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Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013151851 
 
Of "The Shakspere Festival" one thousand 
 copies have been printed from type, of which this is 
 Number 472 
 
We 
 
 SHAKSPERE 
 
 ' FESTIVAL 
 
 Community Celebration on the 
 occasion of the Three Hundredth 
 Anniversary of the Death of 
 William Shakspere Consisting 
 of a Pageant Depicting Some 
 .Scenes from the Life and Times 
 gT the Dramatist; the Performance of 
 "Twelfth Night"; and an Address on 
 the Universality of His Works ^ ^h 
 Given at Newark, Delaware, on April 
 Twentj'-eight ca, Twenty-nine, Nineteen 
 Hundred CSi» Sixteen %*« ^ Under the di- 
 rection gf the English Department gf 
 Delaware College CS, The Women's Col- 
 lege of Delaware oe ^ 
 
 Pageant: Frazer Field 
 Play: Opera House 
 
 Lecture: The Oratory 
 
" T^hese promises are fair, the parties sure, 
 And our induction full of prosperous hope. " 
 
 —I Henry IV. III. i. 1, 2 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 FORTUNATE is this part of the Western world. 
 Europe is in the throes of the most senseless and the 
 most deadly war of modem times; America is free, 
 tranquil within her own borders and at peace with 
 the warring nations. England, our mother country, in the 
 hearts and homes of her people has suffered the horrors of 
 war, even though the "armed hoofs of hostile paces" 
 have not yet bruised the flowerets on her soil. Private grief 
 leaves no room for public commemoration. Were England 
 not now engaged in bitter conflict with a sister nation, she 
 would be celebrating the glories of the brightest star in her 
 literary firmament; to America, far-distant in leagues but 
 close in S3anpathy of race and language, has been reserved 
 the honor and responsibility of pa5dng due respect to the 
 memory of the immortal Bard of Avon, Shakspere, the poet 
 of England — the poet of the World. 
 
 Three hundred years ago the Sweet Swan of Avon 
 made 
 
 "those flights upon the banks of Thames 
 That so did take Eliza, and our James." 
 
 America was then in its infancy. To Shakspere it was a 
 strange unpeopled country, the possibilities of which had 
 been but timidly sounded. Today, in hamlet and city, 
 from sea to sea, the descendants of English men and wom- 
 en — some of whom he may have known — revere his name. 
 As through the years our country has grown to be a great 
 nation, so the fame of Shakspere has spread here and in all 
 other parts of the world. His ovm age, of course, little rea- 
 lized tiiat one of its bright lights would shine thereafter 
 with so great a radiance. With Matthew Arnold, we 
 may exclaim, 
 
 "And thou, vfrho didst the stars and sun- 
 beams knofv. 
 Self-school' d, self-scann'd, self- honour' d, 
 
 self-secured. 
 Didst walk on Earth unguess'd at." 
 
 But Shakspere's own England, the America which was 
 then but a dream, and all other nations have long since 
 
ceased to question. 'Wiih varying degrees of popularity, 
 Shakspere's pla}^ have lived through the ages. The music 
 of his verse and the splendor of his imagination and the 
 greatness of his thought have been expressed, through the 
 imperfect medium of the translator, in more than thirty 
 tongues. It has been said that he was both of an age and for 
 all time. He was likewise for all people. For where the 
 means of communication makes it possible, Shakspere is 
 read and acted. And here in America, as elsewhere, we 
 think of his pla}^ as embodying lastingly in beautiful lan- 
 guage the deepest feelings and the loftiest conceptions of the 
 human soul. 
 
 Grenius is ever inexplicable. Psychologists and scientists 
 have done much to explain man— the normal and the ab- 
 normal. The super-man has so far been beyond their 
 grasp. To them and to us laymen it is given in the 
 final analysis but to wonder and revere. Shakspere the 
 man, the poet, the dramatist, has yielded much to seekers 
 after truth in details of character, of imaginative in- 
 sight, of selective and constructive skill. He was a man 
 among men, a gifted poet in a great creative age, a drama- 
 tist who took the best of that which all men knew and 
 moulded it to his liking in the crucible of his constructive 
 talent. But of that which lay beneath character, beneath 
 poetic and constructive talent, of the informing spirit which 
 gave Shakspere the power to hold the world of men as in 
 the hoUow^ of his hand — to see and feel, to think and act w^ith 
 Romeo or Desdemona, with Othello or Cleopatra, w^ith 
 Falstaff or Beatrice — of that heaven-sent gift which enabled 
 him to understand and interpret human nature as no other 
 man has done, the mysterj^ is open not to mortal eye. 
 
 ( Ulo^i^ 
 
THE PAGEANT 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 To all gentle men and fair ladies here assembled to 
 commemorate with reverence the passing of that 
 most honored poet, William Shakspere, we render 
 greeting. And that w^e may not be found remiss in 
 offering something that should be a token of our re- 
 gard for him, we here submit to your gentle consid- 
 eration such parts of the story of his life as have 
 seemed most apt for this occasion. Here you w^ill 
 find presented in song and dance and pageantry all 
 that befell the poet during those years wherein his 
 genius was unfolding; of w^hich the enactment doth 
 fall easily into three parts, the first being the story 
 of the little boy, the second that of the young man, 
 and the third that of the playwright. Receive our 
 pageant graciously, we pray you, and whether you 
 find in it some semblance of the truth, or w^hether all 
 be merest fancy, forbid it not. Forget today, and 
 live once more with Shakspere. 
 
 PART THE FIRST 
 
 WhistI 
 From the woods, 
 From the dells, 
 From the forest dark, 
 There's a whisper, a stirring, a soiind, — O hark! 
 Do you hear the tinkle of fairy bells? 
 The leaves of the forest are rustling green. 
 The morning is misty, with silveiy sheen. 
 And the dewdrops are glittering bright, 
 W^hen over the hill 
 And out from the trees 
 The hobgoblin fairies come swift on the breeze. The hobgoblin 
 
 Swift from the shadows of night. fairies enter 
 
 And they dance, 
 And they laugh. 
 And they sing, hoi hoi 
 And down in the glade where the wind flowers blow. 
 There's a music sweet, 
 With a magic beat. 
 And a twinkling of myriad tiny feet. 
 
They weave a 
 ma^ic ring 
 
 whereby ■woe 
 
 shall come to 
 
 mortals. 
 
 A company of 
 
 children enter 
 
 the glade to 
 
 play, 
 
 perceive the 
 fairy ring, 
 
 and wonder at 
 its meaning. 
 
 They accost a 
 troop of milk- 
 maids, 
 
 Then with a shout of fiendish glee 
 The mischievous Puck calls company 
 To a diabolical prank. 
 
 And the hobgoblins plot 
 
 A mysterious thing, 
 
 They choose a spot, 
 
 And they weave a ring, 
 Where the rushes are growing rank. 
 Nobody knows and no one can tell 
 Half the enchantment of that spell; 
 
 But round and round. 
 
 Without a sound. 
 
 They weave a circle on the ground. 
 
 And now let mortals beware! beware! 
 For woe to him that enters there! 
 
 The gentle sun shone merrily of a morning, and the 
 little birds, whereof the leaves of the forest do shelter each 
 warbler, brake into song, when from over the hill came a 
 company of children trooping, seeking to disport themselves 
 in the wood hard by the town of Stratford. For it is ever 
 the custom of children to be up and a-doing, ere the greedy 
 sun hath licked the dewdrops fi-om the grass, or yet their 
 elders have oped a sleepy eye. 
 
 So it was that both boys and little girls, of every age 
 and fineness of dress soever, ran hand in hand down an high 
 embankment whereby Nature had closed in as fair a dell as 
 hath ever been given children to discover. But scarcely^ 
 had they entered into this rushy glade when they perceived 
 a strange thing, whereof they knew not the meaning, for in 
 the very heart of the fair meadow there lay a great circle, 
 of a dimension whereto they knew not the equal. Nor could 
 they devine the substance whereof it was made, for there 
 appeared not any thing which would bewray its workman- 
 ship, neither by whom nor of what it was created, but only 
 an unnatural greenness of the grass. 
 
 And as they marvelled over this thing, there came that 
 way a company of milkmaids, and with them a goodly 
 number of village swains, for even as it doth behoove the 
 milkmaid to be up betimes and to her task, so is it seemly 
 that the swain should greet her as she goeth, for of a truth. 
 Love will allow no sluggard. And as this company tripped 
 blithely to their labors, singing a gay ballad whereof the first 
 line doth run, "There came a Duke a-riding," the little folk 
 stopped them and enquired of them what might be the 
 meaning of this strange thing which they had but lately 
 
perceived. The which when they saw, the maidens cried 
 out, saying, "Of a certain, it is a fairy ring.V (For maids 
 have ever a w^isdom in the ways of fairy folK, having at- 
 tained thereunto, no doubt, by their furtive pur^al of those 
 charms that do incite to Love.) 
 
 Now^ when the children heard this, they were the^more 
 eager to know further of it, but none would tell them more. 
 "Nay, but hush," quoth the maidens, "'tis a witchery. Talk 
 not of it, lest the spell seize you." Whereupon they did let 
 fall the continuance of the matter and applied themselves to 
 other pursioits, as the playing of certain games in the man- 
 ner of the day, wherein they both sang some old ballad and 
 enacted the story as the melody progressed. 
 
 It befell, as they were in the midst of the revelry of 
 such a game, that there was seen coming from the village, 
 somewhat tardily, the little Will Shakspere, a comely lad, 
 and merry as a bird on a bough. And when the children 
 had greeted him and made of him their number, they showed 
 him the fairy ring, accoionting before him the while all that 
 the maidens had related. 
 
 "By my troth," quoth he, "an I be so affrighted at them 
 w^hich I have never seen, let me be called a coward and 
 worthy of bewitchment!" So saying, he stepped boldly in- 
 side the ring, and straightway fell down under a spell. 
 Perceiving the which, all were seized by a sudden panic and 
 speedily betook themselves off", ere ever they might give 
 succor to him upon v^rhom so strange a calamity had fallen. 
 
 Then down from the wood, 
 
 And up from the glade, 
 And out from behind every tree. 
 Come the naughty hobgoblins, who prance 
 
 As they dance. 
 And shout with a devilish glee. 
 
 And they gather together, 
 
 A fiendish crew. 
 
 And they plot such a thing 
 
 As a goblin can do. 
 
 But Ol what sound is this that steals 
 So sweet along the forest glade? 
 Ethereal music soft reveals 
 Majestic presence, unafraid. 
 
 Titania comesl 
 
 With a shriek, 
 
 With a run, 
 The hobgoblins scatter, and everyone 
 
 who explain 
 the nature 
 of the ring 
 
 and -warn the 
 children to 
 beware of it. 
 
 They then play 
 certain games, 
 until 
 
 Will Shakspere 
 enters. 
 
 He defies the 
 enchantment of 
 the fairy ring, 
 and is bewitched. 
 
 The children, 
 terrified, run 
 awa^. 
 
 The hobgoblinj" 
 return, and 
 gloat over their 
 captive, 
 
 but scatter upon 
 the approach of 
 Titania. 
 
Her fairies break 
 
 the enchantment 
 
 with a dance. 
 
 They give him 
 
 magic gifts, Ti- 
 
 taxiia bestovring 
 
 upon him the 
 
 genius of 
 
 poetry. 
 
 With a leap, 
 With a bound, 
 Rxishing headlong, pell-mell, 
 Disappears in the wood with a terrified yell. 
 
 And then, with rainbow tints of rarest fancy, 
 
 Amid the lights of twinkling silvered feet, 
 
 Titania comes, in beauty iridescent. 
 
 With flash of fire, and music breathing sweet. 
 
 Her robe is star-shot, and from out her tresses 
 
 A jewel glances with a tender flame. 
 
 And deep within her misty eyes, the secret 
 
 Of hopes men love to dream, yet dare not name. 
 
 But when she sees the boy she pauses, startled, 
 Swift teardrops dim the crystal of her eyes; 
 She weeps, and all the leafy glade is silent. 
 Save where the treetops stir with rustling sighs. 
 But see! With rhythmic mystery of motion. 
 And tender music throbbing, piercing sweet. 
 The fairies dance, and break the wild enchantment 
 Wiih tracings sinuous of magic feet. 
 
 And now they give him gifts, tonfold the secret 
 
 Of whispering winds that mourn across the lea. 
 
 Reveal the spot where brightest sunbeams linger. 
 
 And point the wistful beauty of the sea. 
 
 The dancers pause. Titania, shimmering, mystic, 
 
 Bestows a gift, all other gifts above. 
 
 And from the sleeping soul she makes a poet. 
 
 Of rarest promise and immortal love. 
 
 Then hushed and still. 
 
 Across the hill 
 The fairies steal away; 
 
 The shadows fall. 
 
 The wee birds call, 
 And night enfolds the day. 
 
 PART THE SECOND 
 
 It was a May morning, that time when roses are most 
 
 fresh in dew, and the dainty nightingale greets the jocund 
 
 A company of ^y ^^ plaintive melody. Scarce had the siin peeped 
 
 youths and over yon wooded crest when there came from the town of 
 
 maidens enter, Stratford a gay company of youths and maidens, purposing 
 
 singing. ^ Celebrate those revels whereby it was ever their custom 
 
to usher in the May Day. And as they came tripping 
 merriljr, they sang a festal song, whereof the matter, 
 though of little moment, is herein endited : 
 
 Ye country tmudens gather dew, 
 While yet the morning breezes blow ; 
 The fairy rings are fresh and new, 
 Then cautious mark them as ye go. 
 
 Arise, arise, the night is past, 
 The skylark hails the dawn of day ; 
 Care, get thee hence, fron this place fly! 
 For mirth rules here this morn of May. 
 
 Ye youths who own love's ardent power, 
 To yonder shelter's bank repair; 
 There seek the early opening flower 
 To deck the bosom of the fair. 
 
 Tho' ages end and manners fade. 
 And ancient revels pass away, 
 I hope it never ■will be stud, 
 Forgotten is sweet Flora Day. " 
 
 When that they had reached that part where the mead- 
 ow reacheth out in fair and open smoothness, "Of a truth," 
 quoth one, "this is a goodly spot; I entreat you, join me in a 
 dance." And when they questioned what it should be, the 
 lad replied, "Faith, I care not. Let it be Gathering Pea- 
 scods an ye will." Thereto all right heartil/* fell into the 
 measure with such good will that it seemed that their 
 gaiety urged on their feet to dance, and their dancing ever 
 provoked their gaiety. 
 
 Now it befell, as they were in the midst of this jolly revel, 
 that there joined the company young W/7/ Shakspere, 
 scarce more than a lad, yet had he early taken upon him the 
 sorrows of manhood, having been wedded these several 
 years. And with him he did bear his huntsman's bag, hav- 
 ing but lately returned from seeking of the game, and tho 
 that his spoite were but little, yet did he display them with 
 as keen a relish as did ever school boy his first cock-robin. 
 And what with pushing and jostling and the buzzing of 
 many tongues, so intent was everyone withal that none no- 
 ted the advent of two men, strangers to this gay company, 
 both in attire and expression of countenance. Thus it was 
 that unperceived the sheriffs of the law approached, and ere 
 yet any ^vere aware of their presence, seized roughly on the 
 young Shakspere and dragged him off, willy-nilly, to be 
 tried before my lord Lucy for poaching of my lord's deer. 
 
 Sad indeed was that company that an occasion so fraught 
 with ill omen should serve to cause suspension of their mer- 
 
 They join in 
 a dance. 
 
 Will Shakspere 
 enters, returning 
 from the hunt 
 
 The sheriffs 
 approach 
 
 and arrest the 
 young Shakspere 
 for poaching of 
 the deer. 
 
The Morris 
 dancers enter. 
 
 Maid Marian is 
 
 crofvned Queen of 
 
 the May, with 
 
 song and dance. 
 
 Shakspere re- 
 turns, scribbling 
 a mocJcing verse 
 writ against 
 Lord Lucy, 
 
 rymaking, and I doubt not they wovild then and there have 
 retired to their homes without further thought of the May 
 revels, for the youth was a great favorite among them, had 
 they not heard from far the fiddling of a band of minstrels 
 such as are wont to usher in the Morris dancers. And ere 
 long appeared the whole number of the Morris-men, in 
 order as follows: 
 
 First, six foresters, clad in Lincoln green, each with a 
 bugle horn attached to a baldric of silk ; and after them 
 
 Robin Hood, attired in a grass-green tunic, his head bound 
 with a garland of forest leaves; and then 
 
 Little John, walking at his right hand, and at his left. 
 Friar Tuck, with his quarter staff. Then came 
 
 Six of the jolly outlaw's attendants, and after them 
 
 Four maidens, in bright coloured kirtles, strewing flowers; 
 followed immediately by 
 
 Maid Marian, elegantly habited in a turquoise tunic, 
 reaching to the groiind, decked with gay flowers, her fair 
 hair falling into many golden ringlets upon her shoulders; 
 then came 
 
 A company of maidens in attendance ; and after them, 
 closing up the rear, 
 
 The Hobby-horse and the Dragon. 
 
 And when that the youths and maidens of the village 
 perceive the approach of the merry band, they straightway 
 run to greet them, and setting Maid Marian on a gay throne, 
 after decking her with vari-coloured garlands, they crown 
 her the Queen of the May, making the forest echo with 
 their gay singing and laughter as they dance before her. 
 
 And now the young Shakspere returns slowly from the 
 village, still smarting from the chastisement suffered at the 
 behest of Lord Lucy for the encroachment of the game pre- 
 serves ; and as he walks he scribbles a mocking verse, writ 
 in derision of my lord, wherein he doth make sport of the 
 Lucy arms, being three luces rampant argent, after this fash- 
 ion: 
 
 Who seeks a hart 
 
 In yonder part 
 Of Lucy's wooded farms ? 
 
 How could he wish 
 
 To catch a fish 
 'Mid baiUy's hoarse alarms ? 
 
 Alas I the youth. 
 
 Abused in truth, 
 
Knows not the clodpate's arms; 
 JFor instead of meeting a noble hind, 
 Three louses rampant shall he find. 
 
 And indeed, so hot with rage was the young scribbler 
 that, not content with reading of the ignoble lines to the vil- 
 lagers, he needs must stick them on a nearby tree, where 
 every passerby might scan them over. 
 
 But now the green foresters made good haste to set up 
 the May Pole, amid the reiterated acclamations of the spec- 
 tators, after which both woodsmen and maidens danced 
 about it according to their custom, weaving in and out the 
 vari-coloured ribands wherewith the pole was bedecked, 
 the Hobby-horse prancing and curvetting before the popu- 
 lace the while, and the Dragon hissing horribly. 
 
 Anon in the midst of all this revelr/* there entered my 
 lord Lucy, and after watching for a time the villagers mak- 
 ing merry in their n^tic sports, he turned as if to go, when 
 his eye chanced upon the ballad stuck upon the tree ; and 
 after reading of it, he straightway fell into a passion and 
 demanded that the author be clapped into prison. And of 
 a truth, there might have ended the adventures of this young 
 man had not his father, hearing all the circumstance, come 
 running from the town, and at his heels she that had been 
 Anne Hathaway but was now the wife of Shakspere, to- 
 gether with the little girl Susanna. And the father, being a 
 man of some importance, persuaded upon Lord Lucy that 
 his son be released upon the promise that he should be taken 
 to London and apprenticed to a trade. Whereupon Lord 
 Lucy departed with his attendants. 
 
 But here Anne Hathaway set herself to sobbing and 
 scolding and so disturbing the company generally that the 
 Morris dancers, unable to abide her complaining longer, 
 betook themselves to another part, and of a truth the young 
 man Shakspere himself was fain to shake her off and leave 
 quickly with his father to take up his journey to London ; 
 whereto Anne Hathaway followed him with her eyes, 
 until, at the urgence of the little Susanna, she stumbled 
 blindly whither the tinkling of the Morris bells led her. 
 
 which after read- 
 ing, he sticks 
 upon a tree. 
 
 All then join in 
 the May Pole 
 dance, during 
 which 
 
 Lord Liucy re- 
 turns and reads 
 the verse. 
 
 He demands that 
 the youth be 
 clapped into prison, 
 but the boy's 
 father, entering 
 ■with Anne Hatha- 
 way, obtains his 
 release. 
 
 Anne Hathaway 
 weeps at this 
 promise of de- 
 parture. The 
 Morris dancers 
 go off. 
 
 Shakspere leaves 
 for London. 
 
The Earl of 
 
 Southampton 
 
 enters, to a-wait 
 
 the Queen, 
 
 fvho arrives with 
 all her court 
 
 Sir Walter Ra- 
 leigh performs a 
 gallant deed. 
 Southampton 
 greets the Queen, 
 
 and summons 
 Shakspere. 
 
 A. court dance 
 ensues. 
 
 PART THE THIRD 
 
 Now it befell, as the years rolled by and the reign of her 
 most gracious Majesty, Elizabeth, grew ripe in splendor, 
 that there were held throughout the length and breadth of 
 merry England rich festivals, whereby the lords of the 
 realm sought each to shine in his sovereign's favor. And 
 with this intent, my lord the Earl of Southampton, having 
 covirteously implored the Queen to do him honor with her 
 presence, repaired with a goodly number of his followers 
 to a fair spot within the confines of his estate. Nor had 
 they scarce taken up their position there when the blast of 
 trumpets annovinced the near approach of her Majesty, 
 together with her court, in order as follows : first 
 
 Four youths, strewing fresh gravel to renew the road- 
 way ; and after them 
 
 Eight heralds, richly clad in red and silver ; next 
 
 The Chancellor, bearing the seals in a red silk pxarse, at- 
 tended by two lords, one of whom carried the Royal scep- 
 ter, and the other the sword of state ; following them 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh, alone ; then 
 
 The Ladies in Waiting, with the Mistress of the Ward- 
 robe at their head ; after them 
 
 Two pages ; and immediately thereafter 
 
 Her Majesty, the Queen, attended by her footmen and 
 the members of the Royal Guard ; and last 
 
 The Lords and Ladies of the Court. 
 
 All this procession approached the great staircase, at the 
 foot of which waited the Earl of Southampton, and as the 
 Queen advanced, all knelt in obeisance. But close by the 
 head of the stairway she halted, in dismay, for before her 
 was a spot of mud where a heedless gravel-strewer had 
 failed of his duty. Yet hardly had she paused when Sir 
 Walter, coming quickly forward, flung down his great 
 embroidered cloak, that the Queen might cross thereon, 
 whereat her Majesty hesitated, blushed, and passed quickly 
 over. And at the head of the great stairway Southampton 
 met her, and having greeted her, led her to the Throne of 
 State, a little to one side of the enclosure. 
 
 Then was a page sent to fetch the writer Shakspere, the 
 Earl being his patron, who was to play with his company 
 of actors before the Queen ; and while that his advent was 
 awaited, certain Lords and Ladies danced before her 
 Majesty, following the steps of a quaint old measure. 
 
After which, the poet Shakspere entered, and after him Shakspere enters 
 
 his company of players ; and there, in the presence of the and presents 
 
 Queen and all her court was played the new comedy of As -As You Like It 
 You Like It, whereof the story is told hereafter. 
 
 The day being now late, the company here broke up, and 
 the Queen, accompanied by her court, with all the villagers TAe company re- 
 and children thronging to attend her, rode off triumphantly ^^'^®^ '" procession. 
 in festival procession. 
 
 Here 
 
 endeth 
 
 the story 
 of the 
 
 Pageant 
 
 J^^UXka/JUi ^ • I O^O"-^ ' 
 
AS YOU LIKE IT 
 
 THE SCENES OF THE PL, AY 
 
 All J'cenes are in the Forest of Arden 
 
 I The exiled Duke with Jaques, Amiens, and other 
 Lords, is enjoying a carefree existence in the Forest. 
 
 II His daughter Rosalind, disguised as a shepherd 
 boy, in company with her cousin Celia, and the jester 
 Touchstone, arrives at Arden, and finds her lover, Orlando, 
 whom she plajrfuUy persuades to pay her court. 
 
 III Touchstone makes love to Audrej^, a country 
 wench. 
 
 IV Further love passages between Rosalind and 
 Orlando. 
 
 V Orlando has been promised by his shepherd boy 
 acquaintance that the real Rosalind will shortly appear. 
 Touchstone and Audrey present themselves as bride and 
 groom before the Duke, Jaques, and Orlando, and a mom- 
 ent later Rosalind comes and is warmly greeted by her 
 father and her lover. 
 
 THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY 
 
 Duke of Burgundy, living in Banishment F. E. Proctor, '19 
 
 Amiens, a Lord, attending upon the Duke L. G. Mulholland, '16 
 
 First Lord, attending upon the Duke I. H. Boggs, '19 
 
 Second Lord, attending upon the Duke G. H. Ferguson, '19 
 
 Jaques, a Lord, attending upon the Duke E. E. Ewing, '19 
 
 Rosalind, Daughter to the Duke; disguised 
 
 as a man, Ganimed Amelia Leichter, '19 
 
 Touchstone, a Clown, attending on Celia and 
 
 Rosalind J. G. Craig, '19 
 
 Celia, Cousin to Rosalind; in disguise, Aliena Grace Rono, '19 
 
 Orlando, younger Brother to Oliver E. E. Plumley, '19 
 
 Audrey, a country wench Alice JefFeris, '18 
 
 Oliver, eldest Son to Sir Rowland de Boys H. W. Ewing, '17 
 
PLEASANT 
 
 Conceited Comedie 
 
 CALLED 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT 
 or 
 
 WHAT YOU WILL 
 
 Written by W. Shakspere 
 
 and 
 
 Plaid publiquely by the Students 
 
 of the 
 
 Colleges of Delaware 
 
 19 16 
 
"Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to 
 you, trippingly on the tongue; but if you mouth it, as 
 many of your players do, I had as lief the town crier 
 spoke my lines Jil"' Suit the action to the word, the 
 word to the action; with this special observance, that 
 you o'erstep not the modesty of nature ^ For any- 
 thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, 
 whose end, both at the first and now^, was and is, to 
 hold, as 't w^ere, the mirror up to nature; to show^ vir- 
 tue her owm feature, scorn her ow^n image, and the 
 very age and body of the time his form and pres- 
 
 sure." 
 
 —Hamlet, III. 3. 1-27 
 
THE STORY OF THE PLAY 
 
 If Music be the food of Love, play on. " 
 Viola and her brother, Sebastian, have been shipwrecked 
 on the coast of lUyria. Separated from him, and thinking 
 that he has been drowned, she determines to strike out for 
 herself and seek her fortrone in this strange country. From 
 the Captain, she hears of Dtike Orsino and incidentally of 
 his suit for the hand of the fair Olivia. Disguised as a boy, 
 she obtains preferment in Orsino's coint. Viola as the boy 
 Cesario soon wins the confidence of Orsino; at the same time, 
 with the heart of a woman, she conceives a strong love for 
 him. Orsino, however, not knowing that the boy is other 
 than he appears, tells Cesario of his passion for Olivia and 
 sends him to woo her — although as Viola sa}^, "Whoe'er I 
 woo, myself w^ould be his wife". 
 
 In the house of Olivia, Viola meets several opposing forces 
 of varjnng importance. Sir Toby Belch, Olivia's kinsman, 
 and Fabian, a retainer, encourage Sir Andrew Aguecheek, 
 a knight of great fortvine and of small sense, to press his 
 suit for the favor of the hard-hearted lady. Malvolio, the 
 Stew^ard, full of self-conceit, is tricked by Maria into the be- 
 lief that Olivia is in love with him. To his deception and to 
 his later discomfiture, Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, Fabian, Maria, 
 and Feste, the clown, all contribute. The greatest obstacle to 
 the success of Viola's suit in behalf of the Duke, how^ever, 
 lies in the sudden liking for Viola which springs up in Olivia's 
 heart ^ j^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 "But, would you undertake another suit, 
 I had rather hear you to solicit that. 
 Than music from the spheres." 
 
 The opposition which Sir Andrew makes to Viola's suit 
 culminates in a duel. Antonio, a sea captain, who had 
 saved Sebastian from drowning, comes on the scene just in 
 time to protect Viola, whom he mistakes for Sebastian, and to 
 prevent possibly serious results. Viola cannot understand 
 the references to a rescue from the sea and to favors shown 
 
to her by him. The true Sebastian meanwhile has met 
 Olivia, who now declares her love for him, suggests the 
 proper offices of a priest, and is married to him all in an 
 hour. Confusion worse confounded results when Feste and 
 the rest mistake Sebastian for Viola, Olivia mistakes Viola 
 for Sebastian, and the Duke is led for a moment to think 
 that Viola has betrayed his confidence. 
 
 But all complications are resolved when Sebastian and 
 Viola meet face to face. Olivia holds to her contract with 
 Sebastian, the Diike claims Viola as his bride, Malvolio is 
 released from the dungeon to which in sport Sir Toby and 
 the others had committed him, and Feste sings of the 
 changes brought on by the whirligig of time. 
 
 THE SCENES OF THE PLAY 
 
 The Audience is asked to imagine that the Stage Setting repre- 
 sents the following Scenes: 
 
 Act I Scene I Orsino's Palace 
 
 11 Street Scene in a Sea-port 
 
 in Olivia's House 
 
 IV Orsino's Palace 
 
 V Olivia's House 
 
 Act II Scene I A Street 
 
 II Olivia's House 
 
 III Orsino's Palace 
 
 IV Olivia's Garden 
 
 Act III Scene I Olivia's House 
 // A Street 
 III Olivia's Garden 
 
 Act IV Scene I Olivia's Garden 
 
 Place: A City in lUyria Time: Sixteenth Century 
 
 The Audience is requested to remain seated until the close of 
 
 Feste's Song. 
 
THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY 
 
 Orsino, Duke of Illyria 
 
 E. E. Plumley, '19 
 
 Curio _ , .. . ^ . S. D. Loomis, '17 
 
 Valentine ^^^^l^"'^^ attending on the Duke ^ ^ ^.^^y^ .^g 
 
 Viola, in love ■with the Duke; in disguise, 
 Cesario 
 
 A Sea-Captain, Friend to Viola 
 
 Sir Toby Belch, Uncle to Olivia 
 
 Maria, Confidant to Olivia 
 
 Sir Andrew Ague-Cheek, a foolish Knight, 
 pretending to Olivia 
 
 Feste, the Clown, Servant to Olivia 
 
 Olivia, a Lady of great Beauty and For- 
 tune, belov'd by the Duke 
 
 Malvolio, a fantastical Stevtrard to Olivia 
 
 Fabian, Servant to Olivia 
 
 Sebastian, a young Gentleman, Brother 
 to Viola 
 
 Antonio, a Sea-Captain, Friend to 
 
 Sebastian 
 Servant 
 
 First Officer 
 
 Second Officer 
 
 Priest 
 
 Lords in Attendance on the Duke 
 
 Ladies in Waiting on Olivia 
 
 Page in attendance on the Duke 
 Page in attendance on Olivia 
 
 Sailors 
 
 Paulina Smith, '18 
 
 F. E. Proctor, '19 
 Irving Reynolds, '18 
 Thera Twitchell, '19 
 
 G. W. Wilson, '19 
 C. L. Weigle, '18 
 
 Marion Campbell, '18 
 
 W. H. Savin, '18 
 
 R. B. Wheeler, 2d, '18 
 
 Herman McKay, '19 
 
 Howard Bramhall, '16 
 G. M. Lang, '19 
 
 K. R. Bowen, '18 
 S. A. Hamilton, '19 
 M. R. Mitchell, '19 
 L H. Boggs, '19 
 G. H. Ferguson, '19 
 
 Elizabeth F. Jones, '18 
 Elizabeth Eggert, '18 
 
 Katharine McGraw, '19 
 
 Gladys W^alton, '19 
 
 J. F. Davis, '18 
 Marvel W^ilson, '18 
 
A great while ago the world begun, 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 But that's all one, our play is done, 
 And we7/ strive to please you every day. 
 
 —Twelfth Night, V. i. 414-417 
 
SHAKSPERE: BOTH OF AN AGE AND 
 FOR ALL TIME 
 
 AN ADDRESS 
 
 BY 
 
 Harry Morgan Ayres, Ph. D. 
 
 "Shakspere follow^ed the fashion ; he conformed to the changing 
 taste of his theater. Modem scholarship has triumphantly demon- 
 strated this. But in so doing it has only given us the measure of 
 his greatness ; for w^e have in abundance the work of the worthies 
 w^ho set the fashions that he follow^ed, and not many of us read 
 
 %[\^^m (^^ i^' t^^ t^^ t^^ <^^ 1^^ t^^ t^^ €^^ %^^ 
 
 "Shakspere planned his plays to fit the theater of his day; they 
 do not always perfectly fit the modern theater. There they some- 
 times creak a bit. But we need not on that account give ourselves 
 w^holly over to pity for his crudity and archaism. If the workings 
 creak, it is not with the grinding of an axe. If he sometimes bores 
 us with a set description, a clumsy exposition, a jest that has lost 
 its savor, he at any rate has a story to tell us. He does not bore 
 us with a thesis a* jt j* tj* j* ^ j* 
 
 "These his actors are all spirits; obedient to his Prospero's 
 wand they should go about the business of setting before us the 
 story. For that they exist. But so often one, and then another, 
 comes alive, puts on fiesh and blood, and steps forth with all the 
 dimensions of humanity, while beneath his -weight the fabric of 
 the plot groans like the skiff of Charon, built for shades, beneath 
 the vreight of the living Aeneas. J* .^ 
 
 Shakspere's supreme gift w^as language — not the Pentecostal 
 gift of tongues, though one should remember that the "small Latin 
 and less Greek" w^as after all the verdict of one of the chief 
 scholars of that day; but his was a power to use his native speech 
 as none succeeded in doing before him and none has dared since. 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED 
 MASTER WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
 
 •Soul of the age ! 
 The applause! delight! the wonder of our stage ! 
 My Shakespeare rise! I tvill not lodge thee by- 
 Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie 
 A little further off, to make thee room : 
 Thou art a monument without a tomb; 
 And art alive still, while thy book doth live, 
 And we have w^its to read and praise to give. 
 That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses, 
 I mean with great, but disproportioned Muses; 
 For if I thought my judgment were of years, 
 I should commit thee surely w^ith thy peers. 
 And tell how far thou didst our Lily outshine. 
 Or sporting Kyd, or Marlow^e's mighty line. 
 And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek, 
 JFrom thence to honor thee, I will not seek 
 For names : but call forth thundering AEschylus, 
 Euripides, and Sophocles to us, 
 Pacuvius, Accius, hinn of Cordoua dead, 
 To live again, to hear thy buskin tread. 
 And shake a stage; or when thy socks veere on. 
 Leave thee alone for the comparison 
 Of all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome 
 Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. 
 Triumph, my Britain ! thou hast one to show. 
 To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. 
 He w^as not of an age, but for all time ! 
 
 — Ben Jonson 
 
AFTERWORD 
 
 With hearty encouragement and vinselfish aid from our 
 friends in the two Colleges and in the community, we have 
 tried in a humble way to celebrate the fame of the master 
 genius of English Literature. To all those who have con- 
 tributed in any way to the carrying out of the Festival 
 exercises, we here return grateful thanks. Where so many 
 thanks are due, we may truly say with Biirgundy, "Elec- 
 tion makes not up on such conditions. " Our acknowl- 
 edgment of indebtedness must be at best inadequate. Lest 
 we be thought unmindftil, however, of the special help which 
 has so generously been given to us in planning, training, and 
 execution, we wish to record with deep appreciation our 
 obligations to 
 
 Professor Myrtle V. Caudell Professor Mary E. Rich 
 Miss Alfreda Mosscrop Miss Marion Butterworth 
 
 Professor F. B. HiUs Professor C. A. McCue 
 
 Mrs. Herman R. Tyson 
 
 Dean Winifred J. Robinson 
 
 THE DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH 
 
 Wilbur Owen Sypherd 
 George Elliott Button 
 Frederick Julius Pohl 
 Gertrude Elizabeth Brady 
 
o4nd so here endeth the Book of The Shakspere Fes- 
 tival given by the Colleges of Delaware on April Twenty- 
 eight and Twenty-nine, Nineteen Hundred and Sixteen, at 
 Newark, Delaware ^ ,^ J- J^ jif- 
 
 Designed and printed by Master Craftsmen of K el Is, 
 at their Shop, which is on Welsh Lane, a road leading from 
 Newark to Cooch's Bridge J- ^ j^