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THE
POEMS OF SHAKESPEAPE.
BY REV. ALEXANDER DYCE.
BOSTON:
LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY.
SHEPARD, CLARK AND CO.
NEW YORK: JAMES S. DICKERSON.
CINCINNATI: MOORE, WILSTACH, KEYS AND CO.
M.DCCC.LVI.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by LtTTLE,
Bkown ami Company, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of
the District of Massachusetts.
/ 3^^ ^
xr
ADVERTISEMENT.
Sr( H of the Notes to the Meitioir of Shake¬
speare as are distinguished by brackets have
been added by the American Editor. The ma-
tei ial for them has been derived principally from
Collier's Life of Shakespeare. A few correc¬
tion-, eonsi-ting. for the most part, of restorations
of earlier readings, have been made in the Text
of the Poems.
c.
CONTENTS.
Page
JIejioik of Shakespeake, by Kev. Alexander Dyce... vii
Appendix I.
Chronological Li>t of Shakespeare's Plays Ixxxviii
AI'pexdix II.
Sliukespeare's Will xo
Voiiu- and Adonis 1
The Rape of Lucreee 57
.Sonnet- 141
A Lover's Complaint 233
The Passionate Pilgrim 248
Ver-e- among the additional poems to Chester's
Love'^ Martyr 264
Songs from the Plays of Shakespeare 268
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
by the eev. alexander dyce.
" He was not of an age, but for all time."
BEN JONSON.
" All that is known with any degree of certainty
concerning Shakespeare, is—that he was born at
Stratford upon Avon—married and had children
there—went to London, where he commenced
actor, and wrote poems and plays—returned to
Stratford, made his will, died, and was buried." ^
Such is the remark of the most acute of his com¬
mentators ; and I have quoted it here, as a sort
of apology to the reader for the imperfections of
the present essay.
It appears, that John Shakespeare, the father
of our poet, could not boast a descent from an¬
cestors of gentle blood, though his family had
been long established in the county of Warwick.
The place ^ of his birth is doubtful; but not long
1 Note by George Steevens on Shakespeare's xciii'' Sonnet.
[2 It is probable that John Shakespeare was the son of a
Eichard Shakespeare of Snltterfield, (a town three miles from
viii MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
after tlie year 1550, we find him settled as a
tradesman in Stratford upon Avon. Concerning
the nature of his vocation biographers disagree.
The memoranda of Aubrey declare that he was a
butcher; according to Rowe, he " was a consi¬
derable dealer in wool;" and Malone has ad¬
duced a contemporary document, which renders
it probable that he followed the profession of a
glover.®
Sti-atford,) who was tenant of a house and land belonging to
Robert Arden. Collier, p. Ixii., Halliwell, p. 8. The earliest
notice of the Shakespeare family at Stratford is of the date
April 29, 1552.]
8 ' William Shakespeare's father was a butcher, and I
have been told heretofore by some of the neighbours, that
when be was a boy. he exercised his father's trade; but
when he killed a cnlfe. he would do it in a high style, and make
a speech!'' M. S. Aubrey. Mas Ashmol. Oxon.
Rowe tells us, that he received from Betterton, the actor,
the chief part of the materials fur our poet's Life; " his vene¬
ration for the memory of Shakespeare having engaged him to
make a journey into Warwickshire, on purpose to gather up
what remains he could of a name for which he had so great
a veneration."
Malone, at one time, thought the assertions of Aubrey and
Rowe by no means inconsistent; "Dr. Farmer," says he,
" has illustrated a passage in HamUt from infonnation de¬
rived from a person who was at once a woolman and butcher,
and, 1 believe, few occupations can be named which are more
naturally connected with each other." Shak., by Reed, iii.
214. ed. 1813. But he afterwards discovered the following
entry in a very old manuscript, containing an account of the
proceedings in the bailiff's court, which he considered deci¬
sive as to the occupation of our poet's father:
[Stretford, ss. Cur. Philippi et Marite, Dei gratia regis et
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
ix
That he was a person of estimable character,
may be concluded, as well from his having at¬
tained the highest municipal dignities of the
town,^ as from his having formed a matrimonidl
connection with a woman wlidse rank in life was
much superior to his own. About 1557, he mar¬
ried Mary,® the youngest daughter of Robert
Arden, of AVilmecote, her portion being a small
estate in land called Asbies, and the sum of six
pounds, thirteen shillings, and fourpence. The
family of Arden was of great antiquity in AVar-
wickshire, and several of its members had held
reginse Angliae, Hispaniarura. &o., secundo et tercio, ibidem
tent, die Marcurii, videlicet xvij " die Junii, anno proedicto,
[ June 17, 1556,] coram Johanne Btirbage ballivo, &c.
Thomas Siche de Ar-cotte in com. Wigorn. queritnv versus
Johannem Shakyspere de Stretford in com. Warnici glover
in placito quod reddat ci octo librae, &c.]
< On April 30, 1556, and September 31, 1558, he was one
of the jury of the court leet. On August 12, 1556, he was
summoned on a jury in a civil action. In June 1557, he was
one of the ale-tasters. On October 6. 1559, and again in
May, 1561, he was made an atfeeror. Either on Michaelmas
day 1557, or early in 1558, he was chosen burgess. In 1558,
and the next year, he served as constable. In September,
1361, he was elected one of the chamberl.ains, and filled the
office for the two succeeding years. On July 4, 1565, he was
chosen alderman. From Michaelmas, 1568, to Michaelmas,
1569, he .served as high-bailiff, and on September 5, 1571, he
was elected chief alderman for the ensuing year.
5 From a comparison of the wills of her parents, it appears
that .she was the youngest of at least four daughters. [She'
was the youngest of at least seven. Collier, p. Ixiii.]
X
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
situations of honour, both in their native® county,
and at the court of their sovereign.
In 15G9,* or 1570, John Shakespeare obtained
from tlie Herald's Office a grant of arms; in
1596, he received another grant; and in 1599, a
confirmation of arms, tlie chief object of which
seems to have been, to enable him to impale with
his own bearings those of Arden.'
There is reason to believe, that during the
earlier part of his career, his circumstances were
easy, though far from affluent. At a court leet
6 Rob. Arden de Bromwieh, was in the list of Warwick¬
shire gentry, returned by the commissioners in 1433. In
1562, and 1568, Sim. Arden and Edw. Arden were sheriifs
• of the county. Sir John Arden, the elder brother of our
Robert's grandfather, was squire of the body to Henr}' the
Seventh. Robert Arden, the father of our Robert, was groom
or page of the bedchamber to the same king, by whom he
was constituted keeper of the royal park called Aldercar,
and bailiff of the lordship of Codnore; he also obtained from
the crown a valuable lease of the extensive manor of Yoxsall
in Staffordshire.
* [There is not sufficient authority for this statement. He is
called yeoman (not gentleman, or glover,) in 1579 and in 1597.
It seems quite probable, that the grant of arms was not really
obtained until 1599.]
I The later applications were doubtless made at the sug
gestion of his son, who was then rising into consequence.
When in these grants to John Shakespeare, mention is made
of his ancestors having been advanced and rewarded by
Henry the Seventh, &c., it is certain that the expressions
relate not to the ancestors of John Shakespeare, but to those
of his wife.—See JIalone's Life of Shakespeare, p. 28, et seq.
(Shah, by Boswell, ii.)
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE. Xi
held in October, 1556, the leiise of a house in
Greenhill street and that of another in Henley
street, were assigned to him. In 1561, his cha¬
rities place him in the second class of the inhabit¬
ants of Stratford. In 1570, he rented a field of
about fourteen acres, known by the name of
"Ingon, alias Ington meadow;" and in [1575,j
he purchased a small property, consisting of two
houses in Henley street, with gardens and or¬
chards annexed to them.
Before 1578, however, his affairs had become
greatly embarrassed; in that year he mortgaged
for forty pounds the little estate of Asbies, de¬
rived from his wife; was required to pay only
half the sum for which the other aldermen were
assessed; and was altogether excused from con¬
tributing his share of a petty weekly tax for the
relief of the poor;—see below,® where will be
8 When it was agreed in Januar}', 1578, that every alder¬
man should pay towards the furniture of three pikemen, two
billmen, and one archer, vi' viii"', John Shakespeare, in con¬
sideration of his embarrassments, was required to pay only
ill' and iv<t ; in November next, when it was ordained that
every alderman should contribute iiii"l a week for the relief
of the poor, it was determined that he should " not be taxed
to pay any thing." From the will of a baker, named Sadler,
who died towards the end of 1578, we find that John Shakes
peare owed him five pounds, for the payment of which two
persons had entered into securities. In an account of money
levied on the Inhabitants of Stratford in 1579, for the pur¬
chase of armour and defensive weapons, his name occurs
among the defaulters. What follows is from the register of
xii JIEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
found a variety of notices, drawn from the records
of the horough of Stratford, &c., which sutfi-
ciently indicate the decline of his fortunes. In
1586, in consequence of his having neglected the
business of his office, another alderman was ap¬
pointed in his stead.®
In a bill of complaint against John Lambert,
•which he exhibited in Chancery in 1597, he de¬
scribes himself as a " man of very small wealth ;
the Bailiff's Court, in 1585-86, [the -words being -written
-without contraction.—Jan. 19, 28Eliz.; Ad hunc diem ser-
vientes ad clavam burgi pr»dicti retomant processum
de distringas eis directum versus Johannem Shackspere ad
sectam Johannis Browne, quod prsdictus Johannes Shack¬
spere nihil habet unde distringi potest. Ideo fiat capias versus
eundem Johannem Shackspere ad sectam prxdicti Johannis
Browne, si petatur.—It may be added that in 1579 John
Shakespeare parted with his wife's interest in two tenements
in Suitterfield for the small sum of 4Z.]
In a report to the Privy Council, dated Sept. 25, 1592, a
return is made of "such recusants as have been heretofore
jiresented for not coming weekly to the church according to
her Majesty's laws." John Shakespeare appears on a list
with eight others, of whom " it is said that these last come
not to church for fear of process for debt."
" "At the hall, holden on the 6th day of September, in the
twenty-eighth year of our Sovereign lady. Queen Elizabeth.
"At this hall, William Smith and Richard Courte are
chosen to be aldermen, in the places of John Wheler and
John Shakspeare, for that Mr. Wilder doth desire to be put
out of the company, and Mr. Sbakspere doth not come to the
halls, when they be -ivarncd, nor hath not done of long time."
to At the bottom of the grant of arms to John Shake.speare,
made in 1596, is a note, " That he hath lands and tenements
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE. xiii
and who had very few friends or alliances in the
county of Warwick." He died in 1601.
Mary Shakespeare deceased in 1608. We are
not to suppose that during their later years they
were left to struggle with pecuniary difficulties:
their gifted son, who was then possessed of con¬
siderable property, doubtless assisted them to the
utmost of his means.
Four sons, and four daughters, born in the fol¬
lowing order, were the offspring of this pair:
Joan, Margaret, William, Gilbert, another Joan,
Anne, Richard, and Edmund. The elder Joan,
Margaret, and Anne, were cut off immaturely.
Whether Gilbert died at an early, or at an ad¬
vanced period of life, is uncertain." The second
Joan became the wife of William Hart, a hatter
in Stratford, and died in 1646. Richard, of
whom nothing is known, was buried in 1612-13,
of good wealth and substance, 500/." But Malone has, I
think, sufficiently accounted for this minute, and shown that
it is not entitled to credit. See his Liftt of Shakespeare,
p. 89, et seq. (Shak. by Boswell, ii.)
It may be adde'd here, that few of the corporation of Strat¬
ford in those days could write their names, and that among
the marksmen is found John Shakespeare.
11 It has been supposed that Gilbert was the brother of our
author, who, according to Oldys, " iived to a good old age,
even some years after the restoration of King Charles the
Second," and saw the great dramatist perform a character in
one of his own plays, which, from the description, must have
been Adam in As You Like It. The anecdote is given in a
later part of this Memoir.
XIV
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
having nearly attained the age of thirty-nine.
Edmund embraced the profession of an actor,
played at the Globe Theatre, and was interred in
the church of St. Saviour's (the parish where he
resided) on the 3lst of December, 1607, in his
twenty-eigiith year.
William Shakespeare, the third child and the
eldest son of his parents, was born at Stratford-
upon-Avon. in April, 1564; as he was baptized
on the 26th," it has been eonjectured that his
birth took place on the 23d of the month.
AVhen he was about nine weeks old, the plague
broke out in his native town; but though it raged
there during six months with the most fatal vio¬
lence, we gather from the register of deaths that
not a single individual of the name of Shake¬
speare became its victim.
Jso anecdotes of his earliest years have been
preserved. All the education he received was
1- A house in Henley street is pointed out as that in which
Shakespeare was born; but whether it is " the very roof that
sheltered his infant innocence," (as Dr. Drake has it) may
perhaps be doubted. In 1820 I visited this mansion, and
saw the " Shakesperian relics," which .are there exhibited to
all " curious travellers;" they consist of a card and dice box
with a pincushion on its top, presented to him by the Prince,
(if Castile, a Toledo, an iron box which inclosed his Will, a
table cloth of black velvet embroidered with gold, the gift of
(imt n Elizabeth, his wife's shoe, a drinking-glass, madeft/r him
in his sickness, a table on which he wrote his works, &c.
13 [The memorandum in the register is as follows: 1564.
April 26. Gulielmus filius Johannes Shakspere.j
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE. XV
probably at the free school of Stratford; but at
what period he was first placed there, or how long
he remained, are points which it is impossible to
ascertain. ^Vliat quantity of classical learning he
possessed, is a question which has given rise to
much discussion. That he had no pretensions to
scholarship is beyond a doubt; but that he should
have failed to carry away from a respectable school
as much learning as a talented and well-taught
stripling genex-ally acquires, I can see no reason
to disbelieve.^® From the line in Jonson's admi¬
rable verses to his memory,
" And though thou had'st small Latin, and less Greek,"
we are not to conclude that he was utterly igno¬
rant of those languages,—Ben probably meant to
allow him a school-boy knowledge of both ; and
be it remembered, that even considerable attain¬
ments in learning would have appeared slight to
Jonson, who having devoted many a laborious
hour to the study of the classics, had stored his
mind with all the treasures of antiquity. In oppo¬
sition to Gildon, Upton, and other critics who
H Rowe.— Malone has shown that Mr. Thomas Hunt and
Mr. Thomas Jenkins were successively masters of the school
from 1572 to 1578, during which time we may suppose that
Shakespeare belonged to it.
15 " He understood Latin pretty well," says Aubrey, " for
he had been in his younger yeares a schoolmaster in the
country." MSS. Mus. Askmol. Oxon. [Collier suggests that
he might have been employed by the master of the Stratford
school to aid him in the instruction of the junior boys.]
xvi MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
asserted the extensive erudition of Shakespeare,
Farmer has incontrovertibiy shown that, while
composing several of his dramas, he had recourse
to North's Plutarch, and to other vernacular books,
instead of consulting the ancient authors in the
original. Let me just observe, that if he was
unable to read the Greek text of the "Cheronean
sage," not a few worthy gentlemen of our own
day, who have taken their degrees at Oxford or
Cambridge, stand in the same predicament. It
is difficult to believe that he never acquired any
knowledge either of Italian or French, as both
languages were then more familiar to Englishmen
than at the present time.
In consequence of the embarrassments of his
father (which have been already noticed) we are
informed by Eowe," that the youthful poet w'as
withdrawn from school, his assistance being re¬
quired at home. The truth of this statement is
weakly disputed by Malone, who as unsuccess¬
fully endeavours to establish, from the frequent
employment of law terms in our author's dramas,
18 Life of Shakespeare.
1" His brother (jilbert, says Malone, "was little more than
two years younger ihan our poet, and, at the time now under
our consideration, was as capable of carrying out parcels of
gloves for his father (all that a boy could do) as his elder
brother! For this purpose, therefore, it was not necessary
to impede the progress of the eldest son's education." Life
of Shakespeare, p. 106. [Shak. by Boswell, ii.)
MEMOIR OF SH.VKESPEARE. Xvii
that he was stationed for two or three yeahs in the
office of a Stratford attorney.* Aubrey's asser¬
tion,^® that Shakespeare in his youth was a school¬
master in the country, whether worthy of credit
or not, must be referred to this period of his life.
But to turn from uncertainties to facts — in
1582, when he was a little more than eighteen,
he married Anne Hathaway, the daughter of a
substantial yeoman in the neighbourhood of Strat¬
ford.'^" There was considerable disproportion in
* [The great number of law terms and of allusions to legal
processes which occur in Shakespeare's plays, and the pro¬
priety with which they are introduced, make Malone's sup¬
position by no means incredible.]
18 See note, p. ix.
A story of Shakespeare and some of his companions having
accepted the challenge of the Bidford topers and sippers to
drink with them, &c., was communicated to Malone by a
native of Stratford, Life of Shakespeare, p. 500, {Shak. by
Boswell, ii.) et seq. and is related with some variations in
Ireland's Picturesque Views, p. 229 et seq. It informs us that
Shakespeare composed these lines on the occasion, which the
late Jlr. Boswell suspected to have been from Brathwaite's
pen;
" Piping Pebworth, Dancing Marston,
Haunted Hilborough, and Hungry Grafton,
With Dadging Exhall, Papist Wixford,
Beggarly Broom, and Drunken Bidford."
18 Neither the day, nor the place of their union are known.
[Oil the 28th November, 1582, two persons entered into a bond
to obtain such a dispensation from the bishop of Worcester as
would authorize a clergyman to marry William Shakespeare
and Anne Hathaw.ay " with once asking of the banns."
28 Rowe.
B
xviii
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
their ages, for the lady was in her twenty-sixth
year; but Oldys seems to have learned, by tra¬
dition, that she was beautiful; and it is indeed
unlikely that a woman devoid of personal charms
should have won the youthful affections of so
imaginative a being as Shakespeare. It is un¬
fair to conclude (as some biographers have done)
from certain passages in his plays concerning
naarriage, that he afterwards repented of this
connection ; but when we find that during his
almost constant residence in London, his wife re¬
mained at Stratford, and that he only remembers
her slightly, and, as it were, casually in his will,
we have some reason to suspect that their union
was not productive of much domestic happiness.
From some of Shakespeare's Sonnets, it has been
supposed tliat, after he became a husband, he was
by no means remarkable for purity of morals;
but (as I shall have occasion to notice more
particularly in a subsequent part of this essay)
no inference respecting his conduct should be
drawn from compositions, most of which appear
to have been written under an assumed charac¬
ter. In jMay, 1583, his wife bore a daughter,
who was called Susanna; ^ and, about eighteen
21 See note on our author's xciiid Sonnet.—Malone's Shakes¬
peare (by Boswell) xx. [This sonnet could not have been
addressed to the poet's wife.J'
22 Baptized Jlay 26.
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE. xix
months afterwards, slie was delivered of twins,
a son and daughter, baptized ^ by the names of
Ilamnet and Juditli. It does not appear that she
again became a mother.
AVe are now arrived at an event in our author's
history of great importance, inasmuch as it caused
him to abandon his native town, and put forth
the energies of his mighty genius. Having fallen
into the company of some wild and disorderly
young men, he was induced to assist them, on
more than one occasion, in stealing deer from the
park of Sir Thomas Lucy of Charlecote, in the
neighbourhood of Stratford. For this offence
(which in those days used to be regarded as a
venial frolic) he was treated, as he thought, too
harshly ; and he repaid the severity by ridicul¬
ing Sir Thomas in a ballad. So bitter was this
satirical effusion, that the prosecution against
its author was redoubled; and forsaking his fa¬
mily and occupation, he took shelter in the me¬
tropolis from his powerful enemy. Such is the
story ^ which tradition has preserved; and that it
28 February 2ad, 1584-5. •
24 Rowe's account has been followed in the text.
In the archives of Corpus Christi College, Oxford, are
the MS. collections of a learned antiquary, Mr. William
Fulman, who died in 1688, with additional notes, by the
friend to whom he bequeathed them, Mr. Richard Davies,
archdeacon of Lichfield, who died in 1707. Among these
papers is the following record concerning Shakespeare by the
latter gentleman. " He was much given to all unlucklnesse,
XX
MEMOIli OF SHAKICSPEARE.
has some foundation in truth, cannot, surely, be
doubted, notwithstanding what has been urged
to the contrary by Malone, wliose chief object in
in stealing venison and rabbits; particularly from Sir
Lucy, who had him oft whipt, and sometimes imprisoned,
and at last, made him fly his native country, to bis great
advancement. But his reveng was so great that he is his
.lu^tice Clodpate; and calls him a great man, and that, m
allusion to his name, bore three lowses rampant for his
arms." Fulman's MSS. vol. xv.
A Mr. Thomas Jones of Turbich, a village in Worcester¬
shire, about eighteen miles from Stratford, who died aged
upwards of ninety, in 1703, remembered to have heard from
several very old people, the story of the deer-stealing, with
this addition, that the ballad was fixed on Sir Thomas Lucy's
park-gate, and could repeat a stanza of the said ballad, which
Oldys and Capel have preserved.
Oldys tells us, (in a JIS. note, which Steevens first printed)
"he [Jones] could remember the first stanza of that bitter
ballad, which repeating to one of his acquaintance, he pre¬
served it in writing, and here it is, neither better nor worse,
but faithfully transcribed from the copy which his relation
very courteously communicated to me:
"A parliemente member, a justice of peace.
At home a poor scare-crowe, at London an asse.
If lowsie is Lucy, as some volke miscalle it,
Then Lucy is lowsie whatever befall it:
He thinks himself greate.
Yet an asse in his state
We allowe by his ears but with asses to mate.
If Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscalle it,
Sing lowsie Lucy—whatever befall it."
"Mr. Jones," says Capel, in his nebulous style, "had put
down in writing the first stanza of this ballad, which was all
he remembered of it, and Mr. Thomas Wilkes (my grand¬
father) transmitted it to my father by memorj', who also took
it down in writing, and his copy is this," &c.
ME.MOIR OF SHAKESPEARE. Xxi
writing the Life of our poet was, to shake the
credibility of the facts brought forward by Rowe.
As an evidence that Shakespeare long retained
a grudge against Sir Thomas Lucy, the opening
scene of the Merry Wtves of Windsor may be
adduced; there, Justice Shallow complains that
FalstafF had •'killed his deer;" Slender informs
us, that the arms of the Shallows are a "dozen
white luces and Sir Hugh Evans plays upon
the word "luce," in the same manner as the stanza
of the ballad given in my note, plays upon the
surname " Lucy."
Various sets of players,—the Queen's company,
the servants of Lord Worcester, of Lord Leicester,
of Lord Warwick, and of other noblemen, had
been in the habit of resorting to Stratford, and
exhibiting their performances in its Guildhall.
These verses may be genuine; but not so, I fear, is the
entire song said to have been found in a chest of drawers at
Shottery, near Stratford, and several times printed.
In a .\IS. History of the Stage, (supposed to have been
written by that mendacious personage Chetwodd) are two
stanzas of a different pasquinade on Sir Thomas Lucy, by
Shakespeare, which we are informed Joshua Barnes (the
editor of Homer and Euripides, &c.) recovered from the sing¬
ing of an old woman, as he was baiting at an inn in Stratford.
25 The coat of Sir Thomas Lucy was " gules, three luces
fi. e. pike fishes] hariant, argent." Even Malone allows that
pa-sages of this scene " afford grounds for believing that our
author, on some account or other, had not the most profound
respect for Sir Thomas Lucy." Life of Shakespeare, p. 142.
\Shak. by Boswell, ii.)
Xxii MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
Before Shakespeare was compelled to forsake his
home, he had doubtless seen the best theatrical
productions (such as they were) represented by
the best actors then alive; and it is probable that,
his inclination for the theatre having early mani¬
fested itself, he had become known to the elder
Burbage, to Heminge, and to Thomas Greene, all
players of note.^® It has been supposed that the
two first of these Thespian heroes were the coun¬
trymen of Shakespeare ; the last was certainly his
townsman, and perhaps his relation. It was na¬
tural, therefore, that under his present circum¬
stances, Shakespeare should have had recourse to
the theatre, as a means of subsistence, and in all
■ probability he was " nothing loath " to exchange
the dull monotony of his former occupation (what¬
ever it may have been) for the more exciting pro¬
fession of the stage.
26 fThe earliest record of the representation of plays in
Stratford is dated in the year when John Shakespeare was
bailiff, 1569. In 1573, the Earl of Leicester's Players, of
whom James Burbage was the leader, performed in the town.
Various companies exhibited nearly every year af.-er this,
in 1587 no feWer than five. A family of the name of Burbage
"was resilient in Stratford, and one member of it attained the
highest dignity in the corporation. In the Muster-book of the
county of Warwick in 1569, the names of Burbage, Slye, and
Heminge occur in various places, although not with the same
christian names as those of the actors in Shakespeare's plays:
the name Nicholas Fooley is, however, found there, and he
was a well known member of the company to which
Shakespeare was attached. Collier's i-ife, pp. xcix—ci. |
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE. Xxiii
His arrival in London cannot well be fixed
earlier than the year 1586 or 1587. According
to Rowe, " he was received into the company, at
first in a very mean rank;" it has also been said
that he was employed as call-hoy, whose business
is to give notice to the performers, when their
different entries on the stage are required; and ^
27 " In the time of Elizaheth," says Dr. Johnson, " coaches
being yet uncommon, and hired coaches not at all in use,
those who were too proud, too tender, or too idle to walk,
went on horseback to any distant business or diversion.
Jlany came on horseback to the play, and when Shake¬
speare fled to London from the terror of a criminal prose¬
cution. his first expedient was to wait at the door of the
play-house, and hold the horses of those that had no ser¬
vants, that they might be ready again after ttie performance.
In this ofiice he became so conspicuous, for his care and
readiness, that in a short time every man as he alighted
called for Will Shakespeare, and scarcely any other waiter
was trusted with a horse while Will Shakespeare could be
had. This was the first dawn of better fortune. Shakespeare,
finding more horses put into his hand than he could hold,
hired boys to wait under his inspection, who, when Will
Shakespeare was summoned, were immediately to present
themselves, 1 am Shakespeare's boy, sir. In time Shakespeare
found higher employment, but as long as the practice of
riding to the playhouse continued, the waiters that held the
horses retained the appellation of Shakespeare's boys." Thi.s
story first appeared in Gibber's Lires of the English Poets,
1753, the whole, or at least the greater part, of which book
was written by Shiels, the amanuensis of .Johnson. " Sir
William Davenant," we are there informed, " told it to llr.
Betterton, who communicated it to Mr. Rowe; Mr. Rowe told
it to Mr. Pope, and Mr. Pope told it to Dr. Newton, the late
editor of Milton; and from a gentleman who heard it from
xxiv MEMOIK OF SllAKESPEAK F.
another tradition informs us, that he used to hold
the horses of those who rode to the theatre without
attendants, till the performance was concluded.
Biographers seem to agree in rejecting the last
anecdote as unworthy of belief. His situation
was not desperate enough to subject him to so
degrading an employment: his father, though not
in easy circumstances, was still probably engaged
in trade; his father-in-law was a yeoman of re¬
spectability ; and it is unlikely that, on his removal
to the metropolis, they withheld from him all pe¬
cuniary assistance. If, however, his rank was at
first subordinate, he soon raised himself to dis¬
tinction ; and but a few years had elapsed before
he became possessed of a principal share in the
theatres, to which he was attached.* As all his
dramas^' appear to have been performed at the
Globe and Blackfriars (which belonged to the
same comedians,) there is no reason to believe that
he was ever connected with any other houses.
The following buildings were used for the repre¬
sentation of plays in London, between the time of
him, 'tis here related." The " gentleman" was doubtless
Dr. Johnson.
• [We first hear of Shakespeare at London in 1589, when
he was an actor at the Blackfriars theatre and one ot the six¬
teen shareholders.!
28 Titus Androniaus was played by the servants of the Earl
of Pembroke, &c. The First Part of Eenry VL by those of
Lord Strange.
MEMOIR OF SIIAKEsPEARE. XXV
Shakespeare's first appearance there and his final
retirement to Stratford ; it must be understood,
however, that they were not all open together.
The Theatre, (so called by distinction,) and the
Curtain, both in Shoreditch; the Blaclcfriars
Theatre, near the present site of Apothecaries'
Hall; Paris Garden, on the Bankside ; the White-
friars Theatre ; the Globe, on the Bankside ; the
Fortune, in Golden, or Golding Lane, St. Giles,
Cripplegate; the Rose, the Hope, and the Swan,
all three on the Bankside; the Newington The¬
atre : and the Red Bull, at the upper end of St.
John Street.^
Nearly all these buildings, it is probable were
constructed of wood. Those which (for some un¬
discovered reason) were termed private theatres,
were entirely roofed in from the weather, while the
public theatres were open to the sky, except over
the stage and galleries. On the outside of each
was exhibited a sign indicative of its name; and
on the roof, during the time of performance, was
hoisted a flag.
Their interior arrangements resembled those of
the present day. There were tiers of galleries
The Cockpit, or Phcenix, does not appear to have been
converted into a theatre until Shakespeare had finally retired
to Stratford.
8" For an account of all the distinfruishing marks of pri¬
vate playhouses, see Collier's IJist. of Kni/lish Dram. Poet.
iii. 335.
XXvi MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
or scaffolds; beneath tliese, the hexes or rooms
intended for persons of the highest class, and
wliich at the private theatres were secured with
locks, the keys being given to the individuals
who engaged them;^^ and there was the centre
area (separated, it seems, from the stage by pales)
at the private theatres termed the pit, and fur¬
nished with seats, hut at the public theatres called
the yard, and affording no such accommodation.
Cressets or large open lanterns served to illuminate
the body of the house, and two ample branches,
of a form similar to those now hung in churches,
gave light to the stage. The hand of musicians,
which was far from numerous, sat, it is supposed,
in an upper balcony, over vvhat is now called the
stage-box; the instruments chiefly used ' were
trumpets, cornets, hautboys, lutes, recorders, viols,
and organs.
The amusements of the audience, previous to
the commencement of the play, were reading,
playing at cards, smoking tobacco, drinking ale,
and eating nuts and apples. Even during the
31'" At each side of this balcony [the balcony at the
back of the stage, described at p. xxvii ] was a box, very in¬
conveniently sit\inted, which sometimes was called the /h irate
box. In these boxes, which were at a lower price, some per¬
sons sate, either from economy or singnlarity." Malone's
Hist. Arc. of Eniilish Star/e, p. 80.—{Shak. by Boswell, iii.)
The exact situation of those private boxes is by no means
certain.
MEMOIK OF SHAKKSPEARE. XXvH
cerformaiice, it was customary for wits, critics,
and young gallants who were desirous of attract¬
ing attention, to station themselves on the stage
either lying on the rushes, or seated on hired
stools, while their pages furnished them Avith pipes
and tobacco.
At the third sounding, or flourish of trumpets,
the exhibition began. The curtain, which con¬
cealed the stage from the audience, was then
drawn, opening in the middle and running upon
iron rods. Other curtains called traverses were
used as a substitute for scenes. At the back of
the stage was a balcony, ^ the platform of which
82 JIalone thought this custom was confined to private
theatres, but see Collier's Hist, of English Dram. Poet.
iii. 352.
83 " It appears," says Maloni, " from the stage-directions
given in The Spanish Tragedy, that when a play was ex¬
hibited within a play (if I may so express myself) as is the
case in that piece and in Hamlti, the court or audience before
whom the interlude Avas performed, sat in the balcony, or
upper stage, already described; and a curtain or traverse,
being hung across the stage for the nonce, the performers en¬
tered between that curtain and the general audience, and on
its being drawn, began their piece, addressing themselves to
the balcony, and regardless of the spectators in the theatre,
to whom their backs must have been turned during the whole
of the perfoi-mance." Hist, Acc- of English Stage, p. 108.—
(Shak. by Boswell, iii.) Though, as Mr. Collier remarks,
.{Hist- of English Dram. Poet, iii 363,) the authorities here
cited by Malone do not bear out his supposition, I cannot
help thinking that it is right. There was no necessity, how¬
ever, that, on such occasions, the actors should absolutely
turn their backs on the audience.
xxviii MliMOIK OF SHAKESPEARE.
was raised about eight or nine feet from the
ground; it served as a window, gallery, or upper
chamber; from it a portion of the dialogue was
sometimes spoken ; and in front of it curtains were
suspended, to conceal, if necessary, those who oc¬
cupied it from the audience. The internal roof
of the stage, either painted blue, or adorned with
drapery of that colour, was termed the heavens.
The stage was generally strewed with rushes, but
on extraordinary occasions was matted. There
is reason to believe, that when tragedies were
performed, it was hung with black.
Movable painted scenery there was assuredly
none:
" Tlie air-blest castle, round whose wholesome crest
The martlet, guest of summer, chose her nest,—
The forest-walks of Aide's fair domain.
Where Jaques fed his solitary vein;
Ko pencil's aid as yet had dar'd supply,
Seen only by the intellectual eye." ^
A board containing the name of the place of ac¬
tion in large letters, was displayed in some con¬
spicuous situation. Occasionally, when a change
of scene was necessary, the audience was re¬
quired to suppose that the performers, who had
not quitted the boards, had passed to a different
spot.®® A bed thrust forth, showed that the stage
M Charles Lamb.
85 So in Peek's Old Wives Tale;
" Well,'masters, it seems to me you have lost
your u ay in the wood: in consideration whereof, if you will
MEMOIR OF SnAKKSPEARE.
xxix
was a bed-chamber ; and a table with pen and ink,
indicated that it was a counting-house. Rude
contrivances were employed to imitate towers,
walls of towns, hell-mouths, tombs, trees, dra¬
gons, &c.; trap-doors had been early in use ;
hut-to make a celestial personage ascend to the
roof of the stage, was more than the mechanists
of the theatre could always accomplish.®®
"What a contrast between the almost total want
of scenery in those days, and the splendid repre¬
sentations of external nature in our modern play¬
houses ! Yet, perhaps the decline of the drama,
may in a great measure he attributed to this im¬
provement. The attention of an audience is now
directed rather to the efforts of the painter than to
gft with Clunch to his cottage, you shall have house-room
and a good fire to sit by, although we have no bedding to
put you in.
All 0 blessed Smith, 0 bountiful Clunch!
Smith. For your further entertainment, it shall be as it
may be, so and so [Here a dog bark.
Hark! this is Ball my dog, that bids you all welcome in
tiis own language, come, take heed for stumbling on the
threshold: open door, Madge, take in guest.
Enter Old Woman.
Old ITo. Welcome, Clunch, and good fellows all," &c.—
See my second edition of Peele's Dramatic Works and Poems,
i. 209, 1829.
36 A stage-direction at the end of Greene's Alphonsus is,
" Kxh Venus, or if you can conveniently, let a chair come doccn
from the top of the stage, and draw her up." See my edition
of Greene's Dramatic llhi-As and Poems, ii. 67.
XXX
MEMOIK OF SIlAKKSlMC.VIiE.
tliose of the actor, wlio is lost amid tlie marvellous
effects of light and shade on our gigantic stages.
From Henslowe's Memoranda, and from jias-
sages in old writers, it is manifest that the best
theatrical wardrobes were of a costly kind ; * but
the dresses were of course less elegant and ap¬
propriate at some theatres than at others. The
performers of male characters occasionally wore
periwigs. Female parts were played solely by
boys or young men, who sometimes used vizards.
The person who spoke the Prologue, and who
entered immediately after the third sounding,
was usually dressed in a black velvet cloak. An
Epilogue does not appear to have been a regular
appendage to a play.
During the performance, the clown would break
forth into extemporaneous buffoonery ; there was
dancing and singing between the acts; and at the
end of the piece was a song, or a jig,—a farcical
rhyming composition of considerable length, sung
or said by the clown, and accompanied with
dancing and playing on the pipe and tabor A
prayer for the queen, offered by the actors on
their knees, concluded the whole.
* ["Sometimes more than 20/ were given for a cloak, an
enormous price, when it is recollected that money was then
five or six times as valuable as at present " Collier-]
3' Mr Collier thinks that many epilogues wnich were
spoken have not come down to us, the printer having chosen
to omit them, rather than give an additional leaf to the plav.
Hist, of English Dram. Poet iii. 444.
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE. XXxi
The price of admission appears to have varied
according to the rank and estimation of the the¬
atres ; a shilling was charged for a place in the
best boxes; the entrance money to the pit and
galleries was the same,—sixpence, twopence, and
a penny. The performance commenced at three
o'clock.®® During the reign of Elizabeth, plays
were acted on Sundays, as well as on other days
of the week;®® but during that of her successor,
dramatic exhibitions on the Sabbath appear to
have been tolerated only at court.
Of the immediate predecessors of Shakespeare,
the following dramatists were the most distin¬
guished,—Lyly, Peele, Greene, Kyd, Nash, Lodge,
and Marlowe. The comedies of Lyly®? are cold,
mythological, conceited productions, presenting
occasional glimpses of a better style. In the
dramas of Peele,®® especially in David and Beth-
sabe, there is no inconsiderable portion of poetic
beauty; and he must be allowed the honour of
having suggested hints to Milton for the composi¬
tion of Comus, till chance has discovered to us
88 See Collier's Hist, of English Dram. Poet. iii. 377.
89 In 1580, the magistrates of the city of London obtained
from the Queen a prohibition against plays on the Sabbath,
which seems to have continued in force but a short time.
■w Nine plays by Lyly have come down to us.
81 See his [six] extant plays in my edition of his Dramatic
Works and Poems, 2 vols. 1829. [A third volume was pub¬
lished in 183 9. J
xxxii MEMOIR OF SHAKESFEARE.
some common original of that lovely Masque, and
of the Old JIVres Tale. In richness of fancy
Greene''- is inferior to Peele; and with the ex¬
ception of his amusing comedy, Friar Bacon and
Friar Bungay, there is, perhaps, but little to ad¬
mire in his dramatic productions: he was far hap¬
pier in some of those lyric pieces, scattered through
the va^t variety of prose pamphlets, which he
poured forth with surprising facility. Tiie Spanish
Tragedy of Kyd^' excited much contemporary
applause; and long after its first appearance, it
continued to be remembered from the parodies of
its more ridiculous passages, in which a host of
succeeding dramatists loved to indulge. Doubtless,
it is full of absurdities; but though less poetical
than the plays of Peele and Greene, it excels them
in touches of passion and in power of thought. To
the three dramatists last mentioned, Nash " was in
every respect inferior. As a prose satirist he was
justly celebrated, and the pamphlets wdiich he pub¬
lished during his famous controversy with Gabriel
Harvey, exhibit such specimens of coarse wit and
violent invective, as may, perhaps, have been
See his six extant plays in my edition of his Dramatic
Works and Poems, 2 vols. 1831.
Jerminu), the Spanish Tragedy, and Cornelia, (from the
French of Gamier) are the only remaining dramas of Kyd.
.■M Of Xash's dramatic works two have survived; Summer's
Last Wilt and Testament, and Dido. Of the latter "Marlowe
wrote a portion.
JIEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE. XXxiii
equalled, but certainly have never been surpas>ed,
in any lanj^uage. Lodge, like Nash, was more dis¬
tinguished in other walks of literature than in the
drama. His satirical poetry is of no mean rank ;
and several copies of verses interspersed among
his different prose tracts are picturesque and
graceful. In his tragedy, entitled,^^ The Wounds
of Civil War, I cannot see the merit which some
critics have discovered; its more praiseworthy
passages appear to me rather rhetorical than
poetical. Marlowepossessed a genius of a far
higher order, an intellect far more vigorous than
any of these playwrights. In delineating cha¬
racter, he reai hes a degree of truth, to which
they make but slight approaches, and in scenes
of Faustus and Edward the Second, he attains
to real grandeur and pathos. He too often mis¬
takes the horrible for the sublime, and indulges
in flights of splendid bombast; but perhaps such
faults are to be attributed more to his desire of
pleasing an audience accustomed to exaggeration
both of incident and style, than to his want of
45 This play, and part of A Looldng Glass for Lorulon,
written in conjunction with Greene, are the only remaining
plays of Lodge.
45 There are extant seven plays hy Marlowe, (one of them
partly by Nash,) which will be found |in Dyce's edition of
his works, 3 vols. 1850.1 Marlowe, Peele, Greene, and Kvd,
were probably the authors of some of the early anonymous
dramas which have come down to us.
C
XXxiv MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
tiiste. He was the first great improver of blank
veive, to which he gave a happy variety of pause.
The lines in which Drayton describes him have
been often quoted:
" Xext Marlowe, bathed in the Thespian springs,
Had in him those brave translunary things
That your first poets had; his raptures were
All air and fire, which made his verses clear;
For that fine madness still he did retain.
Which rightly should possess a poet's brain."
To the list of dramatic poets, preceding Shakes¬
peare, may be added the names of Chettle, Mon¬
day, and Wilson, who also continued to write,
when his reputation as an autlior was established.
Plays are still extant by the two first, containing
scenes of considerable merit; but from what re¬
mains of Wilson's productions, we cannot enter¬
tain a very favourable opinion of his talents.
It was usual in those da3's for dramatists to
alter, and make additions to, the plays of preceding
writers; and that Shakespeare commenced his
career as an author by adapting tlie works of
others to the stage, and not by any original com¬
position, there is every reason to believe. Even at
a later period, as most readers are aware, he oc¬
casionally availed himself,—in Lear and King
John, for instance—of the labours of his predeces¬
sors, awaking, by his magic touch, their dead and
cold creations to breathing and passionate beauty.
Among the numerous dramas, manuscript as well
MEMOIR OF SIIAK; sr'F.ARE.
XXXV
as printed, of whicli time lia> spared no copies,
M'ere probably several rifacimenti by his master
liand. Two of his earliest i)erformanccs in (his
way yet remain,— The Second and Third Parts
of Henry the Sixth, which he formed on the still
surviving plays, entitled. The First Part of the
Contention of the Two Famous Houses of York
and Lancaster, and The true Tragedy of Richard
Duke of York.
Before the end of 1592, Shakespeare had cer¬
tainly been employed on such alterations. In
September of that year, after a course of profligacy
and debauchery, Greene expired in poverty and
neglect, having devoted his last days to the writing
of a pamphlet, which was published immediately
on his decease by Chettle, and entitled, A Groats-
worth of Wit bought with a Million of Repentance.
At the conclusion of the tract Greene exhorts his
fellow-dramatists, Marlowe, Lodge, and Peele,'"
to abandon the vain occupation of catering for
the stage, and to amend their dissolute and un¬
godly lives; and in this interesting Address, the
following remarkable passage occurs ; " there is
an upstart Crow beautified with our Feathers, that
with his tygres heart, wrapt in a Players hyde sup¬
poses hee is as well able to bombast out a Blanke
Though not mentioned by name, they are undoubtedly
the persons alluded to. See the whole of this Address in my
Life of Greene (p. Ixxix. et seq.) prefixed to his Dramatic
Ilbrts and Poems, 2 vols. 1831.
XXwi MEMOIR OF SHAKESPF.ARE.
vcr-e as tlie of you ; and beeing an absolute
Johannes factotum, is, in bis owne conceyt, the
oneh) Shakescene in a Conntrey." (ed. 1617.)
1 lore is a manifest allusion to Shakespeare; and
i* would seem, by the expression, "our feathers,"
that be had remodelled certain pieces, in the com¬
position of which Greene and those wb^m he ad-
dre.-ses had been concerned—very probably the
two old dramas (already mentioned) on which our
great poet formed The Second and Third Parts
of Henry the Sixth, the words, " his tyger's heart
wiapt in a player's hide," being a parody on the
following line,
" 0 tyger's heart, wrapt in a woman's hide,"
found both in The true Tragedy of Richard Duke
of York, Sig. K 3, ed. n. d., and in the Third
Part of Henry the Sixth, act i. sc. -1.
That this Address of the dying man gave offence
both to Marlowe, whom it charged with athei-sm,
and to Shakespeare, at whom it so sarcastically
])ointed, we learn from Chettle's preface to his
Kind Hart's Dreamf which was also published
48 Though Chettle does not give the names of the poets wlio
liad taken offence, there can be no donbt that he refers to
Marlowe and Shakespeare. " In consequence, as it is probable,
of this expression of resentment on the part of Shakespeare,
a pamphlet from the pen of Chettle, called Kind Hart's
Dream, issued from the press," &c. Symmons's Life of Shake¬
speare, p. 18. The Doctor never could have seen the pam¬
phlet in question: it contains no allusion to Shakespeare, ex¬
cept in the Preface.
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE. XXXvii
in 1592. lie there informs us, that he neither i-,
nor desires to be, acquainted with Slarlowp, auvl
that in his capacity of editor, he had struck out
from the Address in the Groatsworth of Wit
several offensive passages concerning him. Of
Shakespeare he speaks thus: "The other, wliome
at that time I did not so much spare, as since I
wish I had, for that as I haue moderated the
heate of living writers, and might haue vsde my
owne discretion, (especially in such a case,) the
author beeing dead, that I did not, I am as sory,
as if the originall fault had beene my fault, be¬
cause my selfe haue seene his demeanour no le..-se
ciuill than he exelent in the qualitie* he pro¬
fesses: Besides, diuers of worship haue reporled
his vprightnesof dealing, which argues his honesty,
and his facetious grace in writing, that approoues
his art." I need scarcely observe, that this quo¬
tation bears a striking testimony to our author's
moral worth.
It is most probable, that before 1592,^® Shake¬
speare had made few attempts as an original dra¬
matist. Periclesf — which, though the greater
♦ [That is acting.
49 In the Preface mentioned above, Chettle terms Greene
"the only comedian of a vulgar writer in this country; " an
expression which, in Mr. Collier's opinion, decidedly ptw -.s
that Shakespeare had acquired no reputation as an or'g'nal
dramatic poet in 1592. Hist, of English Dram. Poet. ii. 436.
69 Some critics, among whom, I believe, was the late Jlr.
xxxviii
JIEMOin OF SHAKF,SPEARE.
jiart of it must be assigned'to some ruder play-
wiight, lias several passages that no one but
Shakespeare could have written,— The Two Gen-
ilcmcn of Verona and The Comedy of Errors,
may be considered among his earliest pieces. To
determine exactly the dates of all his dramas is
impossible; but a Chronological List of them,
approaching, perhaps, as near to the true order
of their appearance as any hitherto made, is an¬
nexed to the present Memoir. I have excluded
from that. list The First Part of Henry the
St'j-th. as well as Titus Andronicus,^^ because
both are altogether in the manner of an older
school, and exhibit no traces of Shakespeare's
jieculiar style. A Yorkshire Tragedy, a drama,
))rinted in 1608, with his name on the titlepage,
jjossesses, I think, a far better claim to be ad¬
mitted into a collection of his works than either
of the last mentioned plays. Dr. Drake has
chosen to class it with what he rather hastily
terms the " wretched dramas," Locrine, Sir John
Gifford, have thought that Shakespeare had no share in the
composition of Peril les. Among those who are of a different
opinion, is Mr. Coleridge. In a Lecture, publicly delivered in
1813, he declared that he could recogniiie the hand of our
great poet in this drama " even to half a line."
61 Marlowe or Kyd were most probably the authors of
tho-e pieces. Two different companies of comedians, by
whom not one of Shakespeare's undoubted productions is
said to have been played, were the original actors in botti,
see note p. xvii.
MEMOIR OF SIIAKKSl'EARE. XXxix
Oldcastle^'^ Lord Cromwell, The London Pro¬
digal, and The Puritan,—pieces, which have also
been attributed to Shakespeare, but which are far
inferior to A Yorkshire Tragedy. I by no means
assert that it was the work of our author, but I
am greatly mistaken if it does not contain pas¬
sages worthy of his pen.®'
62 Sir John Oldcaslle, we know from Henslowe's llemo-
randa, was the joint production of Monday, Drayton, Wilson,
and Hath way. From internal evidence, it is certain that
S'aakespeare had no share in the composition of Locrine,Lord
Cromwdl, The Ijmdon Prodigal, and The Puritan.
62 A Yorkshire Tragedy was founded on a murder com-
mitted in 1604. It is short, and not divided into act';, and
was played at the Globe, toj;ether with three other short
drimias, that were represented on the same day under the
name of All's One. In the second scene the Wife solilo¬
quizes thus:
" What will become of usV All will away:
My husband never ceases in expense.
Both to consume his credit and his house;
And 'tis set down by heaven's just decree,
That riot's child must needs be beggary.
Are these the virtues that his youth did promise ?
Dice and voluptuous meetings, midnight revels.
Taking his bed with surfeits; ill beseeming
The ancient honour of his house and name?
And this not all, but that which kills me most.
When he recounts his losses and false fortunes,
The weakness of his state so much dejected,
Not as a man repentant, but half mad
His fortunes cannot answer his expense.
He sits, and sullenly locks up his arms,
Forgett ng Heaven, lioks downward; which makes him
Appear so dreadful that he frights my heart:
xl
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
In 1593, Shakespeare's Tenus and Adonis,
and in 1594, his Rape of Lucrece, issued from
the press, both being dedicated to Henry IVri-
othesly. Earl of Southampton, who on the publi¬
cation of the first poem, liad not attained his
twentieth year. The acquaintance between Shake¬
speare and this amiable and accomplistied noble¬
man, originating probably in tlie fondness of the
latter for theatrical exhibitions,®^ appears to have
ripened quickly into familiar friendship. Rowe®®
tViilks heavily, as if his soul were earth;
Not penitent for those his sins are past.
But vex'J his money cannot make them lasf.
A fearful melancholy, ungodly sorrow! "
Lord Southampton's mother, soon after the death of her
husband, married Sir Thomas Heneage, treasurer of the
chamber, an office, which of course, brought him into con¬
nection with actors and dramatists, and which most probably,
led to tbe young nobleman's acquaintance with Shakespeare.
Throughout life, Southampton retained his love for the drama.
Rowland tVhyte tells Sir Robert Sidney, in a letter dated
1599, " My lord Southampton and lord Rutland came not to
the Court [at Nonesuch]. The one doth but very seldome,
they pass away the Tyme in London merely in yoingto Plaits
euery Day." Sidney Papers, ii. 132. In 1601, Southampton
was induced to join the conspirators at Essex house; and it
is worthy of remark, that, the afternoon preceding the rebel¬
lion, the Play of the deposing Richard II. was played before
them. Southampton died at Bergen-op-Zoom, 1624, in his
fifty-second year.
65 Rowe says " he had been assured that the story was
handed down by Sir William D'Avenant, who was probably
very well acquainted with his [Shakespeare's] affairs." Life
of Shakespecm-e. [Mr. Collier is inclined to believe that Lord
SIEMOIR OF SHAKF.SPEARE.
relates, tliat on one occasion the generous patron
presented the poet with a thousand pound-, that
he might be enabled to complete a j)Uichase
which he wished to make. Such excessive liber¬
ality is perhaps not inconsistent with Southamp¬
ton's sincere regard for Shakespeai-e, and eutliii-
siastic admiration of his genius, yet, when we
consider that the sum in question was equivalent
to five thousand pounds in our own day, w<; may
be allowed to suspect that tradition has consi¬
derably magnified the gift.
But whatever might have been the extent of
Southampton's bounty, to it must the rapid rise
of Shake.speare's fortunes be in great measure
ascribed, and not to any emoluments he could
have derived from the stage either as actor or
author. That in 1596, he possessed a share in the
Blackfriars' Theatre, is ascertained by the very
curious document now to be mentioned. It is an
address from the Lord Chamberlain's players'®
Southampton made Shakespeare tliis large present, to enat)le
him to pay his part of the e.xpense of building a new play¬
house, the Globe Theatre on the Bankside.)
66 "To the right honourable the Lords of her Majesties
most honourable I'rivie Councell.
" The humble petition of Thomas Pope, Richard Burbadge,
.John Hemings, Augustine Phi'.lips, WiUiam Shal-espeare,
William Kempe. William Slve, Xicholas Tooley, and others
servaunts to the Right Honorable the Lord Chamherlaine to
her Majestie.
" Sheweth most humbly, that your Petitioners are owners
xlii JIEMOIR OF SH AKF.SPEAKK
to the Privv Council, entrealin^r that they mi<rht
be permitted to carry on the repairs of, and to
continue their performances in, that house; and it
was drawn up in consequence of a petition from tlie
inhabitants of the Liberty to the same authorities,
prayine- that the players might not be allowed to
complete their work upon the theatre, and that
their farther performances in that quarter might
be prevented. In the enumeration of the principal
actors at the commencement of their address, the
and players of the private house, or theatre, in the precinct
and libertie of the Blackfriers, wliich hath beene for many
yeares used and occupied fpr the playing of tragedies, com-
medies, liistories, enterludes, and playes. That the same, by
reason of its having beene so long built, hath fallen into
great decay, and that besides the reparation thereof, it has
beene found necessarie to make the same more convenient for
the entertainment of auditories coming thereto. That to this
end your Petitioners have all and eche of them put down
sommes of money, according to their shares in the said thea¬
tre, and which they have justly and honestly gained by the
exercise of their qualitie of stage-players; but that certaine
persons, (some of them of honour,) inhabitants of the said
precinct and libertie of the Blackfriers have, as your Peti¬
tioners are infourmed, besought your honourable I.ordshipps
not to permitt the said private house any longer to remaine
open, but hereafter to be shut up and closed, to the manifest
and great injurie of your petitioners, who have no other
meanes whereby to maintain their wives and families, but by
the exesrcise of their qualitie as they have heretofore done.
Furthermore, that in the summer season, your Petitioners are
able to playe at their new built house on the Bankside calde
the Globe, but that in the winter they are compelled to come
to the Blackfriers; and if your honorable Lordshipps give
MF.MOIK OF SIIAKKSPEARF. xlili
name of Shakespeare is the fifh, and from its
position, we may form a conjecture as to the
rank which lie at that time held in the company.
There is reason to believe that this counter-peti¬
tion of the players was s iecessful.
Another proof of Shakespeare's prosperity is
contained in a letter, addressed to him in 1598 by
Richard Quyney, of'Stratford, requesting the loan
of thirty pounds,®' which in those days was no in¬
considerable sum. Of the many epistles which our
consent unto that which is prayde against your Petitioners,
they will not onely, while tlie winter endure-, loose the rneanes
whereby they now support them selves and their fiimilies, but
be unable to practise them selves in anie playes or enter
ludes,,when calde upon to perform for the recreation and
solace of her Ma''"= and her honourable Court, as they have
beene heretofore accustomed. The humble prayer of your
Petitioners therefore is, that your honorable Lordshipps will
grant iiermission to finish the reparations and alterations they
have begun; and as your Petitioners have hitherto been well
ordred in their behaviour, and ju-t in their dealings, tliat your
honourable Lordshipps will not inhibit them from acting in
their above namde private house, in the precinct and libertie
of the Blackfriers, and your Petitioners, as in dutie most
bounden, w.ll ever pray for the increasing honor and happi-
nesse of your honorable Lordshipps."
This valuable document was first given to the public in
Collier's Ilist. of KnylUh Dram. Poet. i. 298, from a copy
preserved in the State Paper Office.
67 " Loving Contryman, I am bolde of 3-0"' as of a frende,
craveing v'o"" helpe w'i> xxx"'. uppon M'. Bn-hell and my
securvtee, or JP. ilvttens with me. JP. Rosswell is not come
to London, as yeate, & I have especiall c.aw.e. Yo" shall
frende me muche in helpeing me out of all the debeits 1 owe
xliv
MKMOIK OK SlIAKKSl'KAKE.
poet must liavu recci\ e(l this alone remains ; and
it was undoubtedly written by the father of the
Thomas Quyney, who was afterwards the husband
of Shakespeare's youngest daughter. The appli¬
cant, as its style plainly shows, entertained no
dread of a denial.
Though his occupation obliged him to reside
almost constantly in the metropolis, Shakespeare
in London, I thanck god, and muche quiet to my mynde
wolde not be indebited. I am now towards the Cowite in
hojie y answer for the dlspatche of my Buysenes. Yo"' shall
nether loose creddytt nor monney by me, the Lorde willinge;
& nowe butt pswade yo"' selfe soe as I hope & yo" shall
nott need to feare but with ail hurtle thanckfullnes I wj-11
holde my tyme & content yo"' frend, & yf we Bargaine
farther, yo™ shall be the paie m" yo'" selfe. Jly tyme bidds
me to hasten to an ende, & soe I comitt thys [to] yo"' care
& hope of yo«" helpe. I feare I shall nott be backe this
night from the Cowrte. haste, the Lorde oe w"" yo" & w'^
us all. amen. From the Bell in Carter Lane tne 26 October
1598.
Yowra in a]] kyndenes,
" To my Loveing good frend Rye. Quyney.
& contryman, JIc W"".
Shackesp'e thees." — [Collier's Life of Shaheyieare, p.
clxxxii.j
The following extracts from letters, written about the same
time, by Abraham Sturley, of Stratford, to Mr. Richard
Quyney. then in London, also show the flourishing circum¬
stances and the influence of Shakespeare:
" This is one speciall remembrance, from u' fathrs mo¬
tion. It seemeth hi him that o' countriman Mr. Shaksp'e is
willing to disburse some monej upon some od yardeland or
other att Shottrj or neare about us. he thinketh it a very fitt
patterne to move him to deale in the matter of o' Tithes. Bj
MEMOIK OF SHAKESPEARE. xlv
appears to have retained a love for his hirtliplace,
and to have regarded it as the spot wiiere, having
filially withdrawn from the noise of theatres, li<-
was to pass in tranquillity the evening of his lil'e.
It has been said—and why should we discredit the
tradition?—that lie was in the habit of annually®'
visiting Stratford, from which his familj' never
removed; and we may conclude that he was pre-
the instructions n can peve him theareof, & bj the frendes
he can make therefore, we thinke it a fairs marke for him to
shoote at, & not unpossible to hitt. It obteined would ad¬
vance him in deede, & would do us much good."
" Y' I'er of the 21 of octobr came to mj handes the laste
of the same at night p' Grenwai, w® imported a stnj of suites
bj Sr E"! G' [Edward Grevill's] advise, until &c'. & y' only
u should follow on for tax & sub. p'ntlv and allso u' travell
& binderance of answere therein, bj u' longe ti-avell & thaf-
faires of the Courte; And that o' countrima M'. \V. Shak.
[Shakespeare] would p'cure us monej, w' I will like of, as I
shall hears when, & wheare, & howe, and I praj let not go
that occasion, if it maj sorte to anj indifferent condicions."
Ap. to Malone's Lift of Shakespeare, pp. 566, 569. (,Shak. by
Boswell, ii )
68 '■ He was wont to go to his native country once a ycare."
MSS. Aubrey, Mus. Ashmot. Oxon. According to the same
authority: " The humour of the constable in A Midsummer
yight Dreame, be happened to take at Crendon, in Bucks,
(1 think it was Mid.summer night that he happened to be
there,) which is the road from London to Stratford; and
there was living that constable, about 1642, when I came
first to Oxon. Mr. los. Stowe w of the parish, and knew
him. Ben .Tonson and he did gather humours of men wher¬
ever they came." Aubrey here makes a slight mistake—in¬
stead of A Midsummer Si'jhi's Dream he should have written
Mm h ado about Notiiiva.
xlvi MKMOIR OF SHAKKSPKARE.
sent at the burial of his only son Hamnet in 1 oDG,
and at the marriage of his eldest daughter, Su¬
sanna, who, in 1G07, became the wife of John
Hall, a physician of eminence. The year 1.VJ7
has been assigned as the date when he bought
one of the best houses in Stratford, called New
Place,®® which he repaired and improved. I am
inclined, however, to believe with Mr. Collier,
that this purchase was made at a somewhat later
period.* In 1602 he gave £320 for one hundred
and seven acres of land, which he attached to this
property.®®
Elizabeth was fond of the drama, and justly
appreciated and encouraged the poet, who was
the brightest ornament of her reign. AVe are
told®^ that she showed hira "many marks of her
favour;" and that the Merry IHres of Windsor
69 It was called New Place as early as 1565. See Ma-
lone's Life of Shakespeare, p. 520 {Skak. by Boswell, ii.)
. .* [From a document dated 4 February 1597-8, it appears
that Shakespeare was living at that time in Chapel Street
■Ward where New Place w!>s situated It may therefore be
considered as made out that New Place was acquired by the
poet as early as 1597. Collier's Life, p. clxiv. and clxxxi.)
69 It may be mentioned here, that in 1605 he purchased,
for £440, the lease of a moiety of the great and small tithes
of Stratford, and in 1613 a house m Blackfriars, near the
Wardrobe, for £140.
61 By Rowe—Dennis, however, was the first who gave to the
public the anecdote concerning the .l/o-ry UVcrs of Windsor,
in the Epistle Dedicatory to his alteration of that play, entitled.
The Comical Gallant, 1702: "This comedy," says he, "was
MEMOIR OF SnAKESFEARE. xlvii
was written by the command of lier ma jcst}-, who
had been so delighted with Falstaff in the two
parts of Henry the Fourth, that she desired to
see the portly knight in the character of a lover.
The most enchanting compliment ever paid by
genius to royal vanit}', is the allusion to the Virgin
Queen in A Midsummer NiyhCs Dream; and it
forms a striking contrast to the gross and vulgar
flatteiw with which other contemporary dramatists
endeavoured to soothe her car:
" That very time 1 saw (but thou could'st not)
I' lying between the cold moon and the earth,
Cupid all arm'd: a certain aim he took
At a fair vestal, throned by the west;
And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow.
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts;
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon;
And the imperial vot'ress passed on.
In maiden tneditation, fancy free." Act ii. sc, 2.
The Passionate Pilgrim appeared in 1599, with
Shakespeare's name on the title-page, containing
some pieces, which are known not to be his, and
others, which it would he difficult to believe that
he composed.
In King James, who was attached to literature in
all its departments, and whose talents, as a writer,
written at her command, and by her direction, and she was
so eager to see it acted, that she commanded it t" be finished
in fourteen days; and was afterw.ards, as tradition tells us,
very well pleased at the representation."
xlviii
MKMOIR OF SIIAKESPF,ARE.
are perhaps too iniich undervalued, the drama
found a kind and liberal patron. But a few days
after his arrival in London, in 1(103, he granted to
" Lawrence Fletcher, AVilliam Shakespeare, and
others," the license subjoined in the note.®^ Our
poet and hi.s associates were then at the head of
the Lord Chamberlain's company, performing at
the Globe in summer, and at the Blackfriars in
winter; for though the former theatre only is no¬
ticed in the instrument, it has been shown (p. xli.)
62 " BY THE KING.
Riglit trusty and welbeloved Counsellor, we greete you
well & will and commaund you, that under our privie, Seale
in your custody for the time being, you cause our letters to
be derected to the keeper of our greate seale of England, com-
rnaundinghim under our said greate Seale, he cause our letters
to be made patents in forme following. James, by the grace
of God, King of England, Scotland, Fraunce, and Irland,
defendor of the faith, &c. To all Justices, Maiors, Sheriffs,
Constables, Headboroughes, and other our officers and loving
subjects greeting Know ye, that we of our speciall gi'ace,
certaine knowledge, and meere motion have licensed & au¬
thorized, and by these presentes doe licence & authorize,
these our servants, Lawrence Fletcher, William Shakespeare,
Richard Burbage, Augustine Phillippes, John Hemmings,
Henrie Condell, William Sly, Robert Annyn, Richard Cow-
Ive, and the rest of their associats, freely to use exercise
the arte and faculty of playing Comedies, Tragedies, His¬
tories, Enteriudes, Moralls, Pastoralls, Stage plaies, and sucli
other like, as thei have already studied, or hereafter shall use
or studie, as, well for'the recreation of our 1 iving .-ulijects, as
for our solace and plea-ui f, when we shall thinke good to see
them, during our plea-ure. And the said Comedies, Tra¬
gedies, Hi-tories, Enterlmle-, Moralb, Pa-toralls, Stage plaies,
and such like, to shew & cxerci.-e publiquely to their best
MEMOIR OF SHAKESrEAEE. xlix
that Shakespeare and others were employed as
early as 15!)6 on the repairs of the Blaekfriars.
By virtue of this grant they ceased to be the Lord
Chamberlain's company, and were henceforth de¬
signated as the King's Players. It should be ob¬
served that the name of Shakespeare, which stood
fifth in the actors' petition to the Privy Council
in 1596, is here placed second; such importance
had he acquired in the interval.
The good-natured James is said to have written
commoditie, when the infection of the plague shall decrease,
as well within theire now usuall howse called the Globe,
within our county of SuiTcy, as also within anie towne halls,
or mout halls, or other convenient places within the liberties
& freedome of anie other citie, universitie, towne, or borough
whatsoever within our said realmes and dominions. Willing
and commaunding you, and every of you, as you tender our
•pleasure, not only to permit and suffer them heerin, without
any your letts, hinderances or molestations, during our said
pleasure, but also to be ayding or assisting to them yf any
wrong be to them offered. And to allowe them such former
courtesies, as hathe bene given to men of their placet and
qualitie: and also what further favour you shall shew to these
our servants for our sake, we shall t.ake kindly at your hands.
And these our letters shall be your sufficient warrant and
discharge in tbis behalfe. Given under our Signet at our
man nor of Greenewiche, the seavententh day of May in the
first yeere of our raigne of England, France, & Ireland, & of
Scotland the six & thirtieth. Ex. per Lake."
The above document is a copy of the Privy Seal, preserved
in the Chapter House, Westminster, and printed in Collier's
Hist, of £nglish Dram. Poet. i. S48. The Patent under the
Great Seal, in Rymer's Fcedera, bears date, two days later,
from Westminster.
D
1
MEMOIR OF SriAKESl'EARF,.
with his own hand " an amicable letter" to our
poet;®^ perhaps, as Farmer conjectures, in con¬
sequence of the compliment to the Stuart family
in the tragedy of Macbeth.^
Shakespeare's place of abode in London, be¬
fore 1596, has not been traced; but in that year
he seems to have lived in Southwark, near the
Bear-Garden, and probably, did not change his
residence till he finally quitted the metropolis.®®
63 " That most learned prince, and great patron of learn¬
ing, King James the First, was pleased with his own hand to
write an amicable letter to Mr Shakespeare; which letter,
though now lost, remained long in the hands of Sir William
D'Avenant, as a credible person, now living, can testify."
Advertisement to Lintot's ed. of Shakespeare's Poems. Oldys,
in a MS. note on his copy of Fuller's Worthies, says, that
"the story came from the Duke of Buckingham, [Sheffield]
who had it from Sir William D'Avenant." The late Jlr.
Boswell {Shakespeare, ii. 481) possessed a vol. of JIS. poems
in a hand-writing of about the time of the restoration, in which
were these lines:
SHAKESPEARE ETON THE KING.
'• Crownes have their compasse, length of days their date,
Triumphes their tombs, felicity her fate;
Of more then earth cann earth make none partaker,
But knowledge makes the king most like his maker."
C't " And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass,
M'hich shows me many more; and some I see.
That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry;
HoiTible sight! Now I see 'tis true;
For the blood bolter'd Banqtw smiles upon me.
And points at them for his." Act iv. sc. 1.
65 '• From a paper now before me, which formerly be¬
longed to Edward Alleyn, the player, our poet [Shakespeare]
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
li
Besides the patronage of the munificent South¬
ampton, that of the Earls of Pembroke and Mont¬
gomery appears to have been extended to
Shakespeare. Of his intimacies with those in
his own rank of life, we knew but little. His
fellow-players, Heminges, Burbage, Condell, and
Phillips,®' possessed a portion of his esteem.
With Beaumont and Fletcher®® he was on very
friendly terms. That a sincere regard subsisted
appears to have lived in Southwark, near the Bear-garden, in
1596. Another curious document in my possession
affords the strongest presumptive evidence that he continued
to reside in Southwark to the year 1608 nor is there
any ground for supposing that he ceased to reside there, till
he quitted the stage entirely; for he did not purchase the
tenement in the Blackfriars, till March 10, 1612-13 (about
■which time he probably retired to Stratford;) and soon after
he got possession of it, he appears to have made a lease of it
for a term of years to one John Robinson, who is mentioned in
his Will three years afterwards as the tenant in possession."
Malone's Inquiry into the Authenticity of Certain Papers, &c.,
p. 215. In his Life of Shake^eare, which JIalone did not
live to complete, no mention is made of these valuable docu¬
ments.
66 See the Players' Dedication of the first folio, 1623; but
what degree of patronage these two noblemen showed to
Shakespeare we are ignorant.
6" See the Wills of Shakespeare and Phillips.
68 The title-page of the first edition of Fletcher's Pro
Noble Kinsmen attributes the play partly to Shakespeare; I
do not think our poet had any share in its composition: but
I must add, that Mr. C. Lamb (a great authority in such
matters) inclines to a different opinion. [Mr. Byce has altered
his opinion since he wrote this note. See his Beaumontund '
Fletcher, p. Ixxxii. of the Memoir.]
lii
memoir of shakespeare.
between liim and Ben Jonson, will never again
be doubted, after the masterly Memoir of the
latter from 3Ir. Gilford's trenchant pen.®® It is
indeed surprising, that the foul calumny of Jon-
son's enmity towards Shakespeare should not have
met with an earlier refutation, especially as Ben's
writings exhibit the most unequivocal testimonies
of his affection and admiration for our poet. A
warmer or more beautiful eulogy than his verses
To the Memory of my beloved, the author,
Mr. William Shakespeare, was never dictated
by friendship; and one of the latest of his many
labours, contains these words concerning him,
"/foi-erf the man, and do honour his memory on
this side idolatry, as much as any." The com¬
es It is but fair to mention that Octavius Gilchrist's F.x-
amination of ihe Oiargts maintained by Messrs. Malone,
Chalmers, and others, of Ben Jonson's enmity, iff., tovmds
Shakespeare, was published a few yeai-s before Mr. Gilford's
ed. of Jonson's Hbris.
"> The entire passage concerning Shakespeare in the Dis¬
coveries, is too interesting to be omitted. " I remember, the
players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare,
that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never blotted
out a line. My answer hath been. Would he had blotted a
thousand. Which they thought a malevolent speech. I had
not told posterity this, but for their ignorance, who chose that
circumstance to commend their friend by, wherein he most
faulted; and to justify mine own candour; for I loved the
man, and do honour his memory, on this side idolatry, as
much as any.* He was (indeed) hone-t, and of an open
and free nature; had an excellent phantasy, brave notions,
and gentle expressions; wherein he flowed with that facility.
MKMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
liii
mencement of their acquaintance, according to
Rowe, was this: "Mr. Jonson, who was at that
time altogether unknown to the world, had offered
one of his plays to the players, in order to have
it acted; and the persons into whose hands it
WHS put, after having turned it carelessh' and
superciliously over, were just upon returning it
to him with an ill-natured answer, that it would
be of no service to their company; when Shake¬
speare luckily cast his eye upon it, and found
something so well in it, as to engage him first to
read it through; and afterwards to recommend
Mr. Jonson and his writings to the public."
that sometimes it was necessary he should be stopped:
Suffiaminandus erat, as Augustus said of Haterius. Hi- wit
was in his own power, would the rule of it had been so too.
JIany times he fell into those things could not escape laugh¬
ter: as when he said in the person of Csesar, one speaking
to him, 'Caesar, thou dost me wrong.' He replied, 'Caesar
did never wrong, but with just cause,' and such l.ke; which
were ridiculous. But he redeemed his vices with his virtues.
There was ever more in him to be praised than to be par¬
doned." Disccrceries—Works, ed. Gifford, ix. 1T5. Tyrwhitt
supposes, that the passage in Shakespeare's Julius Ccesar, act
iii. sc. 1.
" Know, Caesar doth not wrong; nor without cause
Will he be satisfied,"
stood originally,
" Know, Caesar doth not wrong, but with just cause.
Nor without cause will he be s:itisfied;"
and that it was afterw.ards altered, in consequence of .lo ison's
criticisms at one of the earliest representations of the play.
Lift, of Shakcsjieare.
liv
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
Shakespeare's commentators have chosen to snp-
jiose that the piece here alluded to was Every Man
in his Humour, but it can be proved, that when
that drama was produced, Jonson was as well
known to the world as Shakespeare,* and that it
was performed at a theatre with which the latter
had no connection. Mr. GiflFord, therefore, treats
the story as " an arrant fable." I am willing,
however, to believe, that the friendship of these
great men originated in an act of kindness on the
part of Shakespeare, and that, though the above
anecdote may be in some respects erroneous, it is
yet an adumbration of the truth. If this were the
place for such discussions, I could show, fiom
authentic documents, that a certain ludicrous tale
concerning Jonson, which Mr. Gifford rejected
with scorn, is fully entitled to belief.
Private dwellings in those days did not present
the accommodations and comforts which they now
afford; and conviviality was confined almost en¬
tirely to taverns and ordinaries. At the Mer-
" [Gifi'ord assumed that the comedy of the "Umers," which
was ai tcd in 1597, at the Rose theatre, was Ben Jonson's play
of Every Man in his Humour. This play, however, Jonson
expressly states was not acted until 1598. As for Jonson's
being as well known as Shakespeare, it must be borne in
mind that in 1598, Shakespeare had been twelve years con¬
nected with the stage, and had written at least as many
dramas, while Jonson, who was, by the way, ten years Shake¬
speare's junior, had produced only one play, and was de-
S' r'.bed by Henslowe as " Benjamin Jonson, bricklayer."]
See Collier's Z,'/r, p. clxviii.
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE. Iv
maid in Friday Street, Sir Walter Raleigh had
instituted a club, which included among its mem¬
bers, Shakespeare, Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher,
Selden, Donne, and others eminent for genius
and learning. There, probably, it was, that Shake¬
speare and Jonson delighted their associates with
those brilliant and good-humoured repartees, of
which no memorial now remains, except in Ful¬
ler's honest page. " Many," says that worthy
man, " were the wit-combates betwixt him and
Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanish
great Gallion, and an English Man-of-War;
Master Jonson (like the former) was built far
higher in learning, solid but slow in his perform¬
ances ; Shakespeare with the English man of
war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could
turn with all tides, tack about and take advantage
of all winds, by the quickness of his wit and in¬
vention."
'2 Fuller's Worthies, fbl. p. 126, A a a.
The following specimens of our poet's wit are poor enough.
" Shakespeare was godfather to one of Ben Jonson's child¬
ren, and after the christning being in a deepe study, Jonson
came to cheere him up, and askt him why he was so meian-
ciioiy? 'No faith, Ben (sayes he,) not 1, but I have been
considering a great while what should be the fittest gift for
me to bestow upon my God-child, and I have resolved at last;
I pry'the what, saves heV' I faith, Ben, He e'en give him a
dozen good Lattin spoones, and thou shalt translate them."
From a Collection of Merry Passages and .leasts, by L'Es-
trauge, (Sir Roger's nephew,) Harlelmt AfSS, 6395.—Latlen
is a mixed kind of metal; lexicographers have variously ex-
Ivi
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
The Sonnets of Shakespeare, some of whicli
had been composed as early as the year 1598,'®
plained its composition. It is now generaiiy said to have been
brass, which I doubt: Brathwaite has the foliowing iine,
" Of lattin siiver make, and goid of brasse."
Ttie Honest Ghost, 1658, p. 124.
" Verses by Ben Jonson and Shakespeare, occasioned by
the motto to the Giobe theatre,—
Totus mundus agit histrionem.
JONSON.
" If, but stage actors, aii the worid displays.
Where shall we find speitatoi-s of their plays ?
SHAKESPEAKE.
" Little, or much, of what we see, we do;
We are all both actors and spectators too."
Poetical Characteristicks, Svo MS. rot. I. fqj-merly in the Har-
leian Library.
"llr. Ben Jonson and Mr. Wm. Shakespeare being merrie
at a tavern, Mr. Jonson begins this for his epitaph.
Here lies Ben Jonson,
Who was once one—
he gives it to Mr. Shakespeare to make up, who presently
wntte.
That, while he liv'd, was a shw thing.
And now, being dead, is Tio-thing."
Ashmole MSS. 38.
The letter from Peele to Marlowe, concerning Sliakespeare
and Jonson, which has been given m several publications, is
undoubtedly a forgery: see my Life of Peele, p. hi. prefixed
to his Works, sec. ed. 1829.
My friend, Mr. Collier, in his excellent Hist, of English
Dram. Poet. hi. 276, committed a slight oversight in printing,
as Shakespeare's, four lines concerning the wine at the Mitre,
which he found attributed to our author in a MS. Collection of
Poems; they are merely four verses of Ben Jonson's ci" Epi¬
gram, a little altered.
73 " As the souls of Euphorbus," says Meres, •' was thought
JIF.MOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
Ivii
were first printed in 1609. Concerning these ex¬
quisite productions I shall have more to say here¬
after. A beautiful piece, called The Lover^s Com¬
plaint, was appended to them.
Before noticing the final retirement of Shake¬
speare from the metropolis, let us inquire what
were his merits as an actor, and what were the
characters he performed. Idis contemporary Chet-
tle (in a passage already quoted, p. xxxvii.) terms
him "excellent in the qualitie he professes;" and
though the Preface in which the words occur was
intended to be apologetical to Shakespeare, yet
Chettle would hardly have ventured to use so
strong an epithet as excellent, unless our author's
histrionic powers had been of a superior order.
Aubrey, too, had been informed that he " did act
exceedingly well." Other testimonies are some¬
what at variance with these. Wright had heard
that Shakespeare " was a much better poet than
player:" and Rowe tells us, that soon after his
admission into the company, he became distin¬
guished, "if not as an extraordinary actor, yet as
an excellent writer."Perhaps his execution did
to live in Pythagoras, so the sweete wittie soule of Ovid lives
in mellifluous and honeyrtongued Shakespeare, witnes his
Venus and Adonis, his Lucrece, his sugred Sonnets among his
private friends, &o." Palladis Tamia, WiVs Treasury,
fol. 281.
H 3ISS. Avhrey. Mas. Askmol. Oxon.
"5 Ihsioria Histrionicn, a tract printed in 1699.
16 Life of Shakespeare.
Iviii MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
not equal his conception of a character; but we
may rest assured, that he who wrote the incom¬
parable instructions to the player in Hamlet,
would never offend his audience by an injudicious
performance. In Emery Man in Ms Humour,
pi'oduced with alterations at the Blackfriars in
1598," and in Sejanus, brought out in 1603,
Shakespeare had a part; but from the arrange¬
ment of the list of performers, which Jonson ap¬
pended to those dramas in the folio of 1616, it is
impossible to determine what were the characters
he played. Rowe could only learn that " the top
of his performance was the Ghost in his own Ham¬
let." According to a tradition, which Malone
disbelieved, but did not confute, he used to per¬
sonate Adam in As you Like itP
Dr. Drake (Shakespeare and his Times, i. 424,) says that
Erery Man in his Humour was "first acted in 1598;" but it
was played at the Rose either in 1595 or 1596. [Ben Jonson
himself says " this comedy was first acted in the year 1598."]
'8 Life of Shakespeare.
'9 " One of Shakespeare's younger brothers [Gilbert, pro¬
bably, see p. xiii,] who lived to a good old age, even some
years, as I compute, after the restoration of King Charles the
Second, would in his younger days come to London to visit
his brother Will, as he called him, and be a spectator of him
as an actor in some of his own plays. This custom, as his
brother's fame enlarged, and his dramatic entertainments
grew the greatest support of our principal, if not of all our
theatres, he continued, it seems, so long after his brother's
death, as eveii to the latter end of his own life. The curiosity
at this time of the most noted actors to learn something from
him of his brother, &c., they justly held him in the highest
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE. lix
It is probable that Shakespeare soon conceived
a distaste for the profession of a player, and re¬
garded himself as degraded by beirjg obliged to
tread the boards. In his cx"* and cxi''' Sonnets
(which have evidently a personal application to
the poet) he expresses a regret that he had
" made himself a motley to the view,"
and bids his friend upbraid Fortune,
" That did not better for his life provide
Than public means, which public manners breeds."
We have seen that Shakespeare first quitted
Stratford a needy and undistinguished fugitive,
and we now behold him returning thither, to pass
his remaining years, in possession of a com¬
petency adequate to his unambitious views of
veneration. And it may be well believed, as there was be¬
sides a kinsman and descendant of the family, who was then
a celebrated actor among them, [Charles Hart, see p. Ixvii.]
this opportunity made them greedily inquisitive into every
little circumstance, more especially in his dramatic character,
which his brother could relate of him. But he, it seems, was
so stricken in years, and possibly his memory so weakened
with infirmities, (which might make hira the easier pass for
a man of weak intellects,) that he could give them but little
light into their inquiries; and all that could be recollected
from hira of his brother Will in that station was, the faint,
gener.al, and almost lost ideas he had of having once seen
him act a part in one of his own comedies, wherein being
to personate a decrepit old man, he wore a long beard,
and appeared .so weak and drooping, and unable to walk,
that he was forced to be supported and carried by another
person to a table, at which he was seated among some
company, who were eating, and one of them sung a song."
Oldys's MSS.
Ix MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
happiness, M'hile the applause of all that was
most noble and talented among his countrymen
crowned his immortal labours. To the time when
he finally established himself at New Place (the
purchase of which has been already noticed) we
cannot well assign a later date than 1613. How
he occupied himself in this dignified retirement,
no account has reached us; but the truth of
Rowe's assertion is' not to be doubted, that " his
pleasurable wit and good-nature engaged him in
the acquaintance, and entitled him to the friend¬
ship of the gentlemen of the neighbourhood."*
An anecdote which appears to refer to this period
of the poet's life, is related by the same bio¬
grapher. " It is a story almost still remembered
in that country, that he had a particular intimacy
with Mr. Combe, an old gentleman noted there¬
abouts for his wealth and usury. It happened
that in a pleasant conversation amongst their
common friends, Mr. Combe told Shakespeare in
a laughing manner, that he fancied he intended
to write his epitaph, if he happened to outlive
him ; and since he could not know what might be
said of him when he was dead, he desired it might
be done immediately; upon which Shakespeare
gave him these four verses:
Ten in the hundred lies here engrav'd;
'Tis a hundred to ten his soul is not sav'd:
If any man ask. Who lies in this tomb ?
Ho! ho! quoth the Devil, tis my Johu a Combe."
Life of Shakespeare,
MEMOIK OF SHAKESPEAUE.
Ixi
But the sharpness of the satire is said to have
stung the man so severely, that he never forgave
it." The story is evidently a fabrication ; we
find that Combe left a legacy of five pounds to
Shakespeare as a mark of esteem, and that our
8" Life of Shakespeare.—Aubrey gives a different version
of the epitaph, and says it was written after Combe's death.
MSS. Mus. Ashmol. Ozon. In all probability Brathwaite was
its author. The verses occur in a variety of shapes in our
old Jliscellanies. See BoswelTs note on Malone's Life of
Shakespeare, {Shak. ii. 500.)
The next piece of trash is scarcely worth transcription.
As Shakespeare was one day leaning over a mercer's door,
in his native town, a drunken blacksmith with a carbuncled
face accosted him thus:
" Now, Mr. Shakespeare, tell me, if you can.
The difference between a youth and a young man: "
Our poet immediately answered,
" Thou son of fire, with thy face like a maple.
The same difference as between a scalded and a coddled
apple."
" This anecdote," says Malone, " was related near fifty
years ago to a gentleman at Stratford, by a person then
above eighty years of age, whose father might have been
contemporary with Shakespeare " Hist. Acc. of English
Stage, 133. {Shak. by Boswell, iii.)
In a JIS. vol. of Poems, by Herrick and others, among
Rawlinson's Collections in the Bodleian Library, Oxford, is
the following
EPITAPH.
" When God was pleas'd, the world unwilling yet,
Elias James to nature payd his debt.
And here reposeth: as he liv'd, he dyde;
The saying in him strongly verefide,—
Ixii MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
poet bequeathed his sword to Mr. Thomas Combe,
the nephew of the money-lender.
On the 10th of February, 1616, his youngest
daughter, Judith, was married to Thomas Quyney,
a vintner at Stratford. On the 25th of the fol-
Such life, such death: then, the known truth to tell,
He liv'd a godly life, and dyde as well.
Wm. Shakspeare."
A monumental inscription, said to be written by our au¬
thor, is preserved in a collection of Epitaphs at the end of the
Visitation of Salop, taken by Sir William Dugdale in 1664,
now remaining in the College of Arms, C. 35. fol. 20. Sir
William thus describes a monument in Tongue church,
erected in memory of Sir Thomas Stanley, Knight, who died
probably about 1600: "On the north side of the chancel
stands a very statelie tombe, supported with Corinthian co-
lumnes. It hath two figures of men in armour, thereon lyinc.
the one below the arches and columnes, and the other above
them, and this epitaph upon it:
"Thomas Stanley, Knight, second son of Edward, Earle
of Derby, Lord Stanley and Strange, descended from the
famielie of the Stanleys, married Margaret Vernon, one of
the daughters and coheires of Sir George Vernon of Nether-
Haddon, in the county of Derby, Knight, by whom he had
issue two sons, Henry and Edward. Henrj- died an infant;
Edward survived, to whom those lordships descended: and
married the lady Lucie Percie, second daughter of the Earle
of Northumberland; by her he had issue seaven daughters.
She and her foure daughters, Arabella, Marie, Alice, and
Prlscilla, are interred under a-monument in the church of
Waltham, in the county of Essex. Thomas, her son, died in
his infancy, and is buried in the parish church of Winwich,
in the county of Lancaster. The other three, Petronilla,
Frances, and Venesi::, are yet living.
JIF.MOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
Ixiii
lowing iMarcli,^' her father made his will "in
perfect health and memory;"but his existence
was drawing to a close; for he died on the 23rd
of the ensuing April, the anniversary of his birth,
having exactly completed his fifty-second year.
Concerning the nature of the disease which
removed this mighty spirit from the earth, no
record exists ; even tradition is silent. His son-
in-law,®^ Dr. Hall, who most probably attended
him during his illness, left a note-book contain-
" These following verges were made by William Shakespeare,
the late famous tragedian:
Written upon the east end of this tombe.
" Aske who lye? here, but do not weepe;
He is not dead, he doth but sleepe.
This stony register is for his hones,
His fame is more perpetual than these stones:
And his own goodness, with himself being gone.
Shall live, when earthly monument is none."
Written upon the west end thereof,
" Xot monumerital stone preserves our fame.
Nor skye-aspiring pyramids our name.
The memory of him'for whom this stands.
Shall outlive marble, and defacers' hands.
When all to time's consumption shall be given,
Stanley, for whom this stands, shall stand in heaven."
This epitaph (as llalone observes) must have been com¬
posed after 1600, as Venetia Stanley, afterwards wife of Sir
Kenelm Digby, was born in that year.
81 It appears to have been drawn up on the 25th of [Janu¬
ary,] though not executed till the 25th of March. See note on
the Will, Appendix ii.
82 See p. xlvi. He was married to Susanna Shakespeare,
5th June, 1607.
Ixiv MKMOIR of SHAKESPEARE.
in;T cases of various patients ; but it unfortunately
affords no information on the interesting subject
of Siiakespeare's death, none of the memoranda
being dated earlier than 1617.
His body was interred on the 25th of April, on
the north side of the chancel of the great church,
at Stratford. On his grave-stone is this inscription:
" Good Frend for lesns SAKE forbeare
To dice T-E Dnst EncloAsed HERe
Blese be T-E Man y spares T-Es Stones
And curst be He y moves my Bones."
A monument was subsequently erected there to
his memory, at what time is not known, but cer¬
tainly before 1623, as it is mentioned in the
verses by Leonard Digges, prefixed to the folio
of Shakespeare's Dramatic Works published in
that year. It represents him seated under an
arch, with a cushion spread before him, his right
hand holding a pen, his left resting on a scroll of
paper. Immediately below the cushion is the
following distich:
"Judicio Pylivm, genio84 Socratem, arte Maronem,
Terra tegit, popvlvs maeret, Olympvs habet."
88 The bust is as large as life, and was originally painted
over in imitation of nature: the eyes were light hazel; the
hair and beard auburn; the doublet, or coat, scarlet; the
loose gown, or tabard, without sleeves, black; the upper
part of the cushion gi-een, the under h.alf crimson; and the
tassels gilt. Its colours were renewed in 1748; but Malone
caused it to be covered over with one or more coats of white
paint in 1793.
84 As the first syllable in " Socratem " is here made short,
MEMOIR OF SnAKESPEARE. IxV
On a tablet underneath the cushion are these
lines :
" Stay, passenger, why goest thov so fast,
Read, if thov canst, wliom envious death hath plast
IVithin this monument, Shakspeare; with whome
Quick natvre dide, whose name doth deck ys tomb
Fur more than cost; sieth all yt he hath writt
Leaues living art bvt page to senie his witt.
Obiit All" Doi 1616. Jltatis 53. Die 23 Ap."
The will of Shakespeare is given in an Ap¬
pendix to this Memoir. His estate was valued by
Gildon at £300 a year, which was equal to at least
£1000 in the present time : but i\Ialone doubts if
all his property was worth more than £200 per
annum, which yet was a considerable sum in those
days.
A legacy of his " second-best bed,®® with the
furniture," expressed by an interlineation in his
(doubtless from the vTiter's slight knowledge of quantity)
Steevens would read " Sophoclem."
85 I shall not withhold from the reader the late Mr. Bos-
well's observations on this bequest. "The total omission of
his wife's name by Shakespeare in the first draft of his will,
and the very moderate legacy he afterwards inserted, has
created a suspicion that his affections were estranged from
her either through jealousy or some other cause. But if we
may suppose that some provision had been made for her
during his life time, the bequest of his second-best bed was
probably considered in those days neither as uncommon nor
reproachful. Sir Thomas Lucy, the younger, by his will in
1600, of which I find an account among Mr. M.alone's Ad¬
versaria, leaves to his second son, Richard, his second-best
hwse, but no land, because his father-in-law had promised
E
Ixvi MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
will, was all that Shakespeare left to his wife ! *
Having survived her illustrious husband several
years, she died on the 6th of August, 1623.
The death of his only son Hamnet, (buried
llth of August, 1596,) has been before noticed.
To his eldest daughter, Susanna, and her hus¬
band, Dr. Ilall, the poet bequeathed the bulk of
his pi'operty. Mrs. Hall expired on the llth of
July, 1649, distinguished for her merital endow¬
ments and Christian benevolence.®® She left only
to provide for him. Shakespeare's not recollecting at first to
mention her name at all, will he no great subject of surprise,
when we recollect the remarkable instances of forgetful-
ness which perpetually occur in documents of this nature.
He had forgotten also at first, his fellows, Heminge, Burbage,
and Condell, upon whom he certainly did not intend to fix a
stigma. If he had taken offence at any part of his wife's
conduct, I cannot believe that he would have taken this petty
mode of expressing it." Shak. ii. 609.
• [This gross mistake was first corrected by Mr. Knight.
" Shakspere knew the law of England better than his legal
commentators. His estates, with the exception of a copyhold
tenement expressly mentioned in his will, were freehold. His
wife was entitled to dower. She was provided for amply by the
clear and undeniable cperntioii of the English law. Postscript
to Twelfth Night Pictmial Shakspej'e.
8® The inscription on her tomb, preserved by Dugdale, was
this;
" Witty above her sexe, but that's not all,
Wise to salvation was good Mistress Hall,
Something of Shakespeare was in that, but this
Wholy of him with whom she's now in blisse.
Then, passenger, hast ne're a teare.
To weep with her that wept with all:
MlCMOm OF SHAKESI'EAKE.
•Ixvii
one child, Elizabeth, who married first, Thomas
Nash, a country gentleman, and afterwards Sir
John Barnard, knight, of Abington, near North¬
ampton, and deceased without offspring.
Judith, his youngest daughter, bore three sons
to her husband Thomas Quyney, namely, Shake¬
speare, who was cut off in infancy, and Richard
and Thomas, who died, the former, in his 21 st,
the latter in his 19th year, both unmarried; their
mother was buried on the 9th of Februarj%
16G2.
Charles Hart, who at an early age fought in
the battle of Edge-Hill, as lieutenant, in Prince
Rupert's regiment, and afterwards became a very
celebrated tragic actor, is believed to have been
the grandson of Shakespeare's sister Joan, the wife
of William Hart, a hatter in Stratford. An old
woman,®'' who within the last few years obtained
a subsistence by showing to strangers the house
in which Shakespeare is said to have been born.
That wept, yet set her selfe to chere
Them up with comforts cordiall.
Her love shall live, her mercy spread.
When thou hast ne're a teare to shed."
8' Mary Hornby, whose maiden name was Hart. In 1820,
after favouring me with some remarks on Shakespeare's
dramas, she said, " I writes plays, sir:" she then told me,
that she had published by subscription, a tragedy called The
Battle of Waterloo, and showed me the MS. of another which
she had composed, The Broken Vow, founded on a circumstance
that happened to one of her relations.
]x\ iii
MlillOIR OF SII.VKCSPEARF,.
used to assert that she was the sole surviving
representative of the family of the Harts.
New Place, the abode of the poet's later years,
had been originally built by Sir Hugh Clopton, in
the reign of Henry the Seventh. On Shake¬
speare's death it came to Mrs. Hall, and on her
decease, to her only child, Elizabeth Nash, after¬
wards Lady Barnard. In this mansion, while it
was in the possession of Mr. and Mrs. Nash,
Queen Henrietta Maria held her court for about
three weeks in 1643. It had reverted to the pos¬
session of the Clopton family in 1742, when Gar-
rick, Macklin, and Dr. Delany, were hospitably
entertained under Shakespeare's mulberry-tree,
by Sir Hugh Clopton. The constant tradition of
Stratford declared that this celebrated tree was
planted in the garden by the poet's hand ;—jiro-
bably in 1609, as during that year an immense
number of young mulberry-trees was imported
from France, and sent into different counties of
England, by order of King James, with a view to
the encouragement of the silk manufacture. Sir
Hugh Clopton modernized the house by internal
and external alterations. His son-in-law, Henry
Talbot, Esq., sold New Place to the Rev. Francis
Gastrell, vicar of Frodsbam, in Cheshire. This
wealthy and unamiable clergyman, conceiving a
dislike to the mulberry-tree, because it subjected
him to the importunities of travellers, whose vene¬
ration for Shakespeare induced them to visit it,
MEMOIR OE SHAKESPEARE.
Ixix
caused it to be cut down and cleft into pieces for
fire-wood, in 1756 ; the greater part of it, however,
was bought by a watchmaker of Stnitford, who
converted every fragment into small boxes, goblets,
toothpick cases, tobacco-stoppers, &c., for which
he found eager purchasers. Having quarrelled
with the magistrates about parochial assessments,
Mr. Gastrell razed the mansion to the ground in
1759, and quitted Stratford amidst the rage and
execrations of the inhabitants.
Aubrey has informed us that Shakespeare "was
a handsome, well shaped man."®' The bust at
Stratford; the engraving by Droeshout on the title-
page of the first folio of his plays; the Chandos
picture (very probably painted by Burbage, the
tragedian, who is known to have handled the
pencil,) in the possession of the Duke of Buck¬
ingham ; the head by Cornelius Jansen, (perhaps*
executed for Lord Southampton,) belonging to
the Duke of Somerset; and the print by Marshall
prefixed to the edition of his poems in 1640 ; are
considered the most authentic likenesses of the
bard.
His contemporaries, when speaking of Shake¬
speare, celebrate bis integrity, candour, sweetness
of temper, and ready wit. "We have seen ®' that
Chettle, as early as 1592, noticed "his upright¬
ness of dealing, which argues his honesty;" and
88 MSS. Mus. Ashmol. Oxon.
89 p. xxxvii and p. lii.
Ixx MEAIOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
that Jonson, after his death, pronounced him to
have been " indeed honest, and of an open and free
nature:" tiie latter too, in the Verses to his 3Ie-
mory terms him " My gentle Shakespeare." Ful¬
ler's allusion to his convivial sprightline-s has
been already quoted.®" " He wtis," says Aiibrc}',
" verie good companie, and of a very ready, and
pleasant, and smooth witt." What Rowe had
heard concerning his moral character and dispo¬
sition accords with these testimonies.®®
After the volumes which they have called forth,
5" p. Iv.
91 3fSS. Mus. Ashmol. Oxon.
92 Two " scandalous stories " have been related of the poet.
"If tradition may be trusted, Shakespeare often baited at the
Crown Inn or Tavern in Oxford, in hi.s journey to and from
London. Tlie landlady was a woman of great beauty and
sprightly wit; and her husband, Mr. John Uavenant, (after¬
wards mayor of that city,) a grave, melancholy man; who,
as well as his wife, used much to delight in Shakespeare's
pleasant company. Their son, young Will Davenant (after¬
wards Sir William j was then a little school-boy in the town,
of about seven or eight years old, and so fond also of Shake¬
speare, that whenever he heard of his arrival, he would fly
from school to .see him. One day an old townsman, observ¬
ing the boy running homeward almost out of breath, asked
him whither he was posting in that heat and hurry. He
answered, to see his ^(xf-father Shakespeare. There's a good
boy, said the other, but have a care that you don't take God's
name in vain. This story Mr. Pope told me at the Earl of
Oxford's table and he quoted Mr, Betterton the
player for his authority." Oldys's MSS.— See also the ac¬
count of Davenant from Aubrey's AfSS. in Malone's Eist Acc,
of English Stage, p. 278. {Shak. by Boswell, lii.)
" March 13, 1601 Upon a tyme when Burbidge played
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE. Ixxi
it will not be expected that I should attempt any
minute criticism on the plays of Shakespeare.
Never has his excellence, as a writer for the stage,
been so thoroughly understood, or so universally
acknowledged, as during the nineteenth century.
Now even foreign readers justly appreciate those
wonderful dramas, which exhibit with perfect
truth whatever is most terrible, most piteous, most
romantic, or most laughable, in the scenes of
many-coloured life, each nice variety of human
character, each delicate shade of human feeling;
—which present to us pictures, strong as realities,
from the realms of spirits, and from fairy-land;—
which in deep reflection and in useful maxims
yield nothing to the pages of the philosophers ;—
and which glow with all the poetic beauty that
an exhaustless fancy could shower upon them.
Nor let it be forgotten, that in all probability, our
Rich. 3, there was a citizen grewe so farre in liking with him,
that before shee went from the play shee appointed him to
come that night unto hir, by the name of Rich, the 3. Shake¬
speare, overhearing their conclusion, went before, was enter¬
tained, and at his game ere Burbidge came. Then, message
being brought that Rich, the 3 was at the dore, Shakespeare
caused returne to be made, that William the Conqueror was
before Rich, the 3.—Shakespeare's name Willm." From a
MS. Diary, the writer of which heard this story from Tooley
the player.—Collier's Hist, of English Dram. Poet. i. 331.
The former anecdote probably had its origin in Sir William
D'Avenant's vanity,*who was willing to be thought the son
of Sliakespeare, even at the expense of his mother's reputa¬
tion; the latter reads very like a mere invention.
Ixxii
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
author composed those dramas without an eye to
the admiration of posterity, and that, after they
had served his immediate purposes, he let them
drop from him with indifference, as the tree gives
its blossoms to the wind. Of all the poets, born
in various climes, in earlier or in later days, how-
many have possessed such creative minds, as
entitle them to occupy wjth Shakespeare that
highest station in " Fame's proud temple," to
which his plays have raised him ? Perhaps, three
only ; the ancient bard, who told the tale of Troy,
the Florentine, who saw the vision of the infernal
world, and he,, whose " great argument" was the
loss of Eden.
In various publications are to be found essays
on the old English theatre, the wi'iters of w hich
seem desirous of impressing their readers with an
idea that his dramatic contemporaries were but
little inferior to the mighty poet himself. For my
own part, I must be allowed to say, that a careful
perusal of every existing drama of the reigns of
Elizabeth and James, has thoroughly convinced
me of the immeasurable superiority of Shake¬
speare to all the playwrights of his time. I am
not, I trust, insensible to the invention and power
displayed by Fletcher, Jonson, Ford, "Webster,
Massinger, Dekker, Tourneur, Heywood, Chap¬
man, Middleton, and the rest of that illustrious
brotherhood; but I feel that over the worst of
Shakespeare's dramas, his genius has diffused a
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE. Ixxiii
peculiar charm, of which their best productions
are entirely destitute ; and to insinuate that any
of his contemporaries ever produced a play worthy
of being ranked with his happiest efforts,—with
Othello for instance, Macheth. Lear, or Hamlet,—.
seems to me an absurdity almost unpardonable in
any critic.®^
Though Venus and Adonis, The Rape of LiC'
crece, and the Sonnets of Shakespeare have been
cast into the shade by his dramas, and are fami¬
liar to few readers, they nevertheless deserve to
be numbered among the finest compositions of
the golden age of our literature.
Both Venus and Adonis, and The Rape of Lu-
crece, abound in elaborate descriptions, as vivid as
language has ever conveyed, in striking thoughts,
expressed with uncommon terseness, and in si¬
miles of perfect originality ; while both, in accord¬
ance with the taste of the period at which tiiey
were written, are occasionally soiled by quaint-
ness and conceit. It is to be regretted, that, for
the sake of afibrding a contrast to the coldness of
Adonis, Shakespeare should have so over-painted
the passion of the Goddess, as to render several
portions of the former production equally offen-ive
to decency and good taste. The '• first heir of his
93 tVeber, in the Introduction to his edition of Beaumont
and Fletcher's Works, expressly tells us, that Philasier " pos¬
sesses excellencies little inferior" to those of Macbeth and
hear, p. xlv.
Ixxiv MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
invention," (as he terms Venus and Adonis) ap¬
pears to me, however, more full of the ethereal
spirit of poesy than The Rape of Lucrece; though
it wants the pathos, the energy, and the moral
grandeur, of that painful tale.
In order to show what progress had been made
by Englishmen in the cultivation of the Sonnet,
before it engaged the pen of Shakespeare, I shall
now proceed to extract some pieces from different
writers, who had attempted it anterior to the year
1609.9^
Among the Songes and Sonnettes, 1557, of
Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, is this pleasing
Description of Spring, wherein each thing renews,
save only the Lover:
" The soote 95 season, that bud and bloom forth brings,
With green hath clad the hill, and eke the vale;
The nightingale with feathers new she sings;
The turtle to her make 96 hath told her tale.
Summer is come, for every spray now springs;
The hart hath hung his old head on the pale;
The buck in brake his winter coat he flings;
The fishes flete with new repaired scale;
The adder all her slough away she flings;
The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale;
The busy bee her honey now she niings;97
Winter is worn that was the flowers' bale.
And thus I see, among these pleasant things.
Each care decays, and yet my soitow springs! "
94 It has been already mentioned that though Shakespeare's
Sonnets were not published till 1609, some of them were
written as early as 1598; see p. Ivi.
95 Sweet. 96 Mate. 97 Mingles.
MEMOIli OF SHAKESPEARE. IxXV
It is well ktiown that Steevens pronounced
Thomas Watson to be "a more elegant Son-
netteer than Shakespeare:" the following effusion
(which is a fair specimen of Watson's talents)
from the EKATOMIlAeiA, or Passionate Cen-
turie of Love, printed without date, but entered
on the Stationers' Books, 1581, will show how
preposterous was the decision of the comment¬
ator ; who, after all, perhaps, did not declare his
real opinion on the subject, as sincerity was not
among his virtues;
" When Miiy is in his prime, and youthfu. Springes
Doth clothe the tree with leaves, and ground with flowers.
And time of year reviveth every thing.
And lovely nature smiles, and nothing lours;
Then Philomela most doth strain her breast,
With night complaints, and sits in little rest.
The bird's estate I may compare with mine.
To whom fond love doth work such wrongs by day,
That in the night my heart must needs repine.
And storm with sighs, to ease me as I maj'.
Whilst others are becalm'd, or lie them still,
Or sail secure, with tide and wind at will.
And as all those which hear this bird complain,
Conceive in all her tunes a sweet delight.
Without remorse, or pitying her pain;
Sa she, for whom I wail both day and night.
Doth sport herself in hearing my complaint:
A just reward for serving such a saint 1"
A Vision upon this conceipt of the Faery Queen,
attributed to Sir Walter Raleigh, is appended to
98 Watson's Sonnets all consist of eighteen, instead of
fourteen, lines.
Lwvi
AIK^IOIU OF SIIAKI'.M'KAIU;,
the three first books of Spenser's great poem
which were printed in 1590 :
" Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay,
tViiliiii that temple where the vestal flame
Was wont to burn; and passing by that wa}-,
To see that buried dust of living fame,
Whose tomb fair Love and fairer t'iitue kept;
All suddenly I saw the Faei-y Queen:
At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept,
And from thenceforth those Graces were not seen;
For they this Queen attended; in whose stead
Oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse:
Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed.
And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce,
Where Homer's sprite did tremble all for grief,
And curs'd th' access of that celestial thief."
Sir Philip Sidney, who died in 1586, was the
wonder of his own age, and his laurels as a war¬
rior and a poet are yet unwithered. One of the
best portions of his Astrophel and Stella, which
was not published till 1591, is tiiis:
" With how sad steps, 0 Moon, thou climb'st the skies.
How silently, and with how wan a face!
What, may it be, that even in heavenly place
That busy archer his sharp arrows tries ?
Sure, if that long with love acquainted eyes
Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case;
I read it in thy looks, tliy languish'd grace.
To me that feel the like, thy state descries.
Then even of fellowship, O Moon, tell rne.
Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit?
Are beauties there as proud as here they be ?
Do they above love to be lov'd, and yet
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
Ixxvii
Thiselo%'ers scorn whom that love doth possess?
Do they call virtue there ungratefulness? "
The two next pieces are from the Delia of
Samuel Daniel, 1592, a writer remarkable for
propriety of thought, and purity of diction, though
his peculiar beauties are, T think, less conspicuous
in his Sonnets than in his other works:
" I once may see when years shall wreck my wrong.
When golden hairs shall change to silver wire,
And those bright rays that kindle all this fire
Shall fail in force, their working not so strong.
Tlien beauty (now the burden of my song)
Whose glorious blaze tbe world doth so admire,
Must yield up all to tyrant time's desire;
Then fade tho^e flowers which deck'd her pride so long.
When if she grieve to gaze her in her glass,
Which then presents her winter-wither'd hue,
Go you, my verse, go tell her what she was;
For what she was, she best shall find in you:
Your fiery heat lets not her glory pass.
But Phoenix-like shall make her live anew."
" Look, Delia, how we 'steem the half-blown rose,
Tbe image of thy blush and summer's honour;
M'hilst in her tender green she doth inclose
That pure sweet beauty, time bestows upon her.
Xo sooner spreads her glory in the air.
But straight her full-blown pride is in declining;
She then is scom'd, that late adorn'd the fair;
So clouds thy beauty after fairest shining.
X" .April can revive thy wither'd flowers.
Whose blooming grace adorns thy glory now;
Swift speedy time, feather'd with flying hours.
Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow.
0, let not then such riches waste in vain.
But love, whilst that thou may'st be lov'd again."
Ixxviii MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
From the Idea of Michael Drayton, 1593:®'
" Clear Anker, on whose silver-sanded shore,
My soul-shrin'd saint, my fair Idea, lies,
O blessed brook, whose milk-white swans adore
Thy crystal stream refined by her eyes.
Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the spring
Gently distills his nectar-dropping showers.
Where nightingales in Arden sit and sing
Amongst the dainty dew-impearled flowers;
Say thus, fair brook, when thou shalt see thy queen;
Lo, here thy shepherd spent his wandering years;
And in these shades, dear njunph, he oft had been.
And here to thee he sacrific'd his tears;
Fair Arden, thou my Tempe art alone.
And thou, sweet Anker, art my Helicon."
Henry Constable appears to have been strangely
overrated by his contemporaries; in his miserably
quaint and conceited Diana, 1594, I can find
nothing better than what follows;
"To live in hell, and heaven to behold.
To welcome life, and die a living death.
To sweat with heat, and yet be freezing cold.
To grasp at stars, and lie the earth beneath,
To tread a maze that never shall have end.
To burn in sighs, and starve in daily tears,
To clime a hill, and never to descend.
Giants to kill, and quake at childish fears.
To pine for food, and watch th' Hesperian tree,
To thirst for drink, and nectar still to draw.
To live accurst, whom men hold blest to be,
Ane weep those wrongs, which never creature saw;
If this be love, if love in these be founded.
My heart is love, for these in it are grounded."
99 Hot having had an opportunity of seeing this sonnet in
MEMOin OF SnAKESPEARE.
Ixxix
From Sonnets to the fairest Ccelia, bj W. Percy,
1594:
"Receive these writs, my sweet and dearest friend,
The lively patterns of my lifeless body;
Where thou shalt find in ebon pictures penn'd,
How I was meek, but thou extremely bloody.
I'll walk forlorn along the willow shades.
Alone, complaining of a ruthless dame;
Where'er I pass, the rocks, the hills, the glades.
In piteous yells shall sound her cruel name.
There I will wail the lot which fortune sent me,
And make my moans unto the savage ears;
The remnant of the days which Nature lent me,
I'll spend them all, conceal'd, in ceaseless tears.
Since unkind fates permit me not t' enjoy her, •
No more (burst eyes!) I mean for to annoy her."
From Barnaby Barnes's Divine Centurie of Spi¬
ritual Sonnets, 1595 ;
" Unto my spirit lend an angel's wing,
By which it might mount to that place of rest.
Where Paradise may me relieve, opprest.
Lend to my tongue an angel's voice to sing;
Thy praise, my comfort; and for ever bring
a My notes thereof from the bright east to west.
Thy mercy lend unto my soul distrest.
Thy grace unto my wits: then shall the sling
Of righteousness that monster Sathan kill.
Who with despair my dear salvation dar'd;
And, like the Philistine, stood breathing still
Proud threats against my soul, for heaven prepar'd.
At length, I like an angel shall appear.
In spotless white, an angel's crown to wear."
Let US now turn to one of Spenser's Amoretti or
the original cflition, I have some doubts about the correctness
of the date, 1593; but vide Kitson's Bib, Pott, p, 191.
IXXX MEMfllU OF SHAKESPEARE.
Sonnets, 1595, which are not the most perfect of
his minor poems ;
" Like as the culver, on the bared bough.
Sits mourning for the absence of her mate.
And in her songs sends many a wishful vow
Lor his return, that seems to linger late:
So I alone, now left disconsolate.
Mourn to myself the absence of my love;
And, wandering here and there all desolate.
Seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove.
Ne joy of ought that under heaven doth hove.
Can comfort me, but her own joyous sight:
Whose sweet aspect both (Jod and man can move.
In her unspotted pleasance to delight.
Dark is my day whiles her fair light I miss.
And dead my life, that wants such lively bliss."
Richard Barnefeilde enjoyed great popularity dur¬
ing his time.* The following lines are from his
Cynthia, With Certaine Sonnets, 1595: better
specimens of his talent as .a Sonnetteer might have
been given, but for reasons which may be gathered
from the note at p. Ixxxiii. I did not choose to ex¬
hibit them :
" It is reported of fair Thetis' son,
Achilles, famous for his chivalry.
His noble mind, and magnanimity.
That when the Trojan wars were new begun,
Whos'ever was deep-wounded with his spear.
Could never be recured of his maim,
Mor ever after be made whole again,
Except with that spear's rust he holpen were:
* See p. 262 of Shakespeare's Poems.
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE. Ixxxi
Even so it fareth with my fortune now,
Who being wounded with her piercing eye,
Must either thereby find a remedy.
Or else to be reliev'd I know not how.
Then, if thou hast a mind still to annoy me.
Kill me with kisses, if thou wilt destroy me."
From the Chloris of "William Smith, 1596:
" My love, I cannot thy rare beauties place
Under those forms which many writers use.
Some, like to stones compare their mistress' face.
Some in the name of flowers do love abuse;
Some make their love a goldsmith's shop to be.
Where orient pearls and precious stones abound:
In my conceit these far do disagree.
The perfect praise of beauty forth to sound.
0 Chloris, thou dost imitate thyself!
Self-imitating passeth precious stones;
For all the Eastern-Indian golden pelf,
Thy red and white with purest fair attones.
Matchless for beauty Nature hath thee fram'd.
Only unkind and cruel thou art nam'd."
What follows is from Diella, Certaine Sonnets,,
adioyned to the amorous Poeme of Dom Diego-
and Gineura, hy R. L. Gentleman, 1596:
" When love hau first besieg'd my heart's strong waU,
Rampir'd and countermur'd with chastity.
And had with ordnance made his tops to fall.
Stooping their glory to his surquedry;
1 call'd a parley, and withal did crave
Some composition, or some friendly peace:
To this request he his consent soon gave.
As seeming glad such cruel wars should cease.-
1, nought mistrusting, open'd all the gates.
Yea, lodg'd him in the palace of my heart;,
G
Ixxxii MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
When lo! in dead of night he seeks his mates,
And shows each traitor how to play his part;
With that they fir'd my heart, and thence 'gan fly.
Their names, sweet smiles, fair face, and piercing eye."
From the Fidessa of R. GrifRn, 1596:
" Care^charmer sleep, sweet ease in restless misery.
The captive's liberty, and his freedom's song.
Balm of the bruised heart, man's chief felicity.
Brother of quiet death, when life is too too long;
A comedy it is, and now an history.
What is not sleep unto the feeble mind ?
It easeth him that toils, and him that's sorry
It makes the deaf to hear, to see the blind.
Ungentle sleep, thou helpest aU but me.
For, when I sleep, my soul is vexed most:
It is Fidessa that doth master thee.
If she approach, alas, thy power is lost!
But here she is—see, how he runs amain;
I fear at night he will not come again."
From the Aurora, of William Alexander, Earl
of Sterline, 1604.
" I swear, Aurora, by tht' starry eyes.
And by those golden locks whose lock none slips.
And by the coral of thy rosy lips.
And by the naked snows which beauty dyes;
I swear by all the jewels of thy mind.
Whose like yet never worldly treasure bought.
Thy solid judgment and thy generous thought.
Which in this darkeq'd age have clearly shin'd;
I swear by those, and by my spotless love.
And by my secret, yet most fervent fires.
That I have never nurst but chaste desires.
And such as modesty might well approve.
Then, since I love those virtuous parts in thee.
Should'St thou not love this virtuous mind in me ?'
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE. Ixxxiii
The greater portion of Shakespeare's Sonnefs
is addressed to a male object; and the kind of
exaggerated friendship which some of them pro¬
fess, can only surprise a reader who is unac¬
quainted with the manners of those days. It was
then not uncommon for one man to write verses
to another in a strain of such tender affecti m,
as fully warrants our terming them amatort/;
100 "Abraham Fraunce," says Wartoii, "in 1591 translated
Virgil's Alexis into English hexameters, verse for verse,which
he calls The lamentation of Corydon for the love of Alexis. It
must be owned, that the selection of this particular Eclogue
from all the ten for an English version, is somewhat extra¬
ordinary. But in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, I could
point out whole sets of sonnets written with this sort of
attachment, for which, perhaps, it will be but an inadequate
apology, that they are free from direct impurity of expression
and open immodesty of sentiment. Such at least is our ob¬
servance of external propriety, and so strong the principles
of a general decorum, that a writer of the present age who
was to print love-verses in this style, would be severely re¬
proached, and universally proscribed. I will instance only
in the affectionate shepherd of Richard Barnefielde,
printed in 1595. There, through the course of twenty son¬
nets, not inelegant, and which were exceedingly popular, the
poet bewails his unsuccessful love for a beautiful youth, by
the name of Ganimede, m a strain of the most tender pas
sion, yet with professions of the chastest affection. Many
descriptions and incidents which have a like complexion,
may be found in the futile novels of Lodge and Lilly." Hist,
of English Poetry, iii. 405.
In an address " To the curteons Gentlemen Readers "
prefixed to Barnefielde's Cynthia, with Certaine Sunntls, &c,
1595, he speaks thus of his former production, noticed in
tl e preceding remarks of Warton: " Some there were that
Ixxxiv MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
and even in the epistolary correspondence between
two grave and elderly gentlemen, friendship used
frequently to borrow the language of love.
Who was the object in question, the comment¬
ators of Shakespeare have unsuccessfully la¬
boured to discover; of their various conjectures
on this point, I shall only mention two; the one
remarkable for its ingenuity, the other for its ab¬
surdity. Tyrwhitt, putting together the initials
w. H. in the Dedication to the Sonnets, and the
following line of the xx* Sonnet, given thus in the
original edition,
" A man in hew all Hews in his controlling "
did interpret the Affectionale Shepherd, otherwise then (in
truth) I meant, touching the subject thereof, to wit, the love
of a Shepherd to a boy; a fault, the which I will not ex¬
cuse, because I never made. Only this, I will unshaddow
my conceit: being nothing else but an imitation of Virgill
in the second Eglogue of Alexis." I may add, that at a
considerabl}' later period, Phineas Fletcher (one of the purest
of poetical spirits) in his first Piscatory Eclogue, introduces
Thelgon lamenting the inconstancy of Amyntas; and that in
a short copy of verses "To JIaster W. C." by the same
■writer, is the following stanza:
" Return now, Willy; now at length return thee:
Here thou and I, under the sprouting vine,
By yellow Chame, where no hot ray shall burn thee,
Will sit, and sing among the Muses nine;
And safely cover'd from the scalding shine,
We'l read that Afantuan shepherds sireet complaining,
Whcmfair Alexis griev'd with his unjust disdaining."
See his Piscatorie Eclogs, and other Poeticall Miscellanies,
(appended to The Pmple Island,) 1633, p. 1, and p. 60.
MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE. IxxXV
imagined that the mysterious personage was a
W. Hughes; while George Chalmers, as if to
show that there are no bounds to the folly of a
critic, maintained that Queen Elizabeth was typi¬
fied by the poet's masculine friend !
Perhaps, after all, what Lord Byron says of
Junius, is true concerning the object to whom the
Sonnets are principally addressed ;
" I've an hypothesis,—'tis quite my own,
'Tis, that what Junius we are wont to call,
Was really, truly, nobody at all; "
perhaps Shakespeare's "lovely youth "was merely
the creature of imagination, and had no more
existence than those fair ones, whom various
writers have so perseveringly wooed in verse.^"^
I have long felt convinced, after repeated perusals
of the Sonnets, that the greater number of them
was composed in an assumed character, on dif¬
ferent subjects, and at different times, for the
amusement, and probably at the suggestion, of
the author's intimate associates.^"^ While, there-
101 " Dost thou think the poets, who every one of 'em
celebrate the praises of some lady or other, had all real mis¬
tresses ?... No, no, never think it; for I dare assure thee, the
greatest part of 'em were nothing but the mere imaginations
of the poets, for a groundwork to exercise their wits upon,
and give to the world occasion to look on the authors as men
of an amorous and gallant disposition." Don Quixote (trans¬
lated by several hands) i. 225, edition 1749.
102 Meres calls them " his sugred Sonnets among his private
friends: " see p. xlviii.
Ixxxvi MEMOIR OF SHAKESPEARE.
foro, I contend that allusions scattered through
tln^se pieces should not be hastily referred to the
personal circumstances of Shakespeare, I arn wil¬
ling to grant that one or two Sonnets have an
individual application to the poet, as for instance,
the ex"* and the cxi'"*, in which he exjiresses his
sense of the degradation that accompanies the
profession of the stage. Augustus Schlegel is of
oj)inion, that sufficient use has not been made of
them, as important materials for Shakespeare's
biography ; but, even if we regard them all as
transcripts of his genuine feelings, what a feeble
and uncertain light would they throw on the
history of his life ! '
About the excellence of these Sonnets, slightly
disfigured as they are by conceits and quibbles,^"®
there can be no dispute. Next to the dramas of
Shakespeare, they are by far the most valuable
of his works. They contain such a quantity of
profound thought as must astonish every reflect¬
ing reader; they are adorned by splendid and
delicate imagery; they are sublime, pathetic,
tender, or sweetly playful; while they delight the
ear by their fluency, and their varied harmonies
of rhythm. Our language can boast no sonnets
103 What Robert Gould, in The Play House, A Satire,
(Itbris li. 245, edition 1709,) says of our author's dramas,
applies also to his poems;
"And Shakespeare play'd with words, to please a quibbling
age."
MEJIOIK OF SHAKESPEARE. Ixxxvii
altogether worthy of being placed by the side of
Shakespeare's, except the few which Milton
poured forth,—so severe, and so majestic.
Among the minor poems in the present volume,
A Lover's Complaint stands preeminent in beauty.
We recognize but little of Shakespeare's genius
in The Miscellany entitled The Passionate Pil¬
grim ; it appears to have been given to the press
without his consent, or even his knowledge; and
how much of it proceeded from his pen, cannot
be distinctly ascertained.
iw The English Sonnets that approach nearest in merit to
Shakespeare's and Milton's, are undoubtedly those by the
living ornament of our poetic literature, Wordsworth.
APPENDIX 1.
CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF SHAKESPEARE'S
PLAYS.^
Pericles 1590
Second Part of Henry VI. 1591
Third Part of Henry VT. 1591
Two Gentlemen of Verona 1591
Comedy of Errors 1592
Love's Labour's Lost 1592
Richard II. 1593
Richard HI. 1593
Midsummer Night's Dream 1594
Taming of the Shrew 1596
Romeo and Juliet 1596
Merchant of Venice 1597
First Part of Henry 1V. 1597
Second Part of Henry IV. 1598
King John 1598
All's Well that Ends Well 1598
Henry V. 1599
As you like It 1599
Much Ado about Nothing 1600
Hamlet 1600
Merry Wives of Windsor 1601
Twelfth Night 2 1601
1 See p. xxxvii.
2 See Collier's IRst. of English Dram. Poet. i. 327.
APPENDIX.
Ixxxix
Troilus and Cressida 1G02
Henry VIII. 1603
Measure for Measure 1603
Othello 3 1604
King Lear 1605
Maebeth 1606
Julius Caesar 1607
Antony and Cleopatra 1608
Cymbeline 1609
Coriolanus 1610
Timon of Athens 1610
"Winter's Tale 1611
Tempest 1612
8 T agree with Malone in thinking that the passage of
OlhelU) (act iii. sc. iv.)
" the hearts of old gave hands,
But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts,"
does not contain the slightest allusion to tlie institution of
the order of Baronets in 1611: see his Life of Shakespeare,
p. 402. iShak. by Boswell. ii-J
APPENDIX XL
Shakespeare's will.
from the original in the office of the prerogative
court of canterbury.
Vicesimo quinto die Martii,^ Anno Regni Do¬
mini nostri Jacobi nunc Regis Anglice, ^c.
decimo quarto^ et Scotiae quadragesimo nono.
Annoque Domini 1616.
Testamentum Wmi. Shachspeare.
In the name of God, Amen. I "William Shaek-
speare of Stratford-upon-Avon, in the countj of
Warwick, gent, in perfect health and memory,
(God be praised!) do make and ordain this my
last will and testament in manner and form fol¬
lowing ; that is to say:
First, I commend my soul into the hands of
God my creator, hoping, and assuredly believing,
through the only merits of Jesus Christ my Sa¬
viour, to be made partaker of life everlasting; and
my body to the earth whereof it is made.
Item, I give and bequeath unto ray daughter
Judith, one hundred and fifty pounds of lawful
I Our poet's will appears to have been drawn up in Febru-
arv, though not executed till the following month; for Fe-
bruary was first written, and afterwards struck out, and
March written over it. Maloxe.
APPENDIX.
xci
English money, to be paid unto her in manner
and form following; that is to say, one hundred
jiounds in discharge of her marriage portion within
one year after my decease, with consideration
after the rate of two shillings in the pound for so
long time as the same shall be unpaid unto ber
after my decease; and the fifty pounds residue
thereof, upon her surrendering of, or giving of
such sufficient security as the overseers of this my
will shall like of, to surrender or grant, all her
estate and right that shall descend or come unto
her after my decease, or that she now hath, of,
in, or to, one copyhold tenement, with the appur¬
tenances, lying and being in Stratford-upon-Avon
aforesaid, in the said county of Warwick, being
parcel or holden of the manor of Eowington,
unto my daughter Susannah Hall, and her heirs
for ever.
Item. I give and bequeath unto my said daugh¬
ter Judith one hundred and fifty pounds more, if
.'^he, or any issue of her body, be living at the end
of three years next ensuing the day of the date of
tills my will, during which time my executors to
nay her consideration from my decease according
to the rate aforesaid; and if she die within the
said term without issue of her body, then my will
is, and I do give and bequeath one hundred pounds
thereof to my niece ^ Elizabeth Hall, and the fifty
2 io my niece —] Elizabeth Hall was our poet's
granddaughter. So, in Othello, Act 1. sc. i. lago says to
xcii
APPENDIX.
pounds to be set fortli by my executors during the
life of my sister Joan Hart, and the use and profit
thereof coming, shall be paid to my said sister
Joan, and after her decease the said fifty pounds
shall remain amongst the children of my said
sister, equally to be divided amongst them; but
if my said daughter Judith be living at the end
of the said three years, or any issue of her body,
then my will is, and so I devise and bequeath the
said hundred and fifty pounds to be set out by my
executors and overseers for the best benefit of her
and her issue, and the stock not to be paid unto
her so long as she shall be married and covert
baron; but my will is, that she shall have the
consideration yearly paid unto her during her life,
and after her decease the said stock and consi¬
deration to be paid to her children, if she have
any, and if not, to her executors or assigns, she
living the said term after my decease: provided
that if such husband as she shall at the end of the
said three years be married unto, or at any [time]
after, do sufficiently assure unto her, and the issue
of her body, lands answerable to the portion by
this my will given unto her, and to be adjudged
so by my executors and overseers, then my will
is, that the said hundred and fifty pounds shall
be paid to such husband as shall make such as¬
surance, to his own use.
Br.ibantio, " You'll have j-our nephews neigh to you;" mean-
ing his grandchildren. Malone.
APPENDIX.
xciii
Item, I give and bequeath unto my said sister
Joan twenty pounds, and all my wearing apparel,
to be paid and delivered within one year after
my decease; and I do will and devise unto her
the house, with the appurtenances, in Stratford,
wherein she dwelleth, for her natural life, under
the yearly rent of twelve pence.
Item, I give and bequeath unto her three sons,
"William Hart, Hart,' and Michael Hart,
five pounds apiece, to be paid within one year
after my decease.
Item, I give and bequeath unto the said Eliza¬
beth Hall all my plate, (except my broad silver
and gilt bowl,)^ that I now have at the date of
this my will.
Item, I give and bequeath unto the poor of
Stratford aforesaid ten pounds; to Mr. Thomas
Combe' my sword; to Thomas Russel, esq. five
s Hart.'l It is singular that neither Shakspeare nor
any of his family should Iiave recollected the christian name
of his nephew, who was horn at Stratford but eleven years
before the making of his will. His christian name was Tho¬
mas; and he was baptized in that town, July 24, 1605.
Malo.s'e.
4 except my broad silver and gilt bowl.] This bowl,
as we afterwards find, our poet bequeathed to his daughter
Judith. Instead of bowl, Mr. Theobald, and all the subse¬
quent editors, have here printed boxes. Malone.
5 Mr. Thomas Combe.] This gentleman was bap¬
tized at Stratford, Feb. 9, 1588-9. so that he was twenty-
seven years old at the time of Shakespeare's death. He died
at Stratford in July 1657, aged 68; and his elder brother
William died at the same place, Jan. 30, 1666-7, aged 80.
xciv
APPENDIX.
pounds; and to Francis Collins® of the borough
of Warwick, in the county of AVarwick, gent,
thirteen pounds six shillings and eight-pence, to
be paid within one year after my decease.
Item, I give and bequeath to Hamlet \_Hamnet'\
Sadler' twenty-six shillings eight-pence, to buy
him a ring; to William Reynolds, gent, twenty-
six shillings eight-pence, to buy him a ring; to
my godson AVilliam AValker,® twenty shillings in
Mr. Thomas Combe by his will made June 20, 1656, directed
his executors to convert all his personal property into money,
and to lay it out in the purchase of lands, to be settled on
William Combe, the eldest son of John Combe of Allchurch in
the county of Worcester, gent, and his heirs male; remainder
to his two brothers successively. Where, therefore, our poet's
sword has wandered, I have not been able to discover. I have
taken the trouble to ascertain the ages of Shakespeare's friends
and relations, and the time of their deaths, because we are
thus enabled to judge how far the traditions concerning him
■which were communicated to Mr. Rowe in the beginning of
this century, are worthy of credit. Malone.
6 to Francis CoUins —] This gentleman was, I be¬
lieve, christened at Warwick. He died the year after our
poet, and was buried at Stratford, Sept. 27, 1617, on which
day he died. Malone.
1 to Hamnet Sadler —] This gentleman ivas god¬
father to Shakspeare's only son, who was called after him.
Mr. Sadler, I believe, was born about the year 1550, and died
at Stratford-upon-Avon, where he was buried, October 26,
1624. His wife, Judith Sadler, -who was godmother to Shak¬
speare's youngest daughter, was buried there, March 23,
1613-14. Our poet probably was godfather to their son Wil.
liam, who was baptized at Stratford, Feb. 5, 1597-8.
Malone.
s to my godson, William Walker.] This godson of
APPENDIX.
XCV
gold; to Anthony Nash,® gent, twenty-six shil¬
lings eight-pence; and to Mr. John Nash,"
twenty-six shillings eight-pence; and to my fel¬
lows, John Hemynge, Richard. Burhage, and
Henry Cundell,^^ twenty-six shillings eight-pence
apiece, to buy them rings.
Item, I give, will, bequeath, and devise, unto
my daughter Susanna Hall, for better enabling
of her to perform this my will, and towards the
performance thereof, all that capital messuage or
tenement, with the appurtenances, in Stratford
aforesaid, called The New Place, wherein I now
dwell, and two messuages or tenements, with the
appurtenances, situate, lying, and being in Hen¬
ley-street, within the borough of Stratford afore¬
said ; and all my barns, stables, orchards, gar¬
dens, lands, tenements, and hereditaments what-
our author was the son of Mr. Henry Walker, who was
elected an alderman of Stratford, January 3, 1605-6. Wil¬
liam was baptized at Stratford, Oct. 16, 1608. I mention this
circumstance, because it ascertains that our author was at his
native town in the autumn of that year. Jlr. William Walker
was buried at Stratford, March, 1679-80. Malone.
9 to Anthony Nash.] He was father of Mr. Thomas
Nash, who married our poet's granddaughter, Elizabeth Hall.
He lived, I believe, at Welcombe, where his estate lay; and
was buried at Stratford, Nov. 18, 1622. Malone.
19 to Mr. John Nash.] This gentleman died at Strat¬
ford, and was buried there, Nov. 10, 1623. Malone.
11 to my fellows, John Hemynge, Richard Burhage, and
Henry Cundell. ] These our poet's fellows did not very long sur¬
vive him. Burhage died in March, 1619; Cundell in Decem¬
ber, 1627; and Heminge in October, 1630. Malone.
xcvi
APPENDIX.
soever, situate, lying, and being, or to be had,
received, perceived,or taken, within the towns,
hamlets, villages, fields, and grounds of Stratford-
upon-Avon, Old Stratford, Bishopton, and Wel-
combe," or in any of them, in the said county of
"Warwick; and also all that messuage or tene¬
ment, with the appurtenances, wherein one John
Robinson dwelleth, situate, lying, and being, in the
Blackfriars in London near the Wardrobe; and
12 received, perceived, j Instead of these words, we
have hitherto had in all the printed copies of this will, re¬
served, preserved. Malone.
13 old Stratford, Bishopton, and Welconibe.] The lands
of Old Stratford, Bishopton, and Welcombe, here devised,
were in Shakspeare's time a continuation of one large field,
all in the parish of Stratford. Bishopton is two miles from
Stratford, and Welcombe one. For Bishopton, Mr. Theobald
erroneously printed Bushaxton, and the error has been con¬
tinued in all the subsequent editions. The word in Shak¬
speare's original will is spelt Bushopton, the vulgar pronuncia¬
tion of Bishopton.
I searched the Indexes in the Rolls chapel from the year
1589 to 1616, with the hope of finding an enrolment of the
purchase deed of the estate here devised by our poet, and of
ascertaining its extent and value; but it was not enrolled
during that period, nor could I find any inquisition taken
after his death, by which its value might have been ascer¬
tained. I suppose it was conveyed by the former owner to
Shakspeare, not by bargain and sale, bnt by a deed of feoff
ment, which it was not necessary to enrol. Malone.
that messuage or tenement—in the Blachfriars in
London near the Wardrobe;) [See p. xlvi. u. 60.) By the
Wardrobe is meant the King's Great Wardrobe, a royal house,
near Puddle Wharf, purchased by King Edward the Third
from Sir John Beauchamp, who built it. King Richard III.
APPENDIX.
xcvii
all other my lands, tenements, and hereditaments
whatsoever; to have and to hold all and singular
the said premises, with their appurtenances, unto
the said Susanna Hall, for and during the term
of her natural life; and after her decease to the
first son of her hody lawfully issuing, and to the
heirs males of the body of the said first son law¬
fully issuing; and for default of such issue, to the
second son of her body lawfully issuing, and to
the heirs males of the body of the said second son
lawfully issuing; and for default of such heirs, to
the third son of the body of the said Susanna law¬
fully issuing, and to the heirs males of the body
of the said third son lawfully issuing; and for de¬
fault of such issue, the same so to be and remain
to the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh sons of her
body, lawfully issuing one after another, and to
the heirs males of the bodies of the said fourth,
fifth, sixth, and seventh sons lawfully issuing, in
such manner as it is before limited to be and re¬
main to the first, second, and third sons of her
body, and to their heirs males; and for default
of such issue, the said premises to be and remain
to my said niece Hall, and the heirs males of
her body lawfully issuing; and for default of
such issue, to my daughter Judith, and the heirs
was lodged in this house in the second year of his reign.
See Stowe's Survey, p. 693, edition 1618. After the fire of
London this office was kept in the Savoy; but it is now
abolished. AIauone.
7
xcviii
APPENDIX.
males of her body lawfully issuing; and for de¬
fault of such issue, to the right heirs of me the
said William Shakspeare for ever.
Item, I give unto my wife my second best bed,
with the furniture.^"
Item, I give and bequeath to my said daughter
Judith my ^iroad silver gilt bowl. All the rest of
my goods, chattels, leases, plate, jewels, and
household-stuff whatsoever, after my debts and
legacies paid, and my funeral expences dis¬
charged, I give, devise, and bequeath to my son-
in-law, John Hall, gent, and my daughter Susanna
his wife, whom I ordain and make executors of
this my last ivill and testament. And I do en¬
treat and appoint the said Thomas Russel, esq.
and Francis Collins, gent, to be overseers hereof.
And do revoke all former wills, and publish this
to be my last will and testament. In witness
IB my second hest bed, vnlh the Jurniture.] Thus Shak-
Speare's original will. Jlr. Theobald and the other modem
editors have been more bountiful to Mrs. Shakspeare, having
printed instead of these words, " my brown best bed,
with the furniture." Malone.
It appears, in the original will of Shakspeare, (now in the
Prerogative Office, Doctors' Commons,) that he had forgot
his wife; the legacy to her being expressed by an interlinea¬
tion, as well as those to Heminge, Burbage, and Conilcll.
The will is written on three sheets of paper, the two last
of which are undoubtedly subscribed with Shakspeare's own
hand. The first indeed has his name in the margin, but it
differs somewhat in spelling as well as manner, from the two
.signatures that follow. Steevens.
APPENDIX.
xcix
whereof I have hereunto put my hand, the day
and year first above-written.
By me,^® E®(Iliam_S|a|speate.
Witness to the publishing heregfy ^ £ R N (/ /y
Fra. Collyns," ^
Julius Shaw,^® /
John Robinson," ^ EVANST#N, 1I.1.- ,
Hamnet Sadler,®* J
Robert Whattcoat.
Probatum fait testdm&t^miSu^^hm^ptum
apud London, coram iWdgislfd William
Byrde, Legum Doctore, ^c. vicesimo se-
cundo die mensis Junii, Anno Domini
1616; juramento Johannis Hall unius ex.
^c. cui, ^c. de bene, ^c. jurat, reservata
potest ate, ^c. Susanna Hall, alt. ex. ^c.
earn cum venerit, ^c. petitur. ^c.
By me William Shaks^eare.] This was the mode of our
poet's time. Thus tlie Register of Stratford is signed at the
bottom of each- page, in the year 1618, " Per me Richard
Watts, Minister." These concluding words have hitherto
been inaccurately exhibited thus: " Vie day and year
Jirst above.written by me, William Shakspeare." Neither the
day, nor year, nor any preceding part of this will, was written
by our poet. By me," &c. only means—The above is the
■wiU of me William Shakspeare. Malone.
Fra. Collins.] See p. xciv. n. 6.
18 Julius S/mw— ] was born in Sept. 1571. He mar¬
ried Anne Boyes. May, 5, 1594; and died at Stratford, where
he was buried June 24, 1629. Malone.
19 John Robinson.] John, son of Thomas Robinson,
was baptized at Stratford, Nov. 30, 1589. 1 know not when
he died. Malone.
99 Bamnei Sadler.] See p. xciv. n. 7.
VENUS AND ADONIS.
Vilia miretur vulgus, mihi flavus Apollo
Poculo Castaiia plena ministret aqua. ovid.
1
TO THE
EIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TITCHFIELD.
right honourable,
I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my
unpolished lines to your Lordship, nor how the
world will censure me for choosing so strong a
prop to support so weak a burthen: only if your
honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly
praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle
hours, till I have honoured you with some graver
labour. But if the first heir of my invention
prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a
godfather, and never after ear^ so barren a land,
for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave
it to your honourable survey, and your honour to
your heart's content; which I wish may always
answer your own wish, and the world's hopeful
expectation.
Your Honour's in all duty,
William Shakespeare.
1 ear] i. k. plough.
EVANSTON. I EL,
)
VENUS AND ADONIS.
Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him.
" Thrice fairer than myself," thus she began,
" The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
" Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
" More white and red than doves or roses are;
" Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
" Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
" Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
'' And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow ;
" If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed,
'' A thousand honey-secrets shalt thou know;
'' Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,
" And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses ;
" And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety,
" But rather famish them amid their plent}',
6
THE POEMS
'• Making them red and pale with fresh variety,
" Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty :
" A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
" Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport."'
"With this, she seizeth on his sweating palm.
The precedent of pith and livelihood.
And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force,
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein.
Under her other was the tender boy,
"Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt Jo toy ;
She red and hot, as coals of glowing lire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens ; (O how quick is love!)
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust.
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.
So soon was she along, as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown.
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips ;
OF SHAKESPEARE.
7
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
" If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open."
He bums with bashful shame; she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;
Then with her windy sighs, and golden hairs.
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks:
He saith, she is immodest, blames her 'niiss ; ^
What follows more, she murders with a kiss.
Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,
Tires" with her beak on feathers, flesh, and bone.
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste.
Till either gorge be stuff'd, or prey be gone;
Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin,.
And where she ends, she doth anew begin..
Forc'd to content,^ but never to obey.
Panting he lies, and breatheth in her face;
She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey.
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace.
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,.
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers.
Look how a bird lies tangled in a net.
So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies;
1 'miss] For amiss,—i. e. misbehaviour.
2 Tires....on] A hawking term—tears, pulls, pecks.
8 content] i. c. acquiescence.
8
THE POEMS
Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret,
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes:
Rain added to a river that is rank,'*
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.
Still she entreats, and prettily entreats.
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale ;
Still is he sullen, still he lowers and frets,
'Twixt crimson shame, and anger ashy-pale;
Being red, she loves him best; and being white,
Her best is better'd with a more delight.
Xiook how he can, she cannot choose but love;
And by her fair immortal hand she swears
From his soft bosom never to remove.
Till he take truce with her contending tears, [wet;
Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all
And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.
Upon this promise did he raise his chin,
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave.
Who being look'd on, ducks as quickly in ;
So offers he to give what she did crave;
But when her lips were ready for his pay.
He winks, and turns his lips another way.
Never did passenger in summer's heat
More thirst for drink, than she for this good turn :
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;
* rank] i. e. abounding in water.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
9
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn :
" Oh, pity," 'gan she cry, " flint-hearted boy !
" 'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?
" I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now,
" Even by the stern and direful god of war,
" Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow,
" Who conquers where he tomes, in every jar;
" Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,
" And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt
have.
" Over my altars hath he hung his lance,
" His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest,
"And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance,
" To toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest;
" Scorning his churlish drum, and ensign red,
" Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.
" Thus he that over-rul'd, I oversway'd,
" Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain :
" Strong-temper'd steel his stronger strength
" Yet was he servile to my coy disdain, [obey'd,
" O be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,
" For mastering her that foil'd the god of fight!
" Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,
" (Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red,)
" The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine :—
" What seest thou in the ground ? hold up thy head;
THE POEMS
" Look in mine eyeballs, there thy beauty lies:
" Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes ?
Art thou asham'd to kiss ? then wink again.
And I will wink, so shall the day seem night;
Love keeps his revels where there are but twain;
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight:
These blue-vein'd*violets whereon we lean
" Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.
The tender spring upon thy tempting lip
Shows thee unripe; yet may'st thou well be
tasted;
Make use of time, let not advantage slip ;
Beauty within itself should not be wasted:
"Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime,
" Rot and consume themselves in little time.
Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old,
Ill-nurtur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,
O'er-worn, despised, rheumatick and cold.
Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice,
" Then might'st thou pause, for then I were
not for thee;
" But having no defects, why dost abhor me ?
Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow;
Mine eyes are grey,® and bright, and quick in
turning;
6 grey] i. c. blue.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
11
My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning;
" ily smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand
felt,
" Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.
Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,
Or, like a fairy, trip upon tiie green.
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair.
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen;
" Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
" Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.
' Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie ;
' These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support
me;
' Two strengthless doves will draw me through the
From morn to night, even where I list to sport me ;
" Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be
" That thou should'st think it heavy unto thee ?
' Is thine own heart to thine own face affected ?
' Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left ?
' Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,
' Steal thine own freedom, and complain on theft.
" Narcissus, so, himself himself forsook,
" And died to kiss his shadow in the brook,
• Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,
■ Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use,
12
THE POEMS
" Herts for their smell, and sappy plants to bear ;
" Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse:
" Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth
beauty,
" Thou wast begot,—to get it is thy duty.
" Upon the earth's increase why should'st thou feed,
" Unless the earth with thy increase he fed ?
" By law of Nature thou art hound to breed,
" That thine may live, when thou thyself art dead ;
"And so in spite of death thou dost survive,
" In that thy likeness still is left alive."
By this, the love-sick queen began to sweat.
For, where they lay, the shadow had forsook them.
And Titan, 'tired® in the midday heat.
With burning eye did hotly overlook them;
Wishing Adonis had his team to guide.
So he were like him, and by Venus' side.
And now Adonis, with a lazy spright.
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye.
His lowering brows o'erwhelming his fair sight.
Like misty vapours, when they blot the sky.
Souring his cheeks, cries, " Fie, no more of lovel
" The sun doth burn my face; I must remove."
"All me." quoth Venus, " young, and so unkind!
" What bare excuses mak'st thou to begone!
6 Hired\ i. e. attired.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
1:3
" I'll sigh celestial breath, wliose gentle wind
•' Shall cool the heat of this descending sun ;
" I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;
" If they burn too, I'll quench them with my
tears.
" The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,
" And lo, I lie between that sun and thee ;
" The heat I have from thence doth little harm,
" Thine eye darts forth the fire that burnetii me ;
"And were I not immortal, life were done,
" Between this heavenly and earthly sun.
" Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel,
" Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth'
'• Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel
" What 'tis to love ? how want of love tormenteth ?
" O had thy mother borne so hard a mmd,
" She had not brought forth thee, but died
unkind.'
" What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this ? ®
" Or what great danger dwells upon my suit ?
" What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss ?
" Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute:
" Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again,
" And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain.
" vnkin<l\ i. e. unnatural.
8 contemn, me <Ais) Is, I think, rightly explained by Malonc,
" contemptuously refuse this favour that I ask."
14
THE POEMS
" Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,
" Well-painted idol, image, dull and dead,
" Statue, contenting but the eye alone,
" Thing like a man, but of no woman bred ;
" Thou art no man, though of a man's com¬
plexion,
" For men will kiss even by their own direction."'
This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue.
And swelling passion doth provoke a pause;
Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong ;
Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause :
And now she weeps, and now she fain would
speak.
And now her sobs do her intendments® break.
Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand,
Is'ow gazeth she on him, now on the ground ;
Sometimes her arms infold him like a band ;
She would, he will not in her arms be bound ;
And when from thence he struggles to be gone.
She locks her lily fingers, one in one.
•' Fondling," she saith," since I have hemm'd thee
" Within the circuit of this ivory pale, [here,
" I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;
" Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale .
'• Graze on my lips ; and if those hills be dry,
" Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
® intendments] i. e. intentions.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
15
" Within this limit is relief enough,
" Sweet bottom-grass, and high delightful plain,
" Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,
" To shelter thee from tempest and from rain ;
" Then be my deer, since I am such a "park;
" No dog shall rouse thee, tho'a thousand bark."
At this Adonis smiles, as in disdain.
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple :
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain.
He might be buried in a tomb so simple;
Fore-knowing well, if there he came to lie,
AVhy there love liv'd, and there he could not die.
These lovely caves, these round-enchanting pits,
Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking :
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits ?
Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking ?
Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn.
To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn !
Now which way shall she turn ? what shall she say ?
Her words are done, her woes the more increasing,
Tlie time is spent, her object will away,
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing:
" Pity "—she cries,—" some favour—some re¬
morse—"
Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse.
w remorse] i. e. tenderness.
16
THE rOEMS
But lo, from forth a copse that neighbours by,
A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud,
Adonis' trampling courser doth espy.
And forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud :
The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree,
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.
Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds.
And now his woven girths he breaks asunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds.
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thun-
The iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth, [der;
Controlling what he was controlled with.
His ears up prick'd; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd" crest now stand on end ;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again.
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send :
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire.
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.
Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps.
With gentle majesty, and modest pride;
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps.
As who should say, lo! thus my strength is tried;
And this I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair breeder that is standing by.
n compass'd] i. e. arched.
1- mane.. .stand] " Our author uses mane, as composed of
many hairs, as plural." Malone.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
17
What recketh he his rider's angry stir,
His flattering holla, or his Stand, I say 1
What cares he now for curb, or pricking spur ?
For rich caparisons, or trapping gay?
He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,
Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees.
Look, when a painter would surpass the life.
In limning out a well-proportion'd steed.
His art with nature's workmanship at strife.
As if the dead the living should exceed ;
So did this horse excell a common one.
In shape, in courage, colour, pace, and bone.
Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and
long.
Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril
wide.
High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing
strong.
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide :
Look what a horse should have, he did not lack.
Save a proud idder on so proud a back.
Sometime he scuds far off, and there he stares ;
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather;
To bid the wind a base he now prepares,
13 To bid the wind a base] i. e. to challenge the wind to
contend with him in speed: base,—prison-base, or prison-
bars— was a rustic game, consisting chiefly in running.
2
18
THE POEMS
And wher " he run, or fly, they knew not whether ;
For thro' his mane and tail the high wind sings,
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings.
He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her;
She answers him, as if she knew his mind:
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her.
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind;
Spurns at his love, and scorns the heat he feels.
Beating his kind embracements with her heels.
Then, like a melancholy male-content,
He vails his tail, that, like a falling plume,
Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent;
He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume :
His love perceiving how he is enrag'd.
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag'd.
His testy master goeth about to take him;
When lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear.
Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him.
With her the horse, and left Adonis there:
As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them.
Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them.
All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boisterous and unruly beast;
And now the happy season once more fits,
H wher] i. e. whether. vails] i. e. lowers.
OF SHAKESPEAKE.
19
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest;
For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong,
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.
An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd,
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with moro rage:
So of concealed sorrow may be said ;
Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage ;
But when the heart's attorney " once is mute,
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.
He sees her coming, and begins to glow,
(Even as a dying coal revives with wind).
And with his bonnet hides his angry bro\v;
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind ;
Taking no notice that she is so nigh,
For all askaunce he holds her in his eye.
O what a sight it was, wistly to view
Pow she came stealing to the wayward boy '
To note the fighting conflict of her hue !
How white and red each other did destroy !
But now, her cheek was pale, and by and by
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.
Now was she just before him as he sat.
And like a lowly lover down she kneels ;
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels :
^6 Qie heaj'Vs ailorneyl i. c. the tongue.
20
THE POEMS
Ilis tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's print,
As apt as new fallen snow takes any dint.
0 what a war of looks was then between them !
ller eyes, petitioners, to his eyes suing ;
11 is eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them ;
Her eyes M-oo'd stiil,his eyes disdain'd the wooing:
And all this dumb play had his^' acts made plain
"With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain.
Full gently now she takes him by the hand,
A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow,
Or ivory in an alabaster band;
So white a friend engirts so white a foe :
This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,
Show'd like two silver doves that sit a billing.
Once more the engine of her thoughts began;
'• 0 fairest mover on this mortal round,
'■ "Would thou wert as I am, and I a man,
" 2dy heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound;^'
" For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,
" Though nothing but my body's bane would
cure thee."
" Give me my hand," saith he, " why dost thou
feel it ? " [have it;
" Give me my heart," saith she, "and thou shalt
n his] i. e. its.
18 thy heart my wound] i. e. " thy heart wounded as
tnine is " il-Vl-OiiE.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
21
" 0 give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it,
" And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it:
" Then Jove's deep groans I never shall regard,
" Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard."
" For shame," he cries, "let go, and let me go ;
" My day's delight is past, my horse is gone,
" And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so ;
" I pray you hence, and leave me here alone :
" For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,
" Is how to get my palfrey from the mare."
Thus she replies : " Thy palfrey, as he should,
" Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire.
" Affection is a coal that must be cool'd ,
" Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire;
" The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none,
" Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.
" How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree,
" Servilely master'd with a leathern rein !
" But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee,
" He held such petty bondage in disdain ;
" Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,
" Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.
" Who sees his true love in her naked bed,
"Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white.
" But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed,
■' His other agents aim at like delight ?
O O
22
THE POEMS
" Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold,
" To touch the fire, the weather being cold?
" Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy;
" And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee,
" To take advantage on presented joy ; [thee.
" Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach
'• 0 learn to love ; the lesson is but plain,
'• And, once made perfect, never lost again."
" I know not love," quoth he, " nor will not know it,
" Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it;
" 'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it;
" My love to love is love but to disgrace it;
" For I have heard it is a life in death,
" That laughs, and weeps, and all but with a
breath.
' Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd ?
' Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth ?
" If springing things be any jot diminish'd,
" They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth:
" The colt that's baCk'd and burthen'd being
young,
" Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong.
'' You hurt my hand with wringing ; let us part,
" And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat:
" Remove your siege from my unyielding heart;
My love to love, &c.J i. e. " my inclination towards love
16 only a desire to render it contemptible." iLvnoNE.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
23
" To love's alarms it will not ope the gate.
" Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your
flattery; [tery."
" For where a heart is hard, they make no bat-
" What! canst thou talk," quoth she, " hast thou
a tongue ?
" 0 would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing !
" Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong ;
" I had my load before, now press'd with bearing :
" Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh sound¬
ing, [wounding.
" Ear's deep-sweet rnusic, and heart's deep-sore
" Had I no eyes, but ears, my ears would love
" That inward beauty and invisible ;
" Or, were I deaf, thy outward parts would move
" Each part in me that were but sensible :
" Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,
" Yet should I be in love, by touching thee.
" Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me,
" And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch,
" And nothing but the very smell were left me,
" Yet would my love to thee be still as much;
" For from the still'tory of thy face excelling
" Comes breath perfum'd, that breedeth love
by smelling.
" But 0, what banquet wert thou to the taste,
" Being nurse and feeder of the other four!
24
THE POEMS
" "Would they not wish the feast might ever last,
" And bid suspicion double-lock the door ?
" Lest jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest,
" Should, by his stealing in, disturb'the feast."
Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd,
"Which to his speech did honey passage yield ;
Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd
Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field,
Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,
Gusts and foul flaws'^" to herdmen and to herds,
This ill presage advisedly she marketh:
Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth,
Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,
Of as the berry breaks before it staineth,
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun.
His meaning struck her ere his words begun.
And at his look she flatly falleth down,
For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth:
A smile recures the wounding of a frown.
But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth!
The silly boy believing she is dead.
Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red;
And all-amaz'd brake off his late intent.
For sharply he did think to reprehend her,
Which cunning love did wittily prevent:
Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her!
fiaws] i. e. sudden blasts of wind.
OF SHAKESFEAK
25
For on the grass she lies as she were slain,
Till his breath breatheth life in her again.
He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks.
He bends her lingei's, holds her pulses hard;
lie chafes her lips, a thousand ways he seeks
To mehd the hurt that his unkindness marr'd ;
He kisses her ; and she, by her good will,
"Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.
The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day :
Her two blue window's faintly she up-heaveth,
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array
He cheers the morn, and all the earth relieveth :
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,
So is her face illumin'd with her eye;
Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd.
As if from thence they horrow'd all their shine.
Were never four such lamps together mix'd.
Had not his clouded with his brows' repine;
Blithers, which thro'the crystal tears gave light.
Shone like the moon in water seen by night.
" 0, where am I ? " quoth she," in earth or heaven,
" Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire ?
" What hour is this? or morn or weary even ?
" Do I delight to die, or life desire ?
'• But now I liv'd, and life was death's annoy;
" But now I died, and death was lively joy.
26
THE POEMS
" O thou didst kill me ;—kill me once again :
" Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine,
" Hath taught them scornful tricks, and such
disdain,
" That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine;
"And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,
" But for thy piteous lips no more had seen.
"Long may they kiss each other, for this cure !
" O never let their crimson liveries wear!
"And as they last, their verdure still endure,
" To drive infection from the dangerous year !
" That the star-gazers, having writ on death.
May say, the plague is hanish'd by thy breath.
Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted,
" What bargains may I make, still to be sealing ?
" To sell myself I can be well contented,
" So thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing:
" Which purchase, if thou make, for fear of
slips,^^
" Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips.
"A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;
"And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
" What is ten hundred touches unto thee ?
"Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone ?
21 To drive infection, &c. | During the plague, rooms were
strewed with strong smelling herbs, to prevent infection.
22 slips 1 i. e. counterfeit money.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
27
" Say, for non-payment that the debt ^hould
double,
" Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble ? "
•' Fair queen," quoth he," if any love you owe me,
" Measure my strangeness^ with my unripe years ;
" Before I know myself, seek not to know me;
•' No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears :
" The mellow plumb doth fall, the green sticks
fast,
".Or being early pluck'd, is sour to taste.
■' Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait,
" His day's hot task hath ended in the west:
" The owl, night's herald, shrieks, 'tis very late ;
" The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest;
"And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's
light
" Do summon us to part, and bid good night.
" Now let me say good night, and so say you ;
" If you will say so, you shall have a kiss."
" Good night," quoth she ; and, ere he says adieu.
The honey fee of parting tender'd is :
Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace ;
Incorporate then they seem; face grows to face.
Till, breathless, he disjoin'd, and backward drew
The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth,
28 strangeness] i. e. coyness.
28
THE POEMS
"Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,
Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth:
lie with her plenty press'd, she faint with
dearth,
(Their lips together glu'd,) fall to the earth.
Now quick Desire hath caught the yielding prey.
And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth ;
Iler lips are conquerors, his lips obey.
Paying what ransom the insulter willeth ; [high,
Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so
That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry.
And having felt the sweetness of the spoil.
With blindfold fury she begins to forage;
Iler face doth reek and smoke, her bipod doth boil,
And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage;
Planting oblivion, beating reason back.
Forgetting shame's pure blush, and honour's
wrack.
Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing,
Like a wild bird being tam'd with too much handling,
Or as the fleet-foot roe, that's tir'd with chasing.
Or like the froward infant, still'd with dandling.
He now obeys, and now no more resisteth.
While she takes all she can, not all she listeth.
What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering.
And yields at last to every light impression ?
OF SHAKESPEARE.
29
Things out of hope are eompass'd oft with venturing,
Chiefly in love, whose leave^ exceeds commission ;
Affection faints not like a pale-fac'd coward.
But then woos best, when most his choice is
froward.
When he did frown, 0, had she then gave over.
Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd.
I'oul words and frowns must not repel a lover;
What though the rose have prickles ? yet 'tis pluck'd;
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast.
Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at
last.
For pity now she can no more detain him ;
The poor fool prays her that he may depart:
She is resolv'd no longer to restrain him ;
Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart.
The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest,
lie carries thence incaged in his breast.
'■ Sweet boy," she says, " this night I'll waste in
sorrow,
■ For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch.
'' Tell me, love's master, shall we meet to-morrow ?
•' Say, shall we ? shall we ? wilt thou make the
match ? "
He tells her no ; to-morrow he intends
To hunt the boar with certain of his friend
have] i. e. licentiousness.
'30
THE rOEMS
''The boar!" quoth she; whereat a sudden jiule.
Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose,
Usurps her cheeks; she trembles at his tale,
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws :
She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck,
He on her belly falls, she on her back.
Now is she in the very lists of love.
Her champion mounted for the hot encounter :
All is imaginary she doth prove,
He will not manage her, although he mount her,
That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy,
To clip Elysium, and to lack her joy.
Even as poor birds, deceiv'd with painted grapes.
Do surfeit by the eye, and pine the maw.
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps.
As those poor birds that helpless^® berries saw;
The warm eflfects which she in him finds miss¬
ing,
She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.
But all in vain ; good queen, it will not be;
She hath assay'd as much as may be prov'd;
Her pleading hath deserv'd a greater fee;
She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not lov'd.
" Fie, fie," he says, " you crush me ; let me go;
" You have no reason to withhold me so."
htlpless\ i. e. that g've no help, no sustenance.
OF SHAKESPEAKE.
31
'• Thou hadst been gone," quoth she, " sweet boy,
ere this, [boar.
" But that thou told'st me, thou would'st hunt the
'• 0 be advis'd ! thou know'st not what it is
AVith javelin's point a churlish swine to gore,
•' AV^hose tushes never-sheath'd he whetteth still,
'■ Like to a mortal^® butcher, bent to kill.
" On his bow-back he hath a battle set
" Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes ;
" His eyes like glowworms shine when he doth fret;
" His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes;
" Being mov'd, he strikes whate'er is in his way,
" And whom he strikes, his cruel tushes slay.
".His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd,
" Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter;
" His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd ;
" Being ireful, on the lion he will venture :
■' The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,
" As fearful of him, par' through whom he
rushes.
'• Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine,
" To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes ;
" Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne,
" AA'^hose full perfection all the world amazes;
" But having thee at vantage (wondrous dread!)
" AA'^ould root these beauties as he roots the mead.
26 morlal\ i. c. deadly.
32
THE POEMS
" O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still!
" Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends:
" Come not within his danger by thy will;
'• They that thrive well, take counsel of their friends.
" When thou didst name the boar, not to dis¬
semble,
" I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.
Didst thou not mark my face ? Was it not white ?
" Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye ?
" Grew I not faint ? And fell I not downright ?
" Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,
" My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no
rest, [breast.
" But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my
" For where love reigns, disturbing jealousy
'• Doth call himself affection's sentinel;
" Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,
'■ And in a peaceful hour doth cry, kill, kill;
" Distempering gentle love in his desire,
" As air and water do abate the fire
This sour informer, this bate-breeding^ spy,
" This canker that eats up loves tender spring,
" This carry-tale, dissensions jealousy, [bring,
" That sometime true news, sometime false doth
" Knocks at my heart and whispers in mine ear,
" That if I love thee, I thy death should fear :
2' lialerbrteding'\ i. e. strife breeding.
OF SHAKESPEARF-.
33
" And more than so, presenteth to mine eye
" The picture of an angry-chafing boar,
" Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie
" An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore ;
" Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed,
" Doth make them droop with grief, and hang
the head.
" What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,
" That tremble at the imagination ?
" The thought of it doth make my faint heart
hleed,
" And fear doth teach it divination :
" I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow,
" If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow.
" But if thou needs will hunt, be rul'd by me;
" Uncouple at the timorous flying hare,
" Or at the fox, which lives by subtilty,
" Or at the roe, which no encounter dare :
" Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs,
"And on thy well-breath'd horse keep with thy
hounds.
"And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,
" ]\Iark the poor wretch, to overshoot'^® his troubles,
" How he outruns the wind, and with what care
28 overshoot] llalone absurdly gives in the text, and
attempts to defend in a note, the reading of tlie old copy
" ocershut"
3
34
THE POEMS
" He cranks^® and crosses, with a thousand doubles:
" The many musits®" through the which he goes,
" Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.
Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep,
" To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell,
" And sometime where earth-delving conies keep,
" To stop the loud pursuers in their yell;
" And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer;
" Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear:
" For there his smell with others being mingled,
'' The hot scent-snuffing-hounds are driven to
doubt.
Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled,
"With much ado the cold fault cleanly out;
" Then do they spend their mouths : Echo re¬
plies,
" As if another chase were in the skies.
" By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,
" Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear,
" To hearken if his foes pursue him still;
" Anon their loud alarums he doth hear;
" And now his grief may be compared well
" To one sore-sick, that hears the passing bell.
29 cranks\ i. e. winds.
89 miisits] i. e. gaps in hedges or thickets, through which
the hare is wont to pass.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
35
" Then shall thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch
" Turn, and return, indenting with the way ;
"Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch,
" Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur
" For misery is trodden on by many, [stay ;
" And being low, never reliev'd by any.
" Lie quietly, and hear a little more;
" Nay, do not struggle, for thou shall not rise:
" To make thee hate the hunting of the boar,
" Unlike myself thou hear'st me moralize,
" Applying this to that, and so to so;
" For love can comment upon every woe.
" Where did I leave ? "—"No matter where,"
quoth he;
" Leave me, and then the story aptly ends:
" The night is spent." " Why, what of that,"
quoth she ?
" I am," quoth he, " expected of my friends ;
" And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall."—
" In night," quoth she, " desire sees best of all.
" But if thou fall, 0 then imagine this,
" The earth in love with thee thy footing trips,
" And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. [lips
" Rich preys make true®^ men thieves : so do thy
" Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn,
" Lest she should steal a kiss, and die forsworn.
81 tnoraUze\ i. e. comment. 82 true] i. e. honest.
36
THE POEMS
" Now, of this dark night I perceive the reason :
" Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine,
" Till forging nature be condemn'd of treason,
'' For stealing moulds from heaven that were
divine, [despite,
" Wherein she fram'd thee in high heaven's
" To shame the sun by day, and her by night.
'• And therefore hath she brib'd the Destinies,
" To cross the curious workmanship of nature,
" To mingle beauty with infirmities,
'• And pure perfection with impure defeature ;
" Making it subject to the tyranny
" Of mad mischances and much misery;
" As burning fevers, agues, pale and faint,
'• Life-poisoning pestilence, and frenzies wood,'®
'' The mari'ow-eating sickness, whose attaint
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood ;
'■ Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn'd
despair,
" Swear nature's death for framing thee so fair.
" And not the least of all these maladies,
" But in one minute's fight brings beauty under :
'' Both favour, savour, hue, and qualities,
" Whereat the impartial gazer late did wonder,
"Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done,
"As mountain-snow melts with the midday sun.
33 wood] 1. e. mad.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
37
" Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity,
" Love-lacking vestals, and self-loving nuns,
" That on the earth would breed a scarcity,
" And barren dearth of daughters and of sons.
" Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night
" Dries up his oil, to lend the world his light.
'' What is thy body but a swallowing grave,
" Seeming to bury that posterity
" Which by the rights of time thou needs must have.
" If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity ?
" If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,
" Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.
" So in thyself thyself art made away;
" A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife,
" Or theirs, whose desperate hands themselves do
slay,
" Or butcher-sire, that reaves his .son of life.
" Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets.
" But gold that's put to use, more gold begets."
" Nay, then," quoth Adon, " you will fall again
" Into your idle over-handed theme ;
" The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain,
" And all in vain you strive against the stream ;
" I'or by this black'd-fac'd night, desire's foul
nurse,
" Your treatise makes me like you worse and
worse.
38
THE POEMS
" If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues,
"And every tongue more moving than your own,
" Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs,
" Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown ;
" For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear,
"And will not let a false sound enter there ;
" Lest the deceiving harmony should run
" Into the quiet closure of my breast;
" And then my little heart were quite undone,
" In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest.
" No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,
" But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.
" What have you urg'd that I cannot reprove ?
" The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger;
" I hate not love, but your device in love,
" That lends embracements unto every stranger.
" You do it for increase; O strange excuse !
" When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse.
" Call it not love, for love to heaven is fled,
" Since sweating lust on earth usurp'd his name;
" Under whose simple semblance he hath fed
" Upon fre.sh beauty, blotting it with blame;
" Which the hot tyrant stains, and soon be-
"As caterpillars do the tender leaves [reaves,
" Love comforteth, like sunshine after rain,
" But lust's effect is tempest after sun ;
OF SHAKF.SPEARE,
39
" Love's gentle >[)ring doth always fresh remain,
" Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done.
'•Love surfeits not; lust like a glutton dies:
" Love is all truth; lust full of forged lies,
" I\Iore I could tell, but more I dare not say ;
" The text is old, the orator too green
" Therefore, in sadness, now I will away;
" ]My face is full of shame, my heart of teen;
" Mine ears that to your wanton talk attended,
" Do burn themselves for having so offended."
With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace
Of those fair arms winch bound him to her breast,
And homeward through the dark lawndruns
apace ;
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd.
Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky.
So glides he in the night from Venus' eye;
Which after him she darts, as one on shore
Gazing upon a late-embarked friend.
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more.
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend;
So did the merciless and pitchy night
Fold in the object that did feed her sight.
Whereat amaz'd, as one that unaware
Ilath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood,
<een] i. e grief. 85 laumd] An old form of hum.
40
THE POEMS
Or 'stonish'd as iilght-wanderers often are,
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood ;
Even so confounded in the dark she lay,
Having lost the fair discovery of her way.
And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans.
That all the neighbour-caves, as seeming troubled,
Make verbal repetition of her moans ;
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled:
Ah me ! she cries, and twenty times, woe,woe!
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.
She marking them, begins a wailing note,
And sings extemp'rally a woful ditty ; [dote ;
How love makes young men thrall, and old men
How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty :
Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe.
And still the choir of echoes answers so.
Her song was tedious, and outwore the night.
For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short:
If pleas'd themselves, others, they think, delight
In such like circumstance, with such like sport:
Their copious stories, oftentimes begun,
End without audience, and are never done.
For who hath she to spend the night withal.
But idle sounds, resembling parasites.
Like shrill-tongu'd tapsters answering every call.
Soothing the humour of fantastick wits ?
OF SHAKESPF.ARE.
41
She says, 'tis so : tliey an-wer all, 'tis so ;
And would say after her, if she said no.
Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high.
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun arisetli in his majesty ;
Who doth the world so gloriously behold.
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.
Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow :
" O thou clear god, and patron of all light,
" From whom each lamp and shining star doth
borrow
"The beauteous influence that makes him bright,
" There lives ason,thatsuck'd an earthly mother,
" jMay lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other."
This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove.
Musing the morning is so much o'erworn.
And yet she hears no tidings, of her love;
She barkens for his hounds, and for his horn:
Anon she hears them chaunt it lustily,
And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.
And as she runs, the bushes in the way
Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face.
Some twine about her thigh to make her stay;
coasttiIi\ 1. c advanceth.
42
THE POEMS
She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,
Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache.
Hasting to feed her fawn, hid in some brake.
By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay,
"Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder
"Wreath'd up in fatal folds, just in his way.
The fear whereof doth make him shake and shud¬
der ;
Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds
Appals her senses, and her spirit confounds.
For now she knows it is no gentle chase,
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud,
Because the cry remaineth in one place,
"Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud;
Finding their enemy to be so curst.
They all strain court'sy who shall cope him first.
This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear.
Through which it enters to surprise her heart,
"Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear.
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part:
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield
They b'asely fly, and dare not stay the field.
Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy ;
Till, cheering up her senses all-dismay'd.
She tells them, tis a causeless fantasy.
And childish error that they are afraid ;
OF SHAKESPEARE.
43
Bids them leave quaking, bids them fearno more;
And with that word she spied the hunted boar ;
Whose frothy mouth, hepainted all with red,
Like milk and blood being mingled both together,
A second fear through all her sinews spread.
Which madly hurries her she knows not whither;
This way she runs, and now she will no further.
But back retires, to rate the boar for murther.
A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways ;
She treads the path that she untreads again ;
Her more than haste is mated" witii delays,
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain ;
Full of respects,^®yet nought at all respecting,
In hand with all things, nought at all effecting.
Here kennel'd in a brake she finds a hound.
And asks the weary caitiff for his master;
And there another licking of his wound.
Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster;
And here she meets another sadly scowling,
To whom she speaks; and he replies with howling
When he hath ceas'd his ili-resounding noise.
Another fiap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim.
Against the welkin vollies out his voici,:
Another and another answer him,
87 maitd\ i. e. confounded,
88 res2)tits\ i.e. circumspection.
u
THK POEMS
Clapping their proud tails to the ground below,
Shaking their scrateh'd ears, bleeding as they go.
Look, how the world's poor people are amaz'd
At apparitions, signs, and prodigies.
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gaz'd,
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies :
So she at these sad signs draws up her breath.
And, sighing it again, exclaims on death.
" Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,
" Hateful divorce of love," (thus chides she death,)
" Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what, dost
thou mean
"To stifle beauty, and to steal his breath,
" Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set
" Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet ?
" If he be dead,—0 no, it cannot be,
" Seeing his beauty, thou should'st strike at it—
" O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see,
" But hatefully at random dost thou hit.
" Thy mark is feeble age ; but thy false dart
" Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart.
" lladst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,
" And hearing him, thy power had lost his power.
" The destinies will curse thee for this stroke;
"They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a
flower:
OF SHAKESPEARE.
43
Love's golden arrow at tiim should have fled,
"And not death's ebon dart, to strike him dead.
" Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st such
weeping ?
"What may a heavy groan advantage thee ?
" Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping
'•Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see ?
" Now Nature cares not for thy mortal®' vigour,
" Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour."
Here overcome, as one full of despair,
She vail'd^' her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopp'd
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp'd ;
But through the flood-gates breaks the silver
O o
rain,
And with his strong course opens them again.
0 how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow!
Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye;
Both crystals, where they view'd each other's
sorrow,
Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry;
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain.
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.
Variable passions throng her constant woe.
As striving who should best become her grief ;
" Tnortal] i. e. deadly. vaitd] i. c. lowered.
THE POEMS
All entertain'd, each passion labours so,
That every present sdrrow seemeth chief,
But none is best; then join they all together.
Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.
By this, far off she hears some huntsman holla;
A nurse's song ne'er pleas'd her babe so well;
The dire imagination she did follow
This sound of hope doth labour to expell;
For now reviving joy bids her rejoice.
And flatters her, it is Adonis' voice.
Whereat her tears began to turn their tide.
Being prison'd in her eye, like pearls in glass;
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass,
To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground.
Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd.
O hard-believing love, how strange it seems
Not to believe, and yet too credulous!
Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes,
Despair and hope make thee ridiculous :
The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.
Now she unweaves the ■web that she hath wrought;
Adonis lives, and death is not to blame ;
It was not she that call'd him all-to nauglit :
all-to] i. e. entirely, altogether. Malone, not understand¬
ing the expression, printed '■ all to."
OF SHAKESPEARE.
47
Now she adds honours to his hateful name;
She clepes him king of graves, and grave for
kings,
Imperious supreme of all mortal things.
" No, no," quoth she, " sweet Death, I did but jest;
" Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear,
" Whenas I met the boar that bloody beast,
" Which knows no pity, but is still severe;
" Then, gentle shadow, (truth I must confess)
" I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease.
" 'Tis not my fault: the boar provok'd my tongue;
" Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander;
" 'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong;
" I did but act, he's author of thy slander:
" Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet
" Could rule them both, without ten women's wit."
Thus, hoping that Adonis is alive,
Her rash suspect she doth extenuate ;
And that his beauty may the better thrive.
With death she humbly doth insinuate;
Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs; and stories
His victories, his triumphs, and his glories.
" O Jove,'' quoth she, " how much a fool was I,
" To be of such a weak and silly mind,
" To wail his death, who lives, and must not die,
" Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind !
48
THE POEMS
" For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,
" And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again
" Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear
" As one with treasure laden, hemm'd with thieves ;
" Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear,
" Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves."
Even at this word she hears a merry horn.
Whereat she leaps, that was but late forlorn.
As falcons to the lure, away she flies;
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light;
And in her haste unfortunately spies-
The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight;
Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view.
Like stars asham'd of day, themselves withdrew.
Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit.
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain.
And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit,
Long after fearing to creep forth again;
So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled
Into the deep dark cabins of her head;
Where they resign their office and their light
To the disposing of her troubled brain ;
Who bids them still consort with ugly night.
And never wound the heart with looks again ;
AFho, like a king perplexed in his throne,
By their suggestion gives a deadly groan.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
49
Whereat each tiibutary subject quakes;
As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground,
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes.
Which with cold terror doth men's minds con¬
found :
This mutiny each part doth so surprise.
That from their dark beds, once more, leap her
eyes ;
And, being open'd, threw unwilling light
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd
In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was
drench'd:
No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed.
But stole his blood, and seem'd with him to
bleed.
This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth ;
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head;
Dumbly she passions, frantickly she doteth ;
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead.
Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow ;
Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now.
Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly.
That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem
three;
And then she reprehends her mangling eye,
That makes more gashes wherenobreachshouldbei
4
50
THE POEMS
His face seems twain, each several limb is dou¬
bled ; [bled.
For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being trou-
" My tongue cannot express my grief for one,
" And yet," quoth she, " behold two Adons dead!
" My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,
" Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead ;
•' Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' red fire!
" So shall I die by drops of hot desire.
" Alas, poor -world, what treasure hast thou lost!
" What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?
" Whose tongue is musick now ? what canst thou
boast
/
" Of things long since, or any thing ensuing?
" The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and
trim ;
" But true-sweet beauty liv'd and died with him.
" Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear!
" Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you :
" Having no fair to lose, you need not fear;
" The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss
you :
" But when Adonis liv'd, sun and sharp air
" Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair;
" And therefore would he put his bonnet on,
" Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep;
42 fair] i. e. beauty.
of shakespeake.
51
" The wind would blow, it off, and, being gone,
" Play with bis locks ; then would Adonis weep:
" And straight, in pity of bis tender years,
" They both would strive who first should dry
bis tears.
" To see bis face, the lion walk'd along
" Behind some hedge, because be would not fear
him:
" To recreate himself, when be bath sung,
" The tiger would be tame, and gently bear bim :
" If be bad spoke, the wolf would leave bis prey,
" And never fright the silly lamb that day.
" "When be beheld his shadow in the brook,
" The fishes spread on it their golden gills ;
" When be was by, the birds such pleasure took,
" That some would sing, some other in their bills
" Would bring bim mulberries, and ripe-red
cherries ;
" He fed them with bis sight, they him with
berries.
t
" But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted^^ boar,
" Whose downward eye still looketb for a grave,
" Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that be wore :
" Witness the entertainment that be gave ;
" If be did see bis face, why then I know,
" He thought to kiss bim, and bath kill'd bim so.
48 urchin-STWuted] i. e. snouted like a hedgehog.
TlIK POEM.S
'• 'Tis true, 'tis true ; tlius was Adonis slain ;
'• lie ran upon the boar wilii his >harp spear,
'• Who did not whet his teeth at him again,
'• But by a kiss thought to persuade him there;
'■ And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine
" Sheath'd, unaware, the tusk in his soft groin.
" Had I been tooth'd like him I must confess
"AViih kissing him I should have kill'd him first;
•' But he is dead, and never did he bless
'• IMy youth with his; the more am I accurst."
With this she falleth in the place she stood,
And stains her face with his congealed blood.
She looks upon his lips, and they are pale ;
She takes him by the hand, and that is cold;
She whispers in his ears a heavy tale.
As if they heard the woful words she told:
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,
"Where, lo ! two lamps, burnt out, in darkness
lies:
Two glasses where herself herself beheld
A thousand times, and now no more reflect;
Their virtue lost, wherein they late exeell'd.
And every beauty robb'd of his effect:
Wonder of time," quoth she, " this is my
spite,
" That, thou being dead, the day should yet be
light.
OF SHAKESFF.ARE.
" Since thou art dead, lo ! here I prophesj,
" Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend;
" It shall be waited on with jealousy,
" Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end ;
'• Ne'er settled equally, but high or low ;
" That all love's pleasure shall not match his
woe.
" It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud ;
" Bud and be blasted in a breathing while;
" The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd
'• With sweets, that shall the truest sight beguile;
" The strongest body shall it make most weak,
" Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to
speak.
" It shall be sparing, and too full of riot,
" Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures
" Tiie staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet.
" Fluck down the rich, enrich the poor with
treasures:
" It shall be raging mad, and silly mild,
" Make the young old, the old become a child.
" It shall suspect where is no cause of fear;
" It shall not fear where it should most mistrust;
" It shall be merciful, and too severe,
" And most deceiving, when it seems most just;
** measures] A measure was a solemn dance with measured
steps.
54
THE POEMS
" Perverse it shall be, where it shows most toward,
" Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.
" It shall be cause of war, and dire events,
" And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire;
" Subject and servile to all discontents,
" As dry combustions matter is to fire ;
" Sith in bis prime death doth my love destroy,
" They that love best, their loves shall not
enjoy."
By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd,
AVas melted like a vapour from her sight.
And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd,
A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white.
Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood.
Which in round drops upon their whiteness
stood.
She bows her head, the new sprung flower to smell,
Comparing it to her Adonis' breath ;
And says, within her bosom it shall dwell.
Since he himself is reft from her by death:
She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears
Green dropping sap, which she compares to
tears.
" Poor flower," quoth she, " this was thy father's
guise,
" (Sweet issue of a more sweet smelling sire)
OF SHAKESPEARE.
" For every little grief to wet his eyes:
" To grow unto himself was his desire,
" And so 'tis thine; but know, it is as good
" To wither in my breast, as in his blood.
" Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast;
" Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right:
" Lo ! in this hollow cradle take thy rest,
" My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:
" There shall not be one minute in an hour
" Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower."
Thus weary of the world, away she hies,
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid
Their mistress mounted, through the empty skies
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd.
Holding their course to Paphos, where their
queen
Meabs to immure herself, and not be seen.
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.
TO THE
RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY
EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BAKON OF TITCHFIELD.
The love I dedicate lo your Lordship is without
end; whereof this pamphlet, without beginning,
is hut a superfluous moiety.^ The warrant I have
of your honourable disposition, not the worth of
my untutored lines, makes it assured of accept¬
ance. What I have done is yours, what I have
to do is yours ; being part in all I have, devoted
yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would
show greater: meantime, as it is, it is bound to
your lordship, to whom I wish long life, still
lengthened with all happiness.
Your Lordship's in all duty,
William Shakespeare.
1 moiety] i. c. part.
THE ARGUMENT.
Lucius Tarquinius (for his excessive pride
surnamed Superbus), after he had caused his own
father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be cruelly mur¬
dered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and
customs, not requirinj^ or staying for the people's
suffrages, had possessed himself of the kingdom;
went, accompanied with his sons and other noble¬
men of Rome, to besiege Ardea. During which
siege, the principal men of the army meeting one
evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the
king's son, in their discourses after supper, every
one commended the virtues of his own wife;
among whom, Collatinus extolled the incom¬
parable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In that
pleasant humour they all posted to Rome ; and in¬
tending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make
trial of that which every one had before avouched,
only Collatinus finds his wife (though it were late
in the night) spinning amongst her maids: the
other ladies were all found dancing and revelling,
or in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen
yielded Collatinus the victory, and his wife the
fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being in¬
flamed with Lucrece' beauty, yet smothering his
62
THE ARGUMENT.
passions for the present, departed with the rest
back to the camp ; from whence he shortly after
privily withdrew himself, and was (according to
his estate) royally entertained and lodged by
Lucrece at Collatium. The same night, he trea¬
cherously stealeth into her chamber, violently
ravished her, and early in the morning speedeth
away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily
dispatcheth messengers, one to Rome for her
fatlier, another to the camp for Collatine. They
came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus,
the olher with Publius Valerius; and finding
Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the
cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of
them for her revenge, revealed the actor, and
whole manner of his dealing, and withal suddenly
stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent
they all vowed to root out the whole hated family
of the Tarquins; and bearing the dead body to
Rome, Brutus acquainted the people with the
doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter
invective against the tyranny of the king; where¬
with the people were so moved, that with one
consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins
were all exiled, and the state government changed
from kings to consuls.
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.
From the besieged Ardea all in post,
Borne by tbcf trustless wings of false desire,
Lust-breatbed Tarquin leaves the Roman host,
And to Collatium bears the ligbtless fire
Wbieb, in pale embers bid lurks to aspire.
And girdle with embracing flames the waist
Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste.
Haply that name of chaste unbapp'ly set
This bateless edge on bis keen appetite ;
"When Collatine unwisely did not let^
To praise the clear unmatched red and white
Which trlumpb'd in that sky of bis delight,
Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's
beauties.
With pure aspects did him peculiar duties,
For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent,
Fiilock'd the treasure of his happy state ;
What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent
In the possession of his beauteous mate;
Reckoning bis fortune at such high proud rate.
That kings might be espoused to more fame,
But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.
1 let] i. e. forbear.
64
THE POEMS
O happiness enjoy'd but of a few !
And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done
As is the morning's silver-melting: de\v
c5 O
Against the golden splendour of the sun I
An expir'd date, cancell'd ere well begun ;
Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms,
Are weakly fortress'd from a wmrld of harms.
Beauty itself doth of itself persuade
The eyes of men without an orator;
4Vhat needeth then apologies be made
To set forth that which is so singular ?
Or why is Collatine the publisher
Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown
From thievish ears, because it is his own ?
Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty
Suggested ^ this proud issue of a king;
For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be :
Perchance that envy of so rich a thing,
Braving compare, disdainfully did sting
His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men
should vaunt
That golden hap which their superiors want.
But some untimely thought did instigate
His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those:
His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state,
2 suggested] i. e. tempted.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
G5
Neglected all, with swift intent he goes
To quench the coal which in his liver glows.
O rash false heat, wrapt in repentant cold.
Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old !
When at Collatium this false lord arriv'd.
Well was he welcom'd by the Roman dame,
AVithin whose face beauty and virtue striv'd
Which of them both should underprop her fame:
When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush forshame
When beauty boasted blushes, in despite
Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white.
But beauty, in that white intituled,®
From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field ;
Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red,
AVhich virtue gave the golden age, to guild
Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield;
Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,—
When shame assail'd, the red should fence the
white.
This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen.
Argued by beauty's red, and virtue's white.
Of cither's colour was the other queen.
Proving from world's minority their right:
Yet their ambition makes them still to fight;
The sovereignty of either being so great.
That oft they interchange each other's seat,
s intituled] i. e. having a title in.
5
66
THE POEMS
This silent war of lilies and of roses
"Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field,
In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses;
Where, lest between them both it shoulube kill'd,
The coward captive vanquished doth yield
To those two armies that would let him go,
Rather than triumph in so false a foe.
iNow thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue
(The niggard prodigal that prais'd her so)
In that high task hath done her beauty wrong.
Which far exceeds his barren skill to show:
Therefore that praise * which, Collatine doth owe,®
Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,
In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes.
This earthly saint, adored by this devil,
Little suspecteth the false worshipper;
For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil;
Birds never lim'd no secret blushes fear;
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer
And reverend welcome to her princely guest,
Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd:
For that he colour'd with his high estate,
Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty ;
That nothing in him seem'd inordinate,
< praise] i. e. object of praise.
® owe] i. e. own, possess.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
67
Save sometime too much wonder of his eye,
"Which, having all, all could not satisfy;
But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store.
That cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more,
But she that never cop'd with stranger eyes,
Could pick no meaning from their parling looks.
Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies
Writ in the glassy margents of such books ;
She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks ;
Nor could she moralize ® his wanton sight.
More than his eyes were open'd to the light.
He stories to her ears her husband's fame.
Won in the fields of fruitful Italy;
And decks with praises Collatine's high name.
Made glorious by his manly chivalry.
With bruised arras and wreaths of victory ;
Her joy with heav'd-up hand she doth express,
And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success.
Far from the purpose of his coming thither,
He makes excuses for his being there.
No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather
Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear;
Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear,
Upon the world dim darkness doth display.
And in her vaulty prison stows the day.
6 moralize\ i. e. interpret.
68
THE POEMS
For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,
Intending' weariness with heavy spright;
For, after supper, long he questioned
With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night:
Kow leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight;
And every one to rest themselves betake.
Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds,
that wake.
As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving
Tlie sundry dangers of his will's obtaining;
Yet ever to obtain his will resolving.
Though weak-built hopes persuade him to ab¬
staining ;
Despair to gain, doth traffic oft for gaining ;
And when great treasure is the meed propos'd,
Though death be adjunct, there's no death
suppos'd.
Those that much covet, are with gain so fond.
That what tliey have not, that which they possess.
They scatter and unloose it from their bond.
And so, by hoping more, they have but less;
Or, gaining more, the profit of excess
Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain.
That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.
The aim of all is but to nurse the life
With honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age;
V Inknding\ i. e. pretending.
OF SHAICESPEARE.
69
And in this aim there is such thwarting strife,
That one for all, or all for one we gage;
As life for honour, in fell battles' rage;
Honour for wealth; and o'ft that wealth doth cost
The death of all, and all together lost.
So that in vent'ring ill, we leave to be
The things we are, for that which we expect;
And this ambitious foul infirmity,
In having much, torments us with defect
Of that we have ■ so then we do neglect
The thing we have, and, all for want of wit.
Make something nothing, by augmenting it.
Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make.
Pawning his honour to obtain his lust;
And for himself, himself he must forsake :
Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust ?
When shall he think to find a stranger just,
When he himself himself confounds, betrays
To slanderous tongues, and wretched hateful
days ?
Now stole upon the time the dead of night.
When heavy sleep had clos'd up mortal eyes ;
No comfortable star did lend his light,
No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries ;
Now serves the season that they may surprise
The silly lambs; pure thoughts are dead and still,
While lust and murder wake to stain and kill.
70
THE POEMS
And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed,
Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm ;
I> madly toss'd between desire and dread;
Th' one sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm;
Hut honest Fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm.
Doth too too oft betake him to retire.
Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire.
His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth ;
That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly,
"\l hereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth,
AVhich must be lode-star to his lustful eye ;
And to the flame thus speaks advisedly :
" As from this cold flint I enforc'd this fire,
" So Lucrece must I force to my desire."
Here pale with fear he doth premeditate
The dangers of his loathsome enterprise,
And in his inward mind he doth debate
What following sorrow may on this arise;
Then looking scornfully, he doth despise
His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust.
And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust:
'■ Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it
not
" To darken her whose light excelleth thine!
"And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot
" With your uncleanness that which is divine I
" Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine:
OF SHAKESPEARE.
71
" Let fair humanity abhor the deed
" That spots and stains love's modest snow-
white weed.
" 0 shame to knighthood and to shining arms!
" 0 foul dishonour to my household's grave !
" 0 impious ^ct, including all foul harms !
" A martial man to be soft fancy's' slave j
" True valour still a true respect should have ;
" Then my digression is so vile, so base,
" That it will live engraven in my face.
" Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive,
" And be an eye-sore in my golden coat;
" Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive,
" To cipher me, how fondly I did dote;
" That my posterity, sham'd with the note,
" Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin
" To wish that I their father had not been.
" What win I, if T gain the thing I seek ?
" A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy ;
" Who buys a minute's mirth, to wail a week ?
" Or sells eternity, to get a toy ?
" For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy ?
'■ Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown,
" Would with the sceptre straight be strucken
down ?
8 fancij'sl i. e. love's.
72
THE POEMS
" If Collatinus dream of my intent,
" Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage
" Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent ?
" This siege that hath engirt his marriage,
" This blur to 3'outh, this sorrow to the sage,
" This dying virtue, this surviving shame,
" Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame ?
" 0 what excuse can my invention make,
" When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed ?
" VVill not my tongue be mute, my frail joints
shake ?
" Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart
bleed ?
" The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed;
" And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly,
" But, coward-like, with trembling terror die.
" Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire,
" Or lain in ambush to betraj" my life,
" Or were he not my dear friend, this desire
" Might have excuse to work upon his wife;
" As in revenge or quittal of such strife :
" But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend,
" The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.
" Shameful it is ;—ay, if the fact be known:
'• Hateful it is ;—there is no hate in loving;
" I'll beg her love ;—but she is not her own ;
" The worst is but denial, and reproving:
OF SHAKESPEARE.
73
" My will is strong, past reason's weak removing.
" M"ho fears a sentence or an old man's saw,
" Shall by a painted cloth® be kept in awe."
Thus, graceless, holds he disputation
'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will.
And with good thoughts makes dispensation.
Urging the worser sense for vantage still;
Which in a moment doth confound and kill
All pure effects, and doth so far proceed.
That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed.
Quoth he, •' She took me kindly by the hand,
" And gaz'd for tidings in my eager eyes,
" Fearinw some hard news from the warlike band
O
" Where her beloved Collatinus lies.
" 0 how her fear did make her colour rise I
" First red as roses that on lawn we lay,
" Then white as lawn, the roses took away.
" And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd,
" Forc'd it to tremble with her loyal fear;
" Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd,
" Until her husband's welfare she did hear;
" Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer,
" That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,
Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood.
9 painted chtli] i. c. not tapestry, but hangings for rooms
of cloth painted In oil, which were Interspersed with moral
sentences.
74
THE POEMS
"Why hunt I then for colour or excuses?
" All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth;
" Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses;
" Love thrives not in the heart that shadows
dreadeth:
" Affection is my captain, and he leadeth ;
" And when his gaudy banner is display'd,
" The coward fights, and will not be dismay'd.
" Then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die !
" Respect'" and reason wait on wrinkled age 1
" My heart shall never countermand mine eye :
" Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage;
" My part is youth, and beats these from the stage:
" Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize ;
" Then who fears sinking where such treasure
lies?"
As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear
Is almost chok'd by unresisted lust.
Away he steals with open listening ear.
Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust;
Both which, as servitors to the unjust.
So cross him with their opposite persuasion.
That now he vows a league, and now invasion.
Within his thought her heavenly image sits.
And in the selfsame seat sits Collatine;
1" Respect] i. e. prudence, that looks to consequences.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
75
That eye which looks on her, confounds his wits;
That eye which him beholds, as more divine,
Unto a view so false will not incline ;
But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart,
"Which once corrupted, takes the worser part;
And therein heartens up his servile powers.
Who, flatter'd by their leader's jocund show,
Stulf up his lust, as minutes fill up hours ;
And as their captain, so their pride doth grow.
Paying more slavish tribute than they owe.
By reprobate desire thus madly led.
The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed.
The locks between her chamber and his will.
Each one by him enforc'd, retires his ward;
But as they open, they all rate his ill.
Which drives the creeping thief to some regard;
The threshold grates the door to have him heard ;
Night-wand'ring weesels shriek to see him there;
They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.
As each unwilling portal yields him way.
Through little vents and crannies of the place
The wind wars with his torch, to make him stay.
And blows the smoke of it into his face.
Extinguishing his conduct in this case;
But his hotheart, which fond desire doth scorch.
Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch :
11 conduct\ i. e. conductor.
7G
THE POEMS
And being lighted, by the light he spies
Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks;
He takes it from the rushes where it lies;
And griping it, the neeld his finger pricks :
As who should say, this glove to wantoti tricks
Is not inur'd ; return again in haste ;
Thou seest our mistress' ornaments are chaste.
But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him;
He in the worst sense construes their denial:
The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him,
He takes for accidental things of trial;
Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial.
Who with a lingering stay his course doth let,"
Till every minute pays the hour his debt.
" So, so," quoth he, " these lets attend the time,
" Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring,
" To add a more rejoicing to the prime,
"And give the sneaped" birds more cause to sing.
" Pain pays the income of each precious thing,
" Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves
and sands, [lands.
" The merchant fears, ere rich at home he
Now is he come unto the chamber door
That shuts him from the heaven of his thought.
12 tfie rushes] with which, during our poet's time, apartments
were strewed. l® neeld] i. e. needle.
H let] i. e. hinder. l® sneaped] i. e checked.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
77
Which with a yielding latch, and with no more,-
Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he sought.
So from himself impiety hath wrought.
That for his prey to pray he doth begin.
As if the heaven should countenance his sin.
But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer.
Having solicited the eternal power,
That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair.
And they would stand auspicious to the hour.
Even there he starts:—quoth he, " I must de¬
flower ;
" The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact,
" How can they then assist me in the act ?
" Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide!
" My will is back'd with resolution :
" Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried,
" The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution ;
" Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution.
" The eye of heaven is out, and misty night
" Covers the shame that follows sweet delight."
This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch.
And with his knee the door he opens wide:
The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch ;
Thus treason works ere traitors be espied.
Who sees the lurking serpent, steps aside;
But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing.
Lies at the mei'cy of his mortal sting.
78
THE POEMS
Into the chamber wickedly he stalks,
And gazeth on her yet unstained bed.
The curtains being close, about he walks.
Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head:
By their high treason is his heart misled ;
Which gives the watchword to his hand full
soon.
To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon.
Look, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun.
Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight;
Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun
To wink, being blinded with a greater light:
Whether it is, that she reflects so bright,
That dazzleth them, or else some shame sup¬
posed ; [closed.
But blind they are, and keep themselves en-
O, had they in that darksome prison died.
Then had they seen the period of their ill!
Then Collatine again by Lucrece' side.
In his clear bed might have reposed still:
But they must ope, this blessed league to kill;
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight
Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight.
Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under.
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss ;
Who therefore angry, seems to part in sunder.
Swelling on either side to want his bliss ;
OF SHAKESPEARE.
79
Between whose hills her head entombed is:
Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies,
To be admir'd of lewd unhallow'd eyes.
Without the bed her other fair hand was,
On the green coverlet; whose perfect white
Show'd like an April daisy on the grass.
With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night.
Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheath'd their light,
And, canopied in darkness, sweetly lay,
Till they might open to adorn the day.
Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her
O modest wantons ! wanton modesty ! [breath:
Showing life's triumph in the map of death,
And death's dim look in life's mortality :
Each in her sleep themselves so beautify,
As if between them twain there were no strife.
But that life liv'd in death, and death in life.
Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue,
A pair of maiden worlds unconquered,
Save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew,
And him by oath they truly honoured.
These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred:
Who, like a foul usurper, went about
From this fair throne to heave the owner out.
What could he see, but mightily he noted ?
What did he note, but strongly he desir'd ?
80
THE POEJIS
What he beheld, on that he firmly doted,
And in his will his wilful eye he tir'd.
With more than admiration he adrair'd
Her azure veins, her alabaster skin.
Her coral lipSj'lier snow-white dimpled chin.
As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey.
Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied.
So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay.
His rage of lust by gazing qualified ;
Slack'd, not suppress'd ; for standing by her side,
His eye, which late this mutiny restrains,
Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins:
And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting.
Obdurate vassals, fell exploits effecting.
In bloody death and ravishment delighting, [ing.
Nor children's tears, nor mother's groans respect-
Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting :
Anon his beating heart, alarum striking.
Gives the hot charge, and bids them do their
liking.
His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye.
His eye commends the leading to his hand ;
His hand, as proud of such a dignity, '
Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land;
Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale.
Left their round turrets destitute and pale.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
81
They mustering to the quiet cabinet
Where their dear governess and lady lies,
Do tell her she is dreadfully beset,
And fright her with confusion of their cries:
She, much amaz'd, breaks ope her lock'd-up qyes.
Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold.
Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and controll'd.
Imagine her as one in dead of night
From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking,
That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite.
Whose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking ;
What terror 'tis! but she, in worser taking,
From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view
The sight which makes supposed terror true.
Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears,
Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies;
She dare.-, not look; yet, winking, there appears
Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes :
Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries:
AVho, angry that the eyes fly from their lights.
In darkness daunts them with more dreadful
sights.
IIi.> hand, that yet remains upon her breast,
(Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall 1)
IMay feel her heart (poor citizen !) distress'd,
AVounding itself to death, rise up and fall,
Beating her bulk,^® that his hand shakes withal.
16 bulk\ i. e. bod}'.
6
82
THE rOEMS
This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity,
To make the breach, and enter this sweet city.
First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin
To sound a parley to his heartless foe,
Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin,
The reason of this rash alarm to know.
Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show ;
But she with vehement prayers urgeth still,
Under what colour he commits this ill.
Thus he replies : " The colour in thy face
" (That even for anger makes the lily pale,
"And the red rose blush at her own disgrace,)
" Shall plead for me, and tell my loving tale :
" Under that colour am I come to scale
" Thy never-conquer'd fort; the fault is thine,
" For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine.
" Thus T forestall thee, if thou mean to chide :
" Thy beauty hath eiisnar'd thee to this night,
" Where thou with patience must my will abide,
" My will that marks thee for my earth's delight,
" Which I to conquer sought with all my might;
" But as reproof and reason beat it dead,
" By thy bright beauty was it newly bred.
" I see what crosses my attempt will bring;
" I know what thorns the growing rose defends ;
" I think the honey guarded with a sting:
OF SHAKESPEARE.
83
" All this, beforehand, counsel comprehends :
" But will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends;
" Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty,
" And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law or
duty.
" I have debated, even in my soul, -
" What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall
breed ;
" But nothing can affection's course control,
" Or stop the headlong fury of bis speed.
" I know repentant tears ensue the deed,
" Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity;
" Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy."
This said, he shak-es aloft his Roman blade.
Which, like a falcon towering in the skies,
Coucheth the fowl below with his wing's shade,
Who-e crooked beak threats if he mount he dies;
So under his insulting falchion lies
Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells
With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon's be!!-.
" Lucrece," quoth he," this night I must enjoy thee :
" If thou deny, then force must work my way,
'' For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee ;
" That done, some worthless slave of thine I'll slay,
" To kill thine honour with thy life's decay ;
"And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him,
" Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him.
THE POEMS
" So thy surviving husband shall remain
" The scornful mark of every open eye;
" Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain,
" Thy issue blurr'd with nameless bastardy;
" And thou, the author of their obloquy,
'• Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes,
" And sung by children in succeeding times.
" But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend :
" The fault unknown is as a thought unacted ;
" A little harm, done to a great good end,
"For lawful policy remains enacted.
" The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted
" In a pure compound ; being so applied,
" His venom in effect is purified.
" Then for thy husband and thy children's sake,
" Tender my suit: bequeath not to their lot
" The shame that from them no device can take,
" The blemish that will never be forgot;
" Worse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hour's blot;
" For marks descried in men's nativity
" Are nature's faults, not their own infamy."
Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye
He rouseth up himself, and makes a pause,
AVhile she, the picture of pure piety.
Like a white hind under the grype's" sharp claws,
1' grypt's] i. e. grjfiBn's, or vulture's: our old poets use the
•word most frequently in the latter sense.
OF SHAKESPEAKE.
85
Pleads in a wilderness, where are no laws,
To the rough beast that knows no gentle right,
Nor aught obeys but His foul appetite:
But^® when a black fac'd cloud the world doth threat.
In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding.
From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get,
AVhich blows these pitchy vapours from their
biding.
Hindering their present fall by this dividing;
So his unhallow'd haste her words delays.
And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays.
Yet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally.
While in his holdfast foot the weak mouse panteth ;
Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly,
A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth:
His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth
No penetrable entrance to her plaining:
Tears harden lust, though marble wear with
raining.
Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix'd
In the remorseless wrinkles of his face ;
Her modest eloquence with sighs is mix'd.
Which to her oratory adds more grace.
She puts the period often from his place,
18 But] Malone thought this word " evidently a misprint,"
and substituted " iooi." The text, however, seems to re¬
quire no alteration. " He only obeys his foul appetite, hut,
as some gentle gust, &c., so her words," &c.
86
THE POEMS
And 'midst the sentence so her accent breaks,
That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks.
She conjures him by high almighty Jove,
By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's
oath.
By her untimely tears, her husband's love.
By holy human law, and common troth.
By heaven and eartli, and all tiie power of both.
That to liis borrow'd bed he make retire.
And stoop to honour, not to foul desire.
Quoth she," Reward not hospitality [tended
" With such black payment as thou hast pre-
'• iMud not the fountain that gave drink to thee;
" Mar not the thing that cannot be amended ;
'■ End thy ill aim, before thy shoot^" be ended:
" He is no woodman that doth bend his bow
" To strike a poor unseasonable doe.
'• My husband is thy friend, for his sake spare me;
" Thyself art mighty, for thine own sake leave me ;
'• Myself a weakling, do not then ensnare me.
" Thou look'st not like deceit; do not deceive me:
" My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave
thee.
" If ever man were mov'd with woman's moans,
" Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans;
pretended] i. e. intended, proposed to thyself.
20 shoot] A play is meant here on the words shoot and suit.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
87
" All which together, like a troubled ocean,
" Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart;
" To soften it with their continual motion ;
" For stones dissolv'd to water do convert.
" O, if no harder than a stone thou art,
" Melt at my tears, and be compassionate !
" Soft pity enters at an iron gate.
" In Tarquiti's likeness I did entertain thee ;
" Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame ;
" To all the host of heaven I complain me,
'• Thou wrong'st his honour, wound'st his princely
name.
" Thou art not what thou seem'st; and if the same,
" Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king;
" For kings like gods should govern every thing.
" How will thy shame be seeded in thine age,
" When thus thy vices bud before thy spring?
" If in thy hope thou dar'st do such outrage,
" What dar'st thou not when once thou art a king ?
" O be remember'd, no outrageous thing
" From vassal actors can be wdp'd away ;
" Then king's misdeeds cannot be hid in clay.
" This deed will make thee only lov'd for fep,r,
" But happj'^ monarchs still are fear'd for love:
" With foul offenders thou perforce must bear,
" When they in thee the, like offences prove;
" If but for fear of thi-;, thy will remove;
88
THE POEMS
" For princes are the glass, the school, the book,
" Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look.
" And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall
learn ?
" Must he in thee read lectures of such shame ?
" Wilt thou be glass, whei-ein it shall discern
" Authority for sin, warrant for blame,
" To privilege dishonour in thy name ?
" Thou back'st reproach against long-living
laud,
" And mak'st fair reputation but a bawd.
" Ilast thou command? by him that gave it thee,
" From a pure heart command thy rebel will:
" Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity,
" For it was lent thee all that brood to kill.
" Thy princely office how canst thou fulfill,
" When, pattern'd by thy fault, foul Sin may say,
" He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way ?
" Think but how vile a spectacle it were
" To view thy present trespass in another.
" Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear;
" Their own transgressions partially they smother:
" This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy
brother
" O how are they wrapp'd in with infamies,
" That from their own misdeeds asktiunce their
eyes I
OF SHAKESPEARE.
89
" To thee, to thee, my heav'd-up hands appeal,
" Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier;
" I sue for exil'd majesty's repeal;
" Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire:
" His true respect will 'prison false desire,
" And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne,
" That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine."
" Have done,'' quoth he; " my uncontrolled tide
" Turns not, but swells the higher by this let.
'• Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide,
" And with the wind in greater fury fret :
" The petty streams that pay a daily debt
" To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls'
haste,
'• Add to his flow, but alter not his taste."
" Thou art," quoth she, " a sea, a sovereign king;
" And lo, there falls into thy boundless flood
" Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning,
" Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.
" If all these petty ills shall change thy good,
" Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hers'd,
" And not the puddle in thy sea dispers'd.
" So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave;
" Thou nobly base, they basely dignified ;
" Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave;
"Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride:
" The lesser thin^ should not the greater hide ;
90
THE POEMS
" The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot,
" But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root.
" So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state"—
'■ No more," quoth he, " by heaven, I will not
hear thee:
" Yield to my love; if not, enforced hate,
" Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee:
" That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee
" Unto the base bed of some rascal groom,
" To be thy partner in this shameful doom."
This said, he sets his foot upon the light.
For light and lust are deadly enemies :
Shame folded up in blind concealing night,
"When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.
The wolf hath seiz'd his prey, the poor lamb cries
Till with her own white fleece her voice controll'c
Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold:
For with the nightly linen that she wears,
He pens her piteous clamours in her head;
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears
That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed.
O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed I
The spots whereof could weeping purify.
Her tears should drop on them perpetually.
But she hath lost a dearer thing than life.
And he hath won what he would lose agairi.
OF SHAKEriPEARE.
91
This forced league doth force a further strife,
This momentary joy breeds months of pain,
This hot desire converts to cold disdain :
Pure chastity is rifled of her store.
And lust, the thief, far poorer than before.
Look, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk.
Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight.
Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk
The prey wherein by nature they delight;
So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night:
His taste delicious, in digestion souring,
Devours his will that liv'd by foul devouring.
O deeper sin than bottomless conceit
Can comprehend in still imagination !
Drunken desire must vomit his receipt,
Ere he can see his oVn abomination.
"While lust is in his pride, no exclamation
Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire.
Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire.
And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek,
NViih heavy eye. knit brow, and strengthless pace.
Feeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek,
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his ca<e:
The flesh being proud, desire doth fight with
grace,
For there it revels ; and when that decays.
The guilty rebel for remission prays.
92
THE POEMS
So fares it with this faultfiil lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment so hotly chas'd ;
For now against himself he sounds this doom,
That through the length of times he stands dis-
grac'd:
Besides, his soul's fair temple is defac'd ;
To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares.
To ask the spotted princess how she fares.
She says, her subjects with foul insurrection
Have batter'd down her consecrated wall.
And by their mortal fault brought in subjection
Her immortality, and made her thrall
To living death, and pain perpetual:
Which in her prescience she controlled still.
But her fore-sight could not forestall their will.
Even in this thought, through the dark night he
stealeth,
A captive victor, that hath lost in gain;
Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth,
The scar that will, despite of cure, remain.
Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain.
She bears the load of lusf he left behind.
And he the burthen of a guilty mind.
He, like a thievish dog, creeps sadly thence;
She like a wearied lamb lies panting there ;
He scowls, and hates himself for his offence ;
She desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear;
OF SHAKESPEARE.
93
lie faintlj flies, sweating with guilty fear ;
She stays exclaiming on the direful night;
He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loath'd delight.
He thence departs a heavy convertite ;
She there remains a hopeless cast-away:
He in his speed looks for the morning light;
.She prays she never may behold the day ;
" For day," quoth she "night's scapes doth open
lay ;
"And my true eyes have never practis'd how
" To cloak offences with a eunning brow.
" They think not but that every eye can see
" The same disgrace which they themselves be¬
hold ;
"And therefore would they still in darkness be,
" To have their unseen sin remain untold ;
" For they their guilt with weeping will unfold,
'•And grave, like water, that doth eat in steel,
" Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel."
Here she exclaims against repose and rest.
And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind.
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast.
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find
Some purer chest, to close so pure a mind.
Frantick with grief thus breathes she forth her
spite
Against the unseen secrecy of night:
94
THE POEMS
" 0 comfort-killing night, image of hell!
" Dim register and notary of shame !
" Black stagre for tragedies and murders fell!
c5 O
" Vast sin-concealing chaos ! nurse of blame !
" Blind muffled bawd ! dark harbour for defame!
" Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator,
" With close-tongu'd treason and the ravisher !
" O hateful, vaporous, and foggy night,
" Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime,
" Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light,
" Make war against proportion'd course of time !
" Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb
" His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,
" Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head.
" With rotten damps ravish the morning air;
" Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make sick
" The life of purity, the supreme fair,
" Ere he arrive his weary noontide prick ;
"And let thy musty vapours march so thick,
" That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light
" May set at noon, and make perpetual night.
" Were Tarquin night, (as he is but night's child,)
" The silver-shining queen he would distain :
" Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defil'd,
" Through night's black bosom should not peep
again;
21 jprick\ i. e. point.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
95
" So should I have copartner# in my pain :
"And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,
"As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage.
" Where now I have no one to blush with me,
" To cross their arms, and hang their heads with
mine,
" To mask their brows, and hide their infamy ;
" But I alone, alone must sit and pine,
" Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine,
" Mingling my talk with tears, ray grief with
groans,
" Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.
" O night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke,
" Let not the jealous day behold that face
" Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak
" Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace !
" Keep still possession of thy gloomy place,
" That all the faults which in thy reign are
made,
" May likewise be sepulcher'd in thy shade!
" Make me not object to the tell-tale day!
" The light will show, character'd in my brow,
" The story of sweet chastity's decay,
" The impious breach of holy wedlock vow :
" Yea, the illiterate that know not how
22 WTiere] i. e. Whereas.
96
THE POEMS
" To 'cipher what is writ in leai'ned hooks,
" Will quote my loathsome trespass in my
looks.
" The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story,
" And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name;
" The orator, to deck his oratory,
" Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame :
" Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame,
" ^Vill tie the hearers to attend each line,
" How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine.
" Let my good name, that senseless reputation,
" For Collatine's dear love be kept unspotted :
" If that be made a theme for disputation,
" The branches of another root are rotted,
" And undeserv'd reproach to him allotted,
" That is as clear from this attaint of mine,
" As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine.
" O unseen shame ! invisible disgrace !
" O unfelt sore! crest-wounding, private scar!
" Reproach is stamp'd in Collatinus' face,
" And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar,
" How he in -peace is wounded, not in war.
" Alas, how many bear such shameful blows,
" Which not themselves, but he that gives
them, knows!
23 quote] i. e. mark.
24 mot] i. e. motto.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
97
" If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me,
'• From me by strong assault it is bereft.
" My honey lost, and I a drone-like bee,
" Have no perfection of my summer left,
" But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft:
" In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept,
" And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee
kept.
" Yet am I guilty ^ of thy honour's wreck,—
'• Yet for thy honour did I entertain him;
" Coming from thee, I could not put him back,
" For it had been dishonour to disdain him;
" Besides of weariness he did complain him,
•' And talk'd of virtue :—O, unlook'd for evil,
" When virtue is profan'd in such a devil!
" Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud
" Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests ?
" Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud!
" Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts ?
" Or kings be breakers of their own behests ?
" But no perfection is so absolute,
" That some impurity doth not poUute.
25 guilty] Malone alters this word to '■^guiltless," very
unnecessarily: the meaning of the passage is plain;—Lu-
crece at first declares herself guilty of the wreck of her hus¬
band's honour, by having admitted Tarquin to visit her;, but
immediately recollects that it was for her husband's honour
that she entertained the ravishei".
7
98
THE POEMS
" The aged man that coffers up his gold
" Is plagued with cramps, and gouts, and painful
fits,
" And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold,
" But like still-pining Tantalus he sits,
" And useless barns the harvest of his wits;
" Having no other pleasure of his gain,
" But torment that it cannot cure his pain.
" So then he bath it, when he cannot use it,
" And leaves it to be master'd by bis young;
" Who in their pride do presently abuse it:
" Their father was too weak, and they too strong,
" To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long.
" The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours,
" Even in the moment that we call them ours.
" Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring ;
" Unwholesome weeds take root with precious
flowers;
" The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing;
" Whaf virtue breeds iniquity devours :
" We have no good that we can say is ours.
" But ill-annexed opportunity
" Or kills his life, or else his quahty.
" O Opportunity! thy guilt is great:
" 'Tis thou that execut'st the traitor's treason ;
" Thou sett'st the wolf where he the lamb may get;
" Whoever plots the sin, thou 'point'st the season;
" Tis thou that spum'st at right, at law, at rca-oa ;
" And in wh^^i^iegiday spy him,
" Sits Sin, to Seizei&gSSlJsAhafwander l)\' him.
" Thou mak'st the vestal violate her oath;
" Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd;
" Thou smother'st honesty, thou murder'st troth ;
" Thou foul abettor! thou notorious bawd I
" Thou plantest scandal, and displaeest laud:
" Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief,
" Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief!
" Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,
" Thy private feasting to a public fast;
" Thy smoothing^® titles to a ragged name :
" Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste;
" Thy violent vanities can never last.
" How comes it then, vile Opportunity,
" Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee ?
" When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend,
" And bring him where his suit may be obtain'd ?
" When wilt thou sort^^ an hour great strifes to end ?
" Or free that soul which wretchedness hath
chain'd ?
" Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain'd ?
" The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for
thee;
" But they ne'er meet with Opportunity.
26 smoothing] i. e. flattering. 27 sort] i. e. choose.
100
THE POEMS
" The patient dies -while the physician sleeps;
" The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds;
"Justice is feasting while the widow weeps ;
" Advice is sporting while infection breeds ;
" Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds :
" Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages,
" Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages.
" When truth and virtue have to do with thee,
" A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid;
" They buy thy help: but sin ne'er gives a fee,
'• He gratis comes; and thou art well appay'd
" As well to hear as grant what he hath said.
" My Coliatine would else have come to me
" When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee.
" Guilty thou art of murder and of theft;
'• Guilty of perjury and subornation;
" Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift:
'• Guilty of incest, that abomination:
" An accessary by thine inclination
" To all sins past, and all that are to come,
"From the creation to the general doom.
" Misshapen Time, copesmate of ugly night,
" Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care ;
" Eater of youth, false slave to false delight,
" Base watch of woes, sin's packhorse, virtue's
snare;
28 appay'd] i. e. satisfied.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
101
" Thou nursest all, and murderest all that are.
" 0 hear me then, injurious, shifting Time !
" Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.
" Why hath thy servant. Opportunity,
" Betray'd the hours thou gav'st me to repose ?
" Cancell'd my fortunes, and enchained me
" To endless date of never-ending woes ?
" Time's office is to line''® the hate of foes ;
" To eat up errors by opinion bred,
" Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.
" Time's glory is to calm contending kings,
" To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light
" To stamp the seal of time in aged things,
" To wake the morn, and sentinel the night,
" To wrong the wronger till he render right:
O O O '
" To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours,
" And smear with dust their glittering golden
towers:
" To fill with worm-holes stately monuments,
" To feed oblivion with decay of things,
" To blot old books, and alter their contents,
" To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings,
" To dry the old oak's sap, and cherish springs;
" To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel,
" And turn the giddy round of fortune's wheel;
29 fine\ i. c. put an end to
102
THE POEMS
" To show the beldame daughters of her daughter,
" To make tlie child a man, the man a child,
" To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter,
" To tame the unicorn and lion wild :
" To mock the subtle, in themselves beguil'd;
"To cheer the ploughman withincreasefulcrops,
" And waste huge stones with little water-drops.
" Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage,
" Unless thou could'st return to make amends ?
" One poor retiring minute in an age
" Would purchase thee a thousand thousand
friends,
" Lending him wit, that to bad debtors lends :
" O, this dread night, would'st thou one hour
come back,
'• I could prevent this storm, and shun thy wrack!
" Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity,
'• With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight:
•' Devise extremes beyond extremity,
" To make him curse this cursed crimeful night:
" Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright;
" And the dire thought of his committed evil,
" Shape every bush a hideous, shapeless devil.
" Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances,
" Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans ;
" Let there bechance him pitiful mischances,
30 rdiring] i. e. returning.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
103
" To make him moan, but pity not his moans :
" Stone him with harden'd hearts, harder than
stones ;
" And let mild women to him lose their mildness,
" Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.
" Let him have time to tear his curled hair,
" Let him have time against himself to rave,
" Let him have time of time's help to despair,
'' Let him have time to live a loathed slave,
" Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave ;
" And time to see one that by alms doth live,
" Disdain to him disdained scraps to give.
" Let him have time to see his friends his foes,
" And merry fools to mock at him resort;
" Let him have time to mark how slow time goes
" In time of sorrow, and how swift and short
" His time of folly and his time of sport:
And ever let his unrecalling crime
" Have time to wail the abusing of his time.
" 0 Time, thou tutor both to good and bad,
" Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this ill!
" At his own shadow let the thief run mad,
" Himself himself seek every hour to kill!
" Such wretched hands such wretched blood should
spill:
81 unrecalling crime^ i. e. crime not to be recalled.
104
THE POEMS
" For who so base would such an office have
" As slanderous death's-man to so base a slave?
" The baser is he, coming from a king,
" To shame his hope with deeds degenerate.
" The mightier man, the mightier is the thing
" That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate;
" For greatest scandal waits on greatest state.
" The moon being clouded, presently is miss'd,
" But little stars may hide them when they list.
" The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in
mire,
'■ And unperceiv'd fly with the filth away ;
" But if the like the snow-white swan desire,
" The stain upon his silver down will stay.
" Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious
day.
" Gnats are unnoted whereso'er they fly,
" But eagles gaz'd upon with every ej-e.
" Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools I
" Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators !
"Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools,
" Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters ;
" To trembling clients be you mediators :
" For me, I force not argument a straw,
" Since that my ctise is past the help of law.
82 jorct\ 1. e. regard.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
105
" In vain I rail at Opportunity,
" At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night;
" In vain I cavil with my infamy,
" In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despite :
" This helpless smoke of words doth me no right,
" The remedy indeed to do me good,
" Is to let forth my foul, defiled blood.
" Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree?
" Honour thyself to rid me of this shame ;
" For if I die, my honour lives in thee,
" But if I live, thou liv'st in my defame :
" Since thou could'st not defend thy loyal dame,
" And wa^t afear'd to scratch her wicked foe,
" Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.'
Tliis said, from her betumbled couch she starteth.
To find some desperate instrument of death:
But this no-slaughter-house no tool imparteth.
To make more vent for passage of her breath,
IVhich thronging through her lips so vamsheth
As smoke from .T^tna, that in air consumes.
Or that which from discharged cannon fumes.
'• In vain," quoth she, '' I live, and seek in vain
" Some happy mean to end a hapless life.
" I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain,
" Yet for the selfsame purpose seek a knife:
'' But when I fear'd, I was a loyal wife;
" So am I now :—0 no, that cannot be ;
" Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me.
106
THE POEMS
" O! that is gone, for which I sought to live,
" And therefore now I need not fear to die.
" To clear tJiis spot by death, at least I give
" A badge of fame to slander's livery ;
" A dying life to living infamy ;
" Poor helpless h^lp, the treasure stolen away,
" To burn the guiltless casket where it lay.
" AVell, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know
" The stained taste of violated troth ;
" I will not wrong thy true affection so,
" To flatter thee with an infringed oath ;
'• This bastard graff shall never come to growth :
" He shall not boast, who did thy stock pol¬
lute,
" That thou art doting father of his fruit.
" Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,
" Nor laugh with his companions at thy state ;
" But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought
" Basely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate.
" For me, I am the mistress of my fate,
" And with my trespass never will dispense,
" Till life to death acquit my forc'd' offence.
" I will not poison thee with my attaint,
" Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses ;
" My sable ground of sin I will not paint, ,
" To hide the truth of this false night's abuses:
" My tongue shall utter all; mine eyes like sluces.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
107
" As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale,
" Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure
tale."
By this, lamenting Philomel had ended
The well-tun'd warble of her nightly sorrow,
And solemn night with slow-sad gait descended
To ugly hell; when lo, the blushing morrow
Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow:
But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see.
And therefore still in night would cloister'd be.
Revealing day through every cranny spies,
And seems to point her out where she sits weeping;
To whom she sobbing speaks . '• O eye of eyes,
B'hy pry'st thou through my window? leave
thy peeping ; [ sleeping .
" Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are
" Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light,
" For day hath nought to do what's done by
night."
Thus cavils she with every thing she sees ;
True grief is fond and testy as a child,
Who wayward once, his mood with nought agrees.
Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild ;
Continuance tames the one : the other wild.
Like an unpractis'd swimmer plunging still.
With too much labour drowns for want of skill.
S3 fond] i. c. foolish.
108
THE POEMS
So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care,
Holds disputation with each thing she views,
And to hei'self all sorrow doth compare ;
Ao object but her passion's strength renews ;
And as one shifts, another straight ensues :
Sometime her grief is dumb, and hath no words j
Sometime 'tis mad, and too much talk atfords.
The little birds that tune their morning's joy,
Make her moans mad with their sweet melody.
For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy;
Sad souls are slain in merry company ;
Grief best is pleas'd with grief s society:
True sorrow then is feelingly suffic'd.
When with like semblance it is sympathized.
"Tis double death to drown in ken of shore ;
He ten times pines, that pines beholding food ;
To see the salve doth make the wound ache more ;
Great grief grieves most at that would do it good;
Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood,
Who being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'er-
flows:
Grief dallied with, nor law nor limit knows.
" You mocking birds,'' quoth she, " your tunes
entomb
*' Within your hollow-swelling feather'd breasts,
" And in m}- hearing be you mute and dumb !
" (My restless discord loves no stops nor rests ;
OF SHAKESPEARE.
" A woful hostess brooks not merry guests ;)
'• Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears ;
" Distress like dumps®^ when time is kept with
tears.
" Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment,
" Make thy sad grove in my disheveil'd hair.
" As tlie dank earth weeps at thy ianguishment,
" So I at each sad strain will strain a tear,
" And with deep groans the diapason bear :
" For burthen-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still,
" While thou on Tereus descant'st better skill.^'
" And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy
part,
" To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I,
" To imitate thee well, against my heart
" V\'ill fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye;
" Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die.
" These means, as frets upon an instrument,
" Shall tune our heartstrings to true Ianguish¬
ment.
" And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day,
" As shaming any eye should thee behold,
" Some dark divq) desert, seated from the way,
" That knows nor parching heat nor freezing cold,
" Vv'e will find out; and there we will unfold
w dumps} i. e. melancholy strains.
85 Jeiter skill} i. e. with a better skill.
110
THE POEMS
" To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their
kinds:
" Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle
minds."
As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze,
Wildly determining which way to fly.
Or one encorapass'd with a winding maze,
That cannot tread the way out readily ;
So with herself is she in mutiny.
To live or die which of the twain were better,
When life is sham'd, and Death lieproach's
debtor.
" To kill myself," quoth she," alack ! what were it,
" But with my body my poor soul's pollution ?
" They that lose half, with greater patience bear it.
" Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion.
" That mother tries a merciless conclusion,
" Who, having two sweet babes, when death
takes one,
" Will slay the other, and be nurse to none.
" My body or my soul, which was the dearer ?
" When the one pure, the other made divine.
" Whose love of either to myself was nearer ?
" When both were kept for heaven and C'oilatine.
" Ah me ! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine,
" His leaves will wither, and his sap decay;
" So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
Ill
" Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted,
" Her mansion batter'd by tlie enemy;
" Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted,
" Grossly engirt with daring infamy:
" Then let it not be call'd impiety,
" If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole
" Through which I may convey this troubled
soul.
'• Yet die I will not, till my Collatine
'• Have heard'the cause of my untimely death;
" That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine,
' Revenge on him that made me stop my breath.
• My stained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath,
" Which by him tainted, shall for him be spent,
" And as his due, writ in my testament.
" My honour I'll bequeath unto the knife
" That wounds my body so dishonour'd,
" 'Tis honour to deprive dishonour'd life ;
" The one will live, the other being dead:
" So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred ;
" For in my death I murder shameful scorn :
" My shame so dead, mine honour is new-bom.
" Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost,
'• What legacy shall I bequeath to thee ?
" My resolution. Love, shall be thy boast,
" By whose example thou reveng'd may'st be.
" How Tarquin must be us'd, read it in me:
112
THE POEMS
" My-self, tliy friend, will kill myself, thy foe,
" And, for my sake, sers'C thou false Tarquin so.
" This brief abridgment of my will I make:
'• My soul and body to the skies and ground;
" IMy resolution, husband, do thou take ;
'• .Mine honour be the knife's, that makes my
wound;
'■ IMy shame be his that did my fame confound ;
" And all my fame that lives, disbursed be
" To those that live, and think no shame of me.
" Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee'® this will;
" How was I overseen that thou shalt see it!
" IMy blood shall wash the slander of mine ill;
" My life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free it
'' Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say, so be it.
'• Yield to my hand; my hand shall conquer thee;
" Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be."
This plot of death when sadly she had laid.
And wip'd the brinish pearl from her bright eyes.
With untun'd tongue she hoarsely calls her maid.
Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies;
For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies.
Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so
As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow.
36 oversee] " Overseers v. ere frequently added in Wills from
the superabundant caution of our ancestors." Malokb.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow,
"With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty.
And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow,
(For why? her face wore sorrow's livery ;)
But durst not ask of her audaciously
Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so.
Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash'd with woe.
But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set.
Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye ;
Even so the maid with swelling drops 'gan wet
Her circled eyne, enforc'd by sympathy
Of those fair suns, set in her mistress' sky,
"Who in a salt-wav'd ocean quench their light,
"Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night.
A pretty while these pretty creatures stand.
Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling:
One justly weeps; the other takes in hand
No cause, but company, of her drops spilling:
Their gentle sex to weep are often willing;
Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts,
And then they drown their eyes, or break their
hearts.
For men have marble, women waxen minds.
And therefore are they form'd as marble will;
The weak oppress'd, the impression of strange kinds
Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill:
Then call them not the authors of their ill,
8
114
THE POEMS
Xo more than wax shall be accounted evil,
Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil.
Tiieir smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain,
Lays open all the little worms that creep;
In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain
Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep:
Through crystal walls each little mote will peep:
Though men can cover crimes with bold stern
looks,
Poor women's faces are their own faults' books.
No man inveigh against the wither'd flower.
But chide rough winter that the flower hath
kill'd!
Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour.
Is worthy blame. O let it not be hild
Poor women's faults, that they are so fulfill'd
With men's abuses 1 those proud lords, to blame.
Make weak-made women tenants to their shame.
The precedent whereof in Lucreee view,
Assail'd by night with circumstances strong
Of present death, and shame that might ensue
By that her death, to do her husband wrong:
Such danger to resistance did belong.
That dying fear through all her body spread;
And who cannot abuse a body dead ?
hild] i. e. held—so spelt for the sake of the rhyme
/
OF SHAKESPEARE.
IIJ
By this, mild patience bid fair Luerece speak
To the poor counterfeit of her complaining:
" quoth she, " on what occasion break
'• Tlio.-e tears from thee, that down thy cheeks
are raining?
'■ If thou doest weep for grief of my sustaining,
•• Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood :
" If tears could help, mine own would do me
good.
" But tell me, girl, when went"—(and there she
stay'd
Till after a deep groan) " Tarquin from hence ? "
" Madam, ere I was up," replied the maid,
" The more to blame my sluggard negligence :
" Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense;
" yiyself was stirring ere the break of day,
" And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away.
" But, lady, if your maid may be so bold,
" She would request to know your heaviness."
" 0 peace!" quoth Lucrece; " if it should be told,
" The repetition cannot make it less ;
For more it is than I can weU express :
" And that deep torture may be call'd a hell,
" When more is felt than one hath power to tell.
" Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen—
" Yet save that labour, for I have them here.
" What should I say ?—One of my husband's men
IIG
THE POEMS
" Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear
'■ A letter to my lord, my love, my dear;
'■ Bid bim with speed prepare to carry it:
" The cause craves baste, and it will soon be writ."
Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write.
First hovering o'er the paper with her quill:
Conceit and grief an eager combat fight;
What wit sets down, is blotted straight with will;
This is too cui'ious-good, this blunt and ill:
i\Iuch like a press of people at a door.
Throng her inventions, which shall go before.
At last she thus begins: " Thou worthy lord
" Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee,
" Health to thy person ! next vouchsafe to afibrd
" (If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see.)
" Some present speed to come and visit me:
" So I commend me from our house in grief;
" My woes are tedious, though my words are
brief."
Here folds she up the tenor of her woe.
Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly.
By this short schedule Collatine may know
Her grief, but not her grief's true quality;
She dares not thereof make discovery,
Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse.
Ere she with blood had stain'd her stain'd
excuse.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
117
Besides, the life and feeling of her passion
She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her;
When sighs and groans and tears may grace the
fashion
Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her [her.
From that suspicion which the world might bear
To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter
With words, till action might become them better.
To see sad sights moves more than hear them told;
For then the eye interprets to the ear
The heavy motion that it doth behold.
When every part a part of woe doth bear.
'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear:
Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow
fords, [words.
And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of
Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ.
At Ardea to my lord with more than haste;
The post attends, and she deliv'ers it.
Charging the sour-fac'd groom to hie as fast
As lagging fowls before the northern blast.
Speed more than speed but dull and slow she
deems;
Extremity still urgeth such extremes.
The homely villein court'sies to her low;
And blushing on her, with a steadfast eye
8"^ villein] i. e. slave.
118
THE POEMS
Ucct'ivcs the scroll, without or yea or no,
And forth with bashful innocence doth hie.
l)Ut tlit y whose guilt within their bosoms lie,
Iinnginc every eye beholds their blame;
For Lucrece thought he blush'd to see her shame.
When, f-illy groom! God wot, it was defect
Of spii'it, life, and bold audacity.
Such harmless creatures have a true respect
To talk in deeds, while others saucily
Promise more speed, but do it leisurely:
Even so, this pattern of the worn-out age
Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage.
11 is kindled duty kindled her mistrust.
That two red fires in both their faces blaz'd;
She thought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquin's lust,
.\nd, blushing with him, wistly on him gaz'd;
Iler earnest 03 0 did make him more amaz'd:
Tiie more she saw the blood his cheeks replenish,
The more she thought he spied in her some
blemish.
Pill long she thinks till he return again.
And vet the duteous vassal scarce is gone.
The weary time she cannot entertain.
For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and groan:
So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan.
That she her plaints a little while doth stay.
Pausing for means to mourn some newer way.
OF SHAKKSPEARE.
110
At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece
Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy;
Before the which is drawn the power of Greece,
For Helen's rape the city to destroy.
Threatening cloud-kissing llion with annoy;
Which the conceited®® painter drew so proud.
As heaven (it seem'd) to kiss the turrets bow'd.
A thousand lamentable objects there.
In scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life:
Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear,
Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife:
The red blood reek'd to show the painter's strife ;
And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights.
Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.
There might you see the labouring pioneer
Begrim'd with sweat, and smeared all with dust;
And from the towers of Troy there would appear
The very eyes of men through loop-holes thrust.
Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust:
Such sweet observance in this work was had.
That one might see those far-off eyes look sad.
In great commanders grace and majesty
You might behold, triumphing in their faces
In youth, quick bearing and dexterit)';
And here and there the painter interlaces
Palo cowards, marching on with trembling paces ;
89 conceited] i. e. fanciful.
120
THE rop;Ms
Which heartless peasants did so well resemble,
That one would swear he saw them quake and
tremble.
In, Ajax and Ulysses, O what art
Of physiognomy might one behold !
The face of either 'cipher'd cither's heart;
Their face their manners most expressly told:
In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigor roll'd;
But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent,
Show'd deep regard and smiling government.
There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand,
As 'twere encouraging the Greeks to figlit;
Making such sober action with his hand.
That it beguil'd attention, charm'd the sight;
In speech, it seem'd, his beard, all silver wiiite,
Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly
Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky.
About him M'ere a press of gaping faces.
Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice;
All jointly listening, but with several graces.
As if some mermaid did their ears entice ;
Some high, some low, the painter was so nice :
The scalps of many, almost hid behind,
To jump up higher seem'd to mock the mind.
Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head.
His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear;
OF SHAKESPEAKE.
121
Here one, being throng'd, bears back, all boll'n
and red;
Another, smother'd, seems to pelt^^ and swear;
And in their rage such signs of rage they bear.
As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words.
It seem'd they would debate with angry swords.
For much imaginary work was there;
Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,^^
That for Achilles' image stood his spear,
Grip'd in an armed hand; himself, behind.
Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind:
A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head.
Stood for the whole to be imagined.
And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy
When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd io
field.
Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy
To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield ;
And to their hope they such odd action yield.
That, through their light joy seemed to appear
(Like bright things stain'd) a kind of heavy fear.
And, from the strond of Dardan where they fought.
To Simois' reedy banks the red blood ran,
/
boll'n] i. e. swollen.
41 pell] i. e. be in a clamorous passion.
42 land] i. e. natural.
122
THE POEMS
Whose waves to imitate the battle sought
"With swelling ridges, and their ranks began
To break upon the galled shore, and than
Retire again, till meeting greater ranks
They join, and shoot their foam at Simois' banks.
To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come,
To find a face where all distress is stell'd.'"
Many she sees, where caTes have carved some,
But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd.
Till she despairing Hecuba beheld.
Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes.
Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies.
In her the painter had anatomiz'd
Time's ruin, beauty's wreck, and grim care's reign;
Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were dis-
guis'd ;
Of what she was no semblance did remain :
Her blue blood chang'd to black in every vein,
AVanting the spring that those shrunk pipes
had fed,
Show'd life imprison'd in a body dead.
On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes,
And shapes her sorrow to the beldame's woes,
AVho nothing wants to answer her but cries,
<3 Oiajt] A form of then, frequently used by old poets for
the sake of the rhyme.
« stell'd] 1. e. fixed: from stell, to fix permanently.
OF SHAKE3PEAKE.
123
And bitter words to ban her cruel foes:
The painter was no God to lend her those;
And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong.
To give her so much grief, and not a tongue.
" Poor instrument," quoth she, " without a sound,
" I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue:
" And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound,
" And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong,
" And with my tears quench Troy that burns so
long;
" And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes
" Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies.
" Show me the strumpet that began this stir,
" That with my nails her beauty I may tear.
'' Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur
" This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear;
" Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here -
" And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye,
'• The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter, die.
'• Why should the private pleasure of some one
" Become the publick plague of many mo ?
" Let sin, alone committed, light alone
'■ Upon his head that hath transgressed so.
'• Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe:
" For one's offence why should so many fall,
" To plague a private sin in general ?
^5 too] i. e. more.
124
THE POEMS
" Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies,
" Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds
" Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies,
"And friend to friend gives unadvised^' wounds,
" And one man's lust these many lives confounds;
" Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire,
" Troy had been bright with fame, and not with
fire."
Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes:
For sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell.
Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes ;
Then little strength rings out the doleful knell:
So Lucrece set a-work, sad tales doth tell
To pencill'd pensiveness and colour'd sorrow;
he lends them words, and she their looks doth
borrow.
She throws her eyes about the painting, round.
And whom she finds forlorn, she doth lament;
At last she sees a wretched image bound.
That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent;
His face, though full of cares, yet show'd content;
Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes.
So mild, that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes.
In him the painter labour'd with his skill
To hide deceit, and give the harmless show
48 swounds] i. e. swoons.
4' unadvised] i. e. without knowledge or consideration.
OF SHAKESI'EAKE.
125
An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still,
A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome woe;
Cheeks, neither red nor pale, but mingled so
That blushing red no guilty instance gave,
Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have.
But, like a constant and confirmed devil.
He entertain'd a show so seeming just.
And therein so ensconc'd^® bis secret evil.
That jealousy itself could not mistrust
False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust
Into so bright a day such black-fac'd storms.
Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms.
The well-skill'd workman this mild imasje drew
For perjur'd Sinon, whose enchanting story
Tiie credulous old Priam after slew ;
AVho.-c words, like wildfire, burnt the shining
glory
Of rich built Ilion, that the skies were sorry.
And little stars shot from their fixed places.
When their glass fell wherein they view'd their
faces.
This picture she advisedly®" perus'd.
And chid the painter for his wondrous skill;
Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abus'd,
48 guilty instance] i. e. symptom or proof of guilt.
49 ensconc'd] i. e. concealed, as in a sconce or fort.
M advisedly] i. e. with attention.
12G
THE POEMS
So fair a form lodg'd not a mind so ill;
And still on him she gaz'd, and gazing still,
Such signs of truth in his plain face she spy'd,
That she concludes the picture was bely'd.
" It cannot be," quoth she, "that so much guile "—
(She would have said) can lurk in such a look;
But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while,
And from her tongue, can lurk from cannot took;
It cannot be she in that sense forsook.
And turn'd it thus : " It cannot be, I find,
" But such a face should bear a wicked mind :
" For even as subtle Sinon here is painted,
" So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild,
" (As if with gi'ief or travail he had fainted)
"To me came Tarquin armed;toobeguil'd^^
" "With outward honesty, but yet defil'd
" With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish,
" So did I Tarquin; so my Troy did perish.
" Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes,
" To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds.
" Priam, why art thou old, and yet not wise ?
" For every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds ;
" His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds :
" Those round clear pearls of his that move
thy pity
" Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city.
51 beguiVd] i. e. guilefully covered.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
127
" Such devils steal effects from liglitless hell;
" For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold,
" And in that cold, hot-burning fire doth dwell;
" These contraries such unity do hold,
" Only to flatter fools, and make them bold :
" So Priam's trust false Sinon's tears doth flatter,
" That he finds means to burn his Troy with
water."
Here, all enrag'd, such passion her assails.
That patience is quite beaten from her breast.
She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails.
Comparing him to that unhappy guest
"Whose deed hath made herself herself detest:
At last she smilingly with tliis gives o'er;
" Fool! fool!" quoth she, " his wounds will not
be' sore."
Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow.
And time doth weary time with her complaining.
She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow.
And both she thinks too long with her remaining :
O O
Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining.
Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps;
And they that watch, see time how slow it creeps.
Which all this time hath overslipp'd her thought,
That she with painted images hath spent:
Being from the feeling of her own grief brought
By deep surmise of others' detriment;
128
THE POEMS
Losing her woes in .sliows of discontent.
It easeth sonic, though none it ever cur'd,
To think their dolour others have endur'd.
But now the mindful messenger, come back.
Brings home his lord and other company ;
"Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black ;
And round about her tear-distained eye
Blue circles stream'd, like rainbows in the sk3'.
These water-gallsin her dim element
Foretell new storms to those already spent.
Which when her sad-beholding husband saw,
Amazedly in her sad face he stares :
Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw.
Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares.
He hath no power to ask her how she fares,
Both stood, like old acquaintance in a trance,
Met far from home, wondering each other's
chance.
At last he takes her by the bloodless hand.
And thus begins: " What uncouth ill event [stand ?
" Hath thee befallen, that thou dost trembling
" Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent ?
" AVhv art thou thus attir'd in discontent?
" Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness,
" And tell thy grief, that we may give redress."
63 ivater-galk] i. e. watery appearances in the sky, attendant
on rainbows.
or SHAKESPEARE.
Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire,
Ere once she can discharge one word of woe:
At length'd address'd " to answer his desire,
She modestly prepares to let them know
Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe ;
While Collatine and his consorted lords
With sad attention long to hear her words.
And now this pale swan in her watery nest
Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending;
"Few words," quoth she, "shall fit the trespass
best,
" Where no excuse can give the fault amending :
" In me more woes than words are now depending;
" And my laments would be drawn out too long,
" To tell them all with one poor tired tongue.
" Then be this all the task it hath to say:—
" Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed
" A stranger came, and on that pillow lay
" Wiiere thou wast wont to rest thy weary head;
" And what wrong else may be imagined
" By foul enforcement might be done to me,
" From that, alas! thy Lucrece is not free.
" For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight,
" With shining falchion in my chamber came
" A creeping creature, with a flaming light.
61 aMress'd] i. e. ready.
9
130
THE POEMS
" And softly cried, Awake, thou Roman dame,
" And entertain my love; else lasting shame
" On thee and thine this night I will inflict,
" If thou my love's desire do contradict.
" For some hard-favour'd groom of thine, quoth he,
" Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will,
" I'll murder straight, and then I'll slaughter thee,
" And swear I found you where you did fulfill
" The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill
" The lechers in their deed: this act will be
" My fame, and thy perpetual infamy.
" With this I did begin to start and cry,
" And then against my heart he set his sword,
" Swearing, unless I took aU patiently, .
" I should not live to speak another word:
" So should my shame still rest upon record,
" And never be forgot in mighty Rome
"The adulterate death of Lucrece and her
groom.
" Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak,
" And far the weaker with so strong a fear;
"My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak;
" No rightful plea might plead for justice there:
" His scarlet lust came evidence to swear
" That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes,
" And when the judge is robb'd, the prisoner
dies.
OF SHAKESPEAUf.
lol
" O teach me how to make mine own excuse!
" Or, at the least, this refuge let me find;
" Though my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse.
" Immaculate and spotless is my mind;
" That was not forc'd; that never was inclin'd
" To accessary yieldings, but still pure
" Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure."
Lo here, the hopeless merchant of this loss,
"With head declin'd, and voice damm'd up wit!
woe.
With sad-set eyes, and wretched arms across,
From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow
The grief away, that stops his answer .-io;
But wretched as he is, he strives in vain;
What he breathes out, his breath drinks up again
As through an arch the violent roaring tide
o o
Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste;
Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride
Back to the strait that forc'd him on so fast;
In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past:
Even so he sighs, his sorrows make a saw,
To push grief on, and back the same grief draw
"Which speechless woe of his, poor she attendeth,
And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh:
" Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth
" Another power; no flood by raining slaketh.
" My woe too sensible thy passion maketh
132
THE POEMS
" More feeling-painful: let it then suffice
" To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes.
" And for my sake, when I might charm thee so,
"For she that was thy Lucrece, — now attend
me;
" Be suddenly revenged on my foe,
" Thine, mine, his own; suppose thou dost defend
me
" From what is past; the help that thou shall lend
me
" Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die;
" For sparing justice feeds iniquity.
" But ere I name him, you, fair lords," quoth she,
(Speaking to those that came with Collatine)
" Shall plight your honourable faiths to me,
" "With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine;
" For 'tis a meritorious fair design,
" To chase injustice with revengeful arms:
" Knights, by their oaths, should right poor
ladies' harms.'
At this request, with noble disposition
Each present lord began to promise aid.
As bound in knighthood to her imposition.
Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd.
But she, that yet her sad task hath not said.
The protestation stops. " O speak," quoth she,
" How may this forced stain be wip'd from me ?
OF SHAKESPEARE.
133
" What is the quality of mine offence,
" Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance ?
" May my pure mind with the foul act dispense,
" My low-declined honour to advance ?
" May any terms acquit me from this chance ?
" The poison'd fountain clears itself again ;
"And why not I from this compelled stain?"
With this, they all at once began to say.
Her body's stain her mind untainted clears ;
W^hile with a joyless smile she turns away
The face, that map which deep impression bears
Of hard misfortune, carv'd in it with tears.
"Ao, no," quoth she, "no dame, hereafter
living,
" By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving."
Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break.
She throws forth Tarquin's name : " He, he^' she
says,
But more than he her poor tongue could not speak;
Till after many accents and delays.
Untimely breathings, sick and short assays.
She utters this : " He, he, fair lords, 'tis he,
" That guides this hand to give this wound to
me."
Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast
A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheath'd:
That blow did bail it from the deep unrest
134
THE POEMS
Of that polluted prison where it breath'd:
Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath'd
Her winged sprite, and through her wounds
doth fly
Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny.
Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed.
Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew;
Till Lucrece' father, that beholds her bleed,
Himself on her, self-slaughter'd body threw;
And from the purple fountain Brutus drew
The murderous knife, and as it left the place,
Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase ;
And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide
In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood
Circles her body in on every side,
AA'ho like a late-sack'd island vastly'® stood
Bare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood.
Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd.
And some look'd black, and that false Tarquin
stain'd.
About the mourning and congealed face
Of that black blood, a watery rigol" goes,
IVhich seems to weep upon the tainted place :
And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes.
Corrupted blood some watery token shows;
65 vastly] i. c. like a waste. 66 rigol] i. e. circle.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
135
And blood untained still doth red abide.
Blushing at that which is so putrify'd.
" Daughter, dear daughter," old Lucretius cries,
" That life was mine, which thou hast here de-
priv'd.
'■ If in the child the father's image lies,
" Where shall I live, now Lucrece is unliv'd ?
" Thou wast not to this end from me deriv'd.
" If children predecease progenitors,
"We are their offspring, and they none of purs.
" Poor broken glass, I often did behold
" In thy sweet semblance my old age newborn ;
" But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old,
" Shows me a barebon'd death by time outworn ;
" 0, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn !
" And shiver'd all the beauty of my glass,
" That I no more can see what once I was.
" 0 time, cease thou thy course, and last no longer,
" If they surcease to be, that should survive.
" Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger,
" And leave the faltering feeble souls alive ?
" The old bees die, the young possess their hive :
" Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again, and see
" Thy father die, and not thy father thee
By this starts Collatine as from a dream.
And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place;
136
THE POEMS
And then in key-cold Luci-ece' bleeding stream
He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face,
And counterfeits to die with her a space ;
Till manly shame bids him possess his breath.
And live, to be revenged on her death.
The deep vexation of his inward soul
Hath serv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue;
Who mad that sorrow should his use control,
Or keep him from heart-easing words so long.
Begins to talk ; but through his lips do throng
Weak words, so thick come, in his poor heart's
aid.
That no man could distinguish what he said.
Yet sometime Tarquin was pronounced plain.
But through his teeth, as if the name he tore.
This windy tempest, till it blow up rain.
Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more;
At last it rains, and busy winds give o'fi ■
Then son and father weep with equal strife,
Who should weep most for daughter or for wife.
The one doth call her his, the other his,
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay.
The father says, '• She's mine." '• 0, mine she is,"
Replies her husband: " do not take away
" My sorrow's interest; let no mourner say
" He weeps for her, for she was only mine,
" And only must be wail'd by CoUatine."
OF SHAKESPEARE.
137
'• 0," quoth Lucretius, '• I did give that life,
"Which slic too early and too late" hath spill'd."
" Woe. woe." quoth Collatine, " she was my wife,
'• I ow'd her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd."
My daughter and my wife with clamours filfd
The dispers'd air, who, holding Lucrece' life,
Answer'd their cries, my daughter and my wife.
Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' side,
Seeing such emulation in their woe.
Began to clothe his wit in state and pride.
Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show.
He with the Romans was esteemed so
As silly jeering idiots are with kings,
For sportive words, and uttering foolish things.
But now he throws that shallow habit by,
AVherein deep policy did him disguise;
And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly.
To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes.
" Thou wronged lord of Rome,'' quoth he, " arise ;
" Let my unsounded self, suppos'd a fool.
Now set thy long-experienc'd wit to school.
" Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe ?
■■ Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous
deeds ?
'■ Is it revenge to give thyself a blow,
•• For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds ?
lale\ i. e. recently.
138
THE POEMS
" Such childish humour from weak minds proceeds:
" Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so,
'' To slay herself, that should have slain her foe.
" Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart
" In such relenting dew of lamentations,
" But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part,
" To rouse our Roman gods with invocations,
" That they will suffer these abominations,
" (Since Rome herself in them doth stand dis-
grac'd) [chas'd.
" By our strong arms from forth her fair streets
" Now, by the Capitol that we adore,
"And by this chaste blood so unjustly stain'd,
" By heaven's fair sun, that breeds the fat earth's
store,
" By all our country rights in Rome maintain'd,
" And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late coraplain'd
" Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife,
" We will revenge the death of this true wife."
This said, he struck his hand upon his breast.
And kiss'd the fatal knife to end his vow;
And to his protestation urg'd the rest,
Who wondering at him, did his words allow :
Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow;
And that deep vow which Brutus made before.
He doth again repeat, and that they swore.
68 allow\ i. e. approve.
OF SHAKESPEARE,
139
When they had sworn to this advised doom,
They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence;
To show her bleeding body thorough Rome,
And so to publish Tarquin's foul olfence:
Which being done with speedy diligence.
The Romans plausibly did give consent
To Tarquin's everlasting banishment.
plausibly] i. e. with acclamations.
SONNETS.
TO THE
ONLY BEGETTER OF THESE EX3UING SOXN'ETS,
MR. W. H.
ALL HAPPINESS
AND THAT ETLRNITY
PROMISED BY ODR EVER-LIVING POET,
AVISHETH THE
"WELL-WISHING ADVENTURER
IN SETTING FORTH,
T. T.i
1 T. T.\ i. e. Thomas Thorpe.
SONNETS.
I.
From fairest creatures we desire increase.
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
Ilis tender heir might bear his memory :
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel.
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament.
And only herald to the gaudy spring.
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be.
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
II.
f When forty winters shall besiege tby brow.
And dig deep trenches in thy Beauty's field.
Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now, ,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies.
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days ;
144
THE POEMS
To say, within tliine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
If thou could'st answer—" This fair child of minej
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse—"(
Proving his beauty by succession thine.
This were fobe Aew-made /when thou art old.
And seewarm when thou feel'st it cold,
Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest,
Kow is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest.
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair, whose un-ear'd ^ womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond,^ will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity ?
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime :
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see.
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember'd not to be.
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.
IV.
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy ?
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
un-eafd\ i. e. unploughed. 2fond] i. e. foolish.
III.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
145
And being frank, she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give ?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live ?
For having traffick with thyself alone.
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how, when nature calls thee to he gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave ?
Thy unus'd beauty must he tomh'd with thee.
Which, used, lives th' executor to he.
V.
Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell.
Will play the tyrants to the very same.
And that unfair " which fairly doth excell;
For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter, and confounds him there;
Sap check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone.
Beauty o'ersnow'd, and bareness every where:
Then, were not summer's distillation left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass.
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Kor it, nor no remembrance what it was.
But flowers distill'd, though they with winter
meet, [sweet.
Leese * hut their show; their substance still lives
8 unfairX i. e. deprive of beauty.
* leese] i. e. lose.
10
146
THE POEMS
VI.
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd;
Make sweet some phial; treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd.
That use ^ is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan-;
That's for thyself to breed another thee.
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one ;
Ten times thyself were happier than thou art.
If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee:
Then, what could death do if thou should'st depart.
Leaving thee living in posterity ?
Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair
To be death's conquest, and make worms thine
heir.
yii.
Lo, in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight.
Serving with looks his sacred majesty ;
And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age.
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still.
Attending on his golden pilgrimage;
But when from high-most pitch, with weary car.
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
5 use] i. e. usance.
OF SIlAIvESPKARE.
147
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract, and look another way:
So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon,
Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son.
VIII.
Musick to hear, why hear'st thou musick sadly; ®
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
"Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly?
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy ?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds.
By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou should'st bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another.
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
Resembling sire and child and happy mother.
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one.
Sings this to thee, '' thou single wilt prove none."
IX.
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye.
That thou consum'st thyself in single life ?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die.
The world will wail thee, like a makeless' wife :
6 Musick to hear, why hear'st thou musick sadly f] i. e. Thou,
whom it is musick to hear, why hearest thou, &c.
' makeless] i. e. mateless: make for mate is common in our
old poets.
148
THE POEMS
The world will be thy widow, and still weep,
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may keep,
By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind.
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend.
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unus'd, the user so destroys it.
No love toward others in that bosom sits,
That on himself such murderous shame commits.
X.
For shame ! deny that thou bear'st love to any.
Who for thyself art so un provident.
Grant if thou wilt, thou art belov'd of many.
But that thou none lov'st, is most evident;
For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate,
That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire.
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate.
Which to repair should be thy chief desire.
0 change thy thought, that I may change my mind!
Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love ?
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind.
Or to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove ;
Make thee another self, for love of me.
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.
XI.
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
OF SnAKESPEAKE. HO
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st,
Thou may'st call thine, when thou from youth
convertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase ;
Without this, folly, age, and cold decay:
If all were minded so, the times should cease.
And threescore years would make the world away.
Let those whom nature hath not made for store,®
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:
Look whom she best endow'd, she gave the more;
Which bounteous gift thou should'st in bounty
cherish ;
She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby,
Thou should'st print more, nor let that copy die.
XII.
When I do count the clock that tells the time.
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls, all silver'd o'er with white ;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd.
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves,
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard;
Then of thy beauty do I question make.
That thou among the wastes of time must go.
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake.
And die as fast as they see others grow ;
8 for store] "i. e. to be preserved for use." JIalone.
150
THE roEJIS
And nothing 'gainst time's scythe can make
defence,
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee
hence.
XIII.
O that you were yourself! but, love, you are
Xo longer yours, than you yourself here live:
Against this coming end you should prepare.
And your sweet semblance to some other give.
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination; then you were
Yourself again, after yourself's decease.
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay.
Which husbandry in honour might uphold
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day.
And barren rage of death's eternal cold ?
O! none but unthrifts:—Dear my love, you know
Y'ou had a father; let your son say so.
XIV.
X"ot from the stars do I my judgment pluck;
And yet methinks I have astronomy.
But not to tell of good, or evil luck.
Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality:
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell.
Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind.
Or say, with princes if it shall go well.
By oft predict that I in heaven find:
OF SHAKESPKARE.
151
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And (constant stars) in them 1 read such art,
As truth and beauty shall together thrive.
If from thyself to store thou would'st convert:®
Or else of thee this I pi^ognosticate.
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.
XV.
When I consider every thing that-grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment.
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase.
Cheered and check'd even by the selfsame sky;
Vaunt in'their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory ;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful time debateth with decay,
To change your day of youth to sullied night; •
And, all in war with time, for love of you.
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.
XVI.
But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant. Time ?
And fortify yourself in your decay
9 If from thyself to store thou would'st convert] " i. e. if thou
wouldest change thy single state, and beget a numerous pro¬
geny." JIalojse.
152
THE POEMS
"Witli means more blessed than my barren rhyme ?
IS'ow stand you on the top of happy hours;
And many maiden gardens, yet unset,
With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:"
So should the lines of life that life repair.
Which this. Time's pencil, or my pupil pen.
Neither in inward worth, nor outward fair,"
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.
To give away yourself, keeps yourself still;
And you must live,drawn by your own sweet skill.
XVII.
Who will believe my verse in time to come.
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts ?
Though yet heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your
parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes.
And in fresh numbers number all your graces.
The age to come would say, this poet lies.
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.
So should my papers, 3 <'llow'(l with their age,
Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue ;
And your true rights be terrn'd a poet's rage.
And stretched metre of an antique song :
But were some child of yours alive that time.
You should live twice ;—in it, and in my rhyme.
1" comterfeil\ i. e. portrait,
n fair] i. e. beauty.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
153
XVIII.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate :
Rou^ih winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date :
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd ;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, op nature's changing course, un-
trimm'd ;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade.
Nor lose possession of that fair^ thou owest;
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade.
When in eternal lines to time thou growest ;
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
XIX.
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws.
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws.
And burn the long-liv'd phoenix in her blood;
IMake glad and sorry seasons, as thou fleets,^^
.knd do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world, and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:
O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
12 r. e. beauty.
13 jleets] i. a. fleetest,—for the sake of the rhyme.
1.34
THE POEMS
3S'or draw no lines there with thine antique jjen;
Ilim in thy course untainted do allow,
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet, do thy worst, old Time : despite thy wrong.
My love shall in my verse ever live young.
XX.
A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted.
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
AVith shifting change, as is false women's fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling.
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth ;
A man in hue, all hues in his controlling,
AVhich steals men's eyes, and women's souls
amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created ;
Till nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated.
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd^' thee out for women's
pleasure.
Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their trea¬
sure.
XXI.
So is it not with me as with that muse,
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse;
AA'ho heaven itself for ornament doth use.
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse;
14 prich'd] i. e. marked.
OF SHAKESl'KAl!!;.
Making a couplement of [iroud compare,
"With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich
gems,
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare
That heaven's air in his huge rondure^® hems.
0 let me, true in love, but truly write.
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air;
Let them say more that like of hear-say well;
I will not praise, that purpose not to sell.
XXII.
My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date ;
But when in thee time's furrows I behold.
Then look I death my days should expiate.^'
For all that beauty that doth cover thee,
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
"Wiiicii in thy breast doth live, as thine in me ;
How can I then be elder than thou art ?
O therefore, love, be of thyself so wary,
As I not for myself but for thee will;
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;
Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again.
15 rondure] i. e. round, circumference.
15 txpiak] "i. e. fill up the measure of." Malone.
156
THE POEMS
xxni.
As an unperfect actor on the stage,
A\'ho with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own
heart;
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite.
And in mine own love's Strength seem to decay,
O'ercharg'd with burthen of mine own love's might.
O let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast;
Who plead for love, and look for recompense.
More than that tongue that more hath more ex.-
press'd.
O learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.
XXIV.
Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath stell'd "
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;
My body is the fi-ame wherein 'lis held,
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictur'd lies,
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging .still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done ;
1' stdtd] i. e. fixed: from stdl: see p. 122 note
OF SHAKESPEARE.
157
Wine eves have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee ;
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.
XXV.
Let those who are in favour with their stars,
Of publick honour and proud titles boast,
"Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most.
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread.
But as the marigold at the sun's e3'e;
And in themselves their pride lies buried.
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for light,
After a thousand victories once Ibil'd,
Is from the book of honour razed quite.
And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd :
Then happy I, that love and am belov'd,
"B'here I may not remove, nor be remov'd.
XXVI.
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,
To thee I send this written embassage,
O f
fight] Though I have not thought it necessary to notice
all the emendations of the text by editors, it may be proper
to state that "right" is the conjecture of Theobald for the
reading of the old copy, " worth."
THK rOEMS
To witness duty, not to show my wit.
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
iMay make seem bare, in wanting words to show it;
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it:
Till whatsoever star that guides by moving,
Points on me graciously with fair aspect,
And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving.
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect:
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee.
Till then, not show my head where thou may'st
prove me.
XXVII.
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed.
The dear repose for limbs with travel tir'd ;
But then begins a journey in my head.
To work my mind, when body's work's expir'd :
For then my thoughts (from far where I abide)
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide.
Looking on darkness which the blind do see :
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view.
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night.
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face
new.
Lo, thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind.
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
159
XXVIII.
How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest ?
When day's oppression is not eas'd by night,
But day by night and night by day oppress'd ?
And each, though enemies to either's reign.
Do in consent shake hands to torture me.
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther otf from thee.
I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright.
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd*night;
When sparkling stars twire " not, thou gild'st the
even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer.
And night doth nightly make grief's length
seem stronger.
XXIX.
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state.
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries.
And look upon myself, and curse my fate.
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
18 ticiVc] i. e. peep out.
160
THE POEMS
Haply I think on thee,—and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd, such wealth
brings.
That then ^ scorn to change my state with kings.
XXX.
"When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
1 summon up remembrance of things past,
1 sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear times' waste:
Then can 1 drown an eye. unusM to flow.
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long-since cancell'd woe.
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight.
Then can I grieve at grievances fore-gone.
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
"Which 1 new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend.
All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end.
XXXI.
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts.
Which I by lacking have supposed dead :
And there reigns love and all love's loving parts.
And all those fi iends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
19 obsequious] i. e. funereal.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
161
Ilath dear religious love stolen from mine eye,
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things remov'd, that hidden in thee lie!
Thou art the grave where huried love doth live.
Hung with the trophies of jny lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give ;
That due of many now is thine alone:
Their images I lov'd I view in thee.
And thou (all they) hast all the all of me.
xxxii.
If thou survive my well contented day,
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall
cover.
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover.
Compare them with the bettering of the time ;
And thougli they be outstripp'd by every pen.
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme.
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought!
Had my friend's muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage;
But since he died, and poets better prove.
Theirs for their style Til read, his for his love.
XXXIII.
Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
11
162
THE POEMS
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
"With ugly rack ^ on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide.
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace :
Even so my sun one early morn did shine.
With all triumphant splendour on my brow;
But out! alack ! he was but one hour mine.
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun
staineth.
XXXIV.
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day.
And make me travel forth without my cloak.
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way.
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke ?
'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face.
For no man well of such a salve can speak.
That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace:
Nor can thy shame give physick to my grief;
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss:
The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offence's cross.
20 rath] i. e. vapours. Malone here explains rath to be
the jietting motion of the clouds; it more properly means the
clouds themselves moving before the wind.
OF SIIAICESTEAKE.
163
Ahl but those teai-s ai >• pearl which thy love sheds.
And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds.
XXXV.
No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done;
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud ;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun.
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this.
Authorising thy trespass with compare.
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,^^
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins ai;e:
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense,
(Thy adverse party is thy advocate)
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence :
Such civil war is in my love and hate.
That I an accessory needs must be
To that sweet thief, which sourly robs from me.
XXXVI.
Let me confess that we two must be twain.
Although our undivided loves are one :
So shall those blots that do with me remain,
"Without thy help, by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,^^
Which though it alter not love's sole effect,
21 amiss] i. e. fault.
22 separable spile] '' i. e. a cruel fate, that spitefully separates
us from each other. Separable for separating."' M.\loxe.
IGl
THE POEMS
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name:
But do not so; I love thee in such sort.
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
xxxvir.
As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth.
So I, made lame by fortune's dearest^ spite.
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth ;
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more.
Entitled in thy parts-'' do crowned sit,
I make my love engrafted to this store:
So then I am not laflie, poor, nor despis'd.
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give.
That I in thy abundance am sufficed,
And by a part of all thy glory live.
Look what is best, that best I wish in thee ;
This wish I have ; then ten times happy me!
XXXVIII.
How can my muse want subject to invent.
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
23 dearest] i. e. excessive, grievous.
21 entitled in thy parts] i. e. having a claim or title to thy
carts.
OP SHAKESPEARE.
165
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
"Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee.
When thou thyself dost give invention light ?
Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine, which rhymers invocate;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
If my slight muse do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.
XXXI^t.
O, how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art all the better part of me ?
What can mine own praise to mine own self
bring ?
And what is't but mine own, when I praise thee ?
Even for this let us divided live.
And our dear love lose name of single one,
That by this separation I may give
That due to thee, which thou deserv'st alone.
O absence, what a torment would'st thou prove.
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave
To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
(Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth de¬
ceive,)
And that thou teachest how to make one twain.
By praising him here, who doth hence remain.
166
THE POEMS
XE.
Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou may'st true love call;
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest;
But yet be blam'd, if thou thyself deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief.
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
And yet love knows, it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows.
Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.
XLI.
Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits,
When I am sometime absent from thy heart.
Thy beauty and thy years full well befits.
For still temptation follows where thou art.
Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won,
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assail'd;
And when a woman woos, what woman's son
Will sourly leave her till she have prevail'd.
Ah me ! but yet thou might'st my seat forbear,^®
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth,
25 thm mighVst my seat forbear] JIalone prints
"thou might'st, my sweet, forbear;"
OF SHAKESPEARE.
167
Who lead thee in their riot even there
Where thou art forc'd to break a two-fold truth;
Hers, by thy beauty tempting her to thee,
Thine, by thy beauty being false to me.
XLII.
That thou hast her, it is not all my grief.
And yet it may be said I lov'd her dearly;
That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief,
A loss in love that touches me more nearly.
Loving offenders, thus 1 will excuse ye:—
Thou dost love her, because thou knows't I love her;
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me.
Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her.
If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain.
And losing her, my friend hath found that loss;
Both find each other, and I lose both twain.
And both for my sake lay on me this cross:
But here's the joy; my friend and I are one ;
Sweet flattery 1 then she loves but me alone.
XLIII.
When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see.
For all the day they view things unrespected:
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
lut the following passage in Othelh (act ii. sc. i.) has been
adduced to show that the reading of the old copy is right;
" For that I do suspect the lusty Jloor
Hath leap'd into my seat."
26 unrespeeted} i. e. unregarded.
1G8
THE I'OEMS
And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed;
Then thou whose shadow shadows doth make
bright,
How would thy shadow's form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
AVhen to unseeing eyes tiiy shade shines so ?
How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day.
When in dead night thy fair impeiTect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay?
All days are nights to see, till I see thee.
And nights, bright days, when dreams do show
thee me.
XLIV.
If the dull substance of my flesh were thought.
Injurious distance should not stop my way :
For then, despite of space, 1 would be bi ought
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay.
No matter then, although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth remov'd from thee.
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land.
As soon as think tlie place where he would be.
But ah! thought kills me, that I am not thought.
To lea;) large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that, so much of earth and water wrought,^'
I must attend time's leisure with my moan ;
2' SO much of earth and water wrought] "i. e. being so
thoroughly compounded of these two ponderous elements."
Steevexs.
OF SHAKESPEARK.
169
Receiving nought by elements so slow
But heavy tears, badges of either's woe:
XLV.
The other two, slight air and purging fire,
Are both with thee, wherever I abide;
The first my thought, the other my desire,
These present-absent with swift motion slide.
For when these quicker elements are gone
In tender embassy of love to thee,
i\Iy life being made of four, with two alone.
Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy ;
Until life's composition be recur'd
By those swift messengers return'd from thee.
Who even but now come back again, assur'd
Of thy fair health, recounting it to me:
This told, I joy ; but then no longer glad,
I send them back again, and straight grow sad.
XLVI.
jNIine eye and heart are at a mortal war.
How to divide the conquest of thy sight;
iMine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar.
My heart mine eye the freedom of that right.
]My heart doth plead, that thou in him dost lie,
(A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes,)
But the defendant doth that plea deny.
And says in him thy fair appearance lies.
To 'cide^® this title is impannelled
28 'ddt] i. e. decide.
170
Tllli rOEJIS
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart;
And by their verdict is determined
The clear eye's moiety,-® and the dear heart's part:
As thus; mine eye's due is thine outward part.
And my heart's right thine inward love of heart.
XLVII.
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took.
And each doth good turns now unto the other:
When that mine eye is famish'd for a look.
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother,
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast.
And to the painted banquet bids my heart:
Another time mine eye is my heart's guest,
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part:
So, either by thy picture or my love.
Thyself away art present still with me ;
For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move.
And I am still with them, and they with thee;
Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight
Awakes my heart to heart's and e} e's delight.
XL VIII.
How careful was I when I took my way.
Each trifle under truest bars to thrust.
That, to my use, it might unused stay
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust!
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are.
Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief,
29 moieiy] i. e. portion.
OF SIIAKEsl'KAUE.
171
Thou, best of dearest, and mine only care.
Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.
Thee have I not loek'd up in any chest,
Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art,
"Within the gentle closure of my breast.
From whence at pleasure thou may'st come and
part;
And even thence thou wilt be stolen I fear.
For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.
XL IX.
Against that time, if ever that time come.
When I shall see thee frown on my defects,
When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum,
Call'd to that audit by advis'd respects;
Against that time, when thou shalt strangely pass,
And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye,
When love, converted from the thing it was.
Shall reasons find of settled gravity ;
Against that time do I ensconce^" me here
Within the knowledge of mine own desert.
And this my hand against myself uprear.
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part:
To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws,
Since, why to love, I can allege no cause.
L.
How heavy do I journey on the way,
"When what I seek,—my weary travel's end,—■
8' ensconce] i. e. fortify.
172
THE POEMS
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,
" Thus far the miles are measur'd from thy friend!"
The beast that bears me, tired with my AYoe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me.
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider lov'd not speed, being made from thee :
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,
Which heavily he answers with a groan.
More sharp to me than spurring to his side ;
For that same groan doth put this in my mind.
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.
LI.
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed :
From where thou art why should,! haste me
thence ?
Till I return, of posting is no need.
O, what excuse will my poor beast then find.
When swift extremity can seem but slow ?
Then shopld I spur, though mounted on the
wind ;
In winged speed no motion shall I know :
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace ;
Therefore desire, of perfect love being made.
Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fiery race;
But love, for love, thus shall excuse mv jade;
Since from thee going he went wilful slow.
Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
173
LIT.
So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
Cat) bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,
The which he will not every hour survey.
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.
Therefore are feasts®^ so solemn and so rare.
Since seldom coming, in the long year set.
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are.
Or captain®® jewels in the carcanet.®®
So is the time that keeps yon, as my chest,
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide.
To make some special instant special-blest.
By new unfolding his imprison'd pride.
Bles.-cil are 3'ou, whose worthiness gives scope,
Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope.
LIII.
"What is your substance, whereof are you made.
That millions of strange shadows on you tend ?
Since every one hath, every one, one's shade.
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit®*
Is poorly imitated after you ;
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set,
81 feasts] " He means the four festivals of the year."
Steevens.
S''' captain] i. e. chief, more valuable.
83 carcanet] i. e. necklace.
84 counterfeit] i. e. portrait.
174
THE POEMS
And you in Grecian tires are painted new:
Speak of the spring, and foizon" of the year;
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear,
And you in every blessed shape we know.
In all external grace you have some part.
But you like none, none you, for constant heart.
LIV.
0 how much more doth beauty beauteous seem,
B}' that sweet ornament which truth doth give I
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-bloomshave full as deep a dye.
As the perfumed tincture of the roses.
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly
Wiien summer's breath their masked buds dis¬
closes :
But, for their virtue only is their show.
They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade ;
Die to themseh es. Sweet roses do not so ;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made :
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
"When that shall fade, by®' verse distills your
truth.
85 foizori\ i. e. plenty.
86 canker-blooms] i. e. the blossoms of the canker, — the
wild, or dog-rose.
37 by] Altered unnecessarily by Malone to "my."
OF SUAKESi'EARE.
175
LY.
Not marble, not the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall out-live this powerful rhyme ;
But you shall shine more bright in these.contents
Than unswept stone, hesmear'd with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn.
And broils root out the work of masonry.
Nor iMars his sword nor war's quick lire shall burn
The living record of your memory,
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find
room.
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So till the judgment that yourself arise.
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.
LVI.
Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said,
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd,
To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might:
So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness,
To-morrow see again, and do not kill
The spirit of love with a perpetual dulness.
Let this sad interim like the ocean be
Which parts the shore, where two contracted-new
Come daily to the bauks, that, when they see.
176
THE POEMS
Return of love, more blest may be the view;
Or call it winter, which, being full of care,
Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd,
more rare.
LVII.
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,^®
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you.
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour.
When you have bid your servant once adieu ;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose.
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought,
Save, where you are how happy you make those:
So true a fool is love, that in your will
(Though you do any thing) he thinks no ill.
LVIII.
That God forbid, that made me first your slave,
I should in thought control your times of pleasure.
Or at your hand the account of hours to crave.
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure 1
0, let me suffer (being at your beck)
38 the world-withmt-md Mur\ i. e. the hour th.at seems as
if it never would end.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
177
The imprison'd absence of your liberty,
And patience, tame to sutferance, bide each check
Without accusing you of injury.
Be where you list; your charter is so strong.
That you yourself may privilege your time:
Do what you will, to you it doth belong
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.
I am to wait, though waiting so he hell;
Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.
LIX.
If there be nothing new, but that, which is,
Ilath been before, how are our brains beguil'd,
Which labouring for invention bear amiss
The second burthen of a former child ?
0, that record could with a backward look,
Even of five hundred courses of the sun.
Show me your image in some antique book.
Since mind at first in character was done!
That I might see what the old world could say
To this composed wonder of your frame ;
Whether we are mended, or where better they.
Or whether revolution be the same.
0! sure I am, the wits of former days
To subjects worse have given admiring praise.
i-x.
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
12
178
THE POEMS
Each changing place with that wliich goes bcrorc,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And time that gave, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth.
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow;
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth.
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.
And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand.
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
LXI.
Is it thy will, thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night ?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken.
While shadows, like to thee, do mock my sight ?
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee
So far from home, into my deeds to pry;
To find out shames and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenour of thy jealousy ?
O no! thy love, though much, is not so great;
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake ;
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat.
To play the watchman ever for thy sake : [where,
For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake else-
From me far olF, with others all-too-near.
40 main nf Uf/lit] " i. e. the great body of light. So the main
of waters." .JLvlone.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
179
LXII.
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye,
And all my soul, and all my every part,
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious" is as mine.
No shape so true, no truth wf such account,
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity.
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read.
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
'Tis thee (myself) that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
LXIII.
Against my love shall be, as I am now.
With time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn;
When hours have drain'd his blood, and fill'd his
brow
IVith lines and wrinkles; when his youthful mom
Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night;
And all those beauties, whereof now he's king,
Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight.
Stealing away the treasure of his spring ;
For such a time do I now fortify
Against confounding age's cruel knife,
gracious} i. e. beautiful.
180
THE POEMS
That he shall never cut from memory
My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life.
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
And they shall live, and he in them still green.
LXIV.
"When T have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd
The rich-proud cost o&outworn buried age;
Wiien sometime lofty towers I see down-ras'd.
And brass eternal, slave to mortal rage ;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore.
And tlic firm soil win of the wat'ry main.
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;
IVhen I have seen such interchange of state.
Or state itself confounded to decay ;
Jluin hath taught me thus to ruminate—
That time will come and take my love away.
Tins thought is as a death, which cannot choose
But weep to have that which it fears to lose.
LXV-
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea.
But sad mortality o'efsways their power.
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
"Wliose action is no stronger than a flower?
(). how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
"When rocks impregnable are not so stout.
Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays ?
OF SHAKESPEARE.
181
O fearful meditation! where, alack!
Shall time's best jewel from time's chest lie hid ?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift fool back ?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ?
O none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
LXVI.
Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry,—
As, to behold desert a beggar born.
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn.
And gilded honour shamefully misplac'd.
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd.
And strength by limping sway disabled.
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill.
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill ;
Tir'd with all these, from these would 1 be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
LXVII.
Ah ! wherefore with infection should he live.
And with his presence grace impiety.
That sin by him advantage should achie^•e,
And lace^^ itself with his society ?
^^'hy should false painting imitate his cheek,,
^ lace] i. e. embellish.
18J
THE POEMS
And steal dead seeinq; of his livinq: hue?
AVliv should poor beauty indirectly seek
EoscsVof shadow, since his rose is true?
AVhy should he live now nature bankrupt is,
BegLTurVl of blood to blush through lively veins?
For she hath no exchequer now but his,
And proud of many, lives upon his gains.
0, him she stores, to show what wealth she had.
In days long since, before these last so bad.
LXVIII.
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn.
When beauty liv'd and died as flowers do now.
Before these bastard signs of fair were borne.
Or durst inhabit on a living brow;
Before the golden tresses of the dead.
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away.
To live a second life on second head,
Fir beaut3''s dead fleece made another gay:
In him those holy antique hours are seen.
Without all ornament, itself, and true,
."Making no summer of another's green.
Bobbing no old to dress his beauty new;
And him as for a map doth nature store,
• To show false art what beauty was of yore.
I.XIX.
Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view.
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend:
All tongues (the voice of souls' give thee that due.
OF SHAKF.SPEARF..
183
Uttering bare trutli, even so as foes commend.
Thine outward thus with outward praise is crown'd;
But those same tongues that give thee so thine
own,
In other accents do this praise confound,
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown.
They look into the beauty cif thy mind,
And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds;
Then (ciiurls) their thoughts, although their eyes
were kind.
To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds :
But why thy odour matcheth not thy show.
The solve'^^is this,—that thou dost common grow.
LXX.
That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect.
For slander's mark wag^ever yet the faii^
The ornament of beauty is suspect,"
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
So thou be good, slander doth but approve
Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time;
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days,
Either not assail'd, or victor being charg'd;
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise.
To tie up envy, evermore eiilarg'd:
Wre] i. e. solution; so JIalone; Steevens proposes to
rend "sole."'—The old copy has "solye."
suspect] i. o. suspicion.
184
THE POEMS
If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show, [owe.^®
Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts should'st
LXXI.
No longer mourn for me when I am dead,
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so.
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot.
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O if (I say) you look upon this verse.
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse ;
But let your love even with my life decay:
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me after I am gone.
LXXII.
O, lest the world should task you to recite
What merit liv'd in me, that you should love
After my death,—dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove ;
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie.
To do more for me than mine own desert.
And hang more praise upon deceased I
Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
O, lest your true love may seem false in this,
46 owe] i. e. own, possess.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
185
That you for love speak well of me untrue.
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me nor you.
For I am sham'd by that which I bring forth,
And so should you, to love things nothing worth.
LXXIII.
That time of year thou may'st in me behold
M'hen yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold.
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the'sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day.
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
"Which by and by black night doth take away.
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire.
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie.
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more
strong.
To love that well which thou must leave ere
long
LXXIV.
But be contented : when that fell arrest
Without all bail shall carry me away.
My life hath in this line some interest.
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
When thou reviewest this, thou dost review
The very part was consecrate to thee.
186
THE POEMS
The earth can have but earth, which is his due ;
My spirit is thine, the better part of me:
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
The prey of worms, my body being dead ;
The coward conquest of a wretch's knife.
Too base of thee to be remembered.
The worth of that, is that which it contains.
And that is this, and this with thee remains.
LXXV.
So are you to my thoughts, as food to life.
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found:
Mow proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure ;
Now counting best to be with you alone.
Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure:
Sometime, all full with feasting on your sight.
And by and by clean starved for a look ;
Possessing or pursuing no delight.
Save what is had or must from you be took.
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day.
Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
LXXVI.
Why is my verse so barren of new pride ?
So far from variation or quick change ?
Why, with the time, do I not glance aside
To new-found methods and to compounds strange ?
OF SHAKESI'EAUE.
187
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth, and where they did proceed ?
0 know, sweet love, 1 always write of you,
And you and love are still my argument;
So all my best is dressing old words new,
Spending again what is already spent:
For as the sun is daily new and old.
So is my love still telling what is told.
LXXVII.^®
The glass will show thee how thy beauties wear.
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste ;
The vacant leaves thy mind's inlprint will bear.
And of this book this learning may'st thou taste.
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show.
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory ;
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth may'st know
Time's thievish progress to eternity.
Look, what thy memory cannot contain,
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find
Those children nurs'd, deliver'd from thy brain.
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.
These offices, so oft as thou wilt look.
Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book.
<6 Lxxvii] Steevens observes that this sonnet was pro¬
bably designed to accompany a present of a book consisting
of blank- paper; and Malone adds, that we learn from son¬
net cxxii. that Shakespeare received a tabU-booh from his
friend.
188
THE POEMS
LXXVIII.
So oft have I invok'd thee for my muse,
And found such fair assistance in my verse,
As every alien pen hath got my use.
And under thee their poesy disperse.
Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing.
And heavy ignorance aloft to fly,
Have added feathers to the learned's wing.
And given grace a double majesty.
Yet be most proud of tiiat which I compile,
"Whose influence is thine, and born of thee :
In others' works thou dost but mend the style.
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be ;
But thou art all my art, and dost advance
As high as learning my rude ignorance.
LXXIX.
Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid.
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace;
But now my gracious numbers are decay'd.
And my sick muse doth give another place.
I grant, ^sweet love, thy lovely argument
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen;
Yet what of tliee thy poet doth invent.
He robs thee of, and pays it thee again.
He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word
From thy behaviour; beauty doth he give,
And found it in thy cheek ; he can afford
No praise to thee but what in thee doth live.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
189
Then thank him not for that which he doth say,
Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay.
LXXX.
O, how 1 faint when I of you do write,
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name.
And in the praise thereof spends all his might.
To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame I
But since your worth (wide, as the ocean is.)
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear.
My saucy bark, inferior far to his.
On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,
"Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride;
Or, being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat.
He of tall building, and of goodly pride :
Then if he thrive, and I be cast away,
The worst was this;—my love was my decay.
LXXXI.
Or I shall live your epitaph to make.
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten;
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die;
The earth can yield me but a common grave,
"When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie.
47 a better spirit] has been supposed to mean Spenser.
190
THE POEMS
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read ;
And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse,
When all the breathers of this world are dead;
You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen.)
Where breath most breathes,—even in the
mouths of men.
LXXXII.
I grant thou wert not married to my muse.
And therefore may'st without attaint o'erlook
The dedicated words which writers use
Of their fair subject, blessing every book.
Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue.
Finding thy worth a limit past my praise;
And tiierefore art enforc'd to seek anew
Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering, days.
And do so, love; yet when they have devis'd
What strained touches rhetorick can lend,
Thou truly fair wert truly sympathiz'd
In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend;
And their gross painting might be better us'd
Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abus'd.
LXXXIII.
I never saw that you did painting need.
And therefore to 3'our fair^® no painting set.
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed
48 fair] i. e. beauty.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
191
The barren tender of a poet's debt:
And therefore have I slept in your report,
That you yourself, being extant, well might show
Plow far a modern^' quill doth come too short,
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow.
This silence for my sin you did impute,
"Which shall be most my glory, being dumb ;
For I impair not beauty being mute,
"When others would give life, and bring a tomb.
There lives more life in one of your fair eyes
Than both your poets can in praise devise.
LXXXIV.
Who is it that says most ? which can say more,
Than this rich praise,—that you alone are you ?
In whose confine immured is the store
Which should example where your equal grew.
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell.
That to his subject lends not some small glory;
But he that writes of you, if he can tell
That you are you, so dignifies his story.
Let him but copy what in you is writ, •
Not making worse what nature made so clear.
And such a counter part shall fame his wit,
Making his style admired every wliere.
You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,
Being fond on praise, which makes your praises
worse.
^9 mAxl*i,Tn\ i. e. common, worthless.
192
THE POEMS
LXXXV.
My tongue-tied muse in manners holds her still,
While comments of your praise, richly compii'd.
Reservetheir character with golden quill.
And precious phrase by all the muses fil'd.
I think good thoughts, while others write good
words.
And, like unletter'd clerk, still cry Amen
To every hymn that able spirit affords.
In polish'd form of well-refined pen.
Hearing you praised, I say, His so, 'tis true,
And to the most of praise add something more;
But that is in my thought, whose love to you.
Though words come hindmost, holds his rank
before.
Then others for the breath of words respect.
Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.
LXXXVI.
Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
Bound for the prize of all-too-precious you.
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse.
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew ?
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
Above a mortal pitcb, that struck me dead ?
No, neither he, nor his compeers by night
Giving him aid, my verse astonished.
He, nor that affable familiar ghost
^ Reserve] i. c. preserve.
OF SHAKF-SFKARE.
193
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence,
As victors, of my silence cannot boast;
I was not sick of any fear from thence.
But when your countenance fill'd up his line,
Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine.
LXXXVII.
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate;
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.®^
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving ?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not know¬
ing,
Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing.
Comes home again, on better judgment making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but'waking, no such matter.
LXXXVIII.
When thou shalt be disposed to set me light,
And place my merit in the eye of Scorn,
Upon thy side against myself I'll fight.
And pro.ve thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn.
61 dtUrminaie] i. e. ended,.out of date.
13.
194
the romis
With mine own weakness being best acquainted,
Upon thy part I can set down a story
Of faults concealed, wherein I am attainted ;
That thou, in losing me,shalt win much glory;
And I by this will be a gainer too;
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, j
The injuries that to myself I do,
Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.
Such is my love, to thee I so belong,
That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.
lxxxix.
Say that thou didst forsake^ipejfor some fault,
And I will comment upon that offence:
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt;
Against thy reasons making no defence.
Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill.
To set a form upon desired change.
As Til myself disgrace: knowing thy will,
I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange;
Be absent from thy walks; and in my tongue
Thy sweet-beloved name #10 more shall dwell;
Lest I (too much profane) should do it wrong,
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.
For thee, against myself Til vow debate,
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate.
xc.
Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
jS'ow while the world is bent my deeds to cross.
OP SHAKESPEARE.
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after-loss :
Ah! do not, when my lieart hath 'scaped this
sorrow, '
Come in the rearward of a conquered woe ;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
Tj linger out a purpos'd overthrow.
If thoii wilt leave me, do not leave me last.
When ether petty griefs have done their spite,
But in the onset come; so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune's might;
And other strains of woe, which now seem woe.
Compar'd with loss of thee will not seem so.
xci.
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill.
Some in their wealth, some in their body's force:
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill;
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their
horse;
And every humour liath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest;
But these particulars are not my measure,
All these I better in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me.
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,
Of more delight than hawks or horses be;
And having thee, of all men's pride I boast.
Wretched in this alone, that thou may'st take
All this away, and me most wretched make.
196
THE POEMS
XCII.
But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life thou art assured mine ;
And life no longer than thy love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine.
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
When in the least of them my life hath end.
I see a better state to me belongs
Than that which on thy humour doth depend.
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind.
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.
O what a happy title do I find,
Happy to have thy love, happy to die!
But what's so hlessed-fair that fears no blot?—
Thou may'st be false, and yet I know it not:
XCIII.
So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
Like a deceived husband; so love's face
May still seem love to me, though alter'd new;
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place:
For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change.
In many's looks the false heart's history
Is writ, in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange;
But heaven in thy creation did decree,
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell;
Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be.
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell.
OF SIIAKKSPEAKF..
11)7
How like Eve's apple doth tliy beauty grow,
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show !
xciv.
They that have power to hurt and will do non«,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
"Who. moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow ;
They rightly do inherit heaven's grace.s.
And husband nature's riches from expenee ;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die ;
But if that flower with base infection meet.
The basest weed out-braves his dignity :
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ;
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
xcv.
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame,
"Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose.
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!
That tongue that tells the story of thy days,
Making lascivious comments on thy sport.
Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise ;
Naming thy name blesses an ill report.
O what a mansion have those vices got,
"Which for their habitation chose out thee!
198
THE POEMS
Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot,
And all things turn to fair, that eyes can see!
Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;
The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.
xcvi.
Some say, thy fault is youth, some wantonness;
Some say, thy grace is youth and gentle sport;
Both grace and faults are lov'd of more and less:
Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resort.
As on the finger of a throned queen
The basest jewel will be well esteemed;
So are those errors that in thee are seen.
To truths translated, and for true things deem'd.
How many lambs might the stern wolf betray,
If like a lamb he could his looks translate!
How many gazers might'st thou lead away.
If thou wouldst use tiie strength of all thy state !
But do not so ; I love thee in such sort.
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
afcvii.
a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness everywhere!
And yet this time remov'd®^ was summer's time;
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
52 thi.t time remov'd] " i. e. this time in which I was remote
or absent horn thee." Malone.
OF SHAKF.SPKARE.
190
Beai-in<r the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widow'd womlis after their lord's decease;
Yet this abundant-is-ue seeni'd to me
But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And thou away, the very birds are mute;
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer.
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.
XCVIII.
From you have I been absent in the spring.
When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim.
Hath put a spirit of 3'outh in every thing
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue.
Could make me any summer's story tell, [grew:
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they
Xor did I wonder at the lilies white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight.
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away,
As with 3'our shadow I with these did play:
xcix.
The forward violet thus did I chide ;—
Sweet thief, whence didst tlioti steal thy sweet that
smells.
If not from m}'love's breath ? The purple pride
200
THK TOKMS
AVhich on tliy soft cheek for complexion dwells,
111 mj love's veins thou hast too grossly dy'd.
The lily I condemned for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair:
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing sluuiie, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both,
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath ;
But for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see,
But sweet or colour it had stolen fi-om thee.
c.
"Where art thou. Muse, that thou forget'st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might ?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song.
Darkening thy power, to lend base subjects light ?
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent,
Sing to the ear that dotli thy lays esteem,
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, restive Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire to decay.
And make Time's spoils despised every where.
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;
So thou prevent'st®^ his scythe, and crooked
knife.
S3 ,So thou prevent'St his scythe, &c.l " i. e. so by anticipation
thou hinderest the destructive effects of his weapon."
Stekvens.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
201
CI.
0 truant Muse, what shall be thy amends,
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dy'd?
Both truth and beauty on my love depends ;
So dost thou too, and therein dignify'd.
j"\L die answer, Muse : wilt thou not haply say,
Truth needs no colour with his colour Jixed,
Bemity no pencil, beauty's truth to lay ;
But best is best, if never intermix d'l—
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
Excuse not silence so; for it lies in thee
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb.
And to be prais'd of ages yet to be.
Then do thy office, ."Muse; I teach thee how
To make him seem long hence as he shows now.
on.
]My love is strengthened, though more weak in
seeming;
1 love not less, though less the show appear ;
That love is merchandiz'd, whose rich esteeming
The owner's tongue doth publish every where.
Our love was new, and then but in the spring,
IVlicn I was wont to greet it with my lays ;
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing,
And stops his pipe in growth of riper days:
Aot that the summer is less pleasant now
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night.
But that wild music burthens every bough,
202
THE POEMS
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
Therefore, like her, 1 sometime hold my tongue,
Because I would not dull you with my song.
cm.
Alack ! what poverty my muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride,
The argument, all bare, is of more worth.
Than when it hath my added praise beside.
O blame me not if I no more can write!
Look in your glass, and there appears a face
That over-goes my blunt invention quite.
Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace.
"Were it not sinful then, striving to mend.
To mar the subject that before was well ?
For to no other pass my verses tend.
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell;
And more, much more, than in my verse can sit.
Your own glass shows you, when you look.in it.
CIV.
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were, when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summers' jiride ;
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd.
In process of tiie seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junc-^ burn'd.
Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green.
Ah ! j et doth beauty, like a dial hand,
OF SHAKESPEARE.
203
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived;
So jour sweet hue, which methinks still doth
stand.
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd.
F'or fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred.
Ere you were bom, was beauty's summer dead.
cv.
Let not my love be call'd idolatry.
Nor my beloved as an idol show.
Since all alike my songs and praises be.
To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind.
Still constant in a wondrous excellence;
Therefore my verse to constancy confined.
One thing expressing, leaves out difference.
Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument,
Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words;
And in this change is my invention spent.
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
Fair, kind, and true, have often lived alone ;
"Which three, till now, never kept seat in one.
cvi.
When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights.
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme.
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights.
Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
204
THE POEMS
I see their antique pen would have express'd
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And, for they look'd but with divining eyes.
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
cm.
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd.
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;
lacertainties now crown themselves assur'd.
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time
My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes,"
Since spite of him I'll live m this poor rhyme.
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes.
And thou in this shalt find thy monument.
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are
spent.
CVIII.
What's in the brain that ink may character.
Which hath not figur'd to thee my true spirit ?
6^ siibscribes] i. e. submits.
OF SUAKESPEARE.
205
What's new to speak, what now to register,
That may express my love or thy dear merit ?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must each day say o'er the very same;
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallow d thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case
Weighs not the dust and injury of age.
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place.
But makes antiquity for aye his page;
Finding the first conceit of love there bred.
Where time and outward form would show it
dead.
cix.
O, never say that I was false of heart.
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify !
As easy might I from myself depart,
As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie:
That is my home of love: if I have ranged.
Like him that travels, I return again ;
Just to tlie time, not with the time exchang'd,—
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature reigned
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood.
That it could so preposterously be stain'd.
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;
For nothing this wide universe I call.
Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.
65 now] altered unnecessarily by Malone to "new."
206
THE POEMS
ex.
Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there,
And made myself a motley to the view,®®
Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most
dear.
Made old offences of affections new.
Most true it is, that I have look'd on truth
Askance and strangely; but, by all above,
These blenches ®'' gave my heart another youth.
And worse essays prov'd thee my best of love.
Now all is done, save what shall have no end;
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof, to try an older friend,
A God in love, to whom I am confined. [best,
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the
Even to thy pure and most most loving breast.
CXI.
O, for my sake do you with fortune chide.
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds.
That did not better for my life provide.
Than public means, which public manners
breeds.
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand.
And almost thence my nature is subdued
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand:
66 ^nd made myself a motley to the view] i. e. seemed like
a fool; whose dress used to be motley.
67 blenches] i. e. starts, deviations.
OF SHAKESPF-ARE.
207
Pity me then, and wish I were renewed ;
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink
Potions of eysell,^® 'gainst my strong infection ;
No bitterness that I will bitter think.
Nor double penancfj, to correct correction.
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye,
iiven that your pity is enough to cure me.
OXII.
Your love and pity doth the impression fill
Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow;
For what care I who calls me well or ill.
So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow ?
You are my all-the-world, and I must strive
To know my shames and praises from your tongue ;
None else to me,®° nor I to none alive.
That my steel'd sense or changes, right or wrong.
In so profound abysm I throw all care
Of other's voices, that my adder's sense
To critic and to flatterer stopped are.
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense :—
You are so strongly in my purpose bred.
That all the world besides methinks are dead.
58 eysell] i. e. vinegar.
59 allow] i. e. approve.
69 None else to me, &c.] " the meaning seems to be—you
are the only person who has power to change my stubborn
resolution, either to what is right or to what is wrong."
Steevens.
61 m e] the old copy has "j'are" a common abbreviation
of you are, iiot ct thty are, as Malone strangely supposes.
208
THE POEMS
CXIII.
Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind,
And that which governs me to go about.
Doth part his function, and is partly blind.
Seems seeing, but effectually is out;
For it no form delivers to the heart
Of bird, of flower, or shape, which it doth latch ;
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, t
Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch ;
For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight.
The most sweet favour,®^ or deformed'st creature,
The mountain or the sea, the day or night.
The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature
Incapable of more, replete with you.
My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue.®*
cxiv.
Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you,
Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery.
Or whether shall I say mine eye saith true.
And that your love taught it this alchemy.
To make of monsters and things indigest,
i. e. lay hold ol.
65 favour] i. e. countenance.
64 ^[y most true mind thus maketh mine untrue] " the
word untrue is used as a substantive. ' The sincerity of my
atl'ection is the cause of my untruth;' i. e. of ray not seeing
objects truly, such as they appear to the rest of mankind."
M ALONE.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
209
Such cherubinsas your sweet self resemble,
Creating every bad a perfect best,
As fast as objects to bis beams assemble ?
0, 'tis the first; 'tis flattery in my seeing.
And my gieat mind most kingly drinks it up;
Mine eye well knows what with bis gust is 'greeing.
And to bis palate doth prepare the cup:
If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin
That mine eye loves it, and doth first begun
cxv.
Those lines that I before have writ, do lie,
Kven those that said I could not love you dearer;
Yet then my judgment knew no reason why
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.
But reckoning time, whose millioned accidents
Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings.
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents.
Divert stronpj minds to the course of altering
o o
things;
Alas! ^vhy, fearing of time's tyranny,
Migjit I not then say, now I love you best,
"When I was certain o'er incertainty,
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest ?
Love is a babe ; then might I not say so.
To give full growth to that which stiU doth
grow?
cxvi.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
14
210
THE POEMS
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove;
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark^
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be
taken. [cheeks
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.
CXVII.
Accuse me thus; that I have scanted all
Wherein I should your great deserts repay ;
Forgot upon your dearest love to call
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day;
That I have frequent been with unknown minds.
And given to time your own dear-purchased right;
That I have hoisted sail to all the winds
Which should transport me farthest from your
sight.
Book both my wilfulness and errors down.
And on just proof, surmise accumulate,
Bring me within the level of your frown.
But shoot not at me in your wakened hate:
Since my appeal says, I did strive to prove
The constancy and virtue of your love.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
211
cxvirr.
Like as, to make our appetites more keen,
"With eager®® compounds we our palate urge;
As, to prevent our maladies unseen,
AVe sicken to shun sickness, when we purge ;
Even so, being full of your ne'er cloying sweet¬
ness,
To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding.
And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness
To be diseased, ere that there was true needing.
Thus policy in love, to anticipate
The ills that were not, grew to faults assured.
And brought to medicine a healthful state,
"Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured.
But thence I learn, and find the lesson true.
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.
cxix.
"What potions have I drunk of Syren tears,
Distill'd from limbecs foul as hell within.
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears.
Still losing when I saw myself to win!
AVhat wretched errors hath my heart committed.
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never !
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been
fitted.
In the distraction of this madding fever !
66 eager] i. e. sour.
66 JJoiD have mine eyes, &c.] " How have mine eyes been con¬
vulsed during the frantic fits of my feverous love! " Malone.
212
THE POEMS
O benefit of ill! now I find true
That better is by evil still made better;
And niin'd love, when it is built anew,
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.
So I return rebuk'd to my content,
And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent.
cxx.
That you were once unkind, befriends me now,
And for that sorrow, which I then did feel.
Needs must I under my transgression bow.
Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken.
As I by yours, you have passed a hell of time :
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suflTer'd in your crime.
O that our night of woe might have remember'd
Mv deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits.
And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd
The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits !
But that your^trespass now becomes a fee;
Mine ransoms ^urs, and yours must ransom me.
cxxi.
'Tis better to be vile, than vile esteemed,
When not to be receives reproach of being.
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed
Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.
For why should others' false adulterate eyes
67 remeniber^d] i. c. reminded.
OF SHAKESPEAKE.
Give salutation to my sportive blood ?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
Which in their wills count bad what I think
good ?
No.—I am that I am ; and they that level
At my abuses, reckon up their own :
I may be straight, though they themselves be
bevel
By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be
shown;
Unless this general evil they maintain,—
All men are bad, and in their badness reign.
CXXII.
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Full character'd with lasting memory.
Which shall above that idle rank remain,
Beyond all date, even to eternity :
Or at the least so long as brain and heart
Have faculty by nature to subsist;
Till each to raz'd oblivion yield his part
Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd.
That poor retention could not so much hold,®'
88 bevel] i. e. crooked. "In masonry and joinery [bevel is]
a kind of square, one leg of which is frequently crooked, ac¬
cording to the sweep of an arch or vault." Builder's Dict.
89 That poor retention could not so much hold] '• That poor
retention is the table-book given to him by his friend, inca¬
pable of retaining, or rather of contaiuing, so much as the
tablet of the brain." Malone.
214
THE POEMS
Nor need I tallies, thy dear love to score ;
Therefore to give them from me was I bold,
To trust those tables that receive thee more;
To keep an adjunct to remember thee,
Were to import forgetfulness in me.
CXXIII.
No ! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change:
Thy pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange ;
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire
What thou dost foist upon us that is old;
And rather make them born to our desire.
Than think that we before have heard them told.
Thy registers and thee I both defy.
Not wondering at the present nor the past;
For thy records and what we see do lie,
Made more or less by thy continual haste:
This I do vow, and this shall ever be,
I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee:
cxxiv.
If my dear love were but the child of state.
It might for fortune's bastard be unfathered.
As subject to time's love, or to time's hate.
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers
gathered.
No, it was builded far from accident;
It sufiFers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
OF SHAKESPEARE.
215
Under the blow of thralled discontent,
Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls :
It fears not policy, that heretic.
Which works on leases of short-numbered hours,
But all, alone stands hugely politic.
That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with
showers.
To this I witness call the fools of time.
Which die for goodness, who have liv'd for
crime.
cxxv.
Were it aught to me I bore the canopy.
With my extern the outward honouring.
Or laid great bases for eternity.
Which prove more short than waste or ruining ?
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent.
For compound sweet foregoing simple savour,
Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent ?
No ;—let me be obsequious in thy heart.
And take thou my oblation, poor but free.
Which is not mixed with seconds,'" knows no art.
But mutual render, only me for thee.
Hence, thou suborn'd informer! a true soul.
When most impeached, stands least in thy
control.
"> sccoWs] On this word, which is probably a misprint,
Steevens has a note too preposterously absurd to be trans¬
ferred to the present pages.
216
THE POEMS
CXXVI.
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour;
Who hast hy waning grown, and therein show'st.
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grovv'st!
If nature, sovereign mistress over wrack.
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back.
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill.
Yet fear her, 0 thou minion of her pleasure ;
She may detain, but not still keep her treasure:
Her audit, though delayed, answered must be.
And her quietus is to render thee.
CXXVII.
In the old age black was not counted fair.
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name ;
But now is black beauty's successive heir.
And beauty slandered with a bastard shame:
For since each hand hath put on nature's power,
Fairing the foul with art's false borrowed face.
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower.
But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace.
Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black.
Her eyes so suited; and they mourners seem
■u and they mourners seem, &c.l "They seem to mourn
tliat those who are not born fair, are yet possessed of an arti¬
ficial beauty, by which they pass for what they are not, and
tlius dishonor nature by their imperfect imitation and false
pretensions." Malone.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
217
At such, who not born fair, no beauty lack,
Slandering creation with a false esteem ;
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe.
That every tongue says, beauty should look so.
OXXVIII.
How oft, when thou, my musick, musick play'st.
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
"With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'fft
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds.
Do I envy those jacks,'^ that nirabfe leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, [reap,
"Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest
At the wood's boldne.-s by thee blushing stand!
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips.
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips.
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.
cxxix.
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame /
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame.
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoy'd no sooner, but despised straight.
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
'2 yacfc] Of the virginal,—a musical instrument of the
spiunet kind.
218
THE POEMS
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad;
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so ;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof,—and prov'd, a very woe ;
Before, a joy propos'd; behind, a dream ;
All this the world well knows; yet none knows
well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell,
cxxx.
My mistress eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak,—yet well I know
That musick hath a far more pleasing sound ;
I grant I never saw a goddess go,—
My mistress, when she walks treads on the
ground;
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she bely'd with false compare.
cxxxi.
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art.
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;
OF SHAKESPEARE.
219
For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
Yet in good faith, some say that thee behold,
Thy face hath not the power to make love
groan;
To say they err, I dare not be so bold,
Although I swear it to myself alone.
And, tu be sure that is not false I swear,
A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face,
One on another's neck do witness bear
Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place.
In nothing art thou black, save in thy deeds,
And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.
CXX-XII.
Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me.
Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain.
Have put on black, and loving mourners be.
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
And truly not the morning sun of heaven
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east.
Nor that full star that ushers in the even.
Doth half that glory to the sober west,
As those two mourning eyes become thy face:
O, let it then as well beseem thy heart
To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee
grace.
And suit thy pity like in every part.
Then will I swear beauty herself is black.
And all they foul that thy complexion lack.
220
THE POEMS
cxxxiri.
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me !
Is't not enough to torture me alone,
But slave to,slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,
And my next self thou harder hast engross'd;
Of him, myself and thee, I am forsaken;
A torment thrice three-fold thus to be cross'd.
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward.
But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail;
Who e'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard;
Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol:
And yet thou wilt; fdr I, being pent in thee.
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.
cxxxiv.
So now I have confess'd that he is thine.
And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will;
Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine
Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still:
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free.
For thou art covetous, and he is kind ;
lie learn'd but, surety-like, to write for me.
Under tliat bond that him as fast doth bind.
The statute'® of thy beauty thou wilt take,
'3 statute] " has here its legal signification, that of a secu¬
rity or obligation for money." JI.vlune.
OF SHaKESPEARE.
221
Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use,
And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake ;
So him I lose through my unkind abuse.
Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me;
He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.
cxxxv.
"Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will.
And will to boot, and will in over-plus;
More than enough am I that vex thee still.
To thy sweet will making addition thus.
Wilt thou whose will*is large and spacious,
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine ?
Shall will in others seem right gracious.
And in my will no fair acceptance shine ?
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still.
And in abundance addeth to his store;
So thou", being rich in will, add to thy will
One will of mine, to make thy large will more.
Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill;
Think all but one, and me in that one Will.
cxxxvi.
If thy soul check thee that I come so near.
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will,
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there;
Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfill.
Will will fulfill the treasure of thy love.
Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one.
In things of great receipt with ease we prove;
222
THE POEMS
Among a number one is reckon'd none.
Then in the number let me pass untold,
Though in thy stores' account I one must be ;
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee :
Make but my name thy love, and love that still.
And then thou lov'st me,—for my name is Will.
OXXXVII.
Thou blind fool. Love, what dost thou to mine eyes.
That they behold, and see not what they see?
They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
Yet what the best is, take the worst to be.
If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks,
Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride,
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgment of my heart is ty'd?
Why should my heart think that a several plot,'^
Which my heart knows the wide world's common
place ?
Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not.
To put fair truth upon so foul a face ?
In things right true my heart and eyes have err'd.
And to this false plague are they now transferr'd.
CXXXVIll.
When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies;
a several plot] a several was a tenn for an enclosed field,
in opposition to an open field or common.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
223
Tliat she might tliink me some untutor'd youth,
Unleai-ned in the world's false subtilties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Althougii she knows my days are past the best.
Simply I credit her false-spe.aking tongue ;
On both sides thus is simple truth supprest.
But wherefore says she not, she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I, that I am old ?
0, love's best habit is in seeming trust.
And age in love loves not to have years told :
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me.
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.
CXXXIX.
0, call not me to justify the wrong.
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;
AVound me not with thine eye, but with thy
tongue ;
Use power with power, and slay me not by art.
Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight.
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside.
What need'st thou wound with cunning, when thy
might
Is more than my o'erpress'd defence can 'bide ?
Let me excuse thee: ah ! my love well knows
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies;
And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries :
Yet do not so; but since I am near slain.
Kill me out-right with looks, and rid my pain.
224
THE POEMS
OXL.
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
My tongue-ty'd patience with too much disdain ;
Lest sorrow lend me words and words express
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
If I might teach thee wit, better it were,
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so;
(As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,
No news but health from their physicians know;)
For, if I should despair, I should grow mad,
And in my madness might speak ill of thee ;
Now tliis ill-wresting world is grown so bad.
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.
That I may not be so, nor thou bely'd,
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud
heart go wide.
CXLI.
In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes.
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleas'd to dote.
Noraremine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted;
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone.
Nor taste nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone:
But my five wits, nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee.
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
225
Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be;
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me sin, awards me pain.
CXLII.
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate.
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving;
O, but with mine compare thou thine own state,
And thou shall find it merits not reproving;
Or if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That have profan'd their scarlet ornaments.
And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine;
Robb'd others' beds revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows,
Thy pity may deserve to pity'd be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide.
By self-example may'st thou be deny'd!
CXLllI.
Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch
One of her feather'd creatures broke away.
Sets down her babe, and makes all swift despatch
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay ;
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chace.
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent
To follow that which flies before her face.
Not prizing her poof infant's discontent;
So run'st thou after that which flies from thee,
15
226
THE POEMS
Whilst I thy babe chace thee afar behind;
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,
And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind;
So will I pray that thou may'st, have thy Will,
If thou turn back, and my loud crying still.
CXLIV.
Two loves I have of comfort and despair, ik.
Which like two spirits do suggest'^ me still
The better angel is a man right fair, ^
The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil V
Tempteth my better angel from my side, ^
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, ^
Wooing his purity with her foul pride. ^
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend, ^
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell; V*
But being both from me, both to each friend, ^
I guess one angel in another's hell.
Yet tills shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt.
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
CXLV.
Those lips that Love's own hand did make,
Breath'd forth the sound that said, I hate,
To me that languish'd for her sake ;
But when siie saw my woeful state.
Straight in her heart did mercy come.
Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet
75 su^^esfj i. e. tempt.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
227
Was us'd in giving gentle doom ;
And taught it thus anew to greet:
I hate she alter'd with an end,
That fojiow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away.
I hate from hate away she threw,
And sav'd my life, saying—not you,
CXLVI.
Poor soul,'® the centre of my sinful earth,
Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within and, suffer dearth.
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease.
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess.
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end?
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss.
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
By terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more.
So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men.
And, death once dead, there's no more dying
then.
'6 Poor soul, &c.] The two first lines of this sonnet are
thus given in the old copy;
" Poor soul, the center of my sinful earth,
My sinful earth these rebel powers that thee an-ay."
The emendation is Malone's.
228
THE POEMS
CXLVn.
love is as a fever longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
Bly reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept.
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve.
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic mad with evermore unrest;
]My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are.
At random from the truth vainly express'd;
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee
bright,
"Who art as black as hell, as dark as night
cxLVin.
O me! what eyes hath love put in my head.
Which have no correspondence with true sight?
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled.
That censures falsely what they see aright ?
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote.
What means the world to say it is not so ?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love's eye is not so true as all men's; no,
How can it ? O how can Love's eye be true,
" censures] i. e. estimates.
OP SHAKESPEAKE.
229
That is so vexed with watching and with tears ?
]So marvel then though I mistake my view;
The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears.
O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind,
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.
CXLIX.
Canst thou, 0 cruel! say I love thee not,
"When I, against myself, with thee partake ? "
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake ?
AVho hateth thee that I do call my friend ?
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon ?
IS'ay if thou low'rst on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan ?
What merit do 1 in myself respect,
That is so proud thy service to despi>c,
When all my best doth worship thy defect.
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes ?
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind ;
Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind.
CL.
O, from what power hast thou this powerful might,
AVith insufficiency my heart to sway ?
To make me give the lie to my true sight.
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day ?
AVhence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
78partake] i. e. take part.
THE POEMS
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantise of skill,
That in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds ?
Wild taught thee how to make me love thee more,
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O, though I love what others do abhor,
A^'ith others thou should'st not abhor my state :
If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me.
More worthy I to be belov'd of thee.
CLI.
Love is too young to know what conscience is:
Yet who knows not, conscience is born of love ?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,'®
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove.
For thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to ra}- gross body's treason;
Mv soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love ; flesh stays no farther reason;
But rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his trium])hant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be.
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
!Xo want of conscience hold it that I call
Her—love, for whose dear love I rise and fall.
CLII.
In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn.
But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing;
79 amiss | i. e. fault.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
231
In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn,
In vowing new liate after new love bearing.
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee.
When I break twenty ? I arn perjur'd most;
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee.
And all my honest faith in thee is lost:
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kind¬
ness.
Oaths' of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy ;
And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness.
Or made them swear against the thing they see;
For I have sworn thee fair: more perjur'd I,
To swear, against the truth, so foul a lie I
CLllI.
Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep:
A maid of Dian's this advantage found.
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground ;
Which borrow'd from this holy fire of love
A dateless lively heat, still to endure.
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress' eye love's brand new-fir'd.
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I sick withal, the help of bath desir'd,
And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest,
But found no cure ; the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire ; my mistress' eyes.
232
THE POEMS OF SHAKESPEARE.
CLIV.
The little love-god lying once asleep,
Laid by his side his heart-intlaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to
keep.
Came tripping by ; but in her maiden hand
The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd :
And so the general of hot desire
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by.
Which from love's fire took heat perpetual.
Growing a bath and healthful remedy
For men'diseas'd; but I, my mistress' thrall.
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove,
Love's fire beats water, water cools not love.
233
A LOVER'S COMPLAINT.
From off a hill whose concave womb re-worded
A plaintf'ul story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I lay to list the sad tun'd tale:
Ere long espy'd a fickle maid full pale.
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain.
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.
Upon her head a platted hive of straw.
Which fortified her visage from the sun;
Whereon'the thought might think sometime it saw
The carcase of a beauty spent and done.
Time had not scythed all that youth begun,
Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell rage.
Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age.
Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne.
Which on it had conceited' characters,
Laund'ring ^ the silken figures in the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted ® in tears.
And often reading what contents it bears;
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe.
In clamours of all size, both high and low.
1 conceited] i. e. fanciful.
2 laund'riny] i. e. washing.
8 pelleted] i. e. made into pellets, balls.
234
THE POEMS
Sonietirne-A her levell'd * eyes their carriage ride,
A-; they did battery to the spheres intend;
Sometime diverted their poor balls are ty'd
To the orb'd earth: sometimes they do extend
Their view right on ; anon their gazes lend
To every place'at once, and no where fix'd.
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd.
Her hair, nor loose, nor ty'd in formal plat,
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride ;
For some, untuck'd, descended her sheav'd® hat.
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside ;
Some in her threaden fillet still did bide.
And, true to bondage, would not break from thence,
Though slackly braided in loose negligence.
A thousand favours from a maund ® she drew
01' amber, crystal, and of beaded jet.
Which one by one she in a river threw.
Upon whose weeping margent she was set;
Like usury, applying ■wet to wet.
Or monarch's hands, that let not bounty fall
Where want cries some, but where excess begs all.
or folded schedules had she many a one.
Which she perus'd, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood;
Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone,
* kvelVd eyes, <fcd An allusion to a piece of ordnance,
s ^eov'd] i. e. straw.
6 maund] i. e. hand basket.
OF SHAKESPEAKE.
230
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud ;
Found yet more letters sadly penn'd in blood,
With sleided' silk feat ® and atfectediy
Enswath'd, and seal'd to curious secrecy.
These often bath'd she in her fluxive eyes,
And often kiss'd, and often 'gan® to tear;
Cried, " O false blood ! thou register of lies,
•' What unapproved witness dost thou bear!
" Ink would have seem'd more black and damned
here !"
This said, in top of rage the lines she rents.
Big discontent so breaking their contents.
O O
A reverend man that graz'd his cattle nigh.
Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew
Of court, of city, and had let go by
The swiftest hours, observed as they flew;
Towards tliis afflicted fancy fiistly drew;
And, privileg'd by age, desires to know
In brief, the grounds and motives of her woe.
•
So slides he down upon his grained bat,^^
And comely-distant sits he by her side;
Wlien he again desires her, being sat,
7 sleided] i. e. raw, untwisted.
8feat] i. V. neatly, curiously.
^ ^gan\ Malone's conjecture for " gave."*^
10 fancy] i- e. enamoured one: fancyoccxxrs several times in
this volume in the sense of love.
11 bat] i. e. club.
236
THE POEMS
Her grievance with his hearing to divide :
If that from him there may be aught applied
Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage,
'Tis promis'd in the charity of age.
" Father," she says, " though in me you bcho'.d
" The injury of many a blasting hour,
'• Let it not tell your judgment I am old ;
" Not age, but sorrow, over me bath power :
" I might as yet have been a spreading flower,
" Fresh to myself, if I had self-applied
" Love to myself, and to no love beside.
"But woe is me ! too early I attended
" A youthful suit (it was to gain my grace)
" Of one by nature's outwards so commended,
" That maiden's eyes stuck over all his face:
" Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her place;
"And when in his fair parts she did abide,
" She was new lodg'd, and newly deified.
"His browny locks did hang in'crooked curls;
" And every light occasion of the wind
"Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls.
" What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find:
" Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind;
" For on his visage was in little drawn,
" What largeness thinks in paradise was sawn.^-
12 sajcnJ i. e. soivn.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
237
" Small sliow of man was yet upon his chin;
' His phoenix down began but to appear,
" Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin,
" AVliose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to
wear;
'■ Yet show'd his visage by that cost most dear;
" And nice affections wavering stood in doubt
" If best 'twere as it was, or best without.
'• His qualities were beauteous as his form,
'• For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;
'• Yet if men mov'd him, was he such a storm
'■ As oft 'twixt May and April is to see,
'• When winds breathesweet,unruly though they be,
" His rudeness so with his authoriz'd youth,
" Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.
" Well could he ride, and often men would say
' That horse his mettle from his rider takes;
' Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,
' What rounds, what bounds, what course, what
stop he makes ? '
" And controversy hence a question takes,
'• Whether the horse by him became his deed,
'• Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.
" But quickly on this side the verdict went;
" His real habitude gave life and grace
" To appertainings and to ornament,
" Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case :
238
THE POEMS
" All aids, themselves made fairer by their place,
" Came for additions ; yet their purjxis'd trim
" Piere'd not his grace,but wei'e all grac'd by him.
" So on the tip of his subduing tongue
" All kind of arguments and question deep,
" All replication prompt, and reason strong,
" For his advantage still did wake and sleep:
" To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,
" He had the dialect and different skill,
" Catching all passions in his craft of will;
" That he did in the general bosom reign
" Of young, of old ; and sexes both enchanted,
" To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain
" In personal duty, following where he haunted:
" Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted ;
" And dialogu'd for him what he would say,
" Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey.
" Many there were that did his picture get,
" To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind;
" Like fools that in the imagination set
" The goodly objects which abroad they find
" Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought as-
sign'd ;
" And labouring in more pleasures to bestow them,
" Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe "
them:
13 owe] i e. own.
OF SHAKF.SPEARF,.
239
'' So many liavc, that never touch'd his liand,
'• Sweetly suppos'd them mistress of his heart.
"My woeful self, that did in freedom stand,
"And was my own fee-simple, (not in part,)
" What with his art in youth, and youth in art,
" Threw my affections in his charmed power,
" Reserv'd the stalk, and gave him all my flower.
" Yet did I not, as some my equals did,
" Demand of him, nor being desired, yielded ;
" Finding myself in honour so forbid,
" With safest distance I mine honour shielded:
" Experience for me many bulwarks builded
" Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the
foil
" Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.
" But ah ! who ever shunn'd by precedent
"The destin'd ill she must herself assay?
" Or forc'd examples, 'gainst her own content,
" To put the by-pass'd perils in her way ?
" Counsel may stop a while what will not stay;
" For when we rage, advice is often seen
" By blunting us to make our wits more keen.
"Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,
" That we must curb it upon others' proof,
" To be forbid the sweets that seem so good,
" For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.
" O appetite, from judgment stand aloof!
240
THE POEMS
" The one a palate hath that needs will taste,
" Though reason weep, and cry ' it is thy last.'
" For further I could say, ' this man's untrue,'
"And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling
" Heard where his plants in others' orchards
grew,
" Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;
" Knew vows were ever brokers " to defiling;
" Thought, characters, and words, merely but art,
" And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.
" And long upon these terms I held my city,
" Till thus he 'gan besiege me: ' Gentle maid,
' Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity,
' And be not of my holy vows afraid :
' That's to you sworn, to none was ever said;
' For feasts of love I have been call'd unto,
' Till now did ne'er invite, nor never vow.
' All my offences that abroad you see,
' Are errors of the blood, none of the mind;
' Love made them not; with acturethey may be,
' Where neither party is nor true nor kind:
' They sought their shame that so their shame did
find ;
13 patterns of his foul beguiling] i. e. " the examples of his
seduction." Maloxe.
H brokers] i. e. panders.
13 a</«ccj i. c. action.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
241
' And so much less of shame in me remains,
' By how mucli of me their reproach contains.
' Among the many that mine eyes have seen,
' Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm'J,
' Or my affection put to the smallest teen,^®
' Or any of my leisures ever charm'd :
' Harm have I done to them, but ne'er wks harm'd ;
' Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,
' And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy.
' Look here what tributes wounded fancies " sent
me,
' Of paled pearls, and rubies red as blood;
' Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me
' Of grief and blushes, aptly understood
' In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood;
' Effects of terror and dear modesty,
' Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly.
' And lo ! behold these talents of their hair,^'
' With twisted metal amorously impleach'd,^®
' I have receiv'd from-many a several fair,
' (Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,)
' With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd,
teen'\ i. grief.
Sec Note 16^ p. 235.
18 tahnts of their hair^ t/r.) i. e. ** lockeiSf consisting of hair
platted and set in gold.'* Mauixe.
10 impltadCd] i. e. interwoven.
16
242
THE POEMS
' And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify
' Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality.
' The diamond; why 'twas beautiful and hard,
' Whereto his invis'dproperties did tend;
' The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard
' Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend;
' The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend
' With objects manifold ; each several stone,
' With wit well blazon'd, smil'd or made some
moan.
' Lo ! all these trophies of affections hot,
' Of pensiv'd and subdued desires the tender,
' Nature hath charg'd me that I hoard them not,
' But yield them up where I myself must render,
' That is, to you, my origin and ender:
' For these, of force, must your oblations be,
' Since I their altar, you enpatron me.
' O then advance of yours that phraseless hand,
' Whose white weighs down the airy scale of
praise; s
' Take all these similes to-your own command,
' Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise;
' What me your minister, for you obeys,
' Works under you ; and to your audit comes
' Their distract parcels in combined sums.
i. e. invisible.
of shakespeare.
' Lo! this device was sent me from a nun,
' Or sister sanctified of holiest note ;
' Which late her noble suit in court did shun,
' Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote ; ^
' I'or she was sought by spirits of richest coat,-®
' But kept cold distance, and did thence remove,
' To sp.end her living in eternal love.
' But O, my sweet, what labour is't to leave
' The thing we have not, mastering what not
strives ?
' Paling the place which did no form receive,
' Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves :
' She that her fame so to herself contrives,
' The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight,
' And makes her absence valiant, not her might.
'O pardon me, in that my boast is true ;
' The accident which brought me to her eye,
21 suit] i. e. suitors.
22 RVjose rarest havings made the blossoms dote] " tVhose
accomplishments were so extraordinary, that the flower of the
young nobility were passionately enamoured of her."' JI.v-
LONE. It may be doubted, however, if "havings" is not
used here in its usual sense of fortune, estate, and not in .that
of accomplishments. .
23 coal] i. c. coat of arms.
24 Paling, ^c. j " i. e. securing within the pale of a cloister,
that heart which had never received the impression of love."
malone—who altered the corrupt reading of the old copy,
"Playing" to "Paling."
2U
THE POEMS
' T'pon the moment did her force subdue,
' And now she would the caged cloister fly :
' Religious love put out religion's eye :
' Not to he tempted, would she be immur'd,
' And now, to tempt all, liberty procur'd.
' How mighty then you are, 0 hear me tell!
' The broken bosoms that to me belong,
' Have emptied all their fountains in my well,
'And mine I pour your ocean all among:
' 1 strong o'er them, and you o'er me being
strong,
'IMust for your victory us all congest,
' As compound love to physick your cold breast.
' l\ry parts had power to charm a sacred sun,
' Who, disciplin'd, I dieted in grace,
' Believ'd her eyes when they to assail begun,
' All vows and consecrations giving place.
' 0 most potential love ! vow, bond, nor space,
' In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,
' For thou art all, and all things else are
thine.
' When thou impresses!, what are precepts
worth
' Of stale example ? AVhen thou wilt inflame,
' How coldly those impediments stand forth
' Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame ?
OF SHAKESPEARE.
245
' Love's arms are peace,'gainst rule, 'gainst
sense, 'gainst shame,
' And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears,
' The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.
' Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,
' Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine,
' And supplicant their sighs to ) ou extend,
' To leave the battery that you make 'gainst
mine,
' Lending soft audience to my sweet design,
'And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath,
' That shall prefer and undertake my troth.'
" This said, his watery eyes ^ he did dismount, ^
" Whose sights till then were levell'd on my face ;
" Each cheek a river running from a fount
" Witli brinish current downward flow'd apace :
" O how the channel to the stream gave grace !
" Who, glaz'd with crystal, gate the glowing
roses
" That flame through water which thejr hue in¬
closes.
26 Love's arms are peace, ^c.] " The meaning maybe—the
warfare that love carries on against rule, sense, &c. produces
to the parties engaged a peaceful enjoyment, and sweetness,
&c." Malone.
2" his watery eyes, 4'C.] " The allusion is to the old English
fire-arms, which were supported on what was called a rest."
Malone.
28 gate] i. e. got.
246
THE POEMS
'• O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
"In the small orb of one particular tear?
'■ Biit with the inundation of the eyes
'• What rocky heart to water will not wear?
" What breast so cold that is not wanned here?
" 0 cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath,.
" Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath!
" For lo ! his passion, but an art of craft,
" Kven there resolved my reason into tears;
" There my white stole of chastity I daff'd,
" Shook off my sober guards, and civiF'® fears;
'• Appear to him, as he to fne appears,
'• All melting; though our drops this difference
bore,
'• His poison'd me, and mine did him restore.
"In him a plenitude of subtle matter,
" Applied to cautels,®" all strange forms receives,
" Of burning blushes, or of weeping water,
" Or swooning paleness ; and he takes and leaves,
" In either's aptness, as it best deceives,
" To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes,
" Or to turn white and swoon at tragick shows ;
" That not a heart which in his level came,
" Could scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,
29 iivil] i. e. grave.
30 cautels\ i. e. deceits, insidious purposes.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
247
" Showing fair nature is both kind and tame;
" And veil'd in them, did win whom he would
maim:
" Against the thing he sought he would exclaim;
'• When he most biirn'd in heart-wish'd luxury,®^
" He preach'd pure maid, and prais'd cold chastity.
" Thus merely with the garment of a Grace
" The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd,
" That the unexperienc'd gave the tempter place,
" Which, like a cherubin, above them hover'd.
" Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd ?
'• Ah me! I fell; and yet do question make
" What I should do again for such a sake.
" 0, that infected moisture of his eye,
" O, that false fire which in his cheeks so glbw'd,
'' O, that forc'd thunder from his heart did fly,
" 0, that sad breath his spungy lungs bestow'd,
" O, all that borrow'd motion, seeming ow'd,'^
" Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd,
" And new pervert a reconciled maid ! "
Zitruri/] i. e. lewdness. ^^ow'd] i. e. owned, his own.
PASSIONATE PILGRIM.
i.
Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook,
With young Adonis^ lovely, fresh, and green.
Did court tiie lad with many a lovely look.
Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen.
She told him stories to delight his ear;
She show'd him favours to allure his eye:
To win his heart, she touch'd him here, and there:
Touches so soft still conquer chastity.
But whether unripe years did want conceit,
Or he refus'd to take her figur'd proffer,
The tender nibbler would not touch the bait.
But smile and jest at every gentle offer:
Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward;
He rose and ran away ; ah fool too froward!
ii.
Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn,
And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,
When Cytherea, all in love forlorn,
A longing tarriance for Adonis made,
Under an osier growing by a brook,
A brook, where Adon us'd to pool his spleen.
Hot was the day; she hotter that did look
POEMS OF SHAKESPEARE. 249
For his approach, that often there had been.
Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by.
And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim;
The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye,
Yet not so wistly, as this queen on him :
He spying her, boune'd in, whereas he stood ;
O Jove, quoth she, why was not I a flood?
III.
Fair was the morn, when the fair queen of love.
Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,
For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild ;
Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill:
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds ;
She silly queen, with more than love's good will.
Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds ;
Once, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth
Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar.
Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!
See in my thigh, quoth she, here was the sore:
She showed hers ; he saw more wounds than one.
And blushing fled, and left her all alone.
IV.
Venus with [young] Adonis sitting by her.
Under a myrtle shad.e, began to woo him.:
She told the youngling how god Mars did try her.
And as he fell to her, [so] she fell to him.
1 Here a line has dropped out.
250
THE POEMS
Even tliu?, quoth she, the warlike god embrac'dme;
And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms :
Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlac'd me
As if the boy should use like loving charms.
Even thus, quoth she, he seiz'd on my lips.
And with her lips on his did act the seizure;
And as she fetched a breath, away he skips.
And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.
Ah! that I had my lady at this bay.
To kiss and clip me till I runaway!
V.
Crabbed age and youth ■
Cannot live togethfer;
Youth is full of pleasance,
Age is full of care:
Youth like summer morn.
Age like winter weather;
Youth like summer brave.
Age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport.
Age's breath is short.
Youth is nimble, age is lame:
Youth is hot and bold.
Age is weak and cold;
Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee.
Youth, I do adore thee;
O, my love, my love is young!
Age, I do defy thee;
OF SHAKESPEARE.
251
O sweet shepherd, hie thee,
For methinks thou stay'st too long !
VI.
Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon
vaded,^
Pluck'd in the hud, and vaded in the spring!
Bright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded !
Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp
sting!
Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree.
And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.
1 weep for thee, and yet no cause I have ;
For why ? thou left'st me nothing in thy will.
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave;
For why ? I craved nothing of thee still :
O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee;
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.
VII.
Fair is my loVe, but not so fair as fickle,
IMild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;
Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle.
Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:
2 vadei\ Malone throughout these fragments altered the
word to faded, which is generally considered as synonymous;
yet Brathwaite, in his Strappado for ike Devil, 1615, (the ex¬
act reference to which I have mislaid,) speaks of " no fading,
■eading flower," and other poets make the same distinction
between the words.
252
THE rOEMS
A lily pale, with damask die to grace her,
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.
Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd.
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!
How many tales to please me hath she coin'd.
Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing 1
Yet in the midst of all her pure pretestings.
Her faith, her oaths, her tears and all were jest-
ings.
She burn'd with love, as straw with fire flameth.
She burn'd out love, as soon as straw out burneth;
She fram'd the love, and yet she foil'd the framing.
She bade love last, and yet she fell a turning.
Was this a lover, or a lecher whether ?
Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.
VIII.
Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye,
'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument.
Persuade my heart to this false perjury ?
Yows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
A woman I forswore ; but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ;
Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me.
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;
Then thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine,
Exhale this vapour vow ; in thee it is .
If broken, then it is no fault of mine.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
253
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
To break an oath to win a paradise ?
IX.
If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
0 never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd:
Though to myself forsworn, to-thee I'll constant
prove; [bow'd.
Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes.
Where all those pleasures live, that art can com¬
prehend. [suffice;
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall
Well learned i.s that tongue that well can thee
commend; [der;
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without won-
Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts
admire :
Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his
dreadful thunder.
Which (not to anger hent) is musick and sweet fire.
Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong.
To sing the heavens' praise with such an earthly
tongue.
X.
Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,
A shining gloss, that vadeth suddenly ;
A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to hud :
A bi'ittle glass, that's broken presently:
254
THE POEMS
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.
And as goods lost are seld or never found.
As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh.
As flowers dead, lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,
So beauty blemish'd once, for ever's lost.
In spite of physick, painting, pain, and cost.
XI.
Good night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share;
She bade good night, that kept my rest away ; '
And daff'd® me to a cabin hang'd with care.
To descant on the doubts of my decay.
Farewell, quoth she, and corne again to-morrow ;
Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow.
Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile.
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:
'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,
'T may be, again to make me wander thither:
Wander, a word for shadows like myself.
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.
XII.
Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east I
My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise
Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest.
8 daff^d\ i. e. put off.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
255
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes,
"While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,
And wish her lays were tuned like the lark;
For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty.
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night:
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty ;
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;
Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with .
sorrow; [morrow.
For why? she sigh'd, and bade me come to-
Were I with her, the night would post too soon ;
But now are minutes added to the hours;
To spite me now, each minute seems a moon ; *
Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers!
Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now
borrow ; [morrow.
Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to¬
xin.
It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of
three.
That liked of her master as well as well might be,
Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that
eye could see.
Her fancy fell a turning.
* a moon] i. e. a month, Steevens's conjecture for the read¬
ing of the old copy, " an hour.'"
256
THE POEMS
Long was the combat doubtful, that love with love
did fight,
To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant
knight:
To put in practice either, alas it was a spite
Unto the silly damsel.
But one must be refused, more mickle was the pain.
That nothing could be used, to turn them both to
gain, [disdain;
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with
Alas, she could not help it! [day,
Thus art with arms contending was victor of the
"Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid
away; [gay;
Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady
For now my song is ended.
x:v.
On a day (alack the day!)
Love, whose month was ever May,
Spy'd a blossom passing fair.
Playing in the wanton air :
Through the velvet leaves the wind.
All unseen, 'gan passage find ;
That the lover, sick to death,
"VVisLd himself the heaven's breath.
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so I
But alas my hand hath sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
OF SHAKESPEARE.
25-7
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet.
[Do not call it sin in me,®
That I am forsworn for thee ;]
Thou for whom Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were ;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.
XV.
My flocks feed not.
My ewes breed not.
My rams speed not.
All is amiss;
Love is dying.
Faith's defying.
Heart's denying.
Causer of this.
All my merry jigs are quite forgot.
All my lady's love is lost, God wot:
Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love.
There a nay is plac'd without remove.
One silly cross
Wrought all my loss ;
O frowning fortune, cursed, fickle dame !
For now I see.
Inconstancy
More in women than in men remain.
® Do not call it, ^c.] This couplet is supplied from the song
as given in Lme's Labour's LOsl, act iv. sc. 3.
17
258
THE POEMS
In black mourn I,
All fears scorn I,
Love hath forlorn me.
Living in thrall:
Heart is bleeding,
All help needing,
(O cruel speeding!)
Fraughted with gall.
My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal,®
My wether's bell rings doleful knell;
My curtail dog that wont to have play'd,
Plays not at all, but seems afraid;
"With sighs so deep,
Procures' to weep.
In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight.
How sighs resound
Through heartless ground,
Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody
fight!
Clear wells spring not.
Sweet birds sing not.
Green plants bring not
Forth ; they die :
Herds stand weeping,
® no deal] i. e. in no degree.
' WiA sighs so deep.
Procures, &c.J. " The dog procures (i. e. manages matters)
bo as to weep." Steevens. The whole passage is probably
conupt. Shakespeare certainly wrote none of this wretched
piece. Malone in his last edition printed it as given in
Weelkes's MadHgaU.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
259
Flocks all sleeping,
Nymphs back peeping
Fearfully.
All our pleasure known to us poor swains,
All our merry meetings on the plains.
All our evening sport from us is fled.
All our love is lost, for love is dead.
Farewell, sweet lass,®
Thy like ne'er was
For a sweet content, the cause of all my moan : ®
Poor Coridon
Must live alone.
Other help for him I see that there is none.
XVI.
"Whenas thine eye hath chose the dame,
And stall'd the deer that thou should'st strike.
Let reason rule things worthy blame,
As well as partial fancy like :
Take counsel of some wiser head.
Neither too young, nor yet unwed.
And when thou com'st thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,
' ia5s] The reading in Weelkes's Madrigals: old copy.
" Vfvt."
9 moan] The reading in Englaruts Hdicon: old copy,
" woe."
19 fancy] i. e. love.
11 Corrected by a manuscript of the time.
260
THE POEMS
Lest she some subtle practice smell;
(A cripple soon can find a halt:)
But plainly say thou lov'st her well,
And set thy person forth to sell.
What though her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night;
And then too late she will repent.
That thus dissembled her delight;
And twice desire, ere it be day,
Wliat though she strive to try her strength.
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay.
Her feeble force will yield at length.
When craft hath taught her thus to say :
" Had women been so strong as men.
In faith you had not had it then."
And to her will frame all thy ways ;
Spare not to spend,—and chiefly there
Where thy desert may merit praise.
By ringing in thy lady's ear:
The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.
Serve always with assured trust,
And in thy suit be humble, true;
Unless thy lady prove unjust,
Press never thou to choose anewi
OF SHAKESPEARE.
261
When time shall serve, be thou not slack
To proffer, though she put thee back.
The wiles and guiles that women work.
Dissembled with an outward show.
The tricks and toys that in them lurk.
The cock that treads them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft,
A woman's nay doth stand for nought ?
Think women still to strive with men.
To sin, and never for to saint:
There is no heaven, by holy then.
When time with age shall them attaint.
Were kisses all the joys in bed.
One woman would another wed.
But soft; enough,—too much I fear.
Lest that my mistress hear my song ;
She'll not stick to round me i'th' ear.
To teach my tongue to be so long:
Yet will she blush, here be it said.
To hear her secrets so bewray'd.
18 Think women, &c.] These four lines are scarcely intelli¬
gible: in a MS. copy of the poem, belonging to S. Lysons,
Esq. they stand thus:
'■ Think women lOve to match with men,
And not to live so like a saint:
Here is no heaven; they holy then
Begin, when age doth them attaint."
262
THE POEMS
XVII.
As it fell upon a day,^*
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made,
Beasts did leap, and birds did sing,
Trees did grow, and plants did spring
Every thing did banish moan.
Save the nightingale alone :
She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn.
And there sung the dolefull'st ditty.
That to hear it was great pity:
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry.
Tern, Teru, by and by :
That to hear her so complain.
Scarce I could from tears refrain ;
For her griefs so lively shown.
Made me think upon mine own.
Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain ;
None take pity on thy pain:
Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee ;
Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee.
King Pandion, he is dead;
All thy friends are lapp'd in lead :
H Tliis and the next piece were in ail probability written
by Kichard Barnefield, as they are found in a collection of
his Poems printed in 1598. The Passionate Pilijrim was first
published in the following 3'ear.
OF SHAKESFEAKE.
263
All thy fellow birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing.
Even so; poor bird, like thee,
None alive will pity me.
Whilst as fickle fortune smil'd,
Thou and I were both beguil'd.
Every one that flatters thee,
Ts no friend in misery.
Words are easy like the wind ;
Faithful friends are hard to find.
Every man will be thy friend.
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend;
But if store of crowns be scant.
No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal.
Bountiful they will him call;
And with such like flattering,
" Pity but he were a king."
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice ;
If to women he be bent.
They have him at coinmandement;
But if fortune once do frown.
Then farewell his great renown :
They that fawn'd on him before.
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed.
He will help thee in thy need.
If thou sorrow, he will weep ;
264
THE POEMS
If thou wake, he cannot sleep:
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.
XVIII.
If musick and sweet poetry agree,
As they must needs, the sister and the brother.
Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me.
Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other.
Dowland ® to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense;
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such.
As passing all conceit, needs no defence.
Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound.
That Phoebus' late, the queen of musick, makes ;
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd,
Whenas himself to singing he betakes.
One god is god of both, as poets feign;
One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.
VERSES AMOXG THE ADDITIONAL POEMS TO
CHESTER'S LOVE'S MARTYR, 1601
Let the bird of loudest lay.
On the sole Arabian tree.
Herald sad and trumpet be.
To whose sound chaste wings obey.
8 Dowland] A famous Lutauist.
or SHAKESPEARE.
265
But thou shrieking harbinger,
Foul pre-currer of the fiend.
Augur of the fever's end,
To this troop come thou not near.
From this session interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing.
Save the eagle, feather'd king:
Keep the obsequy so strict.
Let the priest in surplice white,
That defunctive music can,^
Be the death-divining swan.
Lest the requiem lack his right.
And thou, treble-dated crow.
That thy sable gender mak'st
With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st,
'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.
Here the anthem doth commence:
Love and constancy is dead ;
Phoenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.
So they lov'd, as love in twain
Had the essence but in one;
Two distincts, division none:
Number there in love was slain.
1 defunctive can] i, e. knows, understands funeral music.
THE POEMS
Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
Distance, and no space was seen
'Twixt the turtle and his queen :
But in them it were a wonder
So between them love did shine,
That the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the phoenix' sight:
Either was the other's mine.
Property was thus appall'd,
That the self was not the same;
Single nature's double name
Neither two nor one was call'd.
Reason, in itself confounded.
Saw division grow together;
To themselves yet either-neither.
Simple were so well compounded
That it cried, how true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one !
Love hath reason, reason none.
If what parts can so remain.
Whereupon it made this threne ^
To the phoenix and the dove,
Co-supremes and stars of love ;
As chorus to their tragick scene.
2 threne\ i. c. funeral song.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
267
THRENOS.
Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Grace in all simplicity.
Here inclos'd in cinders lie.
Death is now the phoenix' nest;
And the turtle's loyal breast
To eternity doth rest.
Leaving no posterity:—
'Twas not their infirmity.
It was married chastity.
Truth may seem, but cannot be ;
Beauty brag, but 'tis not she;
Truth and beauty buried be.
To this urn let those repair
That are either true or fair^
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
WM. SHAKESPEARE.
2G8
SONGS FKOM THE PLAYS OF
SHAKESPEAKE.
FROM THE TEMPEST.
Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd,
(The wild waves whist)
Foot it featly here and there ;
And, sweet sp'rites, the burden bear.
Hark, hark I
Burden. Bowgh, wowgh, [dispersedly.
The watch-dogs bark:
Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. [dispersedly.
Hark, hark I I hear
The strain of strutting chanticlere
Cry, cock-a-doodle-doo.
Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearl's, that were his eyes :
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
rOEMS of shakespeare.
269
Iii'.o something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
Hark ! now I hear them—ding-dong, bell.
\_Burden, Ding-dong.
Where the bee sucks, there suck I;
In a cowslip's bell I lie:
There I couch, when owls do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly,
After summer, merrily;
Jlerrily, merrily, shall I live now
Under the blossom, that hangs on the bough.
FROM TWO GEXTLEMEX OF VERONA.
Who is Silvia? what is she.
That all our swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she:
The heavens such grace did lend her,
That she might admired be.
Is she kind, as she is fair ?
For beauty lives with kindness:
Love doth to her eyes repair.
To help him of his blindness ;
And, being help'd inhabits there.
270
the poems
Then to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling ;
She excels each mortal thing,
Upon the dull earth dwelling;
To her let us garlands bring.
FROM MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
Take, oh take those lips away,
That so sweetly are forsworn ;
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn:
But my kisses bring again.
Bring again,
Seals of love, but seai'd in vain,
Seal'd in vain!
FROM MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
first faiet.
You spotted snakes, with double tongue,
Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen ;
Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong ;
Come not near our fairy queen :
OF SHAKESPEABE,
271
CHORUS.
Philomel, with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby ;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby;
Never harm, nor spell nor charm.
Come our lovely lady nigh ;
So, good night, with lullaby.
SECOND FAIRY.
Weaving spiders, come not here ;
Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence;
Beetles black, approach not near;
Worm, nor snail, do no offence.
CHORUS.
Philomel M'ith melody, &c.
FIRST FAIRY.
Hence away; now all is well:
One', aloof, stand centinel.
PUCK.
Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon ;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores.
All with weary task fordone.
272
THE POEMS
Now the wasted brands do glow,
AVliilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,
Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night,
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide;
And we fairies that do run
By the triple Hecat's team.
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream.
Now are frolick ; not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow'd house :
I am sent, with broom, before,
To sweep the dust behind the door.
OBEftON.
Through this house, give glimmering light.
By the dead and drowsy fire;
Every elf, and fairy sprite, .
Hop as light as bird from brier ;
And this ditty, after me.
Sing, and dance it trippingly.
TITANIA.
First, rehearse this song by rote ;
To each word a warbling note,
Hand in hand, with fairy grace.
Will we sing, and bless this place.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
OBKltOX.
Now, until the break of day,
Through this house each fairy stray.
To the best bride bed will we,
"Which by us shall blessed be ;
And the issue, there create.
Ever shall be fortunate.
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be :
And the blots of nature's hand
Shall not in their issue stand;
Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar.
Nor mark prodigious, such as are
Despis'd in nativity.
Shall upon their children be.
"With this field-dew consecrate.
Every fairy take his gait;
And each several chamber bless.
Through this palace with sweet peace
E'er shall it in safety rest.
And the owner of it blest.
Trip away;
Make no stay;
Meet me all by break of day.
18
274
the poems
FROM MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
Fie on sinful fantasy!
Fie on lust and luxury !
Lust is but a bloody fire,
Kindled with unchaste desire,
Fed in heart; whose flames aspire.
As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher.
Pinch him, fairies, mutually ;
Pinch him for his villany ;
Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about.
Till candles, and star-light, and moonshine be out.
FROM TWELFTH NIGHT.
Come away, come away, death.
And in sad cypress let me be laid ;
Fly away, fly away, breath ;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, .stuck all with yew,
O prepare it;
My part of death no one so true
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet.
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
OF SnAKF.speare.
275
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown ;
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave,
To weep there.
FROM MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHIXO.
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.
Men were deceivers ever:
One foot in sea, and one on shore;
To one thing constant never:
Then sigh not so,
But let them go.
And be you blithe and bonny;
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into, Hey nonny, nonny.
Sing no more ditties, sing no mo
Of dumps so dull and heavy;
The fraud of men was ever so.
Since summer first was leavy.
Then sigh not so, &c.
Pardon, Goddess of tlie night.
Those that slew thy virgin knight:
For the which, with songs of woe.
Round about her tomb they go.
THE POEMS
Mldniglit, assist our moan ;
Help us to sigh and groan,
Heavily, heavily:
Graves, yawn, and yield your dead.
Till death be uttered,
Heavily, heavily.
FROM LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
I.
\Vhex daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver white.
And cuckoo buds of yellow hue,
Do paint the meadows with delight.
The cuckoo then, on every tree.
Mocks married men, for thus sings he.
Cuckoo;
Cuckoo, cuckoo,—O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!
II.
When shepherds pipe on oaten straws.
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks.
When turtles tread, and rooks, "and daws.
And maidens bleach their summer smocks.
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
blocks married men, for thus sings he.
Cuckoo;
op shakespeare. 277*
Cuckoo, cuckoo,—0 word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!
iii.
When icicles hang by the wall.
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail.
And Tom bears logs into the hall.
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who;
Tu-whit, To-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
iv.
When all aloud the wind doth blow.
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow.
And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl.
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who;
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
FROM THE MERCHANT OF VENICE,
Tell me, where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart, or in the head ?
the poems
How begot, how nourished?
Eeply, reply.
It is engender'd in the eyes,
IVith gazing fed ; and fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies :
Let us all ring fancy's knell;
I'll begin it, ding, dong, bell.
Ding, dong, bell.
FROM AS YOU LIKE IT.
Under the greenwood tree
AVho loves to lie with ine,
And tune his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see
No enemy.
But winter and rough weather.
Who doth ambition shun.
And loves to live i' the sun.
Seeking the food he eats.
And pleas'd with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither!
Here shall he see
No enemy.
But winter and rough weather.
of shakespeare.
279
Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen.
Although thy breath he rude.
Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! unto the green holly ;
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh, ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou hitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy string is not so sharp
As friend reraemher'd not.
Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! &c.
FROM MACBETH
first witch.
Where hast thou been, sister?
second witch.
Killing swine.
280
THE POEMS
THIRD WITCH.
Sister, where thou ?
FIRST WITCH.
A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap.
And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd:—
Give me, quoth I ;
Aroint thee, witch ! the rump-fed ronyon cries.
Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o" the Tiger;
But in a sieve I'll thither sail
And, like a rat without a tail,
I '11 do, I 11 do, I'll do.
SECOND WITCH.
I'll give thee a wind.
FIRST WITCH.
Thou art kind.
THIRD WITCH.
And I another.
FIRST WITCH.
I myself have all the other ;
And the very ports they blow.
All the quarters that they know
I' the shipman's card..
OF SIIAiCF.3I'i:.VRE.
I will drain him dry liny,
Sleep shall, neither night nor day,
Hang upon his pent-house lid ;
He shall live a man forbid:
Weary sey'n-nights, nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine :
Though his bark cannot be lost.
Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd.
Look what I have.
SECOND -WITCH.
Show me, show me.
FIRST WITCH.
Here I have a pilot's thumb,
Wreck'd, as homeward he did come.
THIRD WITCH.
A drum, a drum ;
Macbeth doth come.
ALL.
The weird sisters, hand in hand.
Posters of the sea and land.
Thus do go about, about;
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine.
And thrice again to make up nine;
Peace! the charm's wound up.
282
THE POEMS
FIRST WITCH.
Why, how now, Hecate ! you look angerly.
HECATE.
Have I not reason, beldams, as you are.
Saucy, and overbold ? How did you dare
To trade and traffic with Macbeth,
In riddles, and affairs of death ;
And I, the mistress of your charms.
The close contriver of all harms.
Was never call d to bear my part.
Or show the glory of our art?
And which is worse, all you have done
Hath been but for a wayward son.
Spiteful and wrathful i who, as others do.
Loves for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now: get you gone.
And at the pit of Acheron
Meet me i'the morning ; thither he
Will come to know his destiny.
Your vessels, and your spells, provide.
Your charms, and every thing beside :
I am for the air; this night I'll spend
Unto a dismal and a fatal end.
Great business must be wrought ere noon ;
Upon the corner of the moon
There hangs a vaporous drop profound,
I 11 catch it. ere it come to ground:
of shakespeare.
2«3
And that, distill'd by magick slights,
Shall raise such artificial sprights.
As, by the strength of their illusion.
Shall draw him on to his confusion:
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear
His hopes 'hove wisdom, grace, and fear:
And you all know, security
Is mortals' chiefest enemy.
Song. [ Within.^ Come away, come away, Sfc.
Hark, I am call'd; my little spirit, see.
Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [ Exit.
first witch.
Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again.
yExeunt.
first witch.
Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.
second witch.
Thrice; and once the hedge-pig whin'd.
third avitcii.
Harper cries;—'Tis time, 'tis time.
28-i
THIC rOElIS
FIRST WITCH.
Round about the cauldron go :
In the poison'd entrails throw.
Toad, that under coldest stone,
Days and nights hast thirty-one
Swelter'd venom sleeping got.
Boil thou first i'the charmed pot!
ALL.
Double, double toil and trouble ;
Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble.
SECOND WITCH.
Fillet of a fenny snake.
In the cauldron boil and bake ;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog.
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog.
Adder's fork, and blind worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing.
For a charm of powerful trouble.
Like a bell-broth boil and bubble.
ALL.
Double, double toil and trouble ;
Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble.
OF SHAKESPEARE.
285
THIRD WITCH.
Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf;
"Witches' mummy ; maw, and gulf,
Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark ;
Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark ;
Liver of blaspheming Jew ;
Gall of goat, and slips of yew,
Silver'd in the moon's eclipse ;
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips ;
Finger of birth-strangled babe,
Ditch-deliver'd by a drab.
Make the gruel thick and slab :
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,
For the ingredients of our cauldron,
AEL.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble.
SECOND WITCH.
Cool it with a baboon's blood.
Then the charm is firm and good.
HECATE.
O, well done ! I commend your pains ;
And every one shall share i' the gains.
And now about the cauldron sing.
286
the poems
Like elves and fairies in a ring,
Enchanting all that you put in.
Black spirits and white,
Red spirits and grey ;
Mingle, mingle, mingle.
You that mingle may.
second witch.
By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes:
Open, locks,
"Whoever knocks.
FROM HENRY VIII.
Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the mountain-tops, that freeze.
Bow themselves, when he did sing :
To his musick, plants, and flowers,
Ever sprung ; as sun, and showers.
There had been a lasting spring.
Every thing that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea.
Hung their heads, and then lay by.
of shakespeare. 2b7
In sweet musick is such art;
Killing care, and grief of heart,
Fall asleep, or, hearing, die.
FROJI ANTOXY AXD CLEOPATRA.
Come, thou monarch of the vine,
Plumpy Bacchus, with pink eyne :
In thy vats our cares be drown'd;
With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd ;
Cup us, till the world go round ;
Cup us, till the world go round!
FROM CYMBELIXE.
Hark ! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings.
And Phoebus 'gins arise.
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic'd flowers that lies ;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes;
With every thing that pretty bin:
My lady sweet, arise ;
Arise, arise.
288 poems of shakespea.re.
Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy vyages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Fear no more the frown o' the great.
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe, and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physick, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Fear no more the lightning flash.
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ;
Fear not slander, censure rash ;
Thou hast finish'd joy and moan ;
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.
No exorciser harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee !
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee !
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave.