, and therefore boundless. TeU him, Walter, said my father, that in my long captivity* I have oft remembered our pleasant encounters at the Mermaid; t teU him, too, that I have solaced mine enforced solitude in the Tower with studying aL. of his works that have been given to us ; and entreat him, in my name, not to leave those plays of his to the chances of the world, as fathers leave their misbegotten children, but to make them truly the heirs of his invention, and to spend on them that paternal care which shall prove them worthy of their source. Hostess. Please you come in here to the Dolphin chamber, where Master Shakespeare loved to sit. Raleigh. Well — now we are in it, I find it convenient and well Hghted; and yet methinks 'tis but a small one. Drayton. Ay, but seest thou that, through the door, one that sits here can mark the whole company of ale-drinkers in the tap-room without, and therefore Shakespeare loved it ; here would he sit and note the humours of such guests as yonder Sly. For in such, ho would say, you * The twelve years' imprisonment in the Tower to which James I. had consigned him. + The Mermaid was a tavern in London where Sir Walter had established, before his imprisonment, a club, of which Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher and others were members. iS73.] Slialcespeare's Funeral. 383 see humanity with its vizard off; and he held that nurture, though it •oft cherishes a good apprehension, yet as oft doth overlay and smother it. He hath said to me, pointing to the company without, "If you find wit here 'tis the hird's own feather, and no borrowed plume ; if you see courtesy 'tis inborn, and will bear the rub ; if you note a quaint humour 'tis in the man by the grace of God or the force of circumstance: your weaver or your tinker, whatsoever other gift he hath, hath not the skill to counterfeit, for that comes by art, and leisure, and commerce with men of condition, and desire of their good opinion; wherefore methinks I oft see deeper through your leathern jerkin than your satin doublet." Hostess. Yea, here would 'a come many a time and oft, with Master Ben, that was fuU of quips as an egg of meat. "Mistress Quickly!" Ben would say (for so 'a called me, I know not wherefore), "set us in the Dolphin chamber;* and let us have a sea-coal fire," 'a would say — " and I will drink none if thou give me not a parcel-gilt goblet," whereby Master Shakespeare would cast at him out of 's eye a merry glint. " Hast thou thy plate yet?" Master Ben would ask me, "and the tapestry of thy dining chambers? Come, let us have Doll Tearsheet meet us at supper." " Lord, sir," would I say, " I know no Dolls nor Tearsheets neither ; " but 'twas a merry man, I warrant you, tho' I did never know what his meaning was. Bi-ayton. These memories of thine breed but sad mirth in me now. _ Hostess. WeU-a-day, if there be not Sir Thomas and Master Thynne, rid from Charlecotet, and alighting. By your leave, kind sirs, I wiU go receive them. [5/ie goes out. Drayton. Dear "Walter, this stroke is so sudden that it bewilders me ; methinks I am dreaming; I discourse, remember, reason, and so forth, and yet my brain aU the while wrapt as in a cerement. Coming here with my thoughts full of him, sitting in this room where he and I have sat so oft, what could seem less strange than that he should enter and greet me; and yet a little word hath made me know that to be impossible for aU time. Raleigh. Ay, sir, amidst my own pain I remember how you have been familiar with that divinest man, and must feel a far deeper sorrow than myself, that know him but in the picture my imagination hath formed ; and I perceive by the blank made in mine own present, what a void must be left in yours. "Would you have us quit Stratford forthwith ? Drayton. K"ay, by no means; let us rather give our sorrow somewhat to feed on ; let us fill it with the sad memories that abound here. For, to me, everything in Stratford speaks of Shakespeare ; 'twas here he lived while that unmatched apprehension was most waxlike to receive impres- sions, when wonder and observation were quickest in him; and 'twas here he began to fill a storehouse from whence to draw at will. Por his manner was always to build on a ground of fact, or, rather, to sow fact like a seed, and let it strike in that rich soil till ofttimes none but himself could tell {even if himself could) what the ripened fruit had sprung from. Some- times he would limn a man in brief as he saw him, and, again, he would so play with his first notion, dressing it and transforming it, yet ever * For the allusions here made ty Master Ben, see the "Second Part of King Henry IV.," act ii. sc. 1. + Charleoote, still the family seat of the Lucys, is some four miles from Stratford; 384 Shalcespeare's Funeral. [AprU ■working even as nature works, that the citken of Stratford or "Warwick would grow into a Eoman or ancient Briton, a lover or a king, a con- spirator or a jester, compounded part of fact, part of fancy, yet would the morsel of fact leaven the whole with truth. Raleigh. "Was this Sir Thomas Lucy he whom the world calls Justice ShaUow ? Drayton. Nay, he hath heen dead these many years — ^this is his son ; but the companion that's with him thou mayst chance to have heard of. Ihiier Sih Thomas Ltjct and Mastee Thynnb, in mourning habits. Hostess. "Wilt please you walk this way. Sir Thomas ? This chamber is warmer, and the day is fresh. There be here, sirs, none but these two gentlemen. Sir Thomas. Master Drayton, as I remember me. Tou are of our county of Warwickshire, I think, sir 1 Drayton. I am so, Sir Thomas, at your service. Give me leave to bring you acquainted with my Mend and comrade in travel. Master "Walter Ealeigh. Sir Thomas. I salute you, sir. Of the Ealeighs of Devonshire, mayhap? Raleigh. The same, Sir Thomas. Sir Tliomas. An honourable family, sir, and one that hath borne itself among the best these many reigns past. Tou quarter the arms of Throckmorton, as I think, sir — ^you bear gules, five fusils, ia bend argent, and your cognisance a stag ; or is't a martlet 1 Raleigh. I knew not we, being but simple gentlemen, and out of favour, were of that mark that our quarteriags should be thus well known. Sir Thomas. I am something of a herald, I would have you know, sir. Methinks 'twere well that men of quality were familiar each with the pretensions of all the rest, making as 'twere one family in condition : thus should we at once know who are of the better, who of the baser sort. And so, sir, of the leisure I spare from mine office as justice of the peace, and from mine own concerns, I give somewhat to heraldry. Drayton. I perceive by the sad hue of your garments that you design, to be present~at Master Shakespeare's funeral, -iw? j Sir Tliomas. Aj, sir. His son-in-law. Doctor Hall, is our physician at Charlecote, and I have had dealings with himself, and held him in esteem. Raleigh. 'Tis as it should be — the whole world should honour such worth as his. Sir Thomas. Kay, good sir, I go not so far with you ; though he were indeed so honourable that his neighbours, even of condition, may well accord him a last show of respect. Drayton. I am glad that the old grudge between Master Shakespeare and Sir Thomas your father holds not in this generation. Sir Tliomas. "Why, for that, Master Drayton, in respect of the deer- stealing, 'twas not such a matter as is ne'er to be forgiven nor forgotten; he was but a youth then, and he suffered for't ; and, for the scurril ballad concerning which the rumour went 'twas writ by Shakespeare, why, 'twas none of his. Drayton. I'll be sworn 'twas not. Know we not the hand of the mas- ter better than to take such 'prentice-stuff for his 1 As well affirm that a daw's feather may drop from an eagle. 1873.] Shakespeare's Funeral. 385 Sir Thomas. Nay, sir, I have better assurance ; he himself, of his o-wn motion, told my father (and hath repeated it to myseK) that he ne'er ■wrote it. Drayton. He hath told me the same — and for the plays Sir Tliomas. Tor the plays wherein 'twas said he drew my father, 'twas idle gossip. How should a Gloucestershire justice, one Shallow (for such I am told is what passes for the portrait), represent Sir Thomas Lucy of Charlecote in Warwickshire 1 Thynne. 'Twas said, too, that he had set me down along with mine uncle. By the mass ! I should not care though it had been so ; for I saw the play* once in London, and Master Slender was a gentleman, and an esquire, and of good means, though the people did laugh, I know not why, at some of his discourse. But he and the rest lived in Harry Fourth's time, 'twas said ; and how could I live in Harry Touith's time that go not back beyond Elizabeth] though the Thynnes were well thought on afore that, look you. Sir Thomas. Well, sir, I have ne'er seen the play, and love not players. I ever noted that when they came to Stratford there, was new business for the justices. The idle sort grew idler — they drew others on to join them that woidd else have been better conducted — there was less work, more drink, and more disorder. I could never away with the players, sir ; and I was heartily with those who were for inhibiting their theatre in Stratford. Thynne. And I too. Cousin Lucy, I care not for the play, though, good sooth, I liked it weU enough. But give me for sport a stage with two good backsword or quarter-staff men ; or a greased pole with a Glou- cester cheese atop ; or a buU-running : but of all sport, by the mass ! I lova the bear-garden — ^man and boy, I ever loved it ; 'tis the rarest sport, in good sooth, now. Drayton. Methought, Sir Thomas, when you talked of honouring my dear friend, 'twas for his works. Sir Thomas. IS&j, sir, I make no account of his works, and, indeed, know nought of them. He had won a good station, and maintained it, and therefore he should have his due. Drayton. For his descent, that, as all men know, was not above humble citizen's degree. Sir Thomas. His mother was an Arden ; and his father was granted a coat of arms by the College, a spear or, upon a bend sable, in a field of gold — ^the crest, a falcon with his wings displayed, standing on a wreath of his colours, supporting a spear; and he might impale with Arden. And the gentleman himself hath for years been of good havings, with lands and houses, and of good repute in all his dealings; therefore, say I, that we who be neighbours and gentlemen, should have him in. respect. Thynne. Tea, forsooth ! gentlemen should give to other gentlemen (thof they be new-made and quarter not) what countenance they may, for their better advantage, and to maintain them in consideration, look you, and to prosper them ; and therefore 'tis we come to make two at the burial. Raleigh. ye gods ! this of him that conceived Lear and 0th eUo ! Sirs, with your leave we will now bid you farewell. Sir Thomas. Ifay, I pray you that we part not so. I beseech you, * "Merry "Wives of Windsor. " 386 Shahespeare's Funeral. [AprH Master Ealeigh, and you, Master Drayton, that you lie this night at Charlecote. I would have you home to supper, and thank you, too, for your good company. Thynne. And I, sirs, have a poor house of mine own within these dozen miles, and thof I he not a knight like my cousin Lucy here, yet I can lodge a guest as well as some ; now that my mother be dead, I live as hefits a gentleman, good sooth, and I would bid you welcome truly, now, and show you a mastiff that hath lost an eye by a bear. Drayton. Sir, I thank you. For your good kindness. Sir Thomas, we are beholden to you ; but, pray you, let us stand excused. Master Ealeigh hath business that Raleigh. Ifay, Master Drayton, that business we had is sadly ended, and our whole journey marred. With your good leave, therefore, I would rejoice that we should take Sir Thomas at his word. Sir Tliomas. By my troth, sirs, I am glad on't, and you shall be heartily welcome. We'U e'en meet here at four o' the clock, and ye shall find wherewithal to bear you and your mails to Charlecote. Raleigh. TiU then, farewell. {To Drayton as they go out) Seest thou not. Master Michael, that to sit in Master Shallow's house, perchance in his very arbour * — ^to eat a pippin, maybe, of his own graffing — to look on his effigy, clad as he went to the Court with Falstaff — were a chance that would lead me to journey barefoot in the snow to Charlecote ? I"or being here in the birthplace (alas ! now the death-place) of him I so reverenced, what better tribute can I pay (now that nought but his memory is left for our worship) than, even as thou saidst but now, to trace the begettings of those bright fancies which he hath embalmed for ever ? ■ Drayton. You look on these things, "Walter, as I would have you look ; a true disciple art thou of him whom we shall always love and always mourn, and gladly will I go with thee to Charlecote. And now, ere we stand by that greedy grave that is presently to swallow so huge a part of what is precious in England, we wiU see to that other business of thine, the raising of money for thee. 'Tis but a step, as I remember, to Master Sherlock's house. ISovr I pray thee mark that old man well — and if we deal not with him, as is likely, 'tis no matter, for I can take thee elsewhere ; but I would thou shouldst see old Master Sherlock. Scene II. — Master Sherlock's counting-house. Sherlock sitting at his desh in an inner room. Enter Drayton and Ealeigh. Drayton (aside to Raleigh). Dost thou not spy in him a likeness to an old spider, black, still, and watchful, and in that money-changing den to a cob-web ? There be many flies have suffered loss of wings here. Raleigh. How old and bent he looks ! and, but that he be a money- lender, I should have deemed him poor. Drayton. Nay, 'tis not a spider of the sleek sort — ^blood-sucking hath not fattened him as it doth some. Raleigh. His attire doth not bespeak much wealth. That old gown * See " Second Part of King Henry IV.," act v. sc. 3. 1873.] Shakespeare^s Funeral. 387 were dear at two shillings, fur trimmings and all ; nay, 'twere a fair price even were the velvet cap and copper spectacles thrown into the hargain. Drayton. Soft you, he comos. Sherlock. Sirs, your servant. What would you 1 Drayton. Marry this, Master Sherlock — me you remember — Michael Drayton — wo have had some small deahngs together of yore. Sherlock. Ay, sir, I forget none who deal with me. Drayton {aside). Nor they thee, I'll he sworn. {To Sherlock.) But thus it is — my friend here, Master Raleigh, hath had a manor in Surrey assigned* him by his father. Sir Walter, and having pressing need of monies, inasmuch as he hath been appointed captaia in a force which will shortly embark for Guiana, whereof Sir Walter is chief commander, he would raise a sum thereon to furnish him forth. Sherlock. Be there none in London that would lend him the monies ? Drayton. Certes j but he goeth now into Devonshire, and his need is pressing. Sherlock. His need is pressing — well, sir ? Drayton. To which end he would be beholden to you for a present loan. Sherlock. For a present loan — ^weU, sir ? Drayton {aside to Raleigh). Mark you his manner of speech? 'twas ever thus with him. {To Sherlock.) And for security he hath brought the writings pertaining to the estate ; till thou canst prove which to be suffi- cient, myself will be his surety. Raleigh. These be they. Sherlock. These parchments, these parchments — ay, ay — Manor of West Horsleyt — all those messuages and tenements — ay, ay. Well, sir, time is needed to examine these ; what monies dost thou require ? Raleigh. In brief, four hundred pounds. Sherlock. Four hundred pounds — well ? Raleigh. If upon inquiry and advice the security satisfy thee, at what rate of usance wilt thou lend me ? Slierlock. Eate of usance % — why, sir, money is hard to come by at this time ; we have suffered great fires in our town,| and money hath been needed for the rebuUdiag ; the rate hath risen of late^ — and there is talk of war with Spain, which will raise it further. I must myself borrow ere I lend, and must needs pay roundly. I cannot supply you at a less yearly rate than fifteen in the hundred. Drayton. ISTay, sir, my friend's need is not so great that he should pay so dearly. He laid his account for ten, and by my counsel he wiU give no more — ^for, look you, this is no venture, but a surety. Sherlock. Then, I fear me, we deal not ; but I will look into these writings — 'tis possible I may be able to lend at fourteen and a half. Drayton. Put up yoiir papers, Walter, we will make other shift. This was but part of our business in Stratford, Master Sherlock ; our intent was to visit your most illustrious townsman, and now, woe the day ! we hear he is dead. * An estate in Devonshire, thus assigned to him several years before, had been confiscated by James I. + Sir Walter's second son afterwards lived here, and his arms long remained (perhaps still remain) on the walls. t There had been a conflagration in Stratford in 1614, which had destroyed a great part of the town. 388 S/iakespeare's Funeral. [April SherlocJc. Ay, ■who may he be t Raleigh. Who hut Master Shafospeare, for vrhose huiial you wiU straightway hear the hell toll. Sherlock. I heard say he was dead. Raleigh. Didst not know him i Sherlock. "We had deaUngs together years agone — ay, he hath had money o£ me more than once or twice ; hut he consorted with mine enemy, John-a-Comhe*, and we would none of each other after. Drayton. I knew not John-a-Comhe was the enemy of any man. Sherlock. He was mine enemy in the sense that he hindered my deal- ings. This Shakespeare, too, outhid me for the tithes t when they were sold. I had heen a richer man had he died a dozen years agone. I spend not, therefore, much sorrow on him. Raleigh. Why, this comes nigh to hlasphemy — let us be gone. Drayton. Well, God be with you, Master Sherlock, — (aside) though I fear that may hardly be. Come, Walter. But, Master Sherlock, a moment, I pray you ; I saw your daughter. Mistress Visor, of late. Sherlock. My daughter, Mistress Visor, ay ! Drayton. A woman, sir, that is held in much respect, though not for her worldly means. In truth, she hath but a sorry life of it. Sherlock. She made her own bed when she fled from this house twenty years agone with young Visor. Let her He on it, and if she find it hard, let her see that she complain not. The curse of disobedience hath been on her. Drayton. Well, sir, she hath paid for that long ago, if misery may pay it. She looks like one that the world hath done its worst on, and is ready to quit it. Sherlock. Sir, sir, I had thought you came here on a business matter. I have somewhat pressing to see to. Drayton. One word, Master Sherlock. Her eldest son, your grandson, is a lad of promise, and for education she hath done what she may for him; but I heard of late that he was driven to hold horses in the market-place, and such chance-shifts, for a bare living. Sherlock. Let his father look to it ; he took my daughter — let him look to his son — ^let him look to his son. {To Raleigh.) Will it please you leave the writings 1 Drayton. Her daughter, near womanhood, is fair to look on, but Sherlock. Hast thou been set on to this % Your pardon if I quit you. \Retires into the inner room. Raleigh. Come, let us away. So, I breathe again, now we are quit of that den. I have heard of such flints, but ne'er saw one till now. Drayton! So thou carest not for his money at fifteen in the hundred ? Raleigh. Were't five I would not deal with him. 'Tis a stone, sure, that hath been cut in human shape and possessed by some vile spirit from the nether world. I almost marvel, Master Michael, that thou broughtst me to him. Drayton. Why, was it not of our compact that I should show thee some of the models whence our master drew ? * John-a-Comte was a rich tanker in Stratford, and a friend of Shakespeare, to whom he left a small legacy. + Shakespeare invested a considerahle sum in a lease of these tithes. 1873.] Shakespeare's Funeral. 389 Raleigh. Models 1 how, Sherlock? Yet that name. Soft you, now, soft you ! And money-lender, too. And then his daughter — why, Master Michael, 'tis clear as the sun — it runs on aU-fours wiui the devil in the play ; and yet, but that thou gav'st me the clue, I might have borrowed money from him twenty years without guessing. "Well, this passes ! Scene III. — Tlie Churchyard of Stratford. A crowd waiting about the gate. First Woman. Didst not hear say there would be a dole 1 I see no signs of it. Second Woman. 'Twas too good to be true ; comfort is chary of coming to poor folk. First Man. I have been here since one o' the clock, and with a toothache, for which thou seest my face is tied up, and the wind is keen. I had stayed within four walls but for the word that went about of a dole. First Woman. Thou look'st none the comelier, Peter Quince, for the clout about thy yellow chaps, like a blue dish full of butter-miLk. Second Man. Thou shouldst have covered the rest of thy face with it, Peter, then woiddst thou have been fairer to look on than e'er thou wert yet. Second Woman. I'll warrant thou eatest thy share when thou getst it, crust and all, in despite of thy toothache. Peter Quince. Look if here be not lame Davy, coming for the sharing ; how his crutch thumps in 's haste ! — do but mark how he outspeeds blind Harry that feeleth his way by the wall. Second Man. Ay, and look, Madge, my buxom lass, at what will please thee better, for here come gentlemen of worship. Madge. The younger is as gallant a youth as e'er I set eyes on. [The bell tolls for the funeral. Enter Deatton and Ealbigh. Raleigh. " No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than ye shall hear the surly stdlen beH Give wa,ming to the world that I am fled."* How strange sound these words of his, with that bell for commentary ! How his own phrases rise to the Kps ! Drayton. Ay, "Walter, you shall find but few occasions in Kfe, solemn or merry, regarding which something apt, something that goeth deeper than common to the heart of the matter, hath not been said by him that is now sHent. Raleigh. One that reads him as a student, and lovingly, as my father from my first youth hath taught me to do, and hath moreover a good memory, shall find in him (my father is wont to say) a rich vocabulary. But mark you the crowd here ! 'tis the spontaneous respect of the people for so famous a townsman. Ifow look I to see (what we have not yet seen) the sorrow of Stratford for the loss of her great son. As the sun * The opening lines of Shakespeare's 71st Sonnet. 390 SJiaTcespeare's Funeral [April lights the hovel no less than the palace, so should his fame reach to, and warm, the poorest here. Drayton. Be not too assured that his fame is of a kind to he felt by- such as these, though were he a commander who had hronght home a Spanish galleon, or a courtier who had set the fashions at Whitehall, or a foolish lord with fifty retainers at his hack, no cap so greasy hut it would cover an idolater. But let us mark what passes 'twixt the towns- folk and this old headle who cometh hither with his older satellite. Enter a Beadle and Assistant-Beadle with Servants bearing baskets. Assist.-Beadle. l^Teighhours, make way, I pray you ; stand aside from the gates. Crowd. The dole, the dole ! Good Master Beadle, a word with you — me, sirs, me — ^look hither, 'tis I, &c. First Beadle. "What a consternation is here ! Make not such a clamour. We are charged, I and my partner, with the contribution of this dole, and we wiU contribute it without respect of persons, save that we will give most to those we think most worthy. Stand you back. Quince and Flute. Quince. Yet do not overlook me, good Master Beadle. Flute. Eemember me, an't please you. Master Derrick. Assist.-Beadle. Heard joii not what Master Derrick said? Would you set yourselves to teach him in this business 1 Beadle. Ay, would they, such is their vanity and their greediness. It might he thought they had ne'er seen a funeral before. WTien did any of you know me overlook one that should be remembered ? Have I been beadle here forty years for nought ? Assist.-Beadle. Ye dare not say he hath for your lives. Crowd. The bread ! the bread ! Beadle. 'Ods my life, they would tear it out of the baskets, like wolves. Neighbours, though it be customary to give loaves only, yet Master Shakespeare, out of his love for you, and because ye should mourn him. fittingly, hath desired that beef should be bestowed along with the bread. Several. Worthy gentleman ! First Woman. 0, good soul, this shall profit him, sure, where he's gone. Second Woman. Ifay, I ever said there were none in Stratford more rememberful of the poor than Master Shakespeare. Assist.-Beadle. Ay, and more than that, there be four firkins of ale to be broached after the burial, behind the church. Beadle, itfeighbour Turgis, wilt thou stUl go about to forestall me ? I was coming to the ale presently, when time fitted. Do thou stand by the baskets and give out the dole as I shall tell thee. Hast thou the bag of groats ready, too ? Assist.-Beadle. Yea, Master Derrick. [They distribute the provisions and money. Flute. Shall I not have a loaf and a groat for my wife ? She hath had twins this morning, therefore could not come. Old Woman. Thy wife, forsooth ! — my son hath worked at New Place, and helped to mend the fence i' th' garden last winter, and now is he rheumaticky and bed-rid. A dole for him, I pray you, sweet Master Derrick. 18T3.] Slialcespeare's Funeral. 391 Beadle. Be not too forward, woman ; thou art not too well thought on, I warrant thee. Old Woman. Is acquaintance and service to count for nought 1 'tis a shame, then. Beadle. Quiet thy tongue, mistress ; it may be I shall be called on to deal with thee in other fashion than doles. Thou art deputed by many for a witch, let me tell thee ; thou art suspect of keeping a toad, and, more- over, 'tis thought thou hast a familiar, one Hopdance.* {To another.) But wherefore hangst thou back, Cicely Hacket,+ thou that wast once a maid-servant at New Place ? Press nearer, and hold out thine apron. Cicely. Oh, sir, I came not here for the dole, but indeed to see the last of him who hath been ever kind to me and mine. Beadle. The more reason thou shouldst have thy part. Let her do so, Goodman Turgis, for thou knowst that she that humbleth herself should be exhorted ; and 'twere not ill, methinks, if thou gav'st her, moreover, a share for her sick mother. {Galling through the gate to hoys in the churchyard.) Young fry, wilt thou leave leaping over the gravestones? else shall my staff and thy backs be better acquainted, I see thee, young Pickbone, drumming with thine heels on Mistress Keech's epithet ; come off the stone, or 'twill be worse for thee, thou naughty varlet — and thy tall slip of a sister, too, I saw her but now up with her coats and over the railing of yonder tomb like any stag. Drayton {to RaMgh). The oldest of these servants that came with the beadles is Shakespeare's own man Adam. I will speak to him. This is a sharp sundering for thee, Adam. Leave thy basket. Step aside, and speak with me of thy good master. Adam. Master Drayton, I looked that he should bury me : would I were with him ! "Were I young, I could ne'er hope to see such another master ; and being old, I have no desire but to foUow him. Drayton. Was his sickness sudden ? Adam. Naj, sir, — I have foreboded, this many a day, how 'twas with him. He hath pined and dwindled, and then again he hath mended fpr awhile and would walk abroad; and ever with a kind word and a jest, as was his wont. But I found, from day to day, his step slower, his hand heavier on my shoulder, his breath shorter. Drayton. Did himself look for his end 1 Adam. Ay, sir; but made as though he had a long to-come before him. Four days since ('twas o' Sunday) he said to me, " Adam, I have a fancy about my burial ; but say nought of it as yet to my daughter. I have here set down the names of those I desire to bear me to the grave ; " which he thereupon read to me, and they are even now in the house, making ready. Drayton. Some of note and condition, mayhap 1 Adam. 'Not so, not so, not so, Master Drayton ; there art thou wide indeed of the mark. Ifever trod man among men who looked on gentle and simple with a more equal brotherly eye than Master Shakespeare. A fine coat or a ragged jerkin made no more difference in a man, in his eyes, than whether his hair were black or brown. Nay, strange to tell of a * ' ' Hopdance cries in Tom's belly for two white herrings. Croak not, hlack angel ! " Edgar (feigning madness) in " King Lear." + Cicely Hacket, described by Sly as "the woman's maid of the house,'' in the " Taming of the Shrew." 392 Slialcesjpeare's Funeral. [April man of his gifts, lie seemed oft to find as mucli matter in a fool as in a wise man ; he -would take pleasure in discoursing with many a one of this town that simple I would have fubbed oif as a lackwit. So he saith to me, " First have I set down, to carry the head of my coffin, Hugh Bardolph and Corporal ]S"ym," * poor men, both. Master Drayton. Bar- dolph, one of many of the name here, was a tapster ; Nym, a pensioner of the Earl of Leicester, in whose army he served in the Low Countries, though I did njsver hear with much credit. Raleigh. Bardolph and Nym ! brave Shakespeare ! Adam. "Next," he saith, "I have set down John Eugby and James Gurney," ancient serving-men, your worships, and now almsmen. Drayton. Whom in his plays he hath allotted, Eugby to Dr Caiust Raleigh. Gurney to the Lady Falconbridge.J Adam. "After them Thomas Wart" an old fletcher of this town, sir Raleigh. One of Falstaff's ragged recruits he Adam. "And Eat Sly. And, to end the company. Snug the joiQer,§ and Nick Bottom " — and, the list being thus ended, my dear master laughed so long and so merrily that I cried, " Sure one that can laugh so hath small need to name his bearers." Raleigh. Truly did he make Eomeo say — " How oft, when men were at the point of death, Have they been merry ! " Adam. " And be sure, Adam," he said, " that thou have old Derrick, and his ancient cpmrade Turgis, to give out the dole — and see it be of good kind and plentifuL" And he charged me again I should not tell his daughter. Mistress Hall, of these dispositions — for wherefore, said he, should I add a few days, or hours, to her grief? Drayton. Derrick is now in the sixth age, he is the slippered pantaloon; and Turgis toucheth on the seventh, that of second childishness and mere oblivion, — yet are they still the shadows of that pair whom men shall long smUe at. Beadle. Hath every one his portion ? Assist.-Beadle. Yea, Master Derrick. Beadle. Then give what's over how you will, and make an end shortly, for we are needed at New Place. Drayton. Do ye walk in the procession. Master Beadle ] Beadle. Of a surety, worshipful sir. The funeral might as well make shift without the coffin as without me and my partner ; we walk before choir and parson, at the head of the train; we be its eyebrows. And, neighbour Turgis, if thou shouldst walk half a foot or so to the rearward of me, 'twould be forgiven thee, for so would the people on both sides the way have me in view; and thou, neighbour, art old — and moreover small — and feeble, moreover — and thy port doth scarce beseem the van of a ceremonial, the gifts for which are, in truth, not given to all. Assist.-Beadle. I will govern myself as thou desirest, good neigh- bour. Adam. I have here herbs, for those who wDl bear them at the funeral. Will ye have cypress or rosemary, sirs ? * See " King Henry V. " + " Merry "Wives of "Windsor. " t " King John." § "Midsummer Night's Dream." 1873.] Shakespeare's Fimeral. 393 Drayton. Thamks, good Adam ; we will Ijear each a brancli of cypress, and will long wear it in our hearts, too. [The Beadles and Servants depart for New Place. Drayton and Raleigh pass into the Churchyard. Drayton. " Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs ; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the hosom of the earth." * [They enter the Gliurch. Scene IV. — The inside of the Ch'irch. Raleigh. I have seen many a great cathedral, both in England and abroad, holding the bones of kings and saints and heroes j but never one that enshrines dust so sacred as will this we stand in. Drayton. 'Tis a fair church, and our poet might find many a less fit- ting resting-place than amid these pillars and arches, with the plash of Avon for requiem. Yonder, before the altar, yawns the dark portal through which he will pass out of our sphere. {They approach the grave.) "What a wealth of ripened thought wiU be summed up here ! what a world of promise is the future robbed of ! Tliis grave divides us not from one man, but from unnumbered men and women that might have taught and delighted us ; it engulfs not one life but a multitude of unacted Hves with their passions and vicissitudes ; here wiU pass away not a solitary figure but a pageant. It may be that, so long as Time hath dominion here, he will never spare such another spirit to eternity. Raleigh. Here doth the poet fulfil the prophecy he made through the mouth of Prospero, that other enchanter : — ^ " I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms of the earth, And deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book !" [Chanting heard in the distance, Drayton. Those choristers tell us that he is on his last journey ; let us go meet the funeral train, jij [They pass out into the porch, Tlie Funeral approaches the gate of the Churchyard, The Beadles walk first, the Choristers, in white robes, and the Minister follow, preceding the Coffin ; then the mourners, two and two, each bearing a branch of yew, cypress, or rosemary in one hand, a taper in the other. As the Choristers enter the Church- yard they begin to sing the follotoing : — ] Funeral Hymn. I. Part of our hearts thou bear'st with thee To silence and to dust. Fond hopes that now must withered be. Unfading love and trust ; So thou wUt lie not all alone Beneath thy monumental stone. "King Eichard II.," act iii. sc. 2. 394 Shakespeare's Funeral. [April II. Xo echoes of this fretful world, No glimmer of the day, Can reach thee, in thy shrond enfurled, Thon canst not hear us pray, ITor seest our tears, nor heed'st our moan. Beneath thy monumental stone. III. The good thou didst thy brother here, The evil put aside. The victory gained o'er sloth and fear. O'er avarice, hate, and pride. These make the wealth thou still canst own Above thy monumental stone. IV. "With these for warrant thou shalt go Where sorrows enter not ; Still new thy paths, when here below Thy sculptured name's forgot. The roof decayed, the grasses grown Above thy monumental stone. Raleigh. Methinks, Master Drayton, these verses might better beiit some good husband and father of the common sort, than Shakespeare, whose glorious intellect, shining through his works, is his indefeasible title to remembrance. To sing of him thus, is to speak of a falcon and say nought of her wings ; to commend Behemoth for other qualities than his strength ; to sum up Csesar and forget his universal empire. Drayton. It is apparent, "Walter, that these good citizens believe they have in hand one who differs from them only in that his steps have lain in paths apart from theirs, even as an ostrich differs from a swan in strangeness rather than in excellence. Therefore it may seem to them that this hymn, which hath, doubtless, heralded many an honest alder- man to his grave, may also serve very well for Shakespeare. Raleigh. Tell me of the mourners : who is she that -stoops her long hood so low between her taper and her branch of rosemary ? Drayton. His daughter. Mistress Hall ; beside whom walks her hus- band. Next, with flushed, tear-bedewed face (yet with a corner of an eye to beholders, methinks) his other and younger daughter, the buxom Judith, married, 'tis two months since,'to that comfortable vintner, Master Quiney, who trieth vainly to cover his natural contentment with a decorous mask of woe. Raleigh. And who handleth his taper and his branch as 'twere a bottle and a glass. Sir Thomas and Master Thynne I already know, but who are the next ? Drayton. He with the shrewd pale face and bushy eyebrows is Julius Shaw, with whom walks jovial "William Eeynolds — ^both friends and neighbours of Shakespeare ; and after them come two other of his friends, — Antony Nash, whose face of gloom is the endowment of nature, and lendeth poignancy to his many jests — and Thomas Combe, son of John-a- 1873.] ^ Slmlcespeare's Funeral. 395 Combe. The pair that foUo-w are Hamnet and Judith Sadler, tjie god- parents of Shakespeare's twin-children. And marked you the austere aspect of the minister ? he is one of the Puritan sort,* much thought of by the Halls, out of favour to whom he comes, doubtless, to do this office. The rest be town dignities, as aldermen and burgesses, and other townsfolk. {The Procession passes into the Church, Drayton and Raleigh joining it, and the service begins. After prayers at the grave, the Minister preaches a short Sermon, ichich ends in this wise : — '\ " So,' friends, having essayed to draw from the presence of death in our midst some matter for edification, I will speak a word of this particular brother who bath, departed, dwelling, as is at these seasons the custom, chiefly on what may do him grace, and serve to sweeten his memory in the nostrils of those whom he hath left still in the bonds of the flesh. And, first, of the fountain of his charities — it hath been known in Stratford for a perennial spring, abundant in refreshment to the poor, and in counsel and all good offices to those who needed countenance of . another kind; and if (as must be said were a man to speak truly) he ever regarded necessity more than deserving, and inquired not over closely into the way of life of those he relieved — nay, would ofttimes succour and <3omfort the godless no less than the godly, and bestow his bounty where it was Kke to be ill-spent — yet is that to be accounted better than the •withholding altogether of alms, as some use. Next, of his excellent charity of another sort, I mean the brotherly relation he held with all conditions of men ; it hath been noted among you. that he, who was used elsewhere to consort with the great, and hath been favoured even by princes, would yet converse with the lowly on a general level of goodwUl, as if the only apparel he took thought of were the sldn we are all bom with ; for which, indeed, he had great ensample. And, again, he hath ever gone among his fellows with a cheerful spirit, so that his presence hath been as wine among friends, and as oil among makebates. And though I dare not say that he inclined of preference to the conveisa- tion of the godly, nor could be counted of the fellowship of saints, nor even a favourer of them, yet have I ever found him apt at serious converse, coiu'teous in bearing, weighty in reply, and of unshakeable serenity when I have adventured to press the truth on him somewhat instantly ; inso- much, that I, whose vocation 'tis to battle for the truth, have myself, ere now, been sore put to it to hold mine own, and found me in straits to oppose him, so nimble was his wit; though I doubt not that (the clear right being with me) I should, with time for recollection, have had vouchsafed to me the wherewithal to give him sufficient answer. And it hath, at these times, seemed to me that he was a goodly vessel full of merchandise, yet driven by the wind apart from the port where alone her cargo cotild be bartered for that which is bread ; and I have travailed over him with a sore travail; for I have hardly doubted that, with such gifts, he might, had it been so ordered, have justly aspired to be chief magistrate of your town, or even to serve you in Parliament ; or again, with diligent study and prayer, to become a preacher of weight, and have * Probably the «ame Preacher who is mentioned in old records of the Stratford ■Corporation as having been a guest at New Place a year or two before. VOL. CSIli. — NO. DCXC. 2 D 396 Shakespeare's Funeral. [April struck in the pulpit a good stroke for God's honour and the devil's dis- comfiture. But, alas ! it is known to all of you, and I dare not dissemble it, that his calling hath heen one that delighteth the carnal-minded, and profitebh the idle, and maketh the godly sad of heart; while, as for Ms talent, it hath been put out to use -where the only return is the praise which fleeteth as the bubble on the stream, and the repute which perisheth as the leaves of autumn ; for the making of rhymes and verses which flatter the ear, and the art of representing the vain shows of things, which, howe'er skilfully practised (and I profess not to have that acquaintance with the writings called plays, nor poems other than godly hymns, to judge his handiwork), cannot be held profitable for him that writes nor him that hears them. And therefore, whatsoe'er of wit and sense they may contain must be accounted as water poured out on the sand, which, better bestowed, might have solaced the thirsty, and nourished the herbs and the fruits, whereof many would have eaten and been strengthened. But though I may not altogether hold my peace on these matters, yet am I loth to dwell on them at this time; rather would I point to the hope that our departed brother had, in the soberer life he of late led ^mong you, put aside such toys as unworthy, and given us warrant to forget in him their author, and, moreover, to believe that, had he been spared unto us, he would have removed himself further, year by year, from such vanities and lightnesses of his youth, until, haply, by the ensample of a godly household, and the ministrations of faithful ex- pounders of God's "Word, he should have attained even to the perfect day." [The Sermon ended, the Coffin is home to t/ie grave, the Minister and Mourners stand around, the service is concluded, and all depart from the Church.'] ScESTE V. — The Street near New Place. Raleigh {hastening to rejoin Drayton). Your pardon, sir, for seeming to forsake you ; I did but stay to throw my branch of cypress into, the grave, and have kept only this handful, which I will preserve as a memorial, and make of it an heirloom. But, Master Drayton, I had some ado to refrain from answering that preacher even in the church ; for I have somewhat of my father's bluntness, and cannot abide that foUy or conceit, in the guise whether of honesty, or religion, or philosophy, should go unchallenged ; and here was a man who, having the vision of a mole, mistook Parnassus for a mole-hill, and went about to measure it with his eU-wand, and even thought to do men service by persuading them that the golden lights and purple shadows of the mountain, its fountains and dells, the forests that clothe it, the clouds that crown it, and the Muses that make it their haunt, are all vain illusions together. Drayton. You shall find. Master "Walter, as you grow older, that all greatness which is not gross and palpable doth require some keenness of vision to discern it ; therefore doth fame ofttimes grow slowly, and from small beginnings, as when a man notes, of a sudden, in the else familiar aspect of the heavens, an eclipse or a comet, and Others gather to him, tiU. the crowd swells, and the rumour goes abroad of a portent. And thus wiU it be with the fame of Shakespeare, who had so much in common 1873.] Sliakespeare's Funeral. ' 397 with common men that they accounted him one of themselves, as Mercury- passed among herdsmen for a herdsman, and Apollo among shepherds for a shepherd. Raleigh. Lo you, where the mourners of his household approach the house. Let us wait here while they enter, and I pray you hegmle the minute by telling me of them. Of what fashion is Mistress HaU? Drayton. Susannah is, from a child, of an earnest nature and a serious wit. Learning little from hooks, she hath learned much from converse and ohservation, and so in her hath her father found a companion ; some- what retiring at first, hut upon occasion speaking warmly with spirit ; devout withal, capable of strict argument for conscience' sake, yet of a becoming humility; so that I have oft thought her father drew the Isabella of " Measure for Measure " from her, she being about twenty years old when 'twas writ ; even her who says " Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good But graciously to know I am no better." Raleigh. Is her helpmate worthy of her ? Drayton. A worthy man is Doctor Hall — who consorts with Susannah in piety as in love : one who, next his God and his wife, loveth his most honourable calling, and hath grown to a physician of repute here in War- wickshire, much sought after by great ones of the shire. Raleigh. Taketh the fair Judith in aught after her father ? Drayton. Hardly, sir; though her twin-brother, Hamnet, who died young, was a child of rare promise. The girl is sprightly, but of small depth or substance, favouring the mother. She might have sat for Anne Page, being about sixteen when her father drew Anne ; and she is well- matched with Master Quiney, whose wit o'ertops not hers, who is gay and jovial as becometh a vintner, taking pleasure in what pleases her. Marry, he hath the merit of being the son of her father's old friend Eichard Quiney. Raleigh. Sir, a nobleman might have fittingly found in her a mate, she being Shakespeare's chUd. But what of the wife who helped .him to these daughters ? Drayton. 'Twas Shakespeare's mishap, sir (and I say it for your warning), to wed at an age when the fancy and heat of youth o'ercrow the judgment. He had seen few women, and none of the finest. Anne Hathaway, Shakespeare's elder by eight years, was buxom as Judith is now ; his fancy dressed her in qualities not hers ; the secrecy of their meetings lent a flavour of adventure ; and so he became bound to one who matched with him as finch with falcon, in youth a country lass, in age a mere housewife, something fretful, but, in the sum, contented ; and Shakespeare, who was of a temper to fit himself to what is, dwelt with her here in much kindness. But see — Doctor HaU doth await us on the steps of the entrance. Doctor Hall. Master Drayton, I pray you that you pass not by the house of your departed friend without entering ; I beseech you, sir, you and your friend ; — 'twill be a kindness to come in. _ You shall not be excused, sirs. 398 Slialtespeare's Funeral. [April Scene VI. — A Room in Shalcespeara' s House. Doctor Hall, DnAYTON, and Ealeigh. Doctor Hall. Here, sirs, is my father-in-law's parlour, where he hath mostly abided in this last illness. Be pleased to sit while I fetch my wife, who will part- with a few moments of her sorrow in seeing so old a friend. [He goes out. Raleigh. By Saint George, sir, the poet was hravely lodged ! How rich the staining of this window, where, through the lower panes, we look on the garden ! and ahove, there stands emblazoned the falcon with his golden spear, steel-pointed, that Sir Thomas told us of. This wain- scot, too, is quaintly carved, and the chimney-front of a rich design. But, soft you now — whose graven portrait is this that hangs in the midst of it ? By my troth, 'tis my father's ! Drayton. Ay, Master Raleigh ; think not but that the poet, with his wide embrace for his fellow-men, took such merit as Sir Walter's near his soul. The daring that went forth on the unknown deep, the search for El Dorado, the finding of strange lands and stranger peoples, all these fired his fancy. 'Tis to our great mariners we owe the sweet magic of Prospero's isle, the innocence of Miranda, the savageness of Caliban, the witcheries of Ariel. Raleigh. And above my father's hangs Bacon's ; these Shakespeare looked on as he sat by the fire, and thus was homage done both to adven- ture and to thought. And on this side, engraven like the others, from a painting I have seen, hangs the Earl of Southampton's. Drayton. Whereby is homage done to friendship ; greatly and con- stantly did the Earl love Shakespeare. And here, when he sat by this window that looks on the garden, he saw on the wall opposite, the pre- sentments of his more level associates — Ben Jonson, Marlow, Beaumont and Eletcher (twinned in one carven oak frame), Spenser, Sidney, and, lo you, mine unworthy self. Raleigh. But what strange company for such progeny of the Muse are these others on the opposing wall ! Calvin and Knox, Ridley and Jewel, and here, portrayed in chalk by a cunning hand, the divine who preached to us even now. What do these godly men here ? Did Shakespeare love them ? Drayton. Shakespeare, Masfeer Walter, looked on Puritan and Prelatist as, the wearers of certain garbs hiding men underneath ; 'twas concerning the men he chiefly cared to inquire. 'Tis the Doctor and Mistress Hall who have solaced themselves by hanging these here ; the Doctor hath long been a chief of that party in Stratford which, though it for- sakes not quite the Church, yet holds by that corner of it which is nearest Geneva ; and his wife, from her natural bent, leans to the austerer (perchance I should say, the more earnest) side of religion. But Shake- speare, in such matters, would, as Polonius advises, give his ear to all, his voice to few, and tolerated the effigies of these grave divines without any special love for thgmselves. Enter Doctor Hall, his wife, tJteir young daughter Elizabeth, aged eight, and Shakespeare's Widow. Mistress Hall. Master Drayton, your pardon yet awhile if I can- 1873.] Shakespeare's Funeral 399 not greet you — seeing you stirs up thoughts that rob me of all ■words. [She turns aside. Mistress Shakespeare. Master Drayton ! — Son Hall, lead me to my great chair. Oh, what a loss is mine ! Drayton. Your loss is the world's loss, too, good madam. Mistress Shakespeare. Oh, sir, who will uphold me now, a poor, weak woman ? Mr Shakespeare in his merry mood would say, " Gome, thou'lt make a hrave widow, Anne — who shall be thy next ? " But Lord, sir, I'll ne'er marry again. Raleigh. Kings, madam, might be proud of such a predecessor. Mistress Shakespeare. Kings, sir ! What should kings have to do with me ! You are pleased to jest, young sir ; though kings and queens, too, have looked with favour on Mr Shakespeare. But the funeral, Susannah — was all becoming ? Did the sermon make good mention of my hus- band 1 And the dole — was all the dole given away % But oh, my poor brain ! Master Drayton and his friend must eat somewhat. There is a stuffed chine. Ob, how he that's gone loved a stuffed chine ! Here be the keys, Elizabeth ; [see the chine set forth in the dining chamber. Drayton. Nay, nay, good madam, think not of us. Mistress Shakesjjeare. But ye must eat somewhat, sirs, indeed, now. Daughter, dost know that my new black hood is sewn awry, and I can go not forth till it be straight 1 And for drink, sirs, will ye a posset, or sack with sugar 1 The wine is from my son Quiney's cellars, and of his choicest. Drayton, if ay. Mistress Shakespeare, we will rather talk than eat or drink. Mistress Shakespeare. Master Michael ! seeing thee minds me of my youth, and of Shottery where my* husband courted me — the bridge of the stream where he would await me j but I can talk no more — I can but weep. Lead me forth, son Hall. Go not till you have eaten, Master Drayton ; do but taste the chine. sweet husband ! [Tlie T)ootob. leads her forth. Mistress Hall. Master Drayton, your pardon once again. I feel some shame at being thus o'ermastered — 'tis not meet to let our spirits be held in dominion by a private sorrow — but when I think on him, my heart turns to water. But, Master Drayton, I have marvelled you came not to my father in his sickness. Drayton. I knew not of it — think you I could have stayed from him ? I was far beyond rumour of his condition, and had come now, heavens ! hoping to behold him and listen to him, as of yore. Mistress Hall. Much and oft hath he talked of you ; for it was growing to be his chief pleasure to sit with old friends, or, they absent, to talk of them. His sickness, though it subdued not his spirit, sobered it ; his mirth fell to the level of cheerfulness ; he was oftener silent and rapt ; and oh, sir, though I dare not aver it, I wUl yet hope that his thoughts were above. Drayton. Trust me, Mistress Hall, 'twould be a narrower heaven than we should all hope for, where room and gracious welcome were not pro- claimed for him. Think you his place can be elsewhere than with the greatest and best that have gone before 1 Mistress Hall. Oh, sir, 'tis that troubles me. Hath he not trusted over- much to that bright intellect ? Hath he not been as one that looketh forth from his watch-tower, and beholdeth a fertile land, and a great 400 Shcclcespeare's Funeral. [April dominion, and heedeth not that the foundations of the building are of sand 1 Hath he not hut I will not speak of the thorn that, since he is gone, pricketh me sorer than before. He charged me. Master Michael, that you should see what writings he hath left behind. Would, oh, would they had dealt with such things as only are of great price ! Drayton. Wrote he much in these latter days ? Mistress Hall. Yea, often, and would call his pen the sluice without which his thoughts would o'erflow his brain, and perchance drown his wits. But now, sir, I will take you to his own chamber, where I will show you the coffer wherein he kept his writings. [Deayton follows her out — Ealeigh takes up a look. Doctor Hall (returning). Your pardon, sir, for leaving you without company. Raleigh. E'ay, I had the best of company — even fancies about the great one that so lately dwelt here. Was this book his ? Doctor Hall. Yea, and one of the last he read in. Raleigh. Eight glad am I to hear it — and right proud will my father be to know that the book he wrote in his captivity was of the last studied by the man he hath ever esteemed the most illustrious of this age. Doctor Hall. Thy father ! the History of the World ! you are then the son of Sir Walter Ealeigh. Raleigh. Aj, sir, I am but too forward to own that kinship. Doctor Hall. Sir Walter's health must needs have suffered much wrong from his long imprisonment. I have heard that he hath been mightily shaken of an ague. Raleigh. Ay, sir, one contracted years agone in the service of our king's famous predecessor. Doctor Hall. Well is it said, put not your trust in princes. I may tell you, sir, that I do strongly desire to see that time when none shall be so great as to o'ertop the law, and do think it better that the claws of kings should be pared, than that in their breath should lie the liberties of men. But I pray you, sir, hath Sir Walter made trial of the decoction of dittany, or of fumitorie, to correct the malice of this ague ? I have made essay of the root satyrion, in Hke cases, and found his effects to be good. . Raleigh. I doubt not, sir, that all approved remedies have been used by his physicians. — Did Master Shakespeare suffer much pain? Doctor Hall. His malady was wasting rather than painful, save that toward the last he was oft seized with a panting and passion of the heart which left him very nigh to death, for the which I found the syrup of giUi- flower, and flour of marigold, in wine, of much avail ; the juice of roses also doth greatly comfort the heart. But of your father. I have ever heard Sir Walter reputed for a gentleman of qualities the most diverse, as skill in war by sea and land, courtiership, and statesmanship, the poet's and the chronicler's art, and in all a master — some of which concern not greatly an obscure physician ; but I have also heard that he hath a pretty knowledge of pharmacy. Raleigh. He hath some skill in simples. But I pray you, teU me some- what of Master Shakespeare, the hope of seeing whom fetched me hither, and, next to that lost contentment, will be the hearing of him from those he loved. Was not a play called the ' Tempest ' (which I have not yet seen imprinted) one of the latest of his works for the theatre i Doctor Hall. I believe it was. It hath been told me that the famous 1873.] SJiakesjpeare's Funeral. 401 cordial which, hears Sir Walter's name* was administered hoth to the