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WILLIAM    SHAK8PEEE 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 


U.    CI.AY,    Si.X,    AND  TAYLOK,    1'RINTERS, 
l;i;r..\I>   STKEKT    HIM.. 


I 


I-  iKTi:  \IT.-  of   -II  SKSI'KHK. 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPEKE: 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 


BY    CHAELES    KNIGHT. 


THE  THIRD   EDITION, 
REVISED   AND    AUGMENTED. 


"  All  that  is  known  with  any  degree  of  certainty  concerning  Shakspere  is — that  he  was  born  at  Stratford- 
npon-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." — STEEVENS. 

"  Along  with  that  tomb-stone  information,  perhaps  even  without  much  of  it,  we  could  have  liked  to  gain 
some  answer,  in  one  way  or  other,  to  this  wide  question  :  What  and  how  was  ENGLISH  LIFE  in  Shakspere's 
time ;  wherein  has  ours  grown  to  differ  therefrom  ?  in  other  words :  What  things  have  we  to  forget,  what  to 
fancy  and  remember,  before  we,  from  such  distance,  can  put  ourselves  in  Sliakspere's  place  ;  and  so,  in  the  full 
sense  of  the  term,  understand  him,  his  sayings,  and  his  doings?" — CAULYLE. 


LONDON: 
GEOEGE  EOUTLEDGE  AND  SONS, 

BROADWAY,  LUDGATE  HILL. 
129,   GRAND  STREET,  NEW  YORK. 

1865. 


LONDON : 

R.    CLAY,    SON,    AND  TAYLOR,    PRINTERS, 
BREAD  STREET  HILL. 


PR 
a.9 

KS 


»9QQt7 


PREFACE. 


THIS  is  a  new  edition,  with  large  alterations  and  additional  matter,  grounded 
upon  more  recent  information,  of  a  volume  published  in  1843.  That  book 
has  been  long  out  of  print ;  and  it  is  a  gratification  to  me  to  re-produce  it 
thoroughly  revised. 

The  two  mottoes  in  the  title-page  express  the  principle  upon  which  this 
'Biography'  has  been  written.  That  from  Steevens  shows,  with  a  self-evident 
exaggeration  of  its  author,  how  scanty  are  the  materials  for  a  Life  of  Shakspere, 
properly  so  called.  Indeed,  every  Life  of  him  must,  to  a  certain  extent,  be 
conjectural;  and  all  the  Lives  that  have  been  written  are  in  great  part  con 
jectural.  My  '  Biography '  is  only  so  far  more  conjectural  than  any  other,  as 
regards  the  form  which  it  assumes ;  by  which  it  has  been  endeavoured  to 
associate  Shakspere  with  the  circumstances  around  him,  in  a  manner  which 
may  fix  them  in  the  mind  of  the  reader  by  exciting  his  interest. 

I  fully  agree  with  Mr.  Hunter,  with  regard  to  the  want  of  information  on 
the  life  of  Shakspere,  that  he  is,  in  this  respect,  in  the  state  in  which  most 
of  his  contemporary  poets  are — Spenser  for  instance — but  with  this  difference1, 
that  we  do  know  more  concerning  Shakspere  than  we  know  of  most  of  his 
contemporaries  of  the  same  class.  Admitting  this  sound  reasoning,  I  still 
believe  that  the  attempt  which  I  ventured  to  make,  for  the  first  time  in 
English  Literature,  to  write  a  Biography  which,  in  the  absence  of  Diaries  and 
Letters,  should  surround  the  known  facts  with  the  local  and  temporary  circum 
stances,  and  with  the  social  relations  amidst  which  one  of  so  defined  a  position 
must  have  moved,  was  not  a  freak  of  fancy,  but  an  approximation  to  the 
truth,  which  could  not  have  been  reached  by  a  mere  documentary  narrative. 

a  2 


PREFACE. 

What  I  proposed  thus  to  do  is  shown  in  the  second  motto,  from  Mr. 
Carlyle's  admirable  article  on  Dr.  Johnson,  I  having  ventured  to  substitute 
the  name  of  "Shakspere"  for  that  of  "Johnson.".  I  might  have  accomplished 
the  same  end  by  writing  a  short  notice  of  Shakspere,  accompanied  by  a 
History  of  Manners  and  Customs,  a  History  of  the  Stage,  &c.  &c.  The  form 
I  have  adopted  may  appear  fanciful,  but  the  narrative  essentially  rests  upon 
facts.  I  venture,  therefore,  to  think  that  I  have  made  the  course  of  Shakspere 
clear  and  consistent,  without  any  extravagant  theories,  and  with  some  successful 
resistance  to  long  received  prejudices. 

Since  the  publication  of  the  original  edition  of  this  volume  in  1843,  there 
have  been  considerable  accessions  to  the  documentary  materials  for  the  Life 
of  Shakspere.  Many  of  these  are  curious  and  valuable;  others  are  memorials 
of  that  diligent  antiquarianism,  whose  results  are  not  always  proportionate 
to  its  labour.  I  have  availed  myself  of  any  real  information  which  has  been 
brought  to  light  during  the  last  two-and-tvventy  years,  and  I  have  in  every 
case  ascribed  the  merit  of  any  discovery  to  its  proper  author. 

CHAELES   KNIGHT. 

1865 


CONTENTS  AND   ILLUSTRATIONS 

TO 

THE    BIOaEAPHY. 

From  Original  Drawings  by  W.  HARVEY;  the  Fac-similes  and  Autographs  by  F.  W.  FAIBHOLT. 


BOOK   I. 

Page 
Half-title  to  Book  I.—  Shakspere's  Youthful  Visions 1 


CHAPTER  L—  ANCESTRY. 
Page 


Ornamental  Head-piece 3 

Arms  of  John  Shakspere 6 


Village  of  Wilmecote 9 

Church  of  Aston  Cantlow 12 


CHAPTER  II.— STRATFORD. 
Clopton's  Bridge 13    |    Fac-simile  of  autographs  to  Corporation  Deed 16 


CHAPTER  III.— THE  REGISTER. 


Ancient  Font,  formerly  in  Stratford  Church 23 

Fac-simile  of  baptismal  register  of  W.  Shakspere...    24 
The  Church  Avenue 27 


Stratford  Church,  east  end,  with  charnel-house 28 

John  Shakspere's  House  in  Henley  Street 32 


CHAPTER  IV.— THE  SCHOOL. 


Inner  Court  of  the  Grammar  School,  Stratford 34 

Interior  of  the  Grammar  School 47 


Martyrdom  of  Thomas  a  Becket,  from  an  ancient 
painting  in  the  chapel  of  the  Holy  Cross 48 


Chapel  of  the  Guild,  and  Grammar  School ,  street  front    47 

Note  on  John  Shakspere's  Confession  of  Faith 50 


CHAPTER  V.— THE  SCHOOLBOY'S  WORLD. 
Village  of  Aston  Cantlow 51    |    The  Fair 57 


CHAPTER  VI.— HOLIDAYS. 


The  Boundary  Elm,  Stratford 62 

May-day  at  Shottery 68 

Bidford  Bridge 71 


Clopton  House 75 

The  Clopton  Monument  in  Stratford  Church 78 


CHAPTER  VII.— KENILWORTH. 


Chimney-piece  in  Gatehouse  at  Kenilworth 77 

Queen  Elizabeth 79 

Gascoigne 82 

The  Merry  Marriage— Kenilworth  Gate 84 


Earl  of  L  icester 85 

Ruins  of  Kenilworth  in  the  17th  Century 89 

Entrance  to  the  Hall 90 


«  "\TENTS  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


.      CHAPTER  VIII. -PAGEANTS. 

Page  Pa«e 

Coventry  Crow 93        Ancient  Gate  of  Coventry,  1842* mn 

Coventry  Churches  and  Pageants 97 

Note  on  the  Coventry  Pageant* 1(>* 

CHAPTER  IX.— HOME. 

Stratford  Church  and  Mill.      From  a  drawing  of  Stratford  Church— West  End 116 

the  beginning  of  the  lait  century 105       Chimney  Corner  of  Kitchen  in  Henley  Street 120 

The  Fire-side.     Kitchen  of  House  in  Henley  Street  111 

Note  on  the  Stratford  Register* 116 

Note  on  the  alleged  Poverty  of  John  Shakspere 118 

Note  on  the  School  Life  of  William  Shakspere 119 

CHAPTER  X.— THE  PLAYERS  AT  STRATFORD. 

The  Bailiffs  Play 121    I    Thomas  Sackville 144 

Itinerant  Playeri  [R.  W.  BUM] 128    I 

Note  on  Sidney's  Defence  of  Poesy 145 

CHAPTER  XL— LIVING  IN  THE  PAST. 

Guy's  Cliff  in  the  Seventeenth  Century 146       Ancient  Statue  of  Guy  at  Guy's  Cliff  155 

Chapel  at  Guy's  Cliff 147        St.  Mary's  Hall,  court  front 157 

Tomb  of  King  John  at  Worcester 151        Warwick  Castle,  from  the  Island  158 

Bridge  at  Evesham 153       Beauchamp  Chapel,  Warwick  160 

Mill  at  Gay's  Cliff 154 

CHAPTER  XII.— YORK  AND  LANCASTER. 

St.  Mary's  Hall,  Interior 161        St.  Mary's  Hall,  street  front 171 

Battle  Field  at  Shrewsbury  [G.  f.  Sargent] 165       Tewksbury 17^ 

Entrance  to  Warwick  Castle .. 167        Leicester 176 

Warwick  from  Lodge  Hill 168 

CHAPTER  XI IL— RUINS,  NOT  OF  TIME. 

Evesham.    The  Bell  Tower 177        Old  Houses,  Evesham 183 

Evesham.    Ancient  Gateway 179        Bengeworth  Church,  seen  through  the  Arch  of  the 

Parish  Churches,  Bvesham 181  Bell  Tower ...  187 

CHAPTER  XIV.— SOCIAL  HOURS. 

Welford  Church 188       Clmlcote  House,  from  the  Avon 212 

Great  Hillborougb 196        House  in  Charlcote  Village 213 

M«rl  Cliff.,  near  Bidford .< 197       Charlcote  House,  from  the  Garden  219 

Bidford 198       Fulbrooke 221 

Bidford  Crab-tree 201        Hampton  Lucy  Church 223 

Bidford  Grange 204        Daisy  Hiu o.,4 

Charlcote  Church 205       Ingon  Hill 228 

Deer  Barn.  Fulbrooke 209        Snitterfield 230 

Charlcote  House,  from  the  Avenue 211        Map  of  the  neighbourhood  of  Stratford 232 

Not*  on  the  Shakuperian  Localities ...  231 

CHAPTER  XV.— SOLITARY  HOURS. 

Hampton  Lucy.     From  Road  near  Alveston 233       Spenser .     246 

Meadow.  ne.r  Welford 237        Below  Charlcote ili...  860 

243        Near  Alveston 

Old  Church  of  Hampton  Lucy 244        Near  Ludington 254 

"        A  245        The  MU1,  Welford..... 256 

'  ATOn 245        The  Marl  Cliff. 

*  on  the  Scenery  of  the  A  Ton 254 


CONTENTS  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


CHAPTER  XVI.— A  DAY  AT,  WORCESTER. 

Page  Page 

Worcester 258        Nunnery  at  Salford 274 

Shottery  Cottage .'. 267        Pershore 275 

Clifford  Church 269        Worcester  Cathedral 276 

Note  on  Christening  Customs 277 

Note  on'  Shakspere's  Marriage  Licence .- 277 

CHAPTER  XVII.— THE  FIRST  RIDE  TO  LONDON. 

Palace  of  Woodstock 279        Christchurch  in  the  Sixteenth  Century 293 

Entries  in  Stratford  Register  (fac-similes) 281        Ancient  View  of  St.  James's  and  Westminster 294 

Baliol  College  in  the  Sixteenth  Century 291        London  from  Blackfriars,  in  the  Sixteenth  Cemury  295 

Divinity  Schools  ditto 292 

Note  on  Aubrey's  Life  of  Shakspere 296 

BOOK  II. 

Shakspere's  Visions  of  Maturity 297 

CHAPTER  I.— A  NEW  PLAY. 

A  Play  at  the  ttlackfriars 299    |    Thomas  Greene 304 

Note  on  the  date  of  Nash's  Epistle  prefixed  to  Menaphon 39? 

Note  on  Marlowe 328 

CHAPTER  II.— THE  COURT  AT  GREENWICH. 

The  Misfortunes  of  Arthur 330        Queen  Elizabeth 333 

Sir  F.  Bacon 332        Sir  Walter  Raleigh 335 

Note  on  Hentzner's  Account  of  the  Court  at  Greenwich 337 

CHAPTER  III.— THE  MIGHTY  HEART. 

Funeral  of  Sidney 338  Procession  to  St.  Paul's 344 

Earl  of  Leicester 340  Howard  of  Effingham 345 

Sir  Philip  Sidney 341  Sir  F.  Drake 346 

Camp  at  Tilbury 342  Spenser 352 

CHAPTER  IV.— HOW  CHANCES  IT  THEY  TRAVEL. 

Richmond  Palace 353        Ancient  View  of  Cambridge 359 

St.  James's 355        Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  performed  before  Queen 

Lord  Hunsdon 356  Elizabeth  at  Windsor 368 

Somerset  House „ 357 

Note  on  Shakspere's  occupations  in  1593 370 

CHAPTER  V.— THE  GLOBE. 

The  Globe  Theatre 371        Seal  and  Autograph  of  Susanna  Hall 378 

Entry  in  Parish  Register  of  Stratford  of  the  Burial  Autograph  of  Judith  Shakspere 378 

of  Hamnet  Shakspere 377        Richard  Burbage „ 382 

CHAPTER  VI.— WIT-COMBATS. 

The  Falcon  Tavern 383        John  Donne 397 

Ben  Jonson 387        Michael  Drayton 399 

John  Taylor 389        Samuel  Daniel 400 

George  Chapman 393        John  Lowin 407 

John  Fletcher 395 

Note  on  Marston's  '  Malecontent' ...  407 


CONTKXTS  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Page 

Essex  House...- 40° 

Robert  Cecil - 4ls 


CHAPTER  VII.— EVIL  DAYS. 

Par  simile  of  the  Register  of  the  Burial  of  John 


Earl  of  K.scx 


416 


Shakspere 


41R 


<  IIAPTER  VIII.— DID  SHAKSPERE  VISIT  SCOTLAND? 

Linlithgow 456 

Stirling  457 

Falkland 

Aberdeen 4«0 


Kdinburgh  in  the  Seventeenth  Century 410 

Perth,  and  Vicinity 427 

4.10 
Duniinanc 

(ilainii  CaMlr 431 


Jamei  the  Sixth  ofScotland,  and  First  of  England  44P        Berwick 4fl 

Carlisle - 45S        Alnwick  Castle 464 

Holy  rood  House 455 

Note  on  the  Queen  of  Elphen... 444 

CHAPTER  IX.— LABOURS  AND  REWARDS. 

Hall  of  the  Middle  Temple 465       Tenement  at  Stratford 471 

Interior  of  the  Temple  Church 467        Funeral  of  Queen  Elizabeth 472 

Autograph  of  William  Combe 468        William  Herbert.  Earl  of  Pembroke 474 

Ditto        of  John  Combe 468        Philip  Herbert,  Earl  of  Montgomery 475 

Facsimile  of  Conveyance 468        Wolsey's  Hall,  Hampton  Court 476 

Harelield 470        Banqueting-House,  Whitehall 477 

Note  on  the  Patent  to  the  Company  acting  at  the  Globe 480 

CHAPTER  X.— REST. 

The  Garden  of  New  Place 481  Fac-simi!e  of  entry  in  Parish  Register  of  the  Mar- 
Monument  of  SirThoma?  Lucy 490          riage  of  John  Hall  and  Susanna  fhakspere 498 

The  College 493       Signature  of  Dr.  Hall 499 

Ancient  Hall  in  the  College 494       House  in  the  High  Street,  Stratford 499 

New  Place,  from  a  drawing  in  the  margin  of  an  Bishopton  Chapel 500 

ancient  Survey,  made  by  order  of  Sir  George  Foot-bridge  abo\e  the  Mill 501 

Carew 497        Stratford  Church 502 

Note  on  the  copy  of  a  Letter  signed  H.  S.,  preserved  at  Bridgewater  House 504 

CHAPTER  XI.— GLIMPSES  OF  LONDON. 

The  Bear  Garden 509       Francis  Beaumont 519 

Edward  Alleyn 511        Philip  Massinger 520 

William  Drummond 513        Nathaniel  Field 521 

William  Alexander,  Earl  of  Stirling 514       Thomas  Middleton 522 

Thomas  Dekker fi!7 

Note  on  the  Conveyance  to  Shakspere  in  1613 523 

CHAPTER  XII.— THE  LAST  BIRTHDAY. 

Chancel  of  Stratford  Church 524  Fac-»imile  of  entry  in  Parish  Register  of  the  burial 

Monument  of  John  Combe 530  of  Anne  Shakspere 543 

Leicester's  Hospital,  Warwick 532       Ditto  of  the  burial  of  Susanna  Hall ~.  543 

Weston  Church  _ 533        Ditto  of  the  burial  of  Judith  Quiney 544 

Facsimile  of  entry  in  Parish  Register  of  the  Mar-  Autograph  of  Eliza  Barnard 544 

ri*ge  of  Thomas  Quiney  and  Judilh  Shakspere...  533        Autographs  of  Shakspere 547 

Signature  of  Thomas  Quiney 533        Shakspere  from  Roubiliac's  Monument 549 

Monument  at  Stratford 539  shakspere's  bust  from  the  Monument  at  Stratford    551 

Sh*k»p»re's  Will 539 

Note  on  some  Points  in  Shakspere's  Will 542 

Note  on  Autographs 545 

Stratford  Registers ...  543 

Note  on  the  Portrait*  of  Shakspere 549 

Note  on  the  8hak<pere  House  and  New  Place ...  552 


BOOK    I. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ANCESTEY. 


ON  the  22nd  of  August,  1485,  there  was  a  battle  fought  for  the  crown  of  Eng- 
land,  a  short  battle  ending  in  a  decisive  victory.  In  that  field  a  crowned  king, 
"  manfully  fighting  in  the  middle  of  his  enemies,  was  slain  and  brought  to  his 
death;"  and  a  politic  adventurer  put  on  the  crown,  which  the  immediate  de 
scendants  of  his  house  wore  for  nearly  a  century  and  a  quarter.  The  battle 
field  was  Bosworth.  "  When  the  earl  had  thus  obtained  victory  and  slain  his 
mortal  enemy,  he  kneeled  down  and  rendered  to  Almighty  God  his  hearty 
thanks,  with  devout  and  godly  orisons.  .  .  .  Which  prayer  finished,  he, 
replenished  with  incomparable  gladness,  ascended  up  to  the  top  of  a  little  moun 
tain,  where  he  not  only  praised  and  lauded  his  valiant  soldiers,  but  also  gave 
unto  them  his  hearty  thanks,  with  promise  of  condign  recompense  for  their  fide 
lity  and  valiant  facts."*  Two  months  afterwards  the  Earl  of  Richmond  was 

«  Hall's  Chroniclo. 


WILLIAM    8HAKSPERE  : 

more  solemnly  crowned  and  anointed  at  Westminster  by  the  name  of  King 
Henry  VII.;  and  "after  this,"  continues  the  chronicler,  "he  began  to  remember 
his  especial  friends  and  fautors,  of  whom  some  he  advanced  to  honour  arid  dig 
nity,  and  some  he  enriched  with  possessions  and  goods,  every  man  according  to 
his  desert  and  merit."*  Was  there  in  that  victorious  army  of  the  Earl  of  Rich- 
mond, — which  Richard  denounced  as  a  "  company  of  traitors,  thieves,  outlaws, 
and  runagates,"— an  Englishman  bearing  the  name  of  Chacksper,  or  Shakespeyre, 
or  Schakespere,  or  Schakespeire,  or  Schakspere,  or  Shakespere,  or  Shakspere,  •{— 
a  martial  name,  however  spelt?  "  Breakespear,  Shakespear,  and  the  like,  have 
been  surnames  imposed  upon  the  first  bearers  of  them  for  valour  and  feats  of 
arms."J  Of  the  warlike  achievements  of  this  Shakspere  there  is  no  record  :  his 
name  or  his  deeds  would  have  no  interest  for  us  unless  there  had  been  born, 
eighty  years  after  this  battle-day,  a  direct  descendant  from  him — 

"  Whose  muse,  full  of  high  thought's  invention, 
Doth  like  himself  heroically  tound  ;  "  § — 

a  Shakspere,  of  whom  it  was  also  said — 

"  He  seems  to  shake  a  lance 
As  brandish' d  at  the  eyes  of  ignorance.''  II 

Certainly  there  was  a  Shakspere,  the  paternal  ancestor  of  William  Shakspere, 
who,  if  he  stood  not  nigh  the  little  mountain  when  the  Earl  of  Richmond  promised 
condign  recompense  to  his  valiant  soldiers,  was  amongst  those  especial  friends 
and  fautors  whom  Henry  VII.  enriched  with  possessions  and  goods.  A  public 
document  bearing  the  date  of  1596  affirms  of  John  Shakspere  of  Stratford-upon- 
Avon,  the  father  of  William  Shakspere,  that  his  "  parent  and  late  antecessors 
were,  for  their  valiant  and  faithful  services,  advanced  and  rewarded  of  the  most 
prudent  prince  King  Henry  VII.  of  famous  memory;"  and  it  adds,  "  sithence 
which  time  they  have  continued  at  those  parts  [Warwickshire]  in  good  reputa 
tion  and  credit."  Another  document  of  a  similar  character,  bearing  the  date  of 
1599,  also  affirms  upon  "creditable  report,"  of  "John  Shakspere,  now  of  Strat 
ford -upon- Avon,  in  the  county  of  Warwick,  gentleman,"  that  his  "  parent  and 
great-grandfather,  late  antecessor,  for  his  faithful  and  approved  service  to  the 
late  most  prudent  prince  King  Henry  VII.  of  famous  memory,  was  advanced 
and  rewarded  with  lands  and  tenements,  given  to  him  in  those  parts  of  War 
wickshire,  where  they  have  continued  by  some  descents  in  good  reputation  and 
credit."  Such  are  the  recitals  of  two  several  grants  of  arms  to  John  Shakspere, 
confirming  a  previous  grant  made  to  him  in  1569;  and  let  it  not  be  said  that 
these  statements  were  the  rhodomontades  of  heraldry, — honours  bestowed,  for 
mere  mercenary  considerations,  upon  any  pretenders  to  gentle  blood.  There  was 
strict  inquiry  if  they  were  unworthily  bestowed.  Two  centuries  and  a  half  ago 

•   Hall's  Chronicle. 

+  A  list  of  the  brethren  and  sisters  of  the  Guild  of  Knowle,  near  Rowington,  in  Warwickshire, 
exhibit*  a  great  number  of  the  name  of  Shakspere  in  that  fraternity,  from  about  1460  to  1527; 
and  the  names  are  spelt  with  the  diversity  here  given,  Shakspere  being  the  latest. 

t  Verstegan's  'Restitution,'  &c.  §  Spenser.  ||  Ben  Jonson. 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

such  honours  were  of  grave  importance  ;  and  there  is  a  solemnity  in  the  tone  of 
these  very  documents  which,  however  it  may  provoke  a  smile  from  what  we  call 
philosophy,  was  connected  with  high  and  generous  principles  :  "  Know  ye  that 
in  all  nations  and  kingdoms  the  record  and  remembrance  of  the  valiant  facts  and 
virtuous  dispositions  of  worthy  men  have  been  made  known  and  divulged  by 
certain  shields  of  arms  and  tokens  of  chivalry."  In  those  parts  of  Warwickshire, 
then,  lived  and  died,  we  may  assume,  the  faithful  and  approved  servant  of  the 
"  unknown  Welshman,"  as  Richard  called  him,  who  won  for  himself  the  more 
equivocal  name  of  "  the  most  prudent  prince."  He  was  probably  advanced  in 
years  when  Henry  ascended  the  throne ;  for  in  the  first  year  of  Queen  Elizabeth, 
1558,  his  great-grandson,  John  Shakspere,  was  a  burgess  of  the  corporation  of 
Stratford,  and  was  in  all  probability  born  about  1530.  John  Shakspere  was  of 
the  third  generation  succeeding  the  adherent  of  Henry  VII.  The  family  had 
continued  in  those  parts,  "  by  some  descents  ; "  but  how  they  were  occupied  in 
the  business  of  life,  what  was  their  station  in  society,  how  they  branched  out 
into  other  lines  of  Shaksperes,  we  have  no  distinct  record.  They  were  probably 
cultivators  of  the  soil,  unambitious  small  proprietors.  The  name  may  be  traced 
by  legal  documents  in  many  parishes  of  Warwickshire ;  but  we  learn  from  a 
deed  of  trust,  executed  in  1550  by  Robert  Arden,  the  maternal  grandfather  of 
William  Shakspere,  that  Richard  Shakspere  was  the  occupier  of  land  in  Snitter- 
field,  the  property  of  Robert  Arden.  At  this  parish  of  Snitterfield  lived  a  Henry 
Shakspere,  who,  as  we  learn  from  a  declaration  in  the  Court  of  Record  at 
Stratford,  was  the  brother  of  John  Shakspere.  It  is  conjectured,  and  very  reason 
ably,  that  Richard  Shakspere,  of  Snitterfield,  was  the  paternal  grandfather  of 
William  Shakspere.  Snitterfield  is  only  three  miles  distant  from  Stratford. 

A  painter  of  manners,  who  comes  near  to  the  times  of  John  Shakspere,  has  de 
scribed  the  probable  condition  of  his  immediate  ancestors:  "Yeomen  are  those 
which  by  our  law  are  called  legales  homines,  free  men  born  English. .  . .  The  truth  is, 
that  the  word  is  derived  from  the  Saxon  term  zeoman,  or  geoman,  which  signifieth  (as 
I  have  read)  a  settled  or  staid  man.  .  .  .  This  sort  of  people  have  a  certain  pre 
eminence  and  more  estimation  than  labourers  and  the  common  sort  of  artificers, 
and  these  commonly  live  wealthily,  keep  good  houses,  and  travel  to  get  riches. 
They  are  also  for  the  most  part  farmers  to  gentlemen,  or  at  the  leastwise  arti 
ficers  ;  and  with  grazing,  frequenting  of  markets,  and  keeping  of  servants  (not 
idle  servants  as  the  gentlemen  do,  but  such  as  get  both  their  own  and  part  of 
their  masters'  living),  do  come  to  great  wealth,  insomuch  that  many  of  them  are 
able  and  do  buy  the  lands  of  unthrifty  gentlemen,  and  often,  setting  their  sons  to 
the  schools,  to  the  universities,  and  to  the  inns  of  the  court,  or  otherwise  leaving 
them  sufficient  lands  whereupon  they  may  live  without  labour,  do  make  them  by 
those  means  to  become  gentlemen  :  these  were  they  that  in  times  past  made  all 
France  afraid."  Plain-speaking  Harrison,  who  wrote  this  description  in  the 
middle  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  tells  us  how  the  yeoman  and  the  descendants 
of 'the  yeoman  could  be  changed  into  gentlemen  ;  "  Whosoever  studieth  the  laws 
of  the  realm,  whoso  abideth  in  the  university  giving  his  mind  to  his  book,  or 
professeth  physic  and  the  liberal  sciences,  or  beside  his  service  in  the  room  of  a 


WILLIAM   SUAKSPERE  : 

captain  in  the  wars,  or  good  counsel  given  at  home,  whereby  his  commonwealth  i* 
benefited,  can  live  without  manual  labour,  and  thereto  is  able  and  will  bear  the 
port,  charge,  and  countenance  of  a  gentleman,  he  shall  for  money  have  a  coat  and 
arms  bestowed  upon  him  by  heralds  (who  in  the  charter  of  the  same  do  of  custom 
pretend  antiquity  and  service,  and  many  gay  things),  and  thereunto  being  made 
so  good  cheap,  be  called  master,  which  is  the  title  that  men  give  to  esquires  and 
gentlemen,  and  reputed  for  a  gentleman  ever  after."  And  so  John  Shakspere, 
whilst  he  was  bailiff  of  Stratford  in  15G8  or  1569,  desired  to  have  "  a  coat  and 
arms  ;"  and  for  instruction  to  the  heralds  as  to  the  "gay  things"  they  were  to 
say  in  their  charter,  of  "  honour  and  service,"  he  told  them,  and  he  no  doubt 
told  them  truly,  that  he  was  great-grandson  to  one  who  had  been  advanced  and 
rewarded  by  Henry  VII.  And  so  for  ever  after  he  was  no  more  goodman  Shak 
spere,  or  John  Shakspere,  yeoman,  but  Master  Shakspere  ;  and  this  short  change 
in  his  condition  was  produced  by  virtue  of  a  grant  of  arms  by  Robert  Cook, 
Clarencieux  King  at  Arms  ;  which  shield  or  coat  of  arms  was  confirmed  by 
William  Dethick,  Garter,  principal  King  of  Arms,  in  1596,  as  follows  :  "  Gould, 
on  a  bend  sable  and  a  speare  of  the  first,  the  point  steeled,  proper ;  and  his  crest, 
or  cognizance,  a  faulcon,  his  wings  displayed,  argent,  standing  on  a  wrethe  cf 
his  coullors  supporting  a  speare  gould  steele  as  aforesaid,  sett  uppon  a  helmet 
with  mantells  and  tassells." 


I  Arms  of  John  Sh*k>p«r*  | 


A.   BIOGRAPHY. 

But,  there  were  other  arms  one  day  to  be  impaled  with  the  "  speare  of  the 
first,  the  poynt  steeled,  proper."  In  1599  John  Shakspere  again  goes  to  the 
College  of  Arms,  and,  producing  his  own  "  ancient  coat  of  arms,"  says  that  he  has 
"  married  the  daughter  and  one  of  the  heirs  of  Robert  Arden,  of  Wellingcote :" 
and  then  the  heralds  take  the  "  speare  of  the  first,"  and  say — "  We  have  likewise 
upon  on  other  escutcheon  impaled  the  same  with  the  ancient  arms  of  the  said 
Arden  of  Wellingcote."  They  add  that  John  Shakspere,  and  his  children,  issue, 
and  posterity,  may  bear  and  use  the  same  shield  of  arms,  single  or  impaled. 

The  family  of  Arden  was  one  of  the  highest  antiquity  in  Warwickshire.  Dug- 
dale  traces  its  pedigree  uninterruptedly  up  Jo  the  time  of  Edward  the  Confessor. 
Under  the  head  of  Curdworth,  a  parish  in  the  hundred  of  Hemlingford,  he  says — 
"  In  this  place  I  have  made  choice  to  speak  historically  of  that  most  ancient  and 
worthy  family,  whose  surname  was  first  assumed  from  their  residence  in  this 
part  of  the  country,  then  and  yet  called  Arden,  by  reason  of  its  woodiness,  the 
old  Britons  and  Gauls  using  the  word  in  that  sense."  At  the  time  of  the  Nor 
man  invasion  there  resided  at  Warwick,  Turchil,  "a  man  of  especial  note  and 
power"  and  of  "  great  possessions."  In  the  Domesday  Book  his  father,  Alwyne, 
is  styled  vice  comes.  Turchil,  as  well  as  his  father,  received  favour  at  the  hands 
of  the  Conqueror.  He  retained  the  possession  of  vast  lands  in  the  shire,  and  he 
occupied  Warwick  Castle  as  a  military  governor.  He  was  thence  called  Turchil 
de  Warwick  by  the  Normans.  But  Dugdale  goes  on  to  say — "  He  was  one  of  the 
first  here  in  England  that,  in  imitation  of  the  Normans,  assumed  a  surname,  for 
so  it  appears  that  he  did,  and  wrote  himself  Turchillus  de  Eardene,  in  the  days 
of  King  William  Rufus."  The  history  of  the  De  Ardens,  as  collected  with  won 
derful  industry  by  Dugdale,  spreads  over  six  centuries.  Such  records  seldom 
present  much  variety  of  incident,  however  great  and  wealthy  be  the  family  to 
which  they  are  linked.  In  this  instance  a  shrievalty  or  an  attainder  varies  the 
register  of  birth  and  marriage,  but  generation  after  generation  passes  away  with 
out  leaving  any  enduring  traces  of  its  sojourn  on  the  earth.  Fuller  has 
not  the  name  of  a  single  De  Arden  amongst  his  "  Worthies" — men  illustrious 
for  something  more  than  birth  or  riches,  with  the  exception  of  those  who 
swell  the  lists  of  sheriffs  for  the  county.  The  pedigree  which  Dugdale 
gives  of  the  Arden  family  brings  us  no  nearer  in  the  direct  line  to  the  mo 
ther  of  Shakspere  than  to  Robert  Arden,  her  great-grandfather :  he  was  the 
third  son  of  Walter  Arden,  who  married  Eleanor,  the  daughter  of  John  Hamp- 
den,  of  Buckinghamshire ;  and  he  was  brother  to  Sir  John  Arden,  squire 
for  the  body  to  Henry  VII.  Malone,  with  laudable  industry,  has  continued 
the  pedigree  in  the  younger  branch.  Robert's  son,  also  called  Robert,  was 
groom  of  the  chamber  to  Henry  VII.  He  appears  to  have  been  a  favourite ; 
for  he  had  a  valuable  lease  granted  him  by  the  king  of  the  manor  of  Yoxsall,  in 
Staffordshire,  and  was  also  made  keeper  of  the  royal  park  of  Aldercar.  His 
uncle,  Sir  John  Arden,  probably  showed  him  the  road  to  these  benefits.  The 
squire  for  the  body  was  a  high  officer  of  the  ancient  court ;  and  the  groom  of  the 
chamber  was  an  inferior  officer,  but  one  who  had  service  and  responsibilty.  The 
correspondent  offices  of  modern  times,  however  encumbered  with  the  wearisome- 
ness  of  etiquette,  are  relieved  from  the  old  duties,  which  are  now  intrusted  to 

7 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE: 

hired  servants.  The  squire  for  the  body  had  to  array  the  king  and  unarray ;  no 
man  else  was  to  set  hand  on  the  king.  The  groom  of  the  robes  was  to  present 
the  squire  for  the  body  "  all  the  king's  stuff,  as  well  his  shoon  as  his  other 
gear;"  but  the  squire  for  the  body  was  to  draw  them  on.  If  the  sun  of  majesty 
was  to  enlighten  the  outer  world,  the  squire  humbly  followed  with  the  cloak ; 
when  royalty  needed  refection,  the  squire  duly  presented  the  potage.  But  at 
night  it  was  his  duty,  and  much  watchfulness  did  it  require,  to  preside  over  all 
those  jealous  safeguards  that  once  fenced  round  a  sleeping  king  from  a  traitorous 
subject.  In  a  pallet  bed,  in  the  same  room  with  the  king,  rested  the  gentleman 
or  lord  of  the  bedchamber;  in  the^  ante-room  slept  the  groom  or  the  bed 
chamber  ;  in  the  privy  chamber  adjoining  were  two  gentlemen  in  waiting ;  and, 
lastly,  in  the  presence-chamber  reposed  the  squire  for  the  body  under  the  cloth 
of  estate.  Locks  and  bolts  upon  every  door  defended  each  of  these  approaches, 
and  the  sturdy  yeomen  mounted  guard  without,  so  that  the  pages,  who  made 
their  pallets  at  the  last  chamber  threshold,  might  sleep  in  peace.*  It  is  not  im 
probable  that  the  ancestor  of  John  Shakspere  might  have  guarded  the  door  with 
out,  whilst  Sir  John  Arden  slept  upon  the  haul  pas  within.  They  had  each 
their  relative  importance  in  their  own  day ;  but  they  could  little  foresee  that  in 
the  next  century  their  blood  would  mingle,  and  that  one  would  descend  from 
them  who  would  make  the  world  agree  not  utterly  to  forget  their  own  names, 
however  indifferent  that  future  world  might  be  to  the  comparative  importance 
of  the  court  servitude  of  the  Arden  or  the  Shakspere.  Robert  Arden,  the  groom 
of  the  bedchamber  to  Henry  VII.,  probably  left  the  court  upon  the  death  of  his 
master.  He  married,  and  he  had  a  son,  also  Robert,  who  married  Agnes  Webbe. 
Their  youngest  daughter  was  Mary,  the  mother  of  William  Shakspere.f 

Mary  Arden !     The  name  breathes  of  poetry.     It  seems  the  personification  of 
some  Dryad  of 

"  Many  a  huge-grown  wood,  and  many  a  shady  grove," 
called  by  that  generic  name  of  Arden, — a  forest  with  many  towns, 


•  This  information  is  given  in  a  long  extract  from  a  manuscript  in  the  Herald's  Office,  quoted 
in  Malone'a  '  Life  of  Shakspeare.' 

t  From  the  connection  of  these  immediate  ancestors  of  Shakspere's  mother  with  the  court  of 
Henry  VII.,  Malone  has  assumed  that  they  were  the  "  antecessors  "  of  John  Shakspere  declared 
in  the  grants  of  arms  to  have  been  advanced  and  rewarded  by  the  conqueror  of  Bosworth  Field. 
Because  Robert  Arden  had  a  lease  of  the  royal  manor  of  Yoxsall,  in  Staffordshire,  Malone  also 
contends  that  the  reward  of  lands  and  tenements  stated  in  the  grant  of  arms  to  have  been  be 
stowed  upon  the  ancestor  of  John  Shakspere  really  means  the  beneficial  lease  to  Robert  Arden. 
He  holds  that  popularly  the  grandfather  of  Mary  Arden  would  have  been  called  the  grandfather 
of  John  Shakspere,  and  that  John  Shakspere  himself  would  have  BO  called  him.  The  answer  is 
very  direct.  The  grant  of  arms  recites  that  the  ^reo^-grandfather  of  John  Shakspere  had  been 
advanced  and  rewarded  by  Henry  VII.,  and  then  goes  on  to  say  that  John  Shakspere  had  mar 
ried  the  daughter  of  Robert  Arden  of  Wellingcote :  He  has  an  ancient  coat-of-arms  of  his  own 
derived  fr«m  his  ancestor,  and  the  arms  of  his  wife  are  to  be  impaled  with  these  his  own  arms. 
Can  the  interpretation  of  this  document  then  be  that  Mary  Arden's  grandfather  is  the  person 
pointed  out  as  John  Shakspere's  grreot-grandfather ;  and  that,  having  an  ancient  coat-of  arms 
himself,  his  ancestry  is  really  that  of  his  wife,  whose  arms  are  totally  different  ? 
8 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

"  Whose  footsteps  yet  are  found, 
In  her  rough  woodlands  more  than  any  other  ground, 
That  mighty  Arden  held  even  in  her  height  of  pride, 
Her  one  hand  touching  Trent,  the  other  Severn's  side."  * 

That  name  of  Mary  Arden  sounds  as  blandly  as  the  verse  of  this  fine  old  pane 
gyrist  of  his  "  native  country,"  when  he  describes  the  songs  of  birds  in  those 
solitudes  amongst  which  the  house  of  Arden  had  for  ages  been  seated  : — 

"  The  softer  with  the  shrill  (some  hid  among  the  leaves, 
Some  in  the  taller  trees,  some  in  the  lower  greaves) 
Thus  sing  away  the  morn,  until  the  mounting  sun 
Through  thick  exhaled  fogs  his  golden  head  hath  run, 
And  through  the  twisted  tops  of  our  close  covert  creeps 
To  kiss  the  gentle  shade,  this  while  that  sweetly  sleeps."  t 

High  as  was  her  descent,  wealthy  and  powerful  as  were  the  numerous  branches 
of  her  family,  Mary  Arden,  we  doubt  not,  led  a  life  of  usefulness  as  well  as  in 
nocence,  within  her  native  forest  hamlet.  She  had  three  sisters,  and  they  all, 
with  their  mother  Agnes,  survived  their  father,  who  died  in  December,  1556. 
His  will  is  dated  the  24th  of  November  in  the  same  year,  and  the  testator  styles 
himself  "  Robert  Arden,  of  Wylmcote,  in  the  paryche  of  Aston  Cauntlow." 


[Village  of  Wilmecote.J 


The  face  of  the  country  must  have  been  greatly  changed  in  three  centuries.     A 
canal,  with  lock  rising  upon  lock,  now  crosses  the  hill  upon  which  the  village 


Dray  ton.    Polyolbion,  13th  Song. 


Ibid. 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPEKE  : 

stands ;  but  traffic  has  not  robbed  the  place  of  its  green  pastures  and  its 
shady  nooks,  though  nothing  is  left  of  the  ancient  magnificence  of  the  great 
forest.  There  is  very  slight  appearance  of  antiquity  about  the  present  vil 
lage,  and  certainly  not  a  house  in  which  we  can  conceive  that  Robert  Arden 
resided. 

It  was  in  the  reign  of  Philip  and  Mary  that  Robert  Arden  died  ;  and  we  can 
not  therefore  be  sure  that  the  wording  of  his  will  is  any  absolute  proof  of  his 
religious  opinions  : — "  First,  I  bequeath  my  soul  to  Almighty  God  and  to  our 
blessed  Lady  Saint  Mary,  and  to  all  the  holy  company  of  heaven,  and  my  body 
to  be  buried  in  the  churchyard  of  Saint  John  the  Baptist  in  Aston  aforesaid." 
One  who  had  conformed  to  the  changes  of  religion  might  even  have  begun  his 
last  testament  with  this  ancient  formula  ;  even  as  the  will  of  Henry  VIII.  him 
self  is  so  worded.  (See  Rymer's  '  Foedera.')  Mary,  his  youngest  daughter,  from 
superiority  of  mind,  or  some  other  cause  of  her  father's  confidence,  occupies  the 
most  prominent  position  in  the  will : — "  I  give  and  bequeath  to  my  youngest 
daughter  Mary  all  my  land  in  Wilmecote,  called  Asbies,  and  the  crop  upon  the 
ground,  sown  and  tilled  as  it  is,  and  six  pounds  thirteen  shillings  and  fourpence 
of  money  to  be  paid  over  ere  my  goods  be  divided."  To  his  daughter  Alice  he 
bequeaths  the  third  part  of  all  his  goods,  moveable  and  unmoveable,  in  field  and 
town;  to  his  wife  Agnes,  the  step-mother  of  his  children,  six  pounds  thirteen  shillings 
and  fourpence,  under  the  condition  that  she  should  allow  his  daughter  Alice  to  occupy 
half  of  a  copyhold  at  Wilmecote,  the  widow  having  her  "jointure  in  Snitterfield,"  near 
Stratford.  The  remainder  of  his  goods  is  divided  amongst  his  other  children.  Alice 
and  Mary  are  made  the  "  full  executors  "  to  his  will.  We  thus  see  that  the  youngest 
daughter  has  an  undivided  estate  and  a  sum  of  money ;  and,  from  the  crop  being  also 
bequeathed  to  her,  it  is  evident  that  she  was  considered  able  to  continue  the  tillage. 
The  estate  thus  bequeathed  to  her  consisted  of  about  sixty  acres  of  arable  and 
pasture,  and  a  house.  It  was  a  small  fortune  for  a  descendant  of  the  lord  ot 
forty-seven  manors  in  the  county  of  Warwickshire,*  but  it  was  enough  for  hap 
piness.  Luxury  had  scarcely  ever  come  under  her  paternal  roof.  The  house  of 
Wilmecote  would  indeed  be  a  well-timbered  house,  being  in  a  woody  country. 
It  would  not  be  a  house  of  splints  and  clay,  such  as  made  the  Spaniard  in  that 
very  reign  of  Mary  say,  "  These  English  have  their  houses  made  of  sticks  and 
dirt,  but  they  fare  commonly  as  well  as  the  king."  It  was  some  twenty  years 
after  the  death  of  Robert  Arden  that  Harrison  described  the  growth  of  domestic 
luxury  in  England,  saying,  "There  are  old  men  yet  dwelling  in  the  village 
where  I  remain,  which  have  noted  three  things  to  be  marvellously  altered  in 
England  within  their  sound  nemembrance."  One  of  these  enormities  is  the 
multitude  of  chimneys  lately  erected,  wjiereas  formerly  each  one  made  his  fire 
against  a  reredosse  in  the  hall,  where  he  dined  and  dressed  his  meat :  the  second 
thing  is  the  great'  amendment  of  lodging — the  pillows,  the  beds,  the  sheets,  in 
stead  of  the  straw  pallet,  the  rough  mat.  the  good  round  log  or  the  sack  of  chaff 
under  the  head :  the  third  thing  is  the  exchange  of  vessels,  as  of  treen  platters 

'  See  an  account  in  Dugd&le  of  the  possessions,  recited  in  '  Domesday  Book,'  of  Turchil  d« 

A  •   :•  :i. 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

into  pewter,  and  wooden  spoons  into  silver  or  tin.  He  then  describes  the  altered 
splendour  of  the  substantial  farmer:  "A  fair  garnish  of  pewter  on  his  cupboard, 
with  so  much  more  in  odd  vessels  going  about  the  house ;  three  or  four  feather- 
beds  ;  so  many  coverlids  and  carpets  of  tapestry ;  a  silver  salt,  a  bowl  for  wine, 
and  a  dozen  of  spoons  to  furnish  up  the  suit."  Robert  Arden  had  certainly  not 
a  mansion  filled  with  needless  articles  for  use  or  ornament.  In  the  inventory  of 
his  goods  taken  after  his  death  we  find  table-boards,  forms,  cushions,  benches, 
and  one  cupboard  in  his  hall ;  there  are  painted  cloths  in  the  hall  and  in  the 
chamber ;  seven  pair  of  sheets,  five  board-cloths,  and  three  towels ;  there  is  one 
feather-bed  and  two  mattresses,  with  sundry  coverlets,  and  articles  called  can 
vasses,  three  bolsters,  and  one  pillow.  The  kitchen  boasts  four  pans,  four  pots, 
four  candlesticks,  a  baski,  a  chafing-dish,  two  cauldrons,  a  frying-pan,  and  a 
gridiron.  And  yet  this  is  the  grandson  of  a  groom  of  a  king's  bedchamber,  an 
office  filled  by  the  noble  and  the  rich,  and  who,  in  the  somewhat  elevated  station 
of  a  gentleman  of  worship,  would  probably  possess  as  many  conveniences  and 
comforts  as  a  rude  state  of  society  could  command.  There  was  plenty  outdoors 
— oxen,  bullocks,  kine,  weaning  calves,  swine,  bees,  poultry,  wheat  in  the  barns, 
barley,  oats,  hay,  peas,  wood  in  the  yard,  horses,  colts,  carts,  ploughs.  Robert 
Arden  had  lived  through  unquiet  times,  when  there  was  little  accumulation,  and 
men  thought  rather  of  safety  than  of  indulgence :  the  days  of  security  were  at 
hand.  Then  came  the  luxuries  that  Harrison  looked  upon  with  much  astonish 
ment  and  some  little  heartburning. 

And  so  in  the  winter  of  1556  was  Mary  Arden  left  without  the  guidance  of  a  father. 
We  learn  from  a  proceeding  in  Chancery  some  forty  years  later  that  with  the  land 
of  Asbies  there  went  a  messuage.  Mary  Arden  had  therefore  a  roof-tree  of  her  own. 
Her  sister  Alice  was  to  occupy  another  property  at  Wilmecote  with  the  widow. 
Mary  Arden  lived  in  a  peaceful  hamlet ;  but  there  were  some  strange  things  around 
her, — incomprehensible  things  to  a  very  young  woman.  When  she  went  to  the 
church  of  Aston  Cantlow,  she  now  heard  the  mass  sung,  and  saw  the  beads  bidden  ; 
whereas  a  few  years  before  there  was  another  form  of  worship  within  those  walls. 
She  learnt,  perhaps,  of  mutual  persecutions  and  intolerance,  of  neighbour  warring 
against  neighbour,  of  child  opposed  to  father,  of  wife  to  husband.  She  might  have  be 
held  these  evils.  The  rich  religious  houses  of  her  county  and  vicinity  had  been 
suppressed,  their  property  scattered,  their  chapels  and  fair  chambers  desecrated, 
their  very  walls  demolished.  The  new  power  was  trying  to  restore  them,  but, 
even  if  it  could  have  brought  back  the  old  riches,  the  old  reverence  was  passed 
away.  In  that  solitude  she  probably  mused  upon  many  things  with  an  anxious 
heart.  The  wealthier  Ardens  of  Kingsbury  and  Hampton,  of  Rotley  and  Rod- 
burne  and  Park  Hall,  were  her  good  cousins ;  but  bad  roads  and  bad  times 
perhaps  kept- them  separate.  And  so  she  lived  a  somewhat  lonely  life,  till  a 
young  yeoman  of  Stratford,  whose  family  had  been  her  father's  tenants, 
came  to  sit  oftener  and  oftener  upon  those  wooden  benches  in  the  old  hall — a 
substantial  yeoman,  a  burgess  of  the  corporation  in  1557  or  1558  ;  and  then  in 
due  season,  perhaps  in  the  very  year  when  Romanism  was  lighting  its  last  fires 
in  England,  and  a  queen  was  dying  with  "  Calais  "  written  on  her  heart,  Mary 

11 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  : 

Arden  and  John  Shakspere  were,  in  all  likelihood,  standing  before  the  altar  of 
the  parish  church  of  Aston  Cantlow,  and  the  house  and  lands  of  Asbies  became 
administered  by  one  who  took  possession  "  by  the  right  of  the  said  Mary,"  who 
thenceforward  abided  for  half  a  century  in  the  good  town  o,f  Stratford.  There  is 
no  register  of  the  marriage  discovered  :  but  the  date  must  have  been  about  a  year 
after  the  father's  death ;  for  "  Joan  Shakspere,  daughter  to  John  Shakspere,"  was, 
according  to  the  Stratford  register,  baptized  on  the  1 5th  September,  1 558. 


[Church  of  Aston  Cantlow.] 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 


[Clopton's  Bridge. j 


CHAPTER    II. 


A  PLEASANT  place  is  this  quiet  town  of  Stratford — a  place  of  ancient  traffic, 
"the  name  having  been  originally  occasioned  from  the  ford  or  passage  over 
the  water  upon  the  great  street  or  road  leading  from  Henley  in  Arden  towards 
London."*  England  was  not  always  a  country  of  bridges  :  rivers  asserted 
their  own  natural  rights,  and  were  not  bestrid  by  domineering  man.  If  the 
people  of  Henley  in  Arden  would  travel  towards.  London,  the  Avon  might 
invite  or  oppose  their  passage  at  his  own  good  will ;  and,  indeed,  the  river  so 
often  swelled  into  a  rapid  and  dangerous  stream,  that  the  honest  folk  of  the  one 
bank  might  be  content  to  hold  somewhat  less  intercourse  with  their  neighbours 
on  the  other  than  Englishmen  now  hold  with  the  antipodes.  But  the  days 
of  improvement  were  sure  to  arrive.  There  were  charters  for  markets,  and 
charters  for  fairs,  obtained  from  King  Richard  and  King  John  ;  and  in  process 
of  time  Stratford  rejoiced  in  a  wooden  bridge,  though  without  a  causey,  and 
exposed  to  constant  damage  by  flood.  And  then  an  alderman  of  London, — in 

*   Dugdale. 


WILLIAM   SHAK8PERE: 

days  when  the  very  rich  were  not  slow  to  do  magnificent  things  for  public 
benefit,  and  did  less  for  their  own  vain  pride  and  luxury, — built  a  stone  bridge 
over  the  Avon,  which  has  borne  the  name  of  Clopton's  Bridge,  even  from  the 
days  of  Henry  VII.  until  this  day.  Ecclesiastical  foundations  were  numerous 
at  Stratford  ;  and  such  were,  in  every  case,  the  centres  of  civilization  and  pros 
perity.  The  parish  church  was  a  collegiate  one,  with  a  chantry  of  five  priests  ; 
and  there  was  an  ancient  guild  and  chapel  of  the  Holy  Cross,  partly  a  religious 
and  partly  a  civil  institution.  A  grammar-school  was  connected  with  the 
guild  ;  and  the  municipal  government  of  the  town  was  settled  in  a  corpo 
ration  by  charter  of  Edward  VI.,  and  the  grammar-school  especially  main 
tained.  Here  then  was  a  liberal  accumulation,  such  as  belongs  only  to 
an  old  country,  to  make  a  succession  of  thriving  communities  at  Stratford  ; 
and  they  did  thrive,  according  to  the  notion  of  thrift  in  those  days.  But 
we  are  not  to  infer  that  when  John  Shakspere  removed  the  daughter  and 
heiress  of  Arden  from  the  old  hall  of  Wilmecote  he  placed  her  in  some  substan 
tial  mansion  in  his  corporate  town,  ornamental  as  well  as  solid  in  its  architec 
ture,  spacious,  convenient,  fitted  up  with  taste,  if  not  with  splendour.  Stratford 
had,  in  all  likelihood,  no  such  houses  to  offer  ;  it  was  a  town  of  wooden  houses, 
a  scattered  town, — no  doubt  with  gardens  separating  the  low  and  irregular 
tenements,-  sleeping  ditches  intersecting  the  properties,  and  stagnant  pools 
exhaling  in  the  road.  A  zealous  antiquarian  has  discovered  that  John  Shakspere 
inhabited  a  house  in  Henley  Street  as  early  as  1552 ;  and  that  he,  as  well  as  two 
other  neighbours,  was  fined  for  making  a  dung-heap  in  the  street.*  In  1553,  the 
jurors  of  Stratford  present  certain  inhabitants  as  violators  of  the  municipal  laws : 
from  which  presentment  we  learn  that  ban-dogs  were  not  to  go  about  unmuzzled  ; 
nor  sheep  pastured  in  the  ban -croft  for  more  than  an  hour  each  day  ;  nor  swine  to 
feed  on  the  common  land  unringed.f  It  is  evident  that  Stratford  was  a  rural  town, 
surrounded  with  common  fields,  and  containing  a  mixed  population  of  agriculturists 
and  craftsmen.  The  same  character  was  retained  as  late  as  1618,  when  the  privy 
council  represented  to  the  corporation  of  Stratford  that  great  and  lamentable  loss 
had  "  happened  to  that  town  by  casualty  of  fire,  which,  of  late  years,  hath  been 
very  frequently  occasioned  by  means  of  thatched  cottages,  stacks  of  straw, 
furzes,  and  such-like  combustible  stuff",  which  are  suffered  to  be  erected  and 
made  confusedly  in  most  of  the  principal  parts  of  the  town  without  restraint."  J 
If  such  were  the  case  when  the  family  of  William  Shakspere  occupied  the  best 
house  in  Stratford, — a  house  in  which  Queen  Henrietta  Maria  resided  for  three 
weeks,  when  the  royalist  army  held  that  part  of  the  country  in  triumph, — it 
is  not  unreasonable  to  suppose  that  sixty  years  earlier  the  greater  number  of 
houses  in  Stratford  must  have  been  mean  timber  buildings,  thatched  cottages 
run  up  of  combustible  stuff;  and  that  the  house  in  Henley  Street  which  John 
Shakspere  occupied  and  purchased,  and  which  his  son  inherited  and  bequeathed 
to  his  sister  for  her  life,  must  have  been  an  important  house, — a  house  fit 

•  Hunter  :  'New  Illustrations,'  vol.  i.  p.  18. 

t  The  proceedings  of  the  court  are  given  in  Mr.  Halliwell's  '  Life  of  Shakspeare,'  a  book  which 
may  be  fairly  held  to  contain  all  the  documentary  evidence  of  this  life  which  has  been  dis- 
<»»«red.  J  Chalmers's  '  Apology.'  p.  <U3 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

for  a  man  of  substance,  a  house  of  some  space  and  comfort,  compared  with  those 
of  the  majority  of  the  surrounding  population. 

That  population  of  the  corporate  town  of  Stratford,  containing  within  itself 
rich  endowments  and  all  the  framework  of  civil  superiority,  would  appear 
insignificant  in  a  modern  census.  The  average  annual  number  of  baptisms  in 
1564  was  fifty-five;  of  burials  in  the  same  year  forty-two:  these  numbers, 
upon  received  principles  of  calculation,  would  give  us  a  total  population  of 
about  one  thousand  four  hundred.  In  a  certificate  of  charities,  &c.,  in  the 
thirty-seventh  year  of  Henry  VIII.,  the  number  of  "  houselyng  people "  in 
Stratford  is  stated  to  be  fifteen  hundred.  This  population  was  furnished  with  all 
the  machinery  by  which  Englishmen,  even  in  very  early  times,  managed  their 
own  local  affairs,  and  thus  obtained  that  aptitude  for  practical  good  govern 
ment  which  equally  rejects  the  tyranny  of  the  one  or  of  the  many.  The 
corporation  in  the  time  of  John  Shakspere  consisted  of  fourteen  aldermen  and 
fourteen  burgesses,  one  of  the  aldermen  being  annually  elected  to  the  office  ot 
bailiff.  The  bailiff  held  a  court  of  record  every  fortnight,  for  the  trial  of  all 
causes  within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  borough  in  which  the  debt  and  damages 
did  not  amount  to  thirty  pounds.  There  was  a  court-leet  also,  which  appointed 
its  ale-tasters,  who  presided  over  the  just  measure  and  wholesome  quality  of 
beer,  that  necessary  of  life  in  ancient  times  ;  and  which  court-leet  chose  also, 
annually,  four  affeerors,  who  had  the  power  ii»  their  hands  of  summary  punish 
ment  for  offences  for  which  no  penalty  was  prescribed  by  statute.  The  con 
stable  was  the  great  police  officer,  and  he  was  a  man  of  importance,  for  the 
burgesses  of  the  corporation  invariably  served  the  office.  John  Shakspere 
appears  from  the  records  of  Stratford  to  have  gone  through  the  whole  regular 
course  of  municipal  duty.  In  1556  he  was  on  the  jury  of  the  court-leet;  in 
1557,  an  ale  -  taster  ;  in '1558,  a  burgess;  in  1559,  a  constable;  in  1560,  an 
affeeror  ;  in  1561,  a  chamberlain;  in  1565,  an  alderman;  and  in  1568,  high 
bailiff  of  the  borough,  the  chief  magistrate. 

There  have  been  endless  theories,  old  and  new,  affirmations,  contradictions, 
as  to  the  worldly  calling  of  John  Shakspere.  There  are  ancient  registers  in 
Stratford,  minutes  of  the  Common  Hall,  proceedings  of  the  Court-leet,  pleas  of 
the  Court  of  Record,  writs,  which  have  been  hunted  over  with  unwearied 
diligence,  and  yet  they  tell  us  nothing,  or  next  to  nothing,  of  John  Shakspere. 
When  he  was  elected  an  alderman  in  1565,  we  can  trace  out  the  occupations  of 
his  brother  aldermen,  and  readily  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  municipal 
authority  of  Stratford  was  vested,  as  we  may  naturally  suppose  it  to  have 
been,  in  the  hands  of  substantial  tradesmen,  brewers,  bakers,  butchers,  grocers, 
victuallers,  mercers,  woollen-drapers.*  Prying  into  the  secrets  of  time,  we 
are  enabled  to  form  some  notion  of  the  literary  acquirements  of  this  worshipful 
body.  On  rare,  very  rare  occasions,  the  aldermen  and  burgesses  constituting 
the  town  council  affixed  their  signatures,  for  greater  solemnity,  to  some  order 
of  the  court ;  and  on  the  29th  of  September,  in  the  seventh  of  Elizabeth, 
upon  an  order  that  John  Wheler  should  take  the  office  of  bailiff,  we  have  nine 
teen  names  subscribed,  aldermen  and  burgesses.  Out  of  the  nineteen  six  only 

*  Soe  Malone's  '  Life  of  Shakspeare,'  Boswell's  Malone,  vol.  ii.,  p.  77. 

15 


WILLIAM    SIIAKSPERE: 


can  say,  "  I  thank  God  I  have  been  so  well  brought  up  that  I  can  write  my 
name."  *  The  stock  of  literary  acquirement  amongst  the  magnates  of  Stratford 
was  not  very  large.  And  why  should  that  stock  of  literature  have  been  larger  ? 
There  were  some  who  had  been  at  the  grammar-school,  and  they  perhaps  were 


•  Henry  VI.,  Part  II.,  Act  IT. 


A  BIOGKAPHY. 

as  learned  as  the  town-clerk;  they  kept  him  straight.  But  there  had  been 
enough  turmoil  about  learning  in  those  days  to  make  goodman  Whetely,  and 
goodman  Cardre,  and  their  fellows,  somewhat  shy  of  writing  and  Latin.  They  were 
not  quite  safe  in  reading.  Some  of  the  readers  had  openly  looked  upon  Tyndale's 
Bible  and  Coverdale's  Bible  twelve  years  before,  and  then  the  Bible  was  to  be 
hidden  in  dark  corners.  It  was  come  out  again,  but  who  could  tell  what  might 
again  happen.  It  was  safer  not  to  read.  It  was  much  less  troublesome  not  to 
write.  The  town-clerk  was  a  good  penman ;  they  could  flourish. 

We  were  reluctant  to  yield  our  assent  to  Malone's  assertion  that  Shakspere's 
father  had  a  mark  to  himself.  The  marks  are  not  distinctly  affixed  to  each  name 
in  this  document.  But  subsequent  discoveries  establish  the  fact  that  he  used 
two  marks — one,  something  like  an  open  pair  of  compasses — the  other,  the 
common  cross.  Even  half  a  century  later,  to  write  was  not  held  indispensable 
by  persons  of  some  pretension.  In  Decker's  '  Wonder  of  a  Kingdom/  the 
following  dialogue  takes  place  between  Gentili  and  Buzardo  : 

"  Gen.  What  qualities  are  you  furnished  with  ? 
Buz.  My  education  has  been  like  a  gentleman. 
Gen.  Have  you  any  skill  in  song  or  instrument  1 

.Buz.  As  a  gentleman  should  have ;  I  know  all  but  play  on  none  :  I  am  no  barber 
Oen.  Barber  !  no,  sir,  I  think  it.     Are  you  a  linguist  ? 

Buz.  As  a  gentleman  ought  to  be;  one  tongue* serves  one  head ;  I  am  no  pedlar,  to 
travel  countries. 

#e7i.  What  skill  ha'  you  in  horsemanship  ? 

Buz.  As  other  gentlemen  have :  I  ha*  rid  some  beasts  in  my  time. 

Oen.  Can  you  write  and  read  then  t 

Buz.  As  most  of  your  gentlemen  do  ;  my  bond  has  been  taken  with  my  mark  at  it." 

We  must  not  infer  that  one  who  gave  his  bond  with  his  mark  at  it,  was  neces 
sarily  ignorant  of  all  literature.  It  was  very  common  for  an  individual  to  adopt, 
in  the  language  of  Jack  Cade,  "  a  mark  to  himself,"  possessing  distinctness  of 
character,  and  almost  heraldically  alluding  to  his  name  or  occupation.  Many 
of  these  are  like  ancient  merchants'  marks ;  and  on  some  old  deeds  the 
mark  of  a  landowner  alienating  property  corresponds  with  the  mark  described  in 
the  conveyance  as  cut  in  the  turf,  or  upon  boundary  stones,  of  unenclosed  fields. 
Lord  Campbell  says,  "  In  my  own  experience  I  have  known  many  instances  of 
documents  bearing  a  mark  as  the  signature  of  persons  who  could  write  well."* 

One  of  the  aldermen  of  Stratford  in  1565,  John  Wheler,  is  described  in  the 
town  records  as  a  yeoman.  He  must  have  been  dwelling  in  Stratford,  for  we 
have  seen  that  he  was  ordered  to  take  the  office  of  high  bailiff,  an  office  de 
manding  a  near  and  constant  residence.  We  can  imagine  a  moderate  landed 
proprietor  cultivating  his  own  soil,  renting  perhaps  other  land,  seated  as  con 
veniently  in  a  house  in  the  town  of  Stratford  as  in  a  solitary  grange  several 
miles  away  from  it.  Such  a  proprietor,  cultivator,  yeoman,  we  consider  John 
Shakspere  to  have  been.  In  1556,  the  year  that  Robert,  the  father  of  Mary 


*  'Shakespeare's  Legal  Acquirements,'  p.  15. 
LIFE.        G  17 


\\ -II.LIAM  SIIAKSPERE: 

Arden,  died,  John  ShaKspere  was  admitted  at  the  court-leet  to  two  copyhold 
estates'  in  Stratford.  The  jurors  of  the  leet  present  that  George  Tumor  had 
alienated  to  John  Shakspere  and  his  heirs  one  tenement,  with  a  garden  and 
croft,  and  other  premises,  in  Grenehyll  Street,  held  of  the  lord  at  an  annual 
quit-rent;  and  John  Shakspere,  who  is  present  in  court  and  does  fealty,  is 
admitted  to  the  same.  The  same  jurors  present  that  Edward  West  has  alien 
ated  to  John  Shakspere  one  tenement  and  a  garden  adjacent  in  Henley  Street, 
who  is  in  the  same  way  admitted,  upon  fealty  done  to  the  lord.  Here  then  is 
'  John  Shakspere,  before  his  marriage,  the  purchaser  of-  two  copyholds  in  Strat 
ford,  both  with  gardens,  and  one  with  a  croft,  or  small  enclosed  field.*  In 
1570  John  Shakspere  is  holding,  as  tenant  under  William  (Jlopton,  a  meadow  of 
fourteen  acres,  with  its  appurtenance,  called  Ingon,  at  the  annual  rent  of  eight 
pounds.  This  rent,  equivalent  to  at  least  forty  pounds  of  our  present  money, 
would  indicate  that  the  appurtenance  included  a  house, — and  a  very  good 
house. f  This  meadow  of  Ingon  forms  part  of  a  large  property  known  by  that 
name  near  Clopton-house.J  When  John  Shakspere  married,  the  estate  of  Asbies, 

*  It  is  marvellous  that  Malone,  with  these  documents  before  him,  which  are  clearly  the  ad 
missions  of  John  Shakspere  to  two  copyhold  estates,  should  say : — "  At  the  court-leet,  held  in 
October,  1556,  the  lease  of  a  house  in  Greenhill  Street  was  assigned  to  Mr.  John  Shakspeare,  by 
George  Tumor,  who  was  one  of  the  burgesses  of  Stratford,  and  kept  a  tavern  or  victualling- 
house  there;  and  another,  in  Henley  Street,  was,  on  the  same  day,  assigned  to  him,  by  Edward 
West,  a  person  of  some  consideration,  who  during  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.  had  been  frequently 
one  of  the  wardens  of  the  bridge  of  Stratford."  It  is  equally  wonderful  that,  Malone  having 
printed  the  documents,  no  one  who  writes  about  Shakspere  has  deduced  from  them  that  Shak- 
spere's  father  was  necessarily  a  person  of  some  substance  before  his  marriage,  a  purchaser  of 
property.  The  roll  says — "  et  ide  Johes  pd.  in  cur.  fecit  dno  fidelitatem  pr  eisdera,"  that  is, 
"  and  the  said  John  in  the  aforesaid  court  did  fealty  to  the  lord  for  the  same."  Every  one 
knows  that  this  is  the  mode  of  admission  to  a  copyhold  estate  in  fee  simple,  and  yet  Malone 
writes  as  if  these  forms  were  gone  through  to  enable  John  Shakspere  to  occupy  two  houses  in 
two  distinct  streets,  under  lease.  We  subjoin  the  documents  : — 

•  "Stratford  super  Avon.     Vis  frS  Pleg.  cum  cur.  et  Session  pais  tenit.  ibm.  secundo  die  Octo- 
bris  annis  regnorum  Philippi  et  Marie,  Dei  gratia,  &c.  tertio  et  quarto  (October  2,  1556). 

"It  pro.  quod  Georgius  Turnor  alienavit  Johe  Shakespere  et_hered.  suis  unum  tent,  cum 
gardin.  et  croft,  cum  pertinent  in  Grenehyll  stret,  tent,  de  Dfo  libe  pr  cart.  pr  redd,  inde  dno  pr 
annu  vid  et  sect.  cur.  et  ide  Johes  pd.  in  cur.  fecit  dno  fidelitatem  pr  eisdein. 

"  It.  quod  Edwardus  West  alienavit  pd.  eo  Johe  Shakespere  unU  tent,  cum  gardin.  adjacen.  in 
Henley  street  p*  redd,  inde  dno  pr  ann.  vid  et  sect.  cur.  et  ide  Johes  pd.  in  cur.  fecit  fidelitatem." 

We  give  a  translation  of  this  entry  upon  the  court-roll : — 

"  Stratford  upon  Avon.  View  of  Frankpledge  with  the  court  and  session  of  the  peace  held 
of  the  same  on  the  second  day  of  October  in  the  year  of  the  reign  of  Philip  and  Mary,  by  the 
grace  of  God,  &c.,  the  third  and  fourth. 

"  Item,  they  present  that  George  Turnor  has  alienated  to  John  Shakspere  and  his  heirs  one 
tenement  with  a  garden  and  croft,  with  their  appurtenances,  in  Greenhill  street,  held  of  the  lord, 
and  delivered  according  to  the  roll,  for  the  rent  from  thence  to  the  lord  of  sixpence  per  annum, 
and  suit  of  court,  and  the  said  John  in  the  aforesaid  court  did  fealty  to  the  lord  for  the  same. 

"  Item,  that  Edward  West  has  alienated  to  him,  the  aforesaid  John  Shakspere,  one  tenement, 
with  a  garden  adjacent,  in  Henley  Street,  for  the  rent  from  thence  to  the  lord  of  sixpence  per 
annum,  and  suit  of  court,  and  the  said  John  in  the  aforesaid  court  did  fealty." 

t  See  the  extracts  from  the  '  Rot.  Claus.,'  23  Eliz ,  given  in  Malone's  '  Life,'  p.  95. 

t  Ingon  is  'not,  as  Maloue  states,  situated  at  a  small  distance  from  the  estate  which  William 
Shakspere  purchased  in  1602.     Clopton  lies  between  the  two  properties. 
'18 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

within  a  short  ride  of  Stratford,  came  also  into  his  possession,  and  so  did  some 
landed  property  at  Snitterfield.  With  these  facts  before  us,  scanty  as  they  are, 
can  we  reasonably  doubt  that  John  Shakspere  was  living  upon  his  own  land, 
renting  the  land  of  others,  actively  engaged  in  the  business  of  cultivation,  in  an 
age  when  tillage  was  becoming  rapidly  profitable, — so  much  so  that  men  of  wealth 
very  often  thought  it  better  to  take  the  profits  direct  than  to  share  them  with  the 
tenant  ?  In  '  A  Briefe  Conceipte  touching  the  Commonweale  of  this  Realme  of 
Englande,'  published  in  1581, — a  Dialogue  once  attributed  to  William  Shak 
spere, — the  Knight  says,  speaking  of  his  class,  "  Many  of  us  are  enforced  either 
to  keep  pieces  of  our  own  lands  when  they  fall  in  our  own  possession,  or  to  pur 
chase  some  farm  of  other  men's  lands,  and  to  store  it  with  sheep  or  some  other 
cattle,  to  help  make  up  the  decay  in  our  revenues,  and  to  maintain  our  old  estate 
vvithal,  and  yet  all  is  little  enough." 

The  belief  that  the  father  of  Shakspere  was  a  small  landed  proprietor  and 
cultivator,  employing  his  labour  and  capital  in  various  modes  which  grew 
out  of  the  occupation  of  land,  offers  a  better,  because  a  more  natural,  ex 
planation  of  the  circumstances  connected  with  the  early  life  of  the  great  poet 
than  those  stories  which  would  make  him  of  obscure  birth  and  servile  employ 
ments.  Take  old  Aubrey's  story,  the  shrewd  learned  gossip  and  antiquary, 
who  survived  Shakspere  some  eighty  years : — "  Mr.  William  Shakespear  was 
born  at  Stratford-upon-Avon,  in  the  county  of  Warwick.  His  father  was  a 
butcher,  and  I  have  been  told  heretofore  by  some  of  the  neighbours  that  when 
he  was  a  boy  he  exercised  his  father's  trade ;  but  when  he  killed  a  calf  he 
would  do  it  in  high  style,  and  make  a  speech.  There  was  at  that  time  another 
butcher's  son  in  this  town  that  was  held  not  at  all  inferior  to  him  for  a  natural 
wit,  his  acquaintance  and  coetanean,  but  died  young."  Oh,  Stratford !  town 
prolific  in  heroic  and  poetical  butchers ;  was  it  not  enough  that  there  was  one 
prodigy  born  in  your  bosom,  who,  "  when  he  killed  a  calf,  he  would  do  it  in  a 
high  style,  and  make  a  speech,"  but  that  there  must  even  have  been  another 
butcher's  son  fed  with  thy  intellectual  milk,  "  that  was  held  not  at  all  inferior 
to  him  for  a  natural  wit  ?  "  Wert  thou  minded  to  rival  Ipswich  by  a  double 
rivalry?  Was  not  one  Shakspere-butcher  enough  to  extinguish  the  light  of 
one  Wolsey,  but  thou  must  have  another,  "  his  acquaintance  and  coetanean  ?  " 
Aubrey,  men  must  believe  thee  in  all  after-time ;  for  did  not  Farmer  aver  that, 
when  he  that  killed  the  calf  wrote — 

"  There 's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough  hew  them  how  we  will,"  * — 

the  poet-butcher  was  thinking  of  skewers?  And  did  not  Malone  hold  that 
he  who,  when  a  boy,  exercised  his  father's  trade,  has  described  the  process  of 
calf-killing  with  an  accuracy  which  nothing  but  profound  experience  could 
give  ? — 

"  And  as  the  butcher  takes  away  the  calf, 
And  binds  the  wretch,  and  beats  it  when  it  strays, 
Bearing  it  to  the  bloody  slaughter-house ; 
Even  so,  remorseless,  have  they  borne  him  hence. 

C  2  *  Hamlet,  Act  v.,  Scene  it  19 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPKRE: 

And  aa  the  dam  runs  lowing  up  and  down, 
Looking  the  way  her  harmless  young  one  went, 
And  can  do  nought  but  wail  her  darling's  loss, 
Even  so,"  &c.» 

The  story,  however,  has  a  variation.  There  was  at  Stratford,  in  the  year 
1693,  a  clerk  of  the  parish  church,  eighty  years  old, — that  is,  he  was  three  years 
old  when  William  Shakspere  died, — and  he,  pointing  to  the  monument  of  the 
poet,  with  the  pithy  remark  that  he  was  the  "  best  of  his  family,"  proclaimed  to 
a  member  of  one  of  the  Inns  of  Court  that  "this  Shakespeare  was  formerly  in 
this  town  bound  apprentice  to  a  butcher,  but  that  he  ran  from  his  master  to 
London. "f  His  father  was  a  butcher,  says  Aubrey ;  he  was  apprentice  to  a 
butcher,  says  the  parish  clerk.  Aubrey  was  picking  up  his  gossip  for  his  friend 
Anthony-a-Wood  in  1680,  and  it  is  not  very  difficult  to  imagine  that  the  iden 
tical  parish  clerk  was  his  authority.  That  honest  chronicler,  old  as  he  was,  had 
forty  years  of  tradition  to  deal  with  in  this  matter  of  the  butcher's  son  and  the 
butcher's  apprentice;  and  the  result  of  such  glimpses  into  the  thick  night  of 
the  past  is  sensibly  enough  stated  by  Aubrey  himself : — "  What  uncertainty  do 
we  find  in  printed  histories !  They  either  treading  too  near  on  the  heels  of 
truth,  that  they  dare  not  speak  plain ;  or  else  for  want  of  intelligence  (things 
being  antiquated)  become  too  obscure  and  dark!"  Obscure  and  dark  indeed  is 
this  story  of  the  butcher's  son.  If  it  were  luminous,  circumstantially  true,  pal 
pable  to  all  sense,  as  Aubrey  writes  it  down,  we  should  only  have  one  more  knot 
to  cut,  not  to  untie,  in  the  matters  which  belong  to  William  Shakspere.  The 
son  of  the  butcher  of  Ipswich  was  the  boy  bachelor  of  Oxford  at  fifteen  years  of 
age;  he  had  an  early  escape  from  the  calf-killing;  there  was  no  miracle  in  his 
case.  If  we  receive  Aubrey's  story  we  must  take  it  also  with  its  contradictions, 
and  that  perhaps  will  get  rid  of  the  miraculous.  "  When  he  was  a  boy  he  exer 
cised  his  father's  trade/'  Good : — "  This  William,  being  inclined  naturally  to 
poetry  and  acting,  came  to  London,  I  guess  about  eighteen."  Good  : — "  He  un 
derstood  Latin  pretty  well,  for  he  had  been  in  his  younger  years  a  schoolmaster 
in  the  country."  Killer  of  calves,  schoolmaster,  poet,  actor, — all  these  occupations 
crowded  into  eighteen  years  !  Honest  Aubrey,  truly  thine  is  a  rope  of  sand 
wherein  there  are  no  knots  to  cut  or  to  untie ! 

Akin  to  the  butcher's  trade  is  that  of  the  dealer  in  wool.  It  is  upon  the  au 
thority  of  Betterton,  the  actor,  who,  in  the  beginning  of  the  last  century,  made 
a  journey  into  Warwickshire  to  collect  anecdotes  relating  to  Shakspere,  that 
Rowe  tells  us  that  John  Shakspere  was  a  dealer  in  wool : — "  His  family,  as  ap 
pears  by  the  register  and  the  public  writings  relating  to  that  town,  were  of  good 
figure  and  fashion  there,  and  are  mentioned  as  gentlemen.  His  father,  who  was 
a  considerable  dealer  in  wool,  had  so  large  a  family,  ten  children  in  all,  that, 
though  he  was  his  eldest  son,  he  could  give  him  no  better  education  than  his 
own  employment."  We  are  now  peeping  "  through  the  blanket  of  the  dark.' 
But  daylight  is  not  as  yet.  Malone  was  a  believer  in  Rowe's  account;  and  he 


Henry  VI.,  Part  II.,  Act  in.,  Scene  u  f-  Traditionary  Anecdotes  of  Shakespeare. 

20 


A   BIOGfiAPHY. 

was  confirmed  in  his  belief  by  possessing  a  piece  of  stained  glass,  bearing  the 
arms  of  the  merchants  of  the  staple,  which  had  been  removed  from  a  window  of 
John  Shakspere's  house  in  Henley  Street.  But,  unfortunately  for  the  credibility 
of  Rowe,  as  then  held,  Malone  made  a  discovery,  as  it  is  usual  to  term  such 
glimpses  of  the  past :  "  I  began  to  despair  of  ever  being  able  to  obtain  any  certain 
intelligence  concerning  his  trade ;  when,  at  length,  I  met  with  the  following 
entry,  in  a  very  ancient  manuscript,  containing  an  account  of  the  proceedings  in 
the  bailiffs  court,  which  furnished  me  with  the  long-sought-for  information,  and 
ascertains  that  the  trade  of  our  great  poet's  father  was  that  of  a  glover ;"  "  Thomas 
Siche  de  Arscotte  in  com.  Wigorn.  queritr  versus  Johm  Shaky spere  de  Stretford, 
in  com.  Warwic.  Glover,  in  plac.  quod  reddat  ei  oct.  libras,  &c."  This  Malone 
held  to  be  decisive. 

We  give  this  record  above  as  Malone  printed  it,  not  very  correctly ;  and  having 
seen  the  original,  we  maintained  that  the  word  was  not  Glover.  Mr.  Collier 
and  Mr.  Halliwell  affirm  that  the  word  Glo,  with  the  second  syllable  contracted, 
is  glover ;  and  we  accept  their  interpretation.  But  we  still  hold  to  our  original 
belief  that  he  was,  in  1556,  a  landed  proprietor  and  an  occupier  of  land;  one 
who,  although  sued  as  a  glover  on  the  17th  June  of  that  year,  was  a  suitor  in  the 
same  court  on  the  19th  November,  in  a  plea  against  a  neighbour  for  unjustly  de 
taining  eighteen  quarters  of  barley.  We  still  refuse  to  believe  that  John  Shak- 
spere,  when  he  is  described  as  a  yeoman  in  after  years,  "  had  relinquished  his 
retail  trade,"  as  Mr.  Halliwell  judges ;  or  that  his  mark,  according  to  the  same 
authority,  was  emblematical  of  the  glove-sticks  used  for  stretching  the  cheveril 
for  fair  fingers.  We  have  no  confidence  that  he  had  stores  in  Henley  Street  of 
the  treasures  of  Autolycus, — 

"  Gloves  as  sweet  as  damask  roses." 

We  think,  that  butcher,  dealer  in  wool,  glover,  may  all  be  reconciled  with  our 
position,  that  he  was  a  landed  proprietor,  occupying  land.  Our  proofs  are  not 
purely  hypothetical. 

Harrison,  who  mingles  laments  at  the  increasing  luxury  of  the  farmer,  with 
somewhat  contradictory  denouncements  of  the  oppression  of  the  tenant  by  the 
landlord,  holds  that  the  landlord  is  monopolizing  the  tenant's  profits.  His  com 
plaints  are  the  natural  commentary  upon  the  social  condition  of  England,  de 
scribed  in  'A  Briefe  Conceipte  touching  the  Commonweale  :' — "  Most  sorrowful 
of  all  to  understand,  that  men  of  great  port  and  countenance  are  so  far  from 
suffering  their  farmers  to  have  any  gain  at  all,  that  they  themselves  become 

GRAZIERS,  BUTCHERS,  TANNERS,  SHEEPMASTERS,  WOODMEN,  and  denique  quid  HOTl, 

thereby  to  enrich  themselves,  and  bring  all  the  wealth  of  the  country  into  their 
own  hands,  leaving  the  commonalty  weak,  or  as  an  idol  with  broken  or  feeble 
arms,  which  may  in  time  of  peace  have  a  plausible  show,  but,  when  necessity 
shall  enforce,  have  an  heavy  and  bitter  sequel."  Has  not  Harrison  solved  the 
mystery  of  the  butcher ;  explained  the  tradition  of  the  wool-merchant ;  shown  how 
John  Shakspere,  the  woodman,  naturally  sold  a  piece  of  timber  to  the  corporation, 
which  we  find  recorded  ;  and,  what  is  most  difficult  of  credence,  indicated  how 
the  glover  is  reconcilable  with  all  these  employments  ?  We  open  an  authentic 

21 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPEKE  : 

record  of  this  very  period,  and  tlie  solution  of  the  difficulty  is  palpable  :  In  John 
Strype's  '  Memorials  Ecclesiastical  under  Queen  Mary  I,'  under  the  date  of 
1558,  we  find  this  passage:  "  It  is  certain  that  one  Edward  Home  suffered  at 
Newent,  where  this  Deighton  had  been,  and  spake  with  one  or  two  of  the  same 
parish  that  did  see  him  there  burnt,  and  did  testify  that  they  knew  the  two 
persons  that  made  the  fire  to  burn  him  ;  they  were  two  glovers  or  FELLMONGERS."  * 
A  fellmonger  and  a  glover  appear  from  this  passage  to  have  been  one  and  the 
same.  The  fellmonger  is  he  who  prepares  skins  for  the  use  of  the  leather-dresser, 
by  separating  the  wool  from  the  hide — the  natural  coadjutor  of  the  sheep-master 
and  the  wool-man.  Shakspere  himself  implies  that  the  glover  was  a  manufacturer 
of  skins  :  Dame  Quickly  asks  of  Slender's  man,  "  Does  he  not  wear  a  great  round 
beard  like  a  glover's  paring  knife  ?  "  The  peltry  is  shaved  upon  a  circular  board, 
with  a  great  round  knife,  to  this  day.  The  fellmonger's  trade,  as  it  now  exists, 
and  the  trade  in  untanned  leather,  the  glover's  trade,  would  be  so  slightly  different, 
that  the  generic  term,  glover,  might  be  applied  to  each.  There  are  few  examples 
of  the  word  "  fellmonger  "  in  any  early  writers.  "  Glover  "  is  so  common  that 
it  has  become  one  of  the  universal  English  names  derived  from  occupation, — far 
more  common  than  if  it  merely  applied  to  him  who  made  coverings  for  the  hands. 
At  Coventry,  in  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century,  (the  period  of  which  we  are 
writing)  the  Glovers  and  Whittawers  formed  one  craft.  A  whittawer  is  one  who  pre 
pares  tawed  leather — untanned  leather — leather  chiefly  dressed  from  sheep  skins  and 
lamb  skins  by  a  simple  process  of  soaking,  and  scraping,  and  liming,  and  softening 
by  alum  and  salt.  Of  such  were  the  large  and  coarse  gloves  in  use  in  a  rural 
district,  even  amongst  labourers ;  and  such  process  might  be  readily  carried  on 
by  one  engaged  in  agricultural  operations,  especially  when  we  bear  in  mind  that 
the  white  leather  was  the  especial  leather  of  "  husbandly  furniture,"  as  described 
by  old  Tusser. 

We  may  reasonably  persist,  therefore,  even  in  accord  with  "  flesh  and  fell " 
tradition,  in  drawing  the  portrait  of  Shakspere's  father,  at  the  time  of  his  marriage, 
in  the  free  air, — on  his  horse,  with  his  team,  at  market,  at  fair — and  yet  a  dealer 
in  carcases,  or  wood,  or  wool,  or  skins,  his  own  produce.  He  was  a  proprietor 
of  land,  and  an  agriculturist,  living  in  a  peculiar  state  of  society,  as  we  shall  see 
hereafter,  in  which  the  division  of  employments  was  imperfectly  established, 
and  the  small  rural  capitalists  strove  to  turn  their  own  products  to  the  greatest 
advantage. 

•  Vol.  v.,  p.  277   -edit.  1816. 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 


[Ancient  Font,  formerly  in  Stratford  Church.*] 


CHAPTER    III. 


THE    REGISTER. 


IN  the  eleventh  century  the  Norman  Conqueror  commanded  a  Register  to  be 
completed  of  the  lands  of  England,  with  the  names  of  their  possessors,  and  the 
number  of  their  free  tenants,  their  villains,  and  their  slaves.  In  the  sixteenth 
century  Thomas  Cromwell,  as  the  vicegerent  of  Henry  VIII.  for  ecclesiastical 
jurisdiction,  issued  Injunctions  to  the  Clergy,  ordaining,  amongst  other  matters, 
that  every  officiating  minister  shall,  for  every  Church,  keep  a  Book,  wherein 
he  shall  register  every  Marriage,  Christening,  or  Burial.  In  the  different 
character  of  these  two  Registers  we  read  what  five  centuries  of  civilization  had 
effected  for  England.  Instead  of  being  recorded  in  the  gross  as  cotarii  or  servi, 

*  The  history  of  the  old  font  represented  above  is  somewhat  curious.  The  parochial  accounts 
of  Stratford  show  that  about  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century  a  new  font  was  set  up.  The 
beautiful  relic  of  an  older  time,  from  which  William  Shakspere  had  received  the  baptismal  water, 
was,  after  many  years,  found  in  the  old  charnel-house.  When  that  was  pulled  down,  it  was 
kicked  into  the  churchyard  ;  and  half  a  century  ago  was  removed  by  the  parish  clerk  to  form  the 
trough  of  a  pump  at  his  cottage.  Of  the  parish  clerk  it  was  bought  by  the  late  Captain  Saunders ; 
and  from  his  possession  came  into  that  of  Mr.  Heritage,  a  builder  at  Stratford. 

23 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

the  meanest  labourer,  his  wife,  and  his  children,  had  become  children  of  their 
country  and  their  country's  religion,  as  much  as  the  highest  lord  and  his  family. 
Their  names  were  to  be  inscribed  in  a  book  and  carefully  preserved.  But  the 
people  doubted  the  intent  of  this  wise  and  liberal  injunction.  A  friend  of  Crom 
well  writes  to  him,  "  There  is  much  secret  and  several  communications  between 
the  King's  subjects  ;  and  [some]  of  them,  in  sundry  places  within  the  shires 
of  Cornwall  and  Devonshire,  be  in  great  fear  and  mistrust,  what  the  King's 
Highness  and  his  Council  should  mean,  to  give  in  commandment  to  the  parsons 
and  vicars  of  every  parish  that  they  should  make  a  book,  and  surely  to  be  kept, 
wherein  to  be  specified  the  names  of  as  many  as  be  wedded,  and  the  names  of 
them  that  be  buried,  and  of  all  those  that  be  christened."*  They  dreaded  new 
"  charges  ;  "  and  well  they  might  dread.  But  Thomas  Cromwell  had  not  regal 
exactions  in  his  mind.  The  Registers  were  at  first  imperfectly  kept  ;  but  the 
regulation  of  1  538  was  strictly  enforced  in  the  first  year  of  Elizabeth  ;  and  then 
the  Register  of  the  Parish  of  Stratford-upon-Avon  commences,  that  is,  in  1558. 

Venerable  book  !  Every  such  record  of  human  life  is  a  solemn  document. 
Birth,  Marriage,  Death  !  —  this  is  the  whole  history  of  the  sojourn  upon  earth  of 
nearly  every  name  inscribed  in  these  mouldy,  stained,  blotted  pages.  And  after 
a  few  years  what  is  the  interest,  even  to  their  own  descendants,  of  these  brief 
annals  ?  With  the  most  of  those  for  whom  the  last  entry  is  still  to  be  made,  the 
question  is,  Did  they  leave  property  ?  Is  some  legal  verification  of  their  pos 
session  of  property  necessary  ?  — 

"  No  further  seek  their  merits  to  disclose." 

But  there  are  entries  in  this  Register-book  of  Stratford  that  are  interesting  to 
us  —  to  all  Englishmen  —  to  universal  mankind.  We  have  all  received  a  pre 
cious  legacy  from  one  whose  progress  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave  is  here 
recorded  —  a  bequest  large  enough  for  us  all,  and  for  all  who  will  come  after  us. 
Pause  we  on  the  one  entry  of  that  book  which  most  concerns  the  human  race  :  — 


Thus  far  the  information  conveyed  by  the  register  is  precise,  f    But  a  natural 
question  then  arises.     On  what  day  was  born  William,  the  son  of  John  Shakspere 

*  Cromwell's  Correspondence  in  the  Chapter-House.    Quoted  in  Rickman's  Preface  to  Population 
Returns,  1831. 

The  date  of  the  year,  and  the  word  April,  occur  three  lines  above  the  entry—the  baptism 

being  the  fourth  registered  in  that  month.     The  register  of  Stratford  is  a  tall  narrow  book,  of  con- 

thickness,  the  leaves  formed  of  very  fine  vellum.     But  this  book  is  only  a  transcript, 

I  by  the  vicar  and  four  churchwardens,  on  every  page  of  the  registers  from  1558  to  1600. 

'e  u  therefore  not  a  fac-simile  of  the  original  entry. 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

who  was  baptized  on  the  26th  of  April,  1 564  ?  The  want  of  such  information  is 
a  defect  in  all  parish  registers.  In  the  belief  that  baptism  very  quickly  followed 
birth  in  those  times,  when  infancy  was  surrounded  with  greater  dangers  than  in 
our  own  days  of  improved  medical  science,  we  have  been  accustomed  to  receive 
the  23rd  of  April  as  the  day  on  which  William  Shakspere  first  saw  the  light. 
We  are  very  unwilling  to  assist  in  disturbing  the  popular  belief,  but  it  is  our  duty 
to  state  the  facts  opposed  to  it.  We  have  before  us  '  An  Argument  on  the  assumed 
Birthday  of  Shakspere:  reduced  to  shape  A.D.  1864.'  This  privately-printed 
tract  by  Mr.  Bolton  Corney,  is  one  of  the  many  evidences  of  the  industry  and 
logical  acuteness  with  which  that  gentleman  has  approached  the  solution  of 
many  do.ubtful  literary  questions.  It  is  to  do  injustice  to  the  force  of  his  argu 
ment  that  we  can  here  only  present  the  briefest  analysis  of  the  points  which  he 
fully  sets  forth.  In  the  original  edition  of  this  Biography,  we  stated  that  there 
was  no  direct  evidence  that  Shakspere  was  born  on  the  23rd  of  April.  We  added 
that  there  was  probably  a  tradition  to  that  effect ;  for  some  years  ago  the  Rev. 
Joseph  Greene,  a  master  of  the  Grammar  School  at  Stratford,  in  an  extract 
which  he  made  from  the  register  of  Shakspere's  baptism,  wrote  in  the  margin 
"Born  on  the  23rd.".  The  labours  of  Mr.  Bolton  Corney  furnish  the  means 
of  testing  the  value  of  this  memorandum.  It  was  first  given  to  the  world  in  the 
edition  of  Johnson  and  Steevens  in  1773,  of  which  edition  Steevens  was  the  sole 
editor.  After  giving  Greene's  extract  from  the  register,  he  says  that  he  was 
favoured  with  it  by  the  Hon.  James  West.  Up  to  the  publication  of  Rowe's 
edition  in  1709,  the  writers  who  mention  Shakspere  merely  say,  "born  at 
Stratford -upon -Avon."  Rowe  says  "he  was  born  at  Stratford-upon-Avon  in 
Warwickshire,  in  April,  1 564  " — a  fact  never  before  stated.  Of  the  date  of  the 
birth  Rowe  says  nothing.  The  particulars  of  Rowe's  life  of  the  poet,  prefixed 
to  the  edition  of  1 709,  were  furnished  by  Betterton,  the  actor,  who,  to  follow  up 
the  information  which  he  might  have  derived  from  the  traditions  of  the  theatre, 
made  a  journey  to  Stratford  to  glean  new  materials  for  his  scanty  stock  of  bio 
graphical  facts.  If  the  day  of  Shakspere's  birth  were  not  a  tradition  in  Shakspere'* 
native  place  ninety-three  years  after  his  death,  it  is  not  very  credible  that  a 
trustworthy  tradition  had  survived  until  1773,  when  Greene  wrote  his  memo 
randum  which  Steevens  first  published.  In  the  second  edition  of  Johnson  and 
Steevens'  Shakspere,  in  1778,  Malone  makes  this  note  upon  Rowe's  statement  that 
Shakspere  died  in  the  fifty-third  year  of  his  age  :  "  He  died  on  his  birthday,  1616, 
and  had  exactly  completed  his  fifty-second  year."  In  the  edition  of  Shakspere 
by  Boswell,  in  1821,  Malone,  whose  posthumous  life  was  here  first  given,  doubts 
the  fact  that  Shakspere  was  born  three  days  before  April  the  26th.  "  I  have  said 
this  on  the  faith  of  Mr.  Greene,  who,  I  find,  made  the  extract  from  the  register 
which  Mr.  West  gave  Mr.  Steevens ;  but  queere  how  did  Mr.  Greene  ascertain 
this  fact  ?  "  Lastly,  there  arises  the  question  whether  the  theory  that  Shakspere 
died  on  his  birthday  is  to  be  traced  to  the  inscription  on  the  tomb : — 

OBIIT   AN.   DOM.   1616.   .ffiTATIS   53.   DIB   23.    AP. 

Mr.  Collier  has  said,  in  his  edition  of  1844  :  "  The  inscription  on  his  monument 
supports  the  opinion  that  he  was  born  on  the  23rd  April.  Without  the  contrac- 

25 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE: 

tions  it  runs  thus:  'Obiit  Anno  Domini  1616.  ^Etatis  53,  die  23  Aprilis.' 
And  this,  in  truth,  is  the  only  piece  of  evidence  upon  the  point."  Mr.  Bolton 
Corney  thus  somewhat  triumphantly  meets  this  interpretation  "The  inscription 
contains  no  evidence  in  favour  of  the  assumed  birthday.  It  refutes  the  assertion 
sans  replique!  As  Shakspere  died  on  the  23  April,  in  his  fifty -third  year,  he 
must  have  been  born  before  the  23  April,  1564."  Oldys  (who  died  in  1761), 
in  his  manuscript  annotations  upon  Langbaine's  'Account  of  the  English 
Dramatic  Poets '  (a  book  now  to  be  seen  in  the  Library  of  the  British  Museum), 
has  an  interpretation  upon  the  inscription  on  the  monument  which  he  finds 
in  Langbaine.  Mr.  Bolton  Corney -thus  disposes  of  the  worthy  antiquary's 
theory :  "  Oldys,  in  some  non-lucid  moment,  underscores  die  23  Apr.— 
subtracts  53  from  1616 — and  writes  down  1563.  He  assumes  that  the  words 
anno  atatis  53  are  equivalent  to  vixit  annos  53,  and  that  the  words  die  23  Aprilis 
refer  to  anno  eetatis,  instead  of  being  the  object  of  Obiit.  Such  is  the  process, 
never  before  described,  by  which  the  birthday  of  Shakspere  was  discovered  !" 

We  turn  back  to  the  first  year  of  the  registry.  1558,  for  other  records  of 
John  Shakspere's  family;  and  we  find  the  baptism  of  Joan,  daughter  to  John 
Shakspere,  on  the  15th  of  September.  Again,  in  1562,  on  the  2nd  of  December, 
Margaret,  daughter  to  John  Shakspere,  is  baptized.  In  the  entry  of  burials  in 
1563  we  find,  under  date  of  April  30,  that  Margaret  closed  a  short  life  in  five 
months.  The  elder  daughter  Joan  also  died  young.  We  look  forward,  and  in 
1566  find  the  birth  of  another  son  registered  : — Gilbert,  son  of  John  Shakspere, 
was  baptized  on  the  13th  of  October  of  that  year.  In  1569  there  is  the  registry 
of  the  baptism  of  a  daughter,  Joan,  daughter  of  John  Shakspere,  on  the  15th  of 
April.  Thus,  the  registry  of  a  second  Joan  leaves  no  reasonable  doubt  that  the 
first  died,  and  that  a  favourite  name  was  preserved  in  the  family.  In  1571  Anne 
is  baptized;  she  died  in  1579.  In  1573-4  another  son  was  baptized — Richard, 
son  of  Master  (Magister]  John  Shakspere,  on  the  llth  of  March.  The 
last  entry,  which  determines  the  extent  of  John  Shakspere's  family,  is  that  of 
Edmund,  son  of  Master  John  Shakspere,  baptized  on  the  3rd  of  May,  1580. 
Here,  then,  we  find  that  two  sisters  of  William  were  removed  by  death,  probably 
before  his  birth.  In  two  years  and  a  half  another  son,  Gilbert,  came  to  be  his 
playmate  ;  and  when  he  was  five  years  old  that  most  precious  gift  to  a  loving 
boy  was  granted,  a  sister,  who  grew  up  with  him.  When  he  was  ten  years  old 
he  had  another  brother  to  lead  by  the  hand  into  the  green  meadows.  Then 
came  another  sister,  who  faded  untimely  ;  and  when  he  was  grown  into  youthful 
strength,  a  boy  of  sixteen,  his  youngest  brother  was  born.  William,  Gilbert, 
Joan,  Richard,  Edmund,  constituted  the  whole  of  the  family  amongst  whom 
John  Shakspere  was  to  share  his  means  of  existence.  Rowe,  we  have  already 
seen,  mentions  the  large  family  of  John  Shakspere,  "  ten  children  in  all."  Ma- 
lone  has  established  very  satisfactorily  the  origin  of  this  error  into  which  Rowe 
has  fallen.  In  later  years  there  was  another  John  Shakspere  in  Stratford.  In 
the  books  of  the  corporation  the  name  of  John  Shakspere,  shoemaker,  can  be 
traced  in  1580  ;  in  the  register  in  1584  we  find  him  married  to  Margery  Roberts, 


A   BIOGKAPHY. 

who  dies  in  1587  ;  he  is,  without  doubt,  married  a  second  time,  for  in  1589. 
1590,  and  1591,  Ursula,  Humphrey,  and  Philip  are  born.  It  is  unquestionable 
that  these  are  not  the  children  of  the  father  of  William  Shakspere,  for  they  are 
entered  in  the  register  as  the  daughter,  or  sons,  of  John  Shakspere,  without  the 
style  which  our  John  Shakspere  always  bore  after  1569 — "  Magister."  There 
can  be  no  doubt  that  the  mother  of  all  the  children  of  Master  John  Shakspere 
was  Mary  Arden ;  for  in  proceedings  in  Chancery  in  1597,  which  we  shall 
notice  hereafter,  it  is  set  forth  that  John  Shakspere  and  his  wife  Mary,  in  the 


[The  Church  Avenue.] 

20th  Elizabeth,  1577,  mortgaged  her  inheritance  of  Asbies.  Nor  can  there  be 
a  doubt  that  the  children  born  before  1 569,  when  he  is  styled  John  Shakspere, 
without  the  honourable  addition  of  Master,  were  also  her  children  ;  for  in  1599, 
when  William  Shakspere  is  an  opulent  man,  application  is  made  to  the  College 
of  Arms,  that  John  Shakspere,  and  his  issue  and  posterity,  might  use  a  "  shield 
of  arms,"  impaled  with  the  arms  of  Shakspere  and  Arden.  This  application 
(which  appears  also  to  have  been  made  in  1596,  as  the  grant  of  arms*  by  Dethick 
states  the  fact  of  John  Shakspere's  marriage)  would  in  all  probability  have 
been  at  the  instance  of  John  Shakspere's  eldest  son  and  heir.  The  history  of 
the  family  up  to  the  period  of  William  Shakspere's  manhood  is  as  clear  as  can 
reasonably  be  expected. 

William  Shakspere  has  been  carried  to  the  baptismal  font  in  that  fine  old  church 
of -Stratford.  The  "  thick-pleached  alley  "  that  leads  through  the  churchyard  to  the 
porch  is  putting  forth  its  buds  and  leaves.*  The  chestnut  hangs  its  white  blossoms 
over  the  grassy  mounds  of  that  resting-place.  All  is  joyous  in  the  spring  sunshine. 

*  It  is  supposed  that  such  a  green  avenue  was  an  old  appendage  to  the  church,  the  preseiit 
trees  having  taken  the  place  of  more  ancient  ones. 

27 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE: 

Kind  neighbours  are  smiling  upon  the  happy  father;  maidens  and  matrons 
snatch  a  kiss  of  the  sleeping  boy.  There  is  "a  spirit  of  life  in  everything"  on 
this  26th  of  April,  1564.  Summer  comes,  but  it  brings  not  joy  to  Stratford. 
There  is  wailing  in  her  streets  and  woe  in  her  houses.  The  death -register  tells 
a  fearful  history.  From  the  30th  June  to  the  31st  December,  two  hundred  and 
thirty-eight  inhabitants,  a  sixth  of  the  population,  are  carried  to  the  grave. 
The  plague  is  in  the  fated  town ;  the  doors  are  marked  with  the  red  cross,  and 
the  terrible  inscription,  "  Lord,  have  mercy  upon  us."  It  is  the  same  epidemic 
which  ravaged  Europe  in  that  year;  which  in  the  previous  year  had  desolated 
London,  and  still  continued  there  ;  of  which  sad  time  Stow  pithily  says — "  The 
poor  citizens  of  London  were  this  year  plagued  with  a  threefold  plague,  pesti 
lence,  scarcity  of  money,  and  dearth  of  victuals ;  the  misery  whereof  were  too 
long  here  to  write  :  no  doubt  the  poor  remember  it ;  the  rich  by  flight  into 
the  countries  made  shift  for  themselves."  Scarcity  of  money  and  dearth  of 
victuals  are  the  harbingers  and  the  ministers  of  pestilence.  Despair  gathers  up 
itself  to  die.  Labour  goes  not  forth  to  its  accustomed  duties.  Shops  are  closed. 
The  market-cross  hears  no  hum  of  trade.  The  harvest  lies  almost  ungathered 
in  the  fields.  At  last  the  destroying  angel  has  gone  on  his  way.  The  labourers 
are  thinned  ;  there  is  more  demand  for  labour;  "  victuals"  are  not  more  abun 
dant,  but  there  are  fewer  left  to  share  the  earth's  bounty.  Then  the  adult  rush 
into  marriage.  A  year  of  pestilence  is  followed  by  a  year  of  weddings ;  *  and 
such  a  "  strange  eventful  history "  does  the  Stratford  register  tell.  The 
Charnel-house— a  melancholy-looking  appendage  to  the  chancel  of  Stratford 
Church,  (now  removed,)  had  then  its  heaps  of  unhonoured  bones  fearfully  dis 
turbed  :  but  soon  the  old  tower  heard  again  the  wedding  peal.  The  red 


M 


8oo  'Malthus  ou  Populatiou,'  bock  ii.,  chap.  12. 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

cross  was  probably  not  on  the  door  of  John  Shakspere's  dwelling.  "  Fortu 
nately  for  mankind,"  says  Malone,  "  it  did  not  reach  the  house  where  the  infant 
Shakspere  lay ;  for  not  one  of  that  name  appears  on  the  dead  list.  A  poetical 
enthusiast  will  find  no  difficulty  in  believing  that,  like  Horace,  he  reposed 
secure  and  fearless  in  the  midst  of  contagion  and  death,  protected  by  the  Muses 
to  whom  his  future  life  was  to  be  devoted : — 

'  sacrA 

Lauroque,  collaMque  myrto, 
Non  sine  diis  animosus  infans.'  " 

There  were  more  real  dangers  around  Shakspere  than  could  be  averted  by  the 
sacred  laurel  and  the  myrtle — something  more  fearful  than  the  serpent  and  the 
bear  of  the  Roman  poet.*  He,  by  whom 

"  Spirits  are  not  finely  touch'd 
But  to  fine  issues," 

may  be  said,  without  offence,  to  have  guarded  this  unconscious  child.  William 
Shakspere  was  to  be  an  instrument,  and  a  great  one,  in  the  intellectual  advance 
ment  of  mankind.  The  guards  that  He  placed  around  that  threshold  of  Strat 
ford,  as  secondary  ministers,  were  cleanliness,  abundance,  free  air,  parental 
watchfulness.  The  " non  sine  diis" — the  "protected  by  the  Muses," — rightly 
considered,  must  mean  the  same  guardianship.  Each  is  a  recognition  of  some 
thing  higher  than  accident  and  mere  physical  laws. 

The  parish  of  Stratford,  then,  was  unquestionably  the  birth-place  of  William 
Shakspere.  But  in  what  part  of  Stratford  dwelt  his  parents  in  the  year  1 564  ? 
It  was  ten  years  after  this  that  his  father  became  the  purchaser  of  two  freehold 
houses  in  Henley  Street — houses  which  still  exist — houses  which  the  people  of 
England  have  agreed  to  preserve  as  a  precious  relic  of  their  greatest  brother.  Nine 
years  before  William  Shakspere  was  born,  his  father  had  also  purchased  two  copyhold 
tenements  in  Stratford^-one  in  Greenfield  Street,  one  in  Henley  Street.  The  copy 
hold  house  in  Henley  Street,  purchased  in  1555,  was  unquestionably  not  one  of  the  . 
freehold  houses  in  the  same  street,  purchased  in  1574 :  yet,  from  Malone's  loose 
way  of  stating  that  in  1555  the  lease  of  a  House  in  Henley  Street  was  assigned 
to  John  Shakspere,  it  has  been  conjectured  that  he  purchased  in  1574  the 
house  he  had  occupied  for  many  years.  As  he  purchased  two  houses  in  1555 
in  different  parts  of  the  town,  it  is  not  likely  that  he  occupied  both ;  he  might 
not  have  occupied  either.  Before  he  purchased  the  two  houses  in  Henley 
Street,  in  1574,  he  occupied  fourteen  acres  of  meadow-land,  with  appurte 
nances,  at  a  very  high  rent ;  the  property  is  called  Ingon  meadow  in  "  the 
Close  Rolls."  Dugdale  calls  the  place  where  it  was  situated  "  Inge ;"  saying 
that  it  was  a  member  of  the  manor  of  Old  Stratford,  and  "  signify eth  in  our 
old  English  a  meadow  or  low  ground,  the  name  well  agreeing  with  its  situation." 
It  is  about  a  mile  and  a  quarter  from  the  town  of  Stratford,  on  the  road  to  War 
wick.  William  Shakspere,  then,  might  have  been  born  at  either  of  his  father's 
copyhold  houses,  in  Greenhill  Street,  or  in  Henley  Street ;  he  might  have  been 
born  at  Ingon ;  or  his  father  might  have  occupied  one  of  the  two  freehold 

*  Ilor.  lib.  iii.,  car.  iv. 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPEKE: 

houses  in  Henley  Street  at  the  time  of  the  birth  of  his  eldest  son.  Tradition 
says  that  William  Shakspere  was  born  in  one  of  these  houses ;  tradition  points 
out  the  very  room  in  which  he  was  born. 

Whether  Shakspere  were  born  here,  or  not,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  this 
property  was  the  home  of  his  boyhood.  It  was  purchased  by  John  Shakspere, 
from  Edmund  Hall  and  Emma  his  wife,  for  forty  pounds.  In  a  copy  of  the 
chirograph  of  the  fine  levied  on  this  occasion  (which  came  into  the  possession  ot 
Mr.  Wheler,  of  Stratford),  the  property  is  described  as  two  messuages,  two 
gardens,  and  two  orchards,  with  their  appurtenances.  This  document  does  not 
define  the  situation  of  the  property,  beyond  its  being  in  Stratford-upon-Avon ; 
but  in  the  deed  of  sale  of  another  property  in  1591,  that  property  is  described  as 
situate  between  the  houses  of  Robert  Johnson  and  John  Shakspere  ;  and  in  1597 
John  Shakspere  himself  sells  a  "  toft,  or  parcel  of  land,"  in  Henley  Street,  to  the 
purchaser  of  the  property  in  1591.  The  properties  can  be  traced,  and  leave  no 
doubt  of  this  house  in  Henley  Street  being  the  residence  of  John  Shakspere.  He 
retained  the  property  during  his  life ;  and  it  descended,  as  his  heir-at-law,  to  his 
son  William.  In  the  last  testament  of  the  poet  is  this  bequest  to  his  "  sister 
Joan  :" — "  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."  His  sister  Joan,  whose  name  by  marriage  was  Hart,  was  residing 
there  in  1639,  and  she  probably  continued  to  reside  there  till  her  death  in  1646. 
The  one  house  in  which  Mrs.  Hart  resided  was  doubtless  the  half  of  the  building 
that  formed,  twenty  years  ago,  the  butcher's  shop  and  the  tenement  adjoining ; 
for  the  other  house  was  known  as  the  Maidenhead  Inn  in  1642.  In  another 
part  of  Shakspere's  will  he  bequeaths,  amongst  the  bulk  of  his  property,  to  his 
eldest  daughter,  Susanna  Hall,  with  remainder  to  her  male  issue,  "  two  messuages 
or  tenements,  with  the  appurtenances,  situate,  lying,  and  being  in  Henley  Street, 
within  the  borough  of  Stratford."  There  were  existing  settlements  of  this  very 
property  in  the  family  of  Shakspere's  eldest  daughter  and  grand-daughter ;  and 
this  grand-daughter,  Elizabeth  Nash,  who  was  married  a  second  time  to  Sir  John 
Barnard,  left  both  houses, — namely,  "  the  inn,  called  the  Maidenhead,  and  the 
adjoining  house  and  barn," — to  her  kinsmen  Thomas  and  George  Hart,  the 
grandsons  of  her  grandfather's  "  sister  Joan."  These  persons  left  descendants, 
with  whom  this  property  remained  until  the  beginning  of  the  present  century. 
But  it  was  gradually  diminished.  The  orchards  and  gardens  were  originally 
extensive :  a  century  ago  tenements  had  been  built  upon  them,  and  they  were 
alienated  by  the  Hart  then  in  possession.  The  Maidenhead  Inn  became  the 
Swan  Inn,  and  afterwards  the  Swan  and  Maidenhead.  The  White  Lion,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  property,  was  extended,  so  as  to  include  the  remaining  orchards 
and  gardens.  The  house  in  which  Mrs.  Hart  had  lived  so  long  became  divided 
into  two  tenements ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  last  century  the  lower  part  of  one  was 
a  butcher's  shop.  According  to  the  Aubrey  tradition,  some  persons  believed 
this  to  have  been  the  original  shop  where  John  Shakspere  pursued  his  calf-killing 
vocation  with  the  aid  of  his  illustrious  son.  Mr.  Wheler,  in  a  very  interesting 
account  of  these  premises,  and  their  mutations,  published  in  1824,  tells  us  that 
ao 


A  BIOGKAPHY. 

the  butcher-occupant,  some  thirty  years  ago,  having  an  eye  to  every  gainful 
attraction,  wrote  up, 

"  WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARK  WAS  BORN  IN  THIS  HOUSE. 
N.B. — A  HORSE  AND  TAXED  CART  TO  LET." 

It  ceased  to  be  used  as  a  butcher's  shop,  but  there  were  the  arrangements  for 
a  butcher's  trade  in  the  lower  room — the  cross  beams  with  hooks,  and  the 
window-board  for  joints. 

In  1823,  when  we  made  our  first  pilgrimage  to  Stratford,  the  house  had  gone 
out  of  the  family  of  the  Harts,  and  the  last  alleged  descendant  was  recently 
ejected.  It  had  been  a  gainful  trade  to  her  for  some  years  to  show  the  old 
kitchen  behind  the  shop,  and  the  honoured  bed-room.  When  the  poor  old 
woman,  the  last  of  the  Harts,  had  to  quit  her  vocation  (she  claimed  to  have  in 
herited  some  of  the  genius,  if  she  had  lost  the  possessions,  of  her  great  ancestor, 
for  she  had  produced  a  marvellous  poem  on  the  Battle  of  Waterloo),  she  set  up 
a  rival  show-shop  on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  filled  with  all  sorts  of  trumpery 
relics  pretended  to  have  belonged  to  Shakspere.  But  she  was  in  ill  odour.  In  a  fit 
of  resentment,  the  day  before  she  quitted  the  ancient  house,  she  whitewashed  the 
walls  of  the  bed-room,  so  as  to  obliterate  the  pencil  inscriptions  with  which  they 
were  covered.  It  was  the  work  of  her  successor  to  remove  the  plaster;  and 
manifold  names,  obscure  or  renowned,  again  saw  the  light.  The  house  had  a 
few  ancient  articles  of  furniture  about  it ;  but  there  was  nothing  which  could  be 
considered  as  originally  belonging  to  it  as  the  home  of  William  Shakspere. 

The  engravings  exhibit  John  Shakspere's  houses  in  Henley  Street  under  two 
aspects.  The  upper  one  is  from  an  original  drawing  made  by  Colonel  Delamotte 
in  1788.  The  houses,  it  will  be  observed,  then  presented  one  uniform  front; 
and  there  were  dormer  windows  connected  with  rooms  in  the  roof.  We  have  a 
plan  before  us,  accompanying  Mr.  Wheler's  account  of  these  premises,  which  shows 
that  they  occupied  a  frontage  of  thirty-one  feet.  The  lower  is  from  an  original 
drawing  made  by  Mr.  Pyne,  after  a  sketch  by  Mr.  Edridge  in  1807.  We  now  see 
that  the  dormer  windows  are  removed,  as  also  the  gable  at  the  east  end  of  the 
front.  The  house  has  been  shorn  of  much  of  its  external  importance.  There  is 
a  lithograph  engraving  in  Mr.  Wheler's  account,  published  in  1824.  The  pre 
mises,  as  there  shown,  have  been  pretty  equally  divided.  The  Swan  and  Maiden 
head  half  has  had  its  windows  modernized,  and  the  continuation  of  the  tiraber- 
frame  has  been  obliterated  by  a  brick  casing.  In  1807,  we  observe  that  the 
western  half  had  been  divided  into  two  tenements ; — the  fourth  of  the  whole 
premises,  that  is  the  butcher's  shop,  the  kitchen  behind,  and  the  two  rooms  over, 
being  the  portion  commonly  shown  as  Shakspere's  House.  Some  years  ago, 
upon  a  frontage  in  continuation  of  the  tenement  at  the  west,  three  small  cottages 
were  built.  The  whole  of  this  portion  of  the  property  has  been  purchased  for  the 
nation,  as  well  as  the  two  tenements. 

Was  William  Shakspere,  then,  born  in  the  house  in  Henley  Street  which  has 
been  purchased  by  the  nation  ?  For  ourselves,  we  frankly  confess  that  the  want 
of  absolute  certainty  that  Shakspere  was  there  born,  produces  a  state  of  mind 
that  is  something  higher  and  pleasanter  than  the  conviction  that  depends  upon 
positive  evidence.  We  are  content  to  follow  the  popular  faith  undoubtingly. 

SI 


WILLIAM   SHAK SI-KIM- 


[John  Shakspere'a  House  in  Henley  Street] 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

The  traditionary  belief  is  sanctioned  by  long  usage  and  universal  acceptation 
The  merely  curious  look  in  reverent  silence  upon  that  mean  room,  with  its 
massive  joists  and  plastered  walls,  firm  with  ribs  of  oak,  where  they  are  told  the 
poet  of  the  human  race  was  born.  Eyes  now  closed  on  the  world  but  who  have 
left  that  behind  which  the  world  "  will  not  willingly  let  die,  "have  glistened  undei 
this  humble  roof,  and  there  have  been  thoughts  unutterable — solemn,  confiding, 
grateful,  humble — clustering  round  their  hearts  in  that  hour.  The  autographs  of 
Byron  and  Scott  are  amongst  hundreds  of  perishable  inscriptions.  Disturb  not 
the  belief  that  William  Shakspere  first  saw  the  light  in  this  venerated  room.  * 

"  The  victor  Time  has  stood  on  Avon's  side 
To  doom  the  fall  of  many  a  home  of  pride  ; 
Rapine  o'er  Evesham's  gilded  fane  has  strode, 
And  gorgeous  Kenilworth  has  paved  the  road  : 
But  Time  has  gently  laid  his  withering  hands 
On  one  frail  House — the  House  of  Shakspere  stands ; 
Centuries  are  gone — fallen  '  the  cloud-capp'd  tow'rs;' 
But  Shakspere's  home,  his  boyhood's  home,  is  ours  ! " 

Prologue  for  the  Shakspere  Night,  Dec.  7,  -1847,  by  0.  Knight. 

*  We  shall  postpone,  until  nearly  the  close  of  this  volume,  a  description,  not  only  of  the  most 
recent  condition  of  the  premises  in  Henley  Street,  but  of  the  garden  of  New  Place,  which  has  also 
been  acquired  by  public  subscription.  (See  Book  II.  chapter  10.) 


Lu?B. 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE 


[Inner  Court  of  the  Grammar  School.] 

CHAPTER    IV. 

THE    SCHOOL. 


THE  poet  in  his  well-known  '  Seven  Ages '  has  necessarily  presented  to  us  only 
the  great  boundary-marks  of  a  human  life  :  the  progress  from  one  stage  to 
another  he  has  left  to  be  imagined  : — 

"  At  first  the  infant 
Muling  and  puking  in  the  nurse's  arms." 

Perhaps  the  most  influential,  though  the  least  observed,  part  of  man's  existence, 
that  in  which  he  learns  most  of  good  or  of  evil,  lies  in  the  progress  between  this 
first  act  and  the  second  : — 

"  And  then  the  whining  schoolboy,  with  his  satchel, 
And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  like  snail 
Unwillingly  to  school." 

Between  the  "  nurse's  arms"  and  the  "  school  "  there  is  an  important  interval, 
34 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

filled  up  by  a  mother's  education.  Let  us  see  what  the  home  instruction  of  the 
young  Shakspere  would  probably  have  been. 

There  is  a  passage  in  one  of  Shakspere's  Sonnets,  the  89th,  which  has  induced 
a  belief  that  he  had  the  misfortune  of  a  physical  defect,  which  would  render  him 
peculiarly  the  object  of  maternal  solicitude  : — 

"  Say  that  thou  didst  forsake  me  for  some  fault, 
And  I  will  comment  upon  that  offence  : 
Speak  of  my  lameness,  and  I  straight  will  halt  ; 
Against  thy  reasons  making  no  defence." 

Again  in  the  37th  Sonnet : — 

"  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." 

These  lines  have  been  interpreted  to  mean  that  William  Shakspere  was  literally 
lame,*  and  that  his  lameness  was  such  as  to  limit  him,  when  he  became  an  actor, 
to  the  representation  of  the  parts  of  old  men.  We  should,  on  the  contrary,  have 
no  doubt  whatever  that  the  verses  we  have  quoted  may  be  most  fitly  received 
in  a  metaphorical  sense,  were  there  not  some  subsequent  lines  in  the  37th  Son 
net  which  really  appear  to  have  a  literal  meaning ;  and  thus  to  render  the 
previous  lame  and  lameness  expressive  of  something  more  than  the  general  self- 
abasement  which  they  would  otherwise  appear  to  imply.  In  the  following  lines 
lame  means  something  distinct  from  poor  and  despised: — 

"  For  whether  beauty,  birth,  or  wealth,  or  wit, 
Or  any  of  these  all,  of  all,  or  more, 
Entitled  in  thy  parts  do  crowned  sit, 
I  make  my  love  engrafted  to  this  store  : 
So  then  I  am  not  lame,  poor,  nor  despis'd, 
Whilst  that  this  shadow  doth  such  substance  give." 

Of  one  thing,  however,  we  may  be  quite  sure — that,  if  Shakspere  were  lame,  his 
infirmity  was  not  such  as  to  disqualify  him  for  active  bodily  exertion.  The  same 
series  of  verses  that  have  suggested  this  belief  that  he  was  lame  also  show  that 
he  was  a  horseman. f  His  entire  works  exhibit  that  familiarity  with  external 
nature,  with  rural  occupations,  with  athletic  sports,  which  is  incompatible  with 
an  inactive  boyhood.  It  is  not  impossible  that  some  natural  defect,  or  some 
accidental  injury,  may  have  modified  the  energy  of  such  a  child ;  and  have  che- 

*  "  Malone  has  most  inefficiently  attempted  to  explain  away  the  palpable  meaning  of  the 
above  lines ;  and  adds,  '  If  Shakspeare  was  in  truth  lame,  he  had  it  not  in  his  power  to  halt  occa 
sionally  for  this  or  any  other  purpose.  The  defect  must  have  been  fixed  and  permanent.'  Not  so. 
Surely  many  an  infirmity  of  the  kind  may  be  skilfully  concealed ;  or  only  become  visible  in  the 
moments  of  hurried  movement.  Either  Sir  Walter  Scott  or  Lord  Byron  might,  without  any  im 
propriety,  have  written  the  verses  in  question.  They  would  have  been  applicable  to  either  of 
them.  Indeed  the  lameness  of  Lord  Byron  was  exactly  such  as  Shakspeare's  might  have  been ; 
and  I  remember,  as  a  boy,  that  he  selected  those  speeches  for  declamation  which  would  not  con 
strain  him  to  the  use  of  such  exertions  as  might  obtrude  the  defect  of  his  person  into  notice."  — 
Life  of  William  Shakspeare,  by  the  Rev.  William  Harness,  M.A. 

t  See  Sonnets  50  and  51. 

D  2  3:> 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

rished  in  him  that  love  of  books,  and  traditionary  lore,  and  silent  contemplation, 
without  which  his  intellect  could  not  have  been  nourished  into  its  wondrous 
strength.  But  we  cannot  imagine  William  Shakspere  a  petted  child,  chained 
to  home,  not  breathing  the  free  air  upon  his  native  hills,  denied  the  boy's  pri 
vilege  to  explore  every  nook  of  his  own  river.  We  would  imagine  him  com 
muning  from  the  first  with  Nature,  as  Gray  has  painted  him— 

"  The  dauntlets  child 
Stretch'd  forth  his  little  arms  and  smil'd."  f 

The  only  qualifications  necessary  for  the  admission  of  a  boy  into  the  Free 
Grammar  School  of  Stratford  were,  that  he  should  be  a  resident  in  the  town,  of 
seven  years  of  age,  and  able  to  read.  The  Grammar  School,  as  we  shall  pre 
sently  have  to  show  in  detail,  was  essentially  connected  with  the  Corporation  of 
Stratford  ;  and  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  that,  when  the  son  of  John  Shakspere 
became  qualified  by  age  for  admission  to  a  school  where  the  best  education  of 
the  time  was  given,  literally  for  nothing,  his  father,  in  that  year,  being  chief 
alderman,  should  not  have  sent  him  to  the  school.  We  assume,  without  any 
hesitation,  that  William  Shakspere  did  receive  in  every  just  sense  of  the  word 
the  education  of  a  scholar;  and  as  such  education  was  to  be  had  at  his  own 
door,  we  also  assume  that  he  was  brought  up  at  the  Free  Grammar  School  of 
his  own  town.  His  earlier  instruction  would  therefore  be  a  preparation  for 
this  school,  and  the  probability  is  that  such  instruction  was  given  him  at  home. 
The  letters  have  been  taught,  syllables  have  grown  into  words,  and  words  into 
short  sentences.  There  is  something  to  be  committed  to  memory : — 

"  That  is  question  now ; 
And  then  comes  answer  like  an  Absey-book."  * 

In  the  first  year  of  Edward  VI.  was  published  by  authority  '  The  ABC,  with 
the  Pater-rioster,  Ave,  Crede,  and  Ten  Commandementtes  in  Englysshe,  newly 
translated  and  set  forth  at  the  kynges  most  gracious  commandement.'  But  the 
ABC  soon  became  more  immediately  connected  with  systematic  instruction  in 
religious  belief.  The  alphabet  and  a  few  short  lessons  were  followed  by  the 
catechism,  so  that  the  book  containing  the  catechism  came  to  be  called  an  A  B  C 
book,  or  Absey-book.  Towards  the  end  of  Edward's  reign  was  put  forth  by  au 
thority  'A  Short  Catechisme  or  playne  instruction,  conteynynge  the  surne  of 
Christian  learninge,'  which  all  schoolmasters  were  called  upon  to  teach  after 
the  "  little  catechism"  previously  set  forth.  Such  books  were  undoubtedly  sup 
pressed  in  the  reign  of  Mary,  but  upon  the  accession  of  Elizabeth  they  were  again 
circulated.  A  question  then  arises,  Did  William  Shakspere  receive  his  ele 
mentary  instruction  in  Christianity  from  the  books  sanctioned  by  the  Reformed 
Church?  It  has  been  maintained  that  his  father  belonged  to  the  Roman  Ca 
tholic  persuasion.  This  belief  rests  upon  the  following  foundation.  In  the 
year  1770,  Thomas  Hart,  who  then  inhabited  one  of  the  tenements  in  Henley 
Street  which  had  been  bequeathed  to  his  family  by  William  Shakspere's  grand 
daughter,  employed  a  bricklayer  to  new  tile  the  house ;  and  this  bricklayer,  by 

*  Kiug  John,  A.ct  i.,  Scene  i. 


A    BIOGKAPHY. 

name  Mosely,  found  hidden  between  the  rafters  and  the  tiling  a  manuscript 
consisting  of  six  leaves  stitched  together,  which  he  gave  to  Mr.  Peyton,  an  alder 
man  of  Stratford,  who  sent  it  to  Mr.  Malone,  through  the  Rev.  Mr.  Devon- 
port,  vicar  of  Stratford.  This  paper,  which  was  first  published  by  Malone  in 
1790,  is  printed  also  in  Reed's  Shakspeare  and  in  Drake's  '  Shakspeare  and  his 
Times.'  It  consists  of  fourteen  articles,  purporting  to  be  a  confession  of  faith  of 
"  John  Shakspear,  an  unworthy  member  of  the  holy  Catholic  religion."  We 
have  no  hesitation  whatever  in  believing  this  document  to  be  altogether  a  fa 
brication.  Chalmers  says,  "  It  was  the  performance  of  a  clerk,  the  undoubted 
work  of  the  family  priest."*  Malone,  when  he  first  published  the  paper  in  his 
adition  of  Shakspeare,  said — "  I  have  taken  some  pains  to  ascertain  the  authen 
ticity  of  this  manuscript,  and,  after  a  very  careful  inquiry,  am  perfectly  satis 
fied  that  it  is  genuine."  In  1796,  however,  in  his  work  on  the  Ireland  forge 
ries,  he  asserts — "  I  have  since  obtained  documents  that  clearly  prove  it  could 
not  have  been  the  composition  of  any  of  our  poet's  family."  We  not  only 
do  not  believe  that  it  was  "  the  composition  of  any  one  of  our  poet's  family," 
nor  "  the  undoubted  work  of  the  family  priest/'  but  we  do  not  believe  that  it  is 
the  work  of  a  Roman  Catholic  at  all.  It  professes  to  be  the  writer's  "  last  spi 
ritual  will,  testament,  confession,  protestation,  and  confession  of  faith."  Now, 
if  the  writer  had  been  a  Roman  Catholic,  or  if  it  had  been  drawn  up  for  his  ap 
proval  and  signature  by  his  priest,  it  would  necessarily,  professing  such  fulness 
and  completeness,  have  contained  something  of  belief  touching  the  then  mate 
rial  points  of  spiritual  difference  between  the  Roman  and  the  Reformed  Church. 
Nothing,  however,  can  be  more  vague  than  all  this  tedious  protestation  and  con 
fession,  with  the  exception  that  phrases,  and  indeed  long  passages,  are  intro 
duced  for  the  purpose  of  marking  the  supposed  writer's  opinions  in  the  way  that 
should  be  most  offensive  to  those  of  a  contrary  opinion,  as  if  by  way  of  bravado 
or  seeking  of  persecution.  Thus :  "  Item,  I,  John  Shakspear,  do  protest  that  I 
will  also  pass  out  of  this  life  armed  with  the  last  sacrament  of  extreme  unction." 
Again :  "  Item,  I,  John  Shakspear,  do  protest  that  I  am  willing,  yea,  I  do  infi 
nitely  desire  and  humbly  crave,  that  of  this  my  last  will  and  testament  the  glo 
rious  and  ever  Virgin  Mary,  mother  of  God,  refuge  and  advocate  of  sinners, 
(whom  I  honour  specially  above  all  saints,)  may  be  the  chief  executress  toge 
ther  with  these  other  saints,  my  patrons,  (Saint  Winefride,)  all  whom  I  invoke 
and  beseech  to  be  present  at  the  hour  of  my  death,  that  she  and  they  comfort 
me  with  their  desired  presence."  Again :  "  Item,  I,  John  Shakspear,  do  in  like 
manner  pray  and  beseech  my  dear  friends,  parents,  and  kinsfolks,  by  the  bowels 
of  our  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  that,  since  it  is  uncertain  what  lot  will  befall  me, 
for  fear  notwithstanding  lest  by  reason  of  my  sins  I  be  to  pass  and  stay  a  long 
while  in  purgatory,  they  will  vouchsafe  to  assist  and  succour  me  with  their  holy 
prayers  and  satisfactory  works,  especially  with  the  holy  sacrifice  of  the  mass,  as 
being  the  most  effectual  means  to  deliver  souls  from  their  torments  and  pains ; 
from  the  which  if  I  shall,  by  God's  gracious  goodness,  and  by  their  virtuous 
works,  be  delivered,  I  do  promise  that  I  will  not  be  ungrateful  unto  them  for  so 

*  Apology  for  the  Believers,  page  199. 

37 


WILLIAM   6HAKSPERE  : 

great  a  benefit."  This  last  item,  which  is  the  twelfth  of  the  paper,  is  demon- 
strative  to  us  of  its  spuriousness.  That  John  Shakspere  was  what  we  popularly 
call  a  Protestant  in  the  year  1568,  when  his  son  William  was  four  years  old,  may 
be  shown  by  the  clearest  of  proofs.  He  was  in  that  year  the  chief  magistrate  of 
Stratford  ;  he  could  not  have  become  so  without  taking  the  Oath  of  Supremacy, 
according  to  the  statute  of  the  1st  of  Elizabeth,  1558-9.*  To  refuse  this  oath  was 
made  punishable  with  forfeiture  and  imprisonment,  with  the  pains  of  praemunire 
and  high  treason.  "The  conjecture,"  says  Chalmers  (speaking  in  support  of 
the  authenticity  of  this  confession  of  faith),  "  that  Shakspeare's  family  were 
Roman  Catholics,  is  strengthened  by  the  fact  that  his  father  declined  to  attend  the 
corporation  meetings,  and  was  at  last  removed  from  the  corporate  body."  He 
was  removed  from  the  corporate  body  in  1585,  with  a  distinct  statement  of  the 
reason  for  this  removal — his  non-attendance  when  summoned  to  the  halls.  Ac 
cording  to  this  reasoning  of  Chalmers,  John  Shakspere  did  not  hesitate  to  take 
the  Oath  of  Supremacy  when  he  was  chief  magistrate  in  1564,  but  retired  from 
the  corporation  in  1585,  where  he  might  have  remained  without  offence  to  his 
own  conscience  or  to  others,  being,  in  the  language  of  that  day,  a  popish  recusant, 
to  be  stigmatized  as  such,  persecuted,  and  subject  to  the  most  odious  restrictions. 
If  he  left  or  was  expelled  the  corporation  for  his  religious  opinions,  he  would,  of 
course,  not  attend  the  service  of  the  church,  for  which  offence  he  would  be  liable, 
in  1585,  to  a  fine  of  20/.  per  month;  and  then,  to  crown  the  whole,  in  this  his 
last  confession,  spiritual  will,  and  testament,  he  calls  upon  all  his  kinsfolks  to 
assist  and  succour  him  after  his  death  "  with  the  holy  sacrifice  of  the  mass,"  with 
a  promise  that  he  "  will  not  be  ungrateful  unto  them  for  so  great  a  benefit,"  well 
knowing  that  by  the  Act  of  1581  the  saying  of  mass  was  punishable  by  a  year's 
imprisonment  and  a  fine  of  200  marks,  and  the  hearing  of  it  by  a  similar 
imprisonment  and  a  fine  of  100  marks.  The  fabrication  appears  to  us  as  gross 
as  can  well  be  imagined. f  That  John  Shakspere  was  what  we  popularly  call 
a  Protestant  in  the  year  1568,  when  his  son  William  was  four  years  old,  may  be 
shown  by  the  clearest  of  proofs.  He  was  in  that  year  the  chief  magistrate  of 
Stratford  ;  he  could  not  have  become  so  without  taking  the  Oath  of  Supremacy, 
according  to  the  statute  of  the  1st  of  Elizabeth,  1558-9.  To  refuse  this  oath  was 
made  punishable  with  forfeiture  and  imprisonment,  with  the  pains  of  prsemunire 
and  high  treason.  "  The  conjecture,"  says  Chalmers  (speaking  in  support  of  the 
authenticity  of  this  confession  of  faith),  "  that  Shakspeare's  family  were  Roman 
Catholics,  is  strengthened  by  the  fact  that  his  father  declined  to  attend  the  corpo 
ration  meetings,  and  was  at  last  removed  from  the  corporate  body."  He  was 
removed  from  the  corporate  body  in  1586,  with  a  distinct  statement  of  the  reason 
for  this  removal — his  non-attendance  when  summoned  to  the  halls.  But  a  subse- 
sequent  discovery  of  a  document  in  the  State  Paper  Office,  communicated  by 

"And  all  and  every  temporal  judge,  mayor,  and  other  lay  or  temporal   officer  and  minister, 
and  every  other  person  having  your  Highness's  fee  or  wages  within  this  realm,  or  any  your 
Highneas's  dominions,  shall  make,  take,  and  receive  a  corporal  oath  upon  the  Evangelist,  before 
•uch  person  or  persona  as  shall  please  your  Highness,  your  heirs  or  successors,  under  the  great 
•eal  of  England,  to  assign  "and  name  to  aocept  and  take  the  same,  according  to  the  tenor  and 
•fleet  hereafter  following,  that  is  to  say,"  &c. 
t  See  Note  at  the  end  <;f  this  Chapter. 
38 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

Mr.  Lemon  to  Mr.  Collier,  shows  that  in  1592,  Mr.  John  Shakspere,  with 
fourteen  of  his  neighbours,  were  returned  by  certain  Commissioners  as  "such 
recusants  as  have  been  heretofore  presented  for  not  coming  monthly  to  the  church 
according  to  her  Majesty's  laws,  and  yet  are  thought  to  forbear  the  church  for 
debt  and  for  fear  of  process,  or  for  some  other  worse  faults,  or  for  age,  sickness, 
or  impotency  of  body."  John  Shakspere  is  classed  amongst  nine  who  "  came  not 
to  church  for  fear  of  process  for  debt."  We  shall  have  to  notice  this  assigned 
reason  for  the  recusancy  in  a  future  Chapter.  But  the  religious  part  of  the  question 
is  capable  of  another  solution,  than  that  the  father  of  Shakspere  had  become 
reconciled  to  the  Romish  religion.  At  that  period  the  puritan  section  of  the 
English  church  were  acquiring  great  strength  in  Stratford  and  the  neighbourhood; 
arid  in  1596,  Richard  Bifield,  one  of  the  most  zealous  of  the  puritan  ministers, 
became  its  Vicar.*  John  Shakspere  and  his  neighbours  might  not  have  been  Popish 
recusants,  and  yet  have  avoided  the  church.  It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  the 
parents  of  William  Shakspere  passed  through  the  great  changes  of  religious  opinion, 
as  the  greater  portion  of  the  people  passed,  without  any  violent  corresponding  change 
in  their  habits  derived  from  their  forefathers.  In  the  time  of  Henry  VIII.  the 
great  contest  of  opinion  was  confined  to  the  supremacy  of  the  Pope ;  the  great 
practical  state  measure  was  the  suppression  of  the  religious  houses.  Under 
Edward  VI.  there  was  a  very  careful  compromise  of  all  those  opinions  and  prac 
tices  in  which  the  laity  were  participant.  In  the  short  reign  of  Mary  the  per 
secution  of  the  Reformers  must  have  been  offensive  even  to  those  who  clung 
fastest  to  the  ancient  institutions  and  modes  of  belief;  and  even  when  the  Re 
formation  was  fully  established  under  Elizabeth,  the  habits  of  the  people  were 
still  very  slightly  interfered  with.  The  astounding  majority  of  the  conforming 
clergy  is  a  convincing  proof  how  little  the  opinions  of  the  laity  must  have  been 
disturbed.  They  would  naturally  go  along  with  their  old  teachers.  We  have 
to  imagine,  then,  that  the  father  of  William  Shakspere,  and  his  mother,  were,  at 
the  time  of  his  birth,  of  the  religion  established  by  law.  His  father,  by  holding 
a  high  municipal  office  after  the  accession  of  Elizabeth,  had  solemnly  declared 
his  adherence  to  the  great  principle  of  Protestantism — the  acknowledgment  of 
the  civil  sovereign  as  head  of  the  church.  The  speculative  opinions  in  which 
the  child  was  brought  up  would  naturally  shape  themselves  to  the  creed  which 
his  father  must  have  professed  in  his  capacity  of  magistrate ;  but,  according  to 
some  opinions,  this  profession  was  a  disguise  on  the  part  of  his  father.  The 
young  Shakspere  was  brought  up  in  the  Roman  persuasion,  according  to  these 
notions,  because  he  intimates  an  acquaintance  with  the  practices  of  the  Roman 
church,  and  mentions  purgatory,  shrift,  confession,  in  his  dramas,  f  Surely  the 
poet  might  exhibit  this  familiarity  with  the  ancient  language  of  all  Christendom, 
without  thus  speaking  "from  the  overflow  of  Roman  Catholic  zeal."];  Was 
it  "  Roman  Catholic  zeal "  which  induced  him  to  write  those  strong  lines  in 
King  John  against  the  "  Italian  Priest,"  and  against  those  who 


Hunter  :  '  N«w  Illustrations,'  vol.  i.  p.  106.  t  See  Chalmers's  '  Apology,'  p.  200. 

Chalmers.     See  also  Drake,  who  adopts,  in  great  measure,  Chalmers's  argument. 

39 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE: 
"  Purchase  corrupted  pardon  of  a  man  "  f 

Was  it  "  Roman  Catholic  zeal "  which  made  him  introduce  these  words  into  the 
famous  prophecy  of  the  glory  and  happiness  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth— 
"  God  shall  be  truly  known  "  f 

He  was  brought  up,  without  doubt,  in  the  opinions  which  his  father  publicly 
professed,  in  holding  office  subject  to  his  most  solemn  affirmation  of  those  opi 
nions.  The  distinctions  between  the  Protestant  and  the  Popish  recusant  were 
then  not  so  numerous  or  speculative  as  they  afterwards  became.  But,  such  as 
they  were,  we  may  be  sure  that  William  Shakspere  learnt  his  catechism  from 
his  mother  in  all  sincerity ;  that  he  frequented  the  church  in  which  he  and  his 
brothers  and  sisters  were  baptized;  that  he  was  prepared  for  the  discipline  of 
the  school  in  which  religious  instruction  by  a  minister  of  the  church  was  regu 
larly  afforded  as  the  end  of  the  other  knowledge  there  taught.  He  became 
tolerant,  according  to  the  manifestation  of  his  after-writings,  ihrough  nature 
and  the  habits  and  friendships  of  his  early  life.  But  that  tolerance  does  not 
presume  insincerity  in  himself  or  his  family.  The  '  Confession  of  Faith '  found 
in  the  roof  of  his  father's  house  two  hundred  years  after  he  was  born  would 
argue  the  extreme  of  religious  zeal,  even  to  the  defiance  of  all  law  and  au 
thority,  on  the  part  of  a  man  who  had  by  the  acceptance  of  office  professed  his 
adherence  to  the  established  national  faith.  If  that  paper  were  to  be  believed, 
we  must  be  driven  to  the  conclusion  that  John  Shakspere  was  an  unconscien- 
tious  hypocrite  for  one  part  of  his  life,  and  a  furious  bigot  for  the  other  part. 
It  is  much  easier  to  believe  that  the  Reformation  fell  lightly  upon  John  Shak 
spere,  as  it  did  upon  the  bulk  of  the  laity ;  and  he  and  his  wife,  without  any 
offence  to  their  consciences,  saw  the  Common  Prayer  take  the  place  of  the 
Mass-book,  and  acknowledged  the  temporal  sovereign  to  be  head  of  the  church ; 
that  in  the  education  of  their  children  they  dispensed  with  auricular  confession 
and  penance  ;  but  that  they,  in  common  with  their  neighbours,  tolerated,  and 
perhaps  delighted  in,  many  of  the  festivals  and  imaginative  forms  of  the  old 
religion,  and  even  looked  up  for  heavenly  aid  through  intercession,  without 
fancying  that  they  were  yielding  to  an  idolatrous  superstition,  such  as  Puri 
tanism  came  subsequently  to  denounce.  The  transition  from  the  old  worship 
to  the  new  was  not  an  ungentle  one  for  the  laity.  The  early  reformers  were 
too  wise  to  attempt  to  root  up  habits — those  deep-sunk  foundations  of  the  past 
which  break  the  ploughshares  of  legislation  when  it  strives  to  work  an  inch 
below  the  earth's  surface. 

Pass  we  on  to  matters  more  congenial  to  the  universality  of  William  Shak- 
spere's  mind  than  the  controversies  of  doctrine,  or  the  mutual  persecutions  of 
rival  sects.  He  escaped  their  pernicious  influences.  He  speaks  always  with 
reverence  of  the  teachers  of  the  highest  wisdom,  by  whatever  name  denomi 
nated.  He  has  learnt,  then,  at  his  mother's  knee  the  cardinal  doctrines  of 
Christianity ;  he  can  read.  His  was  an  age  of  few  books.  Yet,  believing,  as  we 
do,  that  his  father  and  mother  were  well-educated  persons,  there  would  be 
volumes  in  their  house  capable  of  exciting  the  interest  of  an  inquiring  boy — 
volumes  now  rarely  s?en  and  very  precious.  Some  of  the  first  books  of  the 
40 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

English  press  might  be  there  ;  but  the  changes  of  language  in  the  ninety  years 
that  had  passed  since  the  introduction  of  printing  into  England  would  almost 
seal  them  against  a  boy's  perusal.  Caxton's  books  were  essentially  of  a  popular 
character  ;  but,  as  he  himself  complained,  the  language  of  his  time  was  greatly 
unsettled,  showing  that  "  we  Englishmen  ben  born  under  the  domination  of 
the  moon,  which  is  never  steadfast."*  Caxton's  Catalogue  was  rich  in  ro 
mantic  and  poetical  lore — the  '  Confessio  Amantis,'  the  '  Canterbury  Tales,' 
'  Troilus  and  Creseide,'  the  '  Book  of  Troy,'  the  '  Dictes  of  the  Philosophers,'  the 
'  Mirror  of  the  World,'  the  '  Siege  of  Jerusalem,'  the  '  Book  of  Chivalry/  the 
'  Life  of  King  Arthur.'  Here  were  legends  of  faith  and  love,  of  knightly  deeds 
and  painful  perils — glimpses  of  history  through  the  wildest  romance — enough 
to  fill  the  mind  of  a  boy-poet  with  visions  of  unutterable  loveliness  and  splen 
dour.  The  famous  successors  of  the  first  printer  followed  in  the  same  career- 
they  adapted  their  works  to  the  great  body  of  purchasers  ;  they  left  the  learned 
to  their  manuscripts.  What  a  present  must  "  Dame  Julyana  Bernes  "  have  be 
stowed  upon  her  countrymen  in  her  book  of  Hunting,  printed  by  Wynkyn 
de  Worde,  with  other  books  of  sports !  Master  Skelton,  laureate,  would  rejoice 
the  hearts  of  the  most  orthodox,  by  his  sly  hits  at  the  luxury  and  domination 
of  the  priesthood  :  Robert  Copland,  who  translated  "  Kynge  Appolyne  of 
Thyre,'  sent  perhaps  the  story  of  that  prince's  "  malfortunes  and  perilous  ad 
ventures  "  into  a  soil  in  which  they  were  to  grow  into  a  '  Pericles  : '  and 
Stephen  Hawes,  in  his  'Pass  Tyme  of  Pleasure,'  he  being  "  one  of  the  grooms 
of  the  most  honourable  chamber  of  our  sovereign  lord  King  Henry  the 
Seventh,"  would  deserve  the  especial  favour  of  the  descendant  of  Robert 
Arden.  Subsequently  oame  the  English  '  Froissart'  of  Lord  Berners,  and  other 
great  books  hereafter  to  be  mentioned.  But  if  these,  and  such  as  these,  were 
not  to  be  read  by  the  child  undisciplined  by  school,  there  were  pictures  in  some 
of  those  old  books  which  of  themselves  would  open  a  world  to  him.  That 
wondrous  book  of  '  Bartholomaeus  de  Proprietatibus  Rerum,'  describing,  and 
exhibiting  in  appropriate  wood-cuts,  every  animate  and  inanimate  thing,  and 
even  the  most  complex  operations  of  social  life,  whether  of  cooking,  ablution, 
or  the  ancient  and  appropriate  use  of  the  comb  for  the  destruction  of  beasts  of 
prey — the  child  Shakspere  would  have  turned  over  its  leaves  with  delight. 
'The  Chronicle  of  England,  with  the  Fruit  of  Times,' — the  edition  of  1527, 
with  cuts  innumerable, — how  must  it  have  taken  that  boy  into  the  days  of 
"  fierce  wars,"  and  have  shown  him  the  mailed  knights,  the  archers,  and  the 
billmen  that  fought  at  Poitiers  for  a  vain  empery,  and  afterwards  turned  their 
swords  and  their  arrows  against  each  other  at  Barnet  and  Tewkesbury  ? — What 
dim  thoughts  of  earthly  mutations,  unknown  to  the  quiet  town  of  Stratford, 
must  the  young  Shakspere  have  received,  as  he  looked  upon  the  pictures  of 
"  the  boke  of  John  Bochas,  describing  the  fall  of  princes,  princesses,  and  other 
nobles,"  and  especially  as  he  beheld  the  portrait  of  John  Lydgate,  the  trans 
lator,  kneeling  in  a  long  black  cloak,  admiring  the  vicissitude  of  the  wheel  of 
fortune,  the  divinity  being  represented  by  a  male  figure,  in  a  robe,  with  ex 
panded  wings  !  Rude  and  incongruous  works  of  art,  ye  were  yet  an  intelligible 

*  Boke  of  Eueydos. 

41 


WILLIAM    >ll  \K-I'KKE  : 

language  to  the  young  and  the  uninstructed  ;  and  the  things  ye  taught  through 
the  visual  sense  were  not  readily  to  be  forgotten  ! 

But  there  were  books  in  those  days,  simple  and  touching  in  their  diction, 
and  sounding  alike  the  depths  of  the  hearts  of  childhood  and  of  age,  -which 
were  the  printed  embodiments  of  that  traditionary  lore  that  the  shepherd  re 
peated  in  his  loneliness  when  pasturing  his  flocks  in  the  uplands,  and  the 
maiden  recited  to  her  companions  at  the  wheel.  Were  there  not  in  every 
house  '  Christmas  Carols,' — perhaps  not  the  edition  of  Wynkyn  de  Worde  in 
1521,  but  reprints  out  of  number?  Did  not  the  same  great  printer  scatter 
about  merry  England — and  especially  dear  were  such  legends  to  the  people  of 
the  midland  and  northern  counties — "A  lytell  Geste  of  Robyn  Hode  ?"  Whose 
ear  amongst  the  yeomen  of  Warwickshire  did  not  listen  when  some  genial 
spirit  would  recite  out  that  of  "  lytell  Geste  ?" — 

"  Lythe  and  lysten,  gentylinen, 
That  be  of  fre  bore  blode, 
I  shall  you  tell  of  a  good  yeman, 
His  name  was  Robyn  Hode ; 
Robyn  was  a  proud  outlawe 
Whylea  he  walked  on  ground, 
So  curteyse  an  outlawe  as  he  was  one 
Was  never  none  y  founde." 

The  good  old  printer,  Wynkyn,  knew  that  there  were  real,  because  spiritual, 
truths  in  these  ancient  songs  and  gestes ;  and  his  press  poured  them  out  in 
company  with  many  "  A  full  devoute  and  gosteley  Treatise."  That  charming, 
and  yet  withal  irreverend,  "  mery  geste  of  the  frere  and  the  boy," — what  genial 
mirth  was  there  in  seeing  the  child,  ill-used  by  his  step-mother,  making  a 
whole  village  dance  to  his  magic  pipe,  even  to  the  reverendicity  of  the  frere 
leaping  in  profane  guise  as  the  little  boy  commanded,  so  that  when  he  ceased 
piping  he  could  make  the  frere  and  the  hard  step-mother  obedient  to  his  inno 
cent  will !  There  was  beautiful  wisdom  in  these  old  tales— something  that 
seemed  to  grow  instinctively  out  of  the  bosom  of  nature,  as  the  wild  blossoms 
and  the  fruit  of  a  rich  intellectual  soil,  uncultivated,  but  not  sterile.  Of  the 
romances  of  chivalry  might  be  read,  in  the  fair  types  of  Richard  Pynson,  '  Sir 
Bevis  of  Southampton ; '  and  in  those  of  Robert  Copland,  '  Arthur  of  lytell 
Brytayne ; '  and  «  Sir  Degore,  a  Romance,'  printed  by  William  Copland ;  also 
'  Sir  Isenbrace,'  and  '  The  Knighte  of  the  Swanne,'  a  "  miraculous  history," 
from  the  same  press.  Nor  was  the  dramatic  form  of  poetry  altogether  wanting 
in  those  days  of  William  Shakspere's  childhood — verse,  not  essentially  dramatic 
in  the  choice  of  subject,  but  dialogue,  which  may  sometimes  pass  for  dramatic 
even  now.^  There  was  •  A  new  Interlude  and  a  mery  of  the  nature  of  the  i  i  i  i 
elements; 'and  •  Magnyfycence ;  a  goodly  interlude  and  mery; 'and  an  inter 
lude  "  wherein  is  shewd  and  described  as  well  the  bewte  of  good  propertes  of 
women  as  theyr  vyces  and  euyll  condicions ; "  and  'An  interlude  entitled 
Jack  Juggeler  and  mistress  Boundgrace;'  and,  most  attractive  of  all,  '  A  newe 
playe  for  to  be  played  in  Maye  games,  very  plesaunte  and  full  of  pastyme,'  on 
the  subject  of  Robin  Hood  and  the  Friar.  The  merry  interludes  of  the  inde- 

mm 


fatigable  John  Heywood  were  preserved  in  print,  in  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  whilst  many  a  noble  play  that  was  produced  fifty  years  afterwards 
has  perished  with  its  actors.  To  repeat  passages  out  of  these  homely  dialogues, 
in  which,  however  homely  they  were,  much  solid  knowledge  was  in  some  sort 
conveyed,  would  be  a  sport  for  childhood.  Out  of  books,  too,  and  single  printed 
sheets,  might  the  songs  that  gladdened  the  hearts  of  the  English  yeoman,  and 
solaced  the  dreary  winter  hours  of  the  esquire  in  his  hall,  be  readily  learnt. 
What  countryman,  at  fair,  or  market,  could  resist  the  attractive  titles  of  the 
"  balletts  "  printed  by  the  good  widow  Toy,  of  London — a  munificent  widow, 
•who  presented  the  Stationers'  Company,  in  1560,  with  a  new  table-cloth  and  a 
dozen  of  napkins — titles  that  have  melody  even  to  us  who  have  lost  the  pleasant 
words  they  ushered  in  ?  There  are, — • 

"  Who  lyve  so  mery  and  make  suche  sporte 

As  they  that  be  of  the  poorer  sorte  ?" 
and, 

"  God  send  me  a  wyfe  that  will  do  as  I  say ;'" 

and,  very  charming  in  the  rhythm  of  its  one  known  line, 

"  The  rose  is  from  my  garden  gone." 

Songs  of  sailors  were  there  also  in  those  days — England's  proper  songs — such  as 
'  Hold  the  anchor  fast.'  There  were  collections  of  songs,  too,  as  those,  of  "  Tho 
mas  Whithorne,  gentleman,  for  three,  four,  or  five  voices,"  which  found  their 
way  into  every  yeoman's  house  when  we  were  a  musical  people,  and  could  sing 
in  parts.  It  was  the  wise  policy  of  the  early  Reformers,  when  chantries  had 
for  the  most  part  been  suppressed,  to  direct  the  musical  taste  of  the  laity  to  the 
performance  of  the  church  service  ;  *  and  many  were  the  books  adapted  to  this 
end,  such  as  '  Bassus,'  consisting  of  portions  of  the  service  to  be  chanted,  and 
*  The  whole  Psalms,  in  four  parts,  which  may  be  sung  to  all  musical  instru 
ments '  (1563).  The  metrical  version  of  the  Psalms,  by  Sternhold  and  Hop 
kins,  first  printed  in  1562,  was  essentially  for  the  people ;  and,  accustomed  as  we 
have  been  to  smile  at  the  occasional  want  of  refinement  in  this  translation,  its 
manly  vigour,  ay,  and  its  bold  harmony,  may  put  to  shame  many  of  the  feebler 
productions  of  later  times.  Sure  we  are  that  the  child  William  Shakspere  had 
his  memory  stored  with  its  vigorous  and  idiomatic  English. 

But  there  was  one  book  which  it  was  the  especial  happiness  of  that  contem 
plative  boy  to  be  familiar  with.  When  in  the  year  1537  the  Bible  in  English 
was  first  printed  by  authority,  Richard  Grafton,  the  printer,  sent  six  copies  to 
Cranmer,  beseeching  the  archbishop  to  accept  them  as  his  simple  gift,  adding, 
"  For  your  lordship,  moving  our  most  gracious  prince  to  the  allowance  and 
licensing  of  such  a  work,  hath  wrought  such  an  act  worthy  of  praise  as  never 

*  One  of  the  pleasantest  characteristics  of  the  present  day  is  the  revival  of  a  love  for  and  a 
knowledge  of  music  amongst  the  people.  Twenty  years  ago  the  birthplace  of  Shakspere  presented 
a  worthy  example  to  England.  The  beautiful  church  in  which  our  great  poet  is  buried  had  been 
recently  repaired  and  newly  fitted  up  with  rare  propriety ;  and,  most  appropriately  in  this  fine  old 
collegiate  church  and  chantry,  the  choir  of  young  persons  of  both  sexes,  voluntarily  formed  from 
amongst  the  respectable  inhabitants,  was  equal  to  the  performance  in  the  most  careful  style  of  the 
choral  parts  of  the  service,  and  of  those  anthems  whose  highest  excellence  ia  their  solemn  harmony 
rather  than  the  display  of  individual  voices. 

43 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPKIM.: 

was  mentioned  in  any  chronicle  in  this  realm."  From  that  time,  with  the 
exception  of  the  short  interval  of  the  reign  of  Mary,  the  presses  of  London 
were  for  the  most  part  employed  in  printing  Bibles.  That  book,  to  whose 
wonderful  heart-stirring  narratives  the  child  listens  with  awe  and  love,  was 
now  and  ever  after  to  be  the  solace  of  the  English  home.  With  "  the  Great 
Bible "  open  before  her,  the  mother  would  read  aloud  to  her  little  ones  that 
beautiful  story  of  Joseph  sold  into  slavery,  and  then  advanced  to  honour — and 
how  his  brethren  knew  him  not  when,  suppressing  his  tears,  he  said.  "  Is  your 
father  well,  the  old  man  of  whom  ye  spake  ?  " — or,  how,  when  the  child  Samuel 
was  laid  down  to  sleep,  the  Lord  called  to  him  three  times,  and  he  grew,  and 
God  was  with  him ; — or,  how  the  three  holy  men  who  would  not  worship  the 
golden  image  walked  about  in  the  midst  of  the  burning  fiery  furnace ; — or,  how 
the  prophet  that  was  unjustly  cast  into  the  den  of  lions  was  found  unhurt, 
because  the  true  God  had  sent  his  angels  and  shut  the  lions'  mouths.  These 
were  the  solemn  and  affecting  narratives,  wonderfully  preserved  for  our  in 
struction  from  a  long  antiquity,  that  in  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century 
became  unclosed  to  the  people  of  England.  But  more  especially  was  that  other 
Testament  opened  which  most  imported  them  to  know ;  and  thus,  when  the  child 
repeated  in  lisping  accents  the  Christian's  prayer  to  his  Father  in  heaven,  the 
mother  could  expound  to  him  that,  when  the  Divine  Author  of  that  prayer  first 
gave  it  to  us,  He  taught  us  that  the  poor  in  spirit,  the  meek,  the  merciful,  the 
pure  in  heart,  the  peacemakers,  were  the  happy  and  the  beloved  of  God ;  and 
laid  down  that  comprehensive  law  of  justice,  "  All  things  whatsoever  ye  would 
that  men  should  do  to  you,  do  ye  even  so  to  them."  We  believe  that  the  home 
education  of  William  Shakspere  was  grounded  upon  this  Book  ;  and  that,  if  this 
Book  had  been  sealed  to  his  childhood,  he  might  have  been  the  poet  of  nature, 
of  passion, — his  humour  might  have  been  as  rich  as  we  find  it,  and  his  wit  as 
pointed, — but  that  he  would  not  have  been  the  poet  of  the  most  profound  as 
well  as  the  most  tolerant  philosophy  ;  his  insight  into  the  nature  of  man,  his 
meanness  and  his  grandeur,  his  weakness  and  his  strength,  would  not  have 
been  what  it  is. 

As  the  boy  advanced  towards  the  age  of  seven  a  little  preparation  for  the 
grammar-school  would  be  desirable.  There  would  be  choice  of  elementary 
books.  The  '  Alphabetum  Latino  Anglicum/  issued  under  the  special  autho 
rity  of  Henry  VIII.,  might  attract  by  its  most  royal  and  considerate  assurance 
that  "  we  forget  not  the  tender  babes  and  the  youth  of  our  realm."  Learning, 
however,  was  not  slow  then  to  put  on  its  solemn  aspects  to  the  "  tender  babes  ;  " 
and  so  we  have  some  grammars  with  a  wooden  cut  of  an  awful  man  sitting  on  a 
high  chair,  pointing  to  a  book  with  his  right  hand,  but  with  a  mighty  rod  in  his 
left.  On  the  other  hand,  the  excellent  Grammar  of  William  Lilly  would  open  a 
pleasant  prospect  of  delight  and  recreation,  in  its  well-known  picture  of  a  huge 
fruit-bearing  tree,  with  little  boys  mounted  amongst  its  branches  and  gathering 
in  the  bounteous  crop — a  vision  not  however  to  be  interpreted  too  literally. 
Lilly's  Grammar,  we  are  assured  by  certain  grave  reasoners,  was  the  Grammar 
used  by  Shakspere,  because  he  quotes  a  line  from  that  Grammar  which  is  a  modi- 

44 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

fication  of  a  line  in  Terence.  Be  it  so,  as  far  as  the  Grammar  goes.  The  memory 
of  his  school-lessons  might  have  been  stronger  than  that  of  his  later  acquire 
ments.  He  might  have  quoted  Lilly,  and  yet  have  read  Terence.  This,  how 
ever,  is  not  the  place  for  the  opening  of  the  quastio  vexata  of  Shakspere's  learn 
ing.  To  the  grammar-school,  then,  with  some  preparation,  we  hold  that  Wil 
liam  Shakspere  goes,  in  the  year  1571.  His  father  is  at  this  time,  as  we 
have  said,  chief  alderman  of  his  town  ;  he  is  a  gentleman,  now,  of  repute  and 
authority  ;  he  is  Master  John  Shakspere ;  and  assuredly  the  worthy  curate  of 
the  neighbouring  village  of  Luddington,  Thomas  Hunt,  who  was  also  the  school 
master,  would  have  received  his  new  scholar  with  some  kindness.  As  his 
"  shining  morning  face  "  first  passed  out  of  the  main  street  into  that  old  court 
through  which  the  upper  room  of  learning  was  to  be  reached,  a  new  life  would 
be  opening  upon  him.  The  humble  minister  of  religion  who  was  his  first  in 
structor  has  left  no  memorials  of  his  talents  or  his  acquirements ;  and  in  a  few 
years  another  master  came  after  him,  Thomas  Jenkins,  also  unknown  to  fame. 
All  praise  and  honour  be  to  them ;  for  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  that  the 
teachers  of  William  Shakspere  were  evil  instructors — giving  the  boy  husks  in 
stead  of  wholesome  aliment.  They  could  not  have  been  harsh  and  perverse  in 
structors,  for  such  spoil  the  gentlest  natures,  and  his  was  always  gentle  : — "  My 
gentle  Shakspere  "  is  he  called  by  a  rough  but  noble  spirit — one  in  whom  was 
all  honesty  and  genial  friendship  under  a  rude  exterior.  His  wondrous  abili 
ties  could  not  be  spoiled  even  by  ignorant  instructors. 

In  the  seventh  year  of  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.  a  royal  charter  was  granted 
to  Stratford  for  the  incorporation  of  the  inhabitants.  That  charter  recites — 
"  That  the  borough  of  Stratford-upon-Avon  was  an  ancient  borough,  in  which  a 
certain  guild  was  theretofore  founded,  and  endowed  with  divers  lands,  tene 
ments,  and  possessions,  out  of  the  rents,  revenues,  and  profits  whereof  a  certain 
free  grammar-school  for  the  education  of  boys  there  was  made  and  supported."* 
The  charter  further  recites  the  other  public  objects  to  which  the  property  of  the 
guild  had  been  applied ; — that  it  was  dissolved  ;  and  that  its  possessions  had 
come  into  the  hands  of  the  king.  The  charter  of  incorporation  then  grants  to 
the  bailiff  and  burgesses  certain  properties  which  were  parcel  of  the  possessions 
of  the  guild,  for  the  general  charges  of  the  borough,  for  the  maintenance  of  an 
ancient  almshouse,  "  and  that  the  free  grammar-school  for  the  instruction  and 
education  of  boys  and  youth  there  should  be  thereafter  kept  up  and  maintained 
as  theretofore  it  used  to  be."  It  may  be  doubted  whether  Stratford  was  bene 
fited  by  the  dissolution  of  its  guild.  We  see  that  its  grammar-school  was  an 
ancient  establishment :  it  was  not  a  creation  of  the  charter  of  Edward  VI., 
although  it  is  popularly  called  one  of  the  grammar-schools  of  that  king,  and  was 
the  last  school  established  by  him.f  The  people  of  Stratford  had  possessed  the 
advantage  of  a  school  for  instruction  in  Greek  and  Latin,  which  is  the  distinct 
object  of  a  grammar-school,  from  the  time  of  Edward  IV.,  when  Thomas  Jolyffe, 
in  1482,  "granted  to  the  guild  of  the  Holy  Cross  of  Stratford-upon-Avon 

*  Report  of  the  Commissioners  for  inquiring  concerning  Charities,     f  See  Strype'a  '  Memorials.' 

45 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPEKE: 

all  his  lands  and  tenements  in  Stratford  and  Dodwell,  in  the  county  of  War- 
wick,  upon  condition  that  the  master,  aldermen,  and  proctors  of  the  said  guild 
should  tind  a  priest,  fit  and  able  in  knowledge,  to  teach  grammar  freely  to  all 
scholars  coming  to  the  school  in  the  said  town  to  him,  taking  nothing  of  the 
scholars  for  their  teaching."*  Dugdale  describes  the  origin  of  guilds,  speaking  of 
this  of  Stratford  : — "  Such  meetings  were  at  first  used  by  a  mutual  agreement 
of  friends  and  neighbours,  and  particular  licenses  granted  to  them  for  conferring 
lands  or  rents  to  defray  their  public  charges  in  respect  that,  by  the  statute  of 
mortmain,  such  gifts  would  otherwise  have  been  forfeited." 

In  the  surveys  of  Henry  VIII..  previous  to  the  dissolution  of  religious  houses, 
there  were  four  salaried  priests  belonging  to  the  guild  of  Stratford,  with  a  clerk, 
who  was  also  schoolmaster,  at  a  salary  of  ten  pounds  per  annum. f  They  were 
a  hospitable  body  these  guild-folk,  for  there  was  an  annual  feast,  to  which  ail 
the  fraternity  resorted,  with  their  tenants  and  farmers ;  and  an  inventory  of 
their  goods  in  the  15th  of  Edward  IV.  shows  that  they  were  rich  in  plate  for 
the  service  of  the  table,  as  well  as  of  the  ch.,pel.  That  chapel  was  partly  rebuilt 
by  the  great  benefactor  of  Stratford,  Sir  Hugh  Clopton  ;  and  after  the  dissolu 
tion  of  the  guild,  and  the  establishment  of  the  grammar-school  by  the  charter 
of  Edward  VI.,  the  school  was  in  all  probability  kept  within  it.  There  is  an 
entry  in  the  Corporation  books,  of  February  18,  1594-5 — "At  this  hall  it  was 
agreed  by  the  bailiff  and  the  greater  number  of  the  company  now  present  that 
there  shall  be  no  school  kept  in  the  chapel  from  this  time  following."  In 
associating,  therefore,  the  schoolboy  days  of  William  Shakspere  with  the  Free 


_ 

[Interior  of  the  Grammar  School.] 


R«port  of  Commissioners,  Ac. 


t    Dugdale. 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

Grammar- School  of  Stratford,  we  cannot  with  any  certainty  imagine  him  en 
gaged  in  his  daily  tasks  in  the  ancient  room  which  is  now  the  school-room. 
And  yet  the  use  of  the  chapel  as  a  school,  discontinued  in  1595,  might  only  have 
been  a  temporary  use.  A  little  space  may  be  occupied  in  a  notice  of  each 
building. 

The  grammar-school  is  now  an  ancient  room  over  the  old  town-hall  of  Strat 
ford  ; — both,  no  doubt,  offices  of  the  ancient  guild.  We  enter  from  the  street 
into  a  court,  of  which  one  side  is  formed  by  the  chapel  of  the  Holy  Cross. 
Opposite  the  chapel  is  a  staircase,  ascending  which  we  are  in  a  plain  room,  with 
a  ceiling.  But  it  is  evident  that  this  work  of  plaster  is  modern,  and  that  above 
it  we  have  the  oak  roof  of  the  sixteenth  century.  In  this  room  are  a  few  forms 
and  a  rude  antique  desk. 

The  Chapel  of  the  Guild  is  in  groat  part  a  very  perfect  specimen  of  the  plainer 
ecclesiastical  architecture  of  the  reign  of  Henry  VII.  : — a  building  of  just  pro 
portions  and  some  ornament,  but  not  running  into  elaborate  decoration.  The 
engraving  below  exhibits  its  street-front,  showing  the  grammar  school  beyond. 


[Chapel  of  the  Guild,  anil  Grammar  School ;  Street  Front  ] 

The  interior  now  presents  nothing  very  remarkable.  But  upon  a  general  repair 
of  the  Chapel  in  1804,  beneath  the  whitewash  of  successive  geneiations  was 
discovered  a  series  of  most  remarkable  paintings,  some  in  that  portion  of  the 
building  erected  by  Sir  Hugh  Clopton,  and  others  in  the  far  more  ancient 
Chancel.  A  very  elaborate  series  of  coloured  engravings  has  been  published 
from  these  paintings,  from  drawings  made  at  the  time  of  their  discovery  by 

47 


WILLIAM    SHAKSl'KKE  : 

Mr.  Thomas  Fisher.  There  can  be  little  doubt,  from  the  defacement  of  some  of 
the  paintings,  that  they  were  partially  destroyed  by  violence,  and  all  attempted 
to  be  obliterated  in  the  progress  of  the  Reformation.  But  that  outbreak  of  zeal 
did  not  belong  to  the  first  periods  of  religious  change ;  and  it  is  most  probable 
that  these  paintings  were  existing  in  the  early  years  of  Elizabeth's  reign.  When 
the  five  priests  of  the  guild  were  driven  from  their  home  and  their  means  of 
maintenance,  the  chapel  no  doubt  ceased  to  be  a  place  of  worship ;  and  it  pro 
bably  became  the  school -room,  after  the  foundation  of  the  grammar-school,  dis 
tinct  from  the  guild,  under  the  charter  of  Edward  VI.  If  it  was  the  school 
room  of  William  Shakspere,  those  rude  paintings  must  have  produced  a  powerful 
effect  upon  his  imagination.  Many  of  them  in  the  ancient  Chancel  constituted  a 
pictorial  romance — the  history  of  the  Holy  Cross,  from  its  origin  as  a  tree  at 
the  Creation  of  the  World  to  its  rescue  from  the  Pagan  Cosdroy,  King  of  Persia, 
by  the  Christian  King,  Heraclius ; — and  its  final  Exaltation  at  Jerusalem, — the 
anniversary  of  which  event  was  celebrated  at  Stratford  at  its  annual  fair,  held  on 
the  14th  of  September.  There  were  other  pictures  of  Saints,  and  Martyrdoms; 
and  one,  especially,  of  the  murder  of  Thomas  a  Becket,  which  exhibits  great 
force,  without  that  grotesqueness  which  generally  belongs  to  our  early  paintings. 


IThe  Martyrdom  of  Thorow  &  Deckel:  from  an  ancient  Painting  in  the 
Chapel  of  the  Holy  Crow.] 


A   13IOGKAPHY. 

There  were  fearful  pictures,  too,  of  the  last  Judgment ;  .with  the  Seven  Deadly 
Sins  visibly  portrayed, — the  punishments  of  the  evil,  the  rewards  of  the  just. 
Surrounded  as  he  was  with  the  memorials  of  the  old  religion — with  great 
changes  on  every  side,. but  still  very  recent  changes— how  impossible  was  it  that 
Shakspere  should  not  have  been  thoroughly  imbued  with  a  knowledge  of  all  that 
pertained  to  the  faith  of  his  ancestors  !  One  of  the  most  philosophical  writers 
of  our  day  has  said  that  Catholicism  gave  us  Shakspere.*  Not  so,  entirely. 
Shakspere  belonged  to  the  transition  period,  or  he  could  not  have  been  quite 
what  he  was.  His  intellect  was  not  the  dwarfish  and  precocious  growth  of  the 
hot-bed  of  change,  and  still  less  of  convulsion.  His  whole  soul  was  permeated 
with  the  ancient  vitalities — the  things  which  the  changes  of  institutions  could 
not  touch  ;  but  it  could  bourgeon  under  the  new  influences,  and  blend  the  past 
and  the  present,  as  the  "  giant  oak  "  of  five  hundred  winters  is  covered  with 
the  foliage  of  one  spring,  f 

*  Carlyle — '  French  Revolution.' 

+  The  foundation  scholars  of  this  grammar-school  at  present  receive  a  complete  classical  edu 
cation,  so  as  to  fit  them  for  the  university. — (Report  of  Commissioners.) 


LIFI.  K  49 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  : 


NOTE  ON  JOHN  SHAKSPERE'S  CONFESSION  OF  FAITH. 


THE  thirteenth  item  of  this  strange  production  appears  to  us,  in  common  with  many  other  pas 
sages,  to  be  conceived  in  that  spirit  of  exaggeration  which  would  mark  the  work  of  an  imitator 
of  the  language  of  the  sixteenth  century,  rather  than  the  production  of  one  habitually  employing 
it : — "  Item,  I,  John  Shakspear,  do  by  this  my  last  will  and  testament  bequeath  my  soul,  as  soon 
as  it  shall  be  delivered  and  loosened  from  the  prison  of  this  my  body,  to  be  entombed  in  the  tweet 
and  amorout  coffin  of  the  side  of  Jesus  Christ;  and  that  in  this  life-giving  sepulchre  it  may 
rest  and  live,  perpetually  enclosed  in  that  eternal  habitation  of  repose,  there  to  bless  for  ever  and 
ever  that  direful  iron  of  the  lance,  which,  like  a  charge  in  a  censer,  forms  so  sweet  and  pleasant  a 
monument  within  the  sacred  breast  of  my  Lord  and  Saviour."  Surely  this  is  not  the  language 
of  a  plain  man  in  earnest.  Who  then,  can  it  be  imagined,  would  fabricate  this  production  in 
1770?  Mosely  the  bricklayer  finds  it  in  the  roof  of  the  house  in  which  Shakspere  was  held  to 
be  born ;  and  to  whom,  according  to  the  story,  does  he  give  it  ?  Not  to  the  descendant  of 
John  Shakspere,  the  then  owner  of  the  house,  but  to  Alderman  Peyton,  who  transmits  it  to 
Malone  through  the  Vicar  of  Stratford.  Garrick's  Jubilee  took  place  in  1769;  but  the  farces 
enacted  on  that  occasion  were  not  likely  to  set  people  searching  after  antiquities  or  fabricating 
them.  But  previous  to  the  publication  of  his  edition  of  Shakspere,  in  1790,  Malone  visited 
Stratford  to  examine  the  Registers  and  other  documents.  He  appears  to  have  done  exactly 
what  he  pleased  on  this  occasion.  He  carried  off  the  Registers  and  the  Corporation  Records  with 
him  to  London ;  and  he  whitewashed  the  bust  of  Shakspere,  so  as  utterly  to  destroy  its  value 
as  a  memorial  of  costume.  There  was  then  a  cunning  fellow  in  the  town  by  name  Jordan, 
who  thought  the  commentator  a  fair  mark  for  his  ingenuity.  He  produced  to  him  a  drawing 
of  Shakspere's  house,  New  Place,  copied,  as  he  said,  from  an  ancient  document,  which  Malone 
engraved  as  "  From  a  Drawing  in  the  Margin  of  an  Ancient  Survey,  made  by  order  of  Sir  George 
Carew,  and  found  at  Clopton,  near  Stratford-upon-Avon,  in  1786."  When  the  elder  Ireland 
visited  Stratford  in  1795  the  original  drawing  was  "lost  or  destroyed."  The  same  edition  of 
Shakspere  in  which  this  drawing  "  found  at  Clopton "  is  first  presented  to  the  world  also  first 
gives  the  Confession  of  Faith  of  John  Shakspere,  found  in  the  roof  of  his  house  in  Henley 
Street.  We  doubt  exceedingly  whether  Jordan  fabricated  the  one  or  the  other :  but  there  was 
a  man  who  was  quite  capable  of  prompting  both  impositions,  and  of  carrying  them  through ; 
one  upon  whom  the  suspicion  of  fabricating  Shaksperian  documents  strongly  rested  in  his  life 
time  ;  one  who  would  have  rejoiced  with  the  most  malignant  satisfaction  in  hoaxing  a  rival 
editor.  We  need  not  name  him.  It  is  evident  to  us  that  Malone  subsequently  discovered  that 
he  had  been  imposed  upon :  for  in  his  posthumous  '  Life  of  Shakspeare '  he  has  not  one  word  of 
allusion  to  this  Confession  of  Faith ;  he  not  only  omits  to  print  it,  but  he  suppresses  all  notice 
of  it.  He  would  sink  it  for  ever  in  the  sea  of  oblivion.  In  1790  he  produced  it  triumphantly 
with  the  conviction  that  it  was  genuine;  in  1796  he  had  obtained  documents  to  prove  it  could 
not  have  been  the  composition  of  any  one  of  the  poet's  family ;  but  in  the  posthumous  edition 
of  1821  the  documents  of  explanation,  as  well  as  the  Confession  of  Faith  itself,  are  treated  as  if 
they  never  had  been. 


[Village  of  Aston  Cantiow.j 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE  SCHOOLBOY'S  WORLD. 


LET  us  pass  over  for  a  time  the  young  Shakspere  at  his  school-desk,  inquiring 
not  when  he  went  from  '  The  Short  Dictionary  '  forward  to  the  use  of  '  Cooper's 
Lexicon/  or  whether  he  was  most  drilled  in  the  '  Eclogues '  of  Virgil,  or  those  of 
the  "  good  old  Mantuan."  Of  one  thing  we  may  be  well  assured, — that  the  instruc 
tion  of  the  grammar-school  was  the  right  instruction  for  the  most  vivacious  mind, 
as  for  him  of  slower  capacity.  To  spend  a  considerable  portion  of  the  years  of 
boyhood  in  the  acquirement  of  Latin  and  Greek  was  not  to  waste  them,  as 
modern  illumination  would  instruct  us.  Something  was  to  be  acquired,  accu 
rately  and  completely,  that  was  of  universal  application,  and  within  the  boy's 
power  of  acquirement.  The  particular  knowledge  that  would  fit  him  for  a 
chosen  course  of  life  would  be  an  after  acquirement ;  and,  having  attained  the 
habit  of  patient  study,  and  established  in  his  own  mind  a  standard  to  apply  to 
all  branches  of  knowledge  by  knowing  one  branch  well,  he  would  enter  upon 
the  race  of  life  without  being  over-weighted  with  the  elements  of  many  arts  and 
sciences,  which  it  belongs  only  to  the  mature  intellect  to  bear  easily  and  grace - 

61 


WILLIAM   SHAKSI'KKr.  : 

fully,  and  to  employ  to  lasting  profit.  Our  grammar-schools  were  \yise  institu 
tions.  They  opened  the  road  to  usefulness  and  honour  to  the  humblest  in  the 
land  ;  they  bestowed  upon  the  son  of  the  peasant  the  same  advantages  of  educa 
tion  as  the  son  of  the  noble  could  receive  from  the  most  accomplished  teacher  in 
his  father's  halls.  Long  may  they  be  preserved  amongst  us  in  their  integrity  ; 
not  converted  by  the  meddlings  of  innovation  into  lecture-rooms  for  cramming 
children  with  the  nomenclature  of  every  science  ;  presenting  little  idea  even 
of  the  physical  world  beyond  that  of  its  being  a  vast  aggregation  of  objects  that 
may  be  classified  and  catalogued  ;  and  leaving  the  spiritual  world  utterly  un- 
cared  for,  as  a  region  whose  products  cannot  be  readily  estimated  by  a  money 
value ! 

Every  schoolboy's  dwelling-place  is  a  microcosm ;  but  the  little  world  lying 
around  William  Shakspere  was  something  larger  than  that  in  which  boys  of  our 
own  time  for  the  most  part  live.  The  division  of  employments  had  not  so  com 
pletely  separated  a  town  life  from  a  country  life  as  with  us ;  and  even  the  town 
occupations,  the  town  amusements,  and  the  town  wonders,  had  more  variety  in 
them  than  our  own  days  of  systematic  arrangement  can  present.  Much  of  the 
education  of  William  Shakspere  was  unquestionably  in  the  fields.  A  thousand 
incidental  allusions  manifest  his  familiarity  with  all  the  external  aspects  of 
nature.  He  is  very  rarely  a  descriptive  poet,  distinctively  so  called  ;  but  images 
of  mead  and  grove,  of  dale  and  upland,  of  forest  depths,  of  quiet  walks  by  gentle 
rivers, — reflections  of  his  own  native  scenery, — spread  themselves  without  an 
effort  over  all  his  writings.  All  the  occupations  of  a  rural  life  are  glanced  at 
or  embodied  in  his  characters.  The  sports,  the  festivals,  of  the  lone  farm  or  the 
secluded  hamlet  are  presented  by  him  with  all  the  charms  of  an  Arcadian  age, 
but  with  a  truthfulness  that  is  not  found  in  Arcadia.  The  nicest  peculiarities 
in  the  habits  of  the  lower  creation  are  given  at  a  touch ;  we  see  the  rook  wing 
his  evening  flight  to  the  wood  ;  we  hear  the  drowsy  hum  of  the  sharded  beetle. 
He  wreathes  all  the  flowers  of  the  field  in  his  delicate  chaplets ;  and  even  the 
nicest  mysteries  of  the  gardener's  art  can  be  expounded  by  him.  All  this  he 
appears  to  do  as  if  from  an  instinctive  power.  His  poetry  in  this,  as  in  all  other 
great  essentials,  is  like  the  operations  of  nature  itself;  we- see  not  its  workings. 
But  we  may  be  assured,  from  the  very  circumstance  of  its  appearing  so  acci 
dental,  so  spontaneous  in  its  relations  to  all  external  nature  and  to  the  country 
life,  that  it  had  its  foundation  in  very  early  and  very  accurate  observation. 
Stratford  was  especially  fitted  to  have  been  the  "  green  lap  "  in  which  the  boy- 
poet  was  "  laid."  The  whole  face  of  creation  here  wore  an  aspect  of  quiet  love 
liness.  Looking  on  its  placid  stream,  its  gently  swelling  hills,  its  rich  pastures, 
its  sleeping  woodlands,  the  external  world  would  to  him  be  full  of  images  of 
repose  :  it  was  in  the  heart  of  man  that  he  was  to  seek  for  the  sublime.  Nature 
has  thus  ever  with  him  something  genial  and  exhilarating.  There  are  storms 
in  his  great  dramas,  but  they  are  the  accompaniments  of  the  more  terrible  storms 
(  I  human  passions  :  they  are  raised  by  the  poet's  art  to  make  the  agony  of  Lear 
more  intense,  and  the  murder  of  Duncan  more  awful.  But  his  love  of  a  smiling 
creation  seems  ever  present.  We  must  image  Stratford  as  it  was,  to  see  how  the 
young  Shakspere  walked  "  in  glory  and  in  joy  "  amongst  his  native  fields.  Upon 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 


the  bank  of  the  Avon,  having  a  very  slight  rise,  is  placed  a  scattered  town  ;  a  town 
whose  dwellings  have  orchards  and  gardens,  with  lofty  trees  growing  in  its 
pathways.  Its  splendid,  collegiate  church,  in  the  time  of  Henry  VIII.,  was  de 
scribed  to  lie  half  a  mile  from  the  town.  Its  eastern  window  is  reflected  in  the 
river  which  flows  beneath  ;  its  grey  tower  is  embowered  amidst  lofty  elm-rows. 
At  the  opposite  end  of  the  town  is  a  fine  old  bridge,  with  a  causeway  whose 
"  wearisome  but  needful  length  "  tells  of  inundations  in  the  Jow  pastures  that 
lie  all  around  it.  We  look  upon  Dugdale's  Map  of  Barichway  Hundred,  in 
which  Stratford  is  situated,  published  in  1656,  and  we  see  four  roads  issuing 
from  the  town.  The  one  to  Henley  in  Arden,  which  lies  through  the  street  in 
which  Shakspere  may  be  supposed  to  have  passed  his  boyhood,  continues  over  a 
valley  of  some  breadth  and  extent,  unenclosed  fields  undoubtedly  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  with  the  hamlets  of  Shottery  and  Bishopton  amidst  them.  The  road 
leads  into  the  then  woody  district  of  Arden.  At  a  short  distance  from  it  is  the 
hamlet  of  Wilmecote,  where  Mary  Arden  dwelt ;  and  some  two  miles  aside,  more 
in  the  heart  of  the  woodland  district,  and  hard  by  the  river  Alne,  is  the  village 
of  Aston  Cantlow.  Another  road  indicated  on  this  old  map  is  that  to  War 
wick.  The  wooded  hills  of  Welcom.be  overhang  it,  and  a  little  aside,  some  mile 
and  a  half  from  Stratford,  is  the  meadow  of  Ingon  which  John  Shakspere 
rented  in  1570.  Very  beautiful,  even  now,  is  this  part  of  the  neighbourhood, 
with  its  rapid  undulations,  little  dells  which  shut  in  the  scattered  sheep,  and 
sudden  hills  opening  upon  a  wide  landscape.  Ancient  crab-trees  and  hawthorns 
tell  of  uncultivated  clowns  which  have  rung  to  the  call  of  the  falconer  or  the 
horn  of  the  huntsman ;  and  then,  having  crossed  the  ridge,  we  are  amongst  rich 
corn-lands,  with  farm-houses  of  no  modern  date  scattered  about ;  and  deep  in 
the  hollow,  so  as  to  be  hidden  till  we  are  upon  it,  the  old  village  of  Snitterfield, 
with  its  ancient  church  and  its  yew-tree  as  ancient.  Here  the  poet's  maternal 
grandmother  had  her  jointure  ;  and  here  it  has  been  conjectured  his  father  also 
had  possessions.  On  the  opposite  side  of  Stratford  the  third  road  runs  in  the 
direction  of  the  Avon  to  the  village  of  Bidford,  with  a  nearer  pathway  along 
the  rjver-bank.  We  cross  the  ancient  bridge  by  the  fourth  road  (which  also 
diverges  to  Shipston),  and  we  are  on  our  way  to  the  celebrated  house  and  estate 
of  Charlcote,  the  ancient  seat  of  the  Lucys,  the  Shaksperian  locality  with  which 
most  persons  are  familiar  through  traditions  of  deer-stealing,  of  which  we  have 
not  yet  to  speak.  A  pleasant  ramble  indeed  is  this  to  Charlcote  and  Hamp 
ton  Lucy,  even  with  glimpses  of  the  Avon  from  a  turnpike-road.  But  let  the 
road  run  through  meadows  without  hedgerows,  with  pathways  following  the 
river's  bank,  now  diverging  when  the  mill  is  close  upon  the  stream,  now  cross 
ing  a  leafy  elevation,  and  then  suddenly  dropping  under  a  precipitous  wooded 
rock,  and  we  have  a  walk  such  as  poet  might  covet,  and  such  as  Shakspere  did 
enjoy  in  his  boy  rambles. 

Through  these  pleasant  places  would  the  boy  William  Shakspere  walk  hand  in 
hand  with  his  father,  or  wander  at  his  own  free  will  with  his  school  companions. 
All  the  simple  processes  of  farming  life  would  be  familiar  to  him.  The  pro 
fitable  mysteries  of  modern  agriculture  would  not  embarrass  his  youthful  expe 
rience.  He  would  witness  none  of  that  anxious  diligence  which  compels  the 


WILLIAM   8HAKSPEKE  : 

earth  to  yield  double  crops,  and  places  little  reliance  upon  the  unassisted  opera 
tions  of  nature.  The  seed-time  and  the  harvest  in  the  corn-fields,  the  gather- 
ing-in  of  the  thin  grass  on  the  uplands,  and  of  the  ranker.produce  of  the  flooded 
meadows,  the  folding  of  the  flocks  on  the  hills,  the  sheep-shearing,  would  seem 
to  him  like  the  humble  and  patient  waiting  of  man  upon  a  bounteous  Provi 
dence.  There  would  be  no  systematic  rotation  of  crops  to  make  him  marvel  at 
the  skill  of  the  cultivator.  Implements  most  skilfully  adapted  for  the  saving 
of  animal  labour  would  be  unknown  to  him.  The  rude  plough  of  his  Saxon 
ancestors  would  be  dragged  along  by  a  powerful  team  of  sturdy  oxen ;  the 
sound  of  the  flail  alone  would  be  heard  in  the  barn.  Around  him  would,  how 
ever,  be  the  glad  indications  of  plenty.  The  farmer  would  have  abundant  stacks, 
and  beeves,  and  kine,  though  the  supply  would  fail  in  precarious  seasons,  when 
price  did  not  regulate  consumption ;  he  would  brew  his  beer  and  bake  his  rye- 
bread  ;  his  swine  would  be  fattening  on  the  beech-mast  and  the  acorns  of  the 
free  wood :  his  skeps  of  bees  would  be  numerous  in  his  garden  ;  the  colewort 
would  sprout  from  spring  to  winter  for  his  homely  meal,  and  in  the  fruitful 
season  the  strawberry  would  present  its  much  coveted  luxury.  The  old  orchard 
would  be  rich  with  the  choicest  apples,  grafts  from  the  curious  monastic  varie 
ties  ;  the  rarer  fruits  from  southern  climates  would  be  almost  wholly  unknown. 
There  would  be  no  niggard  economy  defeating  itself ;  the  stock,  such  as  it  was, 
would  be  of  the  best,  although  no  Bakewell  had  arisen  to  preside  over  its  im 
provement  : — 

"  Let  carren  and  barren  be  shifted  away, 
For  best  is  the  best,  whatsoever  ye  pay."  • 

William  Shakspere  would  go  out  with  his  father  on  a  Michaelmas  morning, 
and  the  fields  would  be  busy  with  the  sowing  of  rye  and  white  wheat  and 
barley.  The  apples  and  the  walnuts  would  be  then  gathered ;  honey  and 
wax  taken  from  the  hives ;  timber  would  be  felled,  sawn,  and  stacked  for  sea 
soning.  In  the  solitary  fields,  then,  would  stand  the  birdkeeper  with  his 
bow.  As  winter  approached  would  come  what  Tusser  calls  "  the  slaughter- 
time,"  the  killing  of  sheep  and  bullocks  for  home  consumption  ;  the  thresher 
would  be  busy  now  and  then  for  the  farmer's  family,  but  the  wheat  for  the  baker 
would  lie  in  sheaf.  No  hurrying  then  to  market  for  fear  of  a  fall  in  price  ; 
there  is  abundance  around,  and  the  time  of  stint  is  far  off.  The  simple  routine 
was  this  : — 

"  In  spring-time  we  rear,  we  do  sow,  and  we  plant ; 
In  summer  get  victuals,  lest  after  we  want. 
In  harvest  we  carry  in  corn,  and  the  fruit, 
In  winter  to  spend,  as  we  need,  of  each  suit."t 

The  joyous  hospitality  of  Christmas  had  little  fears  that  the  stock  would  be  pre 
maturely  spent ;  and  whilst  the  mighty  wood-fire  blazed  in  the  hall  to  the  mirth 
of  song  and  carol,  neighbours  went  from  house  to  house  to  partake  of  the  abund 
ance,  and  the  poor  were  fed  at  the  same  board  with  the  opulent.  As  the  frost 

*  Tusser,  chapter  xvi.  f  Ibid.,  chapter  xxiv. 


A   BIOGKAPHY. 

breaks,  the  labourer  is  again  in  the  fields  ;  hedging  and  ditching  are  somewhat 
understood,  but  the  whole  system  of  drainage  is  very  rude.  Wth  such  a<mcul- 
ture  man  seems  to  have  his  winter  sleep  as  well  as  the  earth.  But  nature  is 
again  alive  ;  spring  corn  is  to  be  sown  ;  the  ewes  and  lambs  are  to  be  carefully 
tended ;  the  sheep,  now  again  in  the  fields,  are  to  be  watched,  for  there 
are  hungry  "  mastiffs  and  mongrels  "  about ;  the  crow  and  pie  are  to  be  destroyed 
in  their  nests  ere  they  are  yet  feathered  ;  trees  are  to  be  barked  before  timber  is 
fallen.  Then  comes  the  active  business  of  the  dairy,  and,  what  to  us  would  be 
a  strange  sight,  the  lambs  have  been  taken  from  their  mothers,  and  the  ewes  are 
milked  in  the  folds.  May  demands  the  labour  of  the  weed-hook  ;  no  horse- 
hoeing  in  those  simple  days.  There  are  the  flax  and  nemp  too  to  be  sown  to  sup 
ply  the  ceaseless  labour  of  the  spinner's  wheel ;  bees  are  to  be  swarmed  ;  and 
herbs  are  to  be  stored  for  the  housewife's  still.  June  brings  its  sheep-washing 
and  shearing ;  with  its  haymaking,  where  the  farmer  is  captain  in  the  field,  pre 
siding  over  the  bottles  and  the  wallets  from  the  hour  when  the  dew  is  dry  to  set 
of  sun.  Bustle  is  there  now  to  get  "  grist  to  the  mill,"  for  the  streams  are  dry 
ing,  and  if  the  meal  be  wanting  how  shall  the  household  be  fed  ?  The  harvest- 
time  comes  ;  the  reapers  cry  "  largess  "  for  their  gloves  ;  the  tithe  is  set  out  for 
"  Sir  Parson ;  "  and  then,  after  the  poor  have  gleaned,  and  the  cattle  have  been 
turned  in  "  to  mouth  up  "  what  is  left, 

"  In  harvest-1  ime,  harvest-folk,  servants  and  all, 
Should  make,  all  together,  good  cheer  in  the  hall  ; 
And  fill  out  the  black  bowl  of  blythe  to  their  song, 
And  let  them  be  merry  all  harvest-time  long.'1  * 

Such  was  the  ancient  farmer's  year,  which  Tusser  has  described  with  wonder 
ful  spirit  even  to  the  minutest  detail ;  and  such  were  the  operations  of  hus 
bandry  that  the  boy  Shakspere  would  have  beheld  with  interest  amidst  his 
native  corn-fields  and  pastures.  When  the  boy  became  deep-thoughted  he 
would  perceive  that  many  things  were  ill  understood,  and  most  operations  in 
differently  carried  through.  He  would  hear  of  dearth  and  sickness,  and  he 
would  seek  to  know  the  causes.  But  that  time  was  not  as  yet. 

The  poet  who  has  delineated  human  life  and  character  under  every  variety  of 
passion  and  humour  must  have  had  some  early  experience  of  mankind.  The 
loftiest  imagination  must  work  upon  the  humblest  materials.  In  his  father's 
home,  amongst  his  father's  neighbours,  he  would  observe  those  striking  differ 
ences  in  the  tempers  and  habits  of  mankind  which  are  obvious  even  to  a  child. 
Cupidity  would  be  contrasted  with  generosity,  parsimony  with  extravagance. 
He  would  hear  of  injustice  and  of  ingratitude,  of  uprightness  and  of  fidelity. 
Curiosity  would  lead  him  to  the  bailiff's  court ;  and  there  he  would  learn  of 
bitter  quarrels  and  obstinate  enmities,  of  friends  parted  "  on  a  dissension  of  a 
doit,"  of  foes  who  "  interjoin  their  issues "  to  worry  some  wretched  offender. 
Small  ambition  and  empty  pride  would  grow  bloated  upon  the  pettiest  distinc 
tions  ;  and  "  the  insolence  of  office  "  would  thrust  humility  off  the  causeway. 

*  Tusser,  chapter  xlvii. 

55 


WILUAM  sn  \Ksr::i:i-: : 

Tliere  would  be  loud  talk  of  loyalty  and  religion,  while  the  peaceful  and  the 
pious  would  be  suspected  ;  and  the  sycophant  who  wore  the  great  man's  livery 
would  strive  to  crush  the  independent  in  spirit.  Much  of  this  the  observing 
boy  would  see,  but  much  also  would  be  concealed  in  the  general  hollowness  that 
belongs  to  a  period  of  inquietude  and  change.  The  time  would  come  when  he 
would  penetrate  into  the  depths  of  these  things  ;  but  meanwhile  what  was  upon 
the  surface  would  be  food  for  thought.  At  the  weekly  Market  there  would  be 
the  familiar  congregation  of  buyers  and  sellers.  The  housewife  from  her  little 
farm  would  ride  in  gallantly  between  her  panniers  laden  with  butter,  eggs, 
chickens,  and  capons.  The  farmer  would  stand  by- his  pitched  corn,  and,  as 
Harrison  complains,  if  the  poor  man  handled  the  sample  with  the  intent  to  pur 
chase  his  humble  bushel,  the  man  of  many  sacks  would  declare  that  it  was  sold. 
The  engrosser,  according  to  the  same  authority,  would  be  there  with  his  under 
standing  nod,  successfully  evading  every  statute  that  could  be  made  against 
forestalling,  because  no  statutes  could  prevail  against  the  power  of  the  best  price. 
There,  before  shops  were  many  and  their  stocks  extensive,  would  come  the 
dealers  from  Birmingham  and  Coventry,  with  wares  for  use  and  wares  for 
show, — horse-gear  and  women -gear,  Sheffield  whittles,  and  rings  with  posies. 
At  the  joyous  Fair-season  it  would  seem  that  the  wealth  of  a  world  was 
emptied  into  Stratford  ;  not  only  the  substantial  things,  the  wine,  the  wax,  the 
wheat,  the  wool,  the  malt,  the  cheese,  the  clothes,  the  napery,  such  as  even  great 
lords  sent  their  stewards  to  the  Fairs  to  buy,*  but  every  possible  variety  of 
such  trumpery  as  fill  the  pedler's  pack, — ribbons,  inkles,  caddises,  coifs, 
stomachers,  pomanders,  brooches,  tapes,  shoe-ties.  Great  dealings  were  there 
on  these  occasions  in  beeves  and  horses,  tedious  chafferings,  stout  affirmations, 
saints  profanely  invoked  to  ratify  a  bargain.  A  mighty  man  rides  into  the  Fair 
who  scatters  consternation  around.  It  is  the  Queen's  Purveyor.  The  best  horses 
are  taken  up  for  her  Majesty's  use,  at  her  Majesty's  price ;  and  they  probably 
find  their  way  to  the  Earl  of  Leicester's  or  the  Earl  of  Warwick's  stables  at  a 
considerable  profit  to  Master  Purveyor.  The  country  buyers  and  sellers  look 
blank  ;  but  there  is  no  remedy.  There  is  solace,  however,  if  there  is  not  redress. 
The  ivy-bush  is  at  many  a  door,  and  the  sounds  of  merriment  are  within,  as  the 
ale  and  the  sack  are  quaffed  to  friendly  greetings.  In  the  streets  there  are 
morris-dancers,  the  juggler  with  his  ape,  and  the  minstrel  with  his  ballads.  We 
can  imagine  the  foremost  in  a  group  of  boys  listening  to  the  "  small  popular 
musics  sung  by  these  cantabanqui  upon  benches  and  barrels'  heads,"  or  more 
earnestly  to  some  one  of  the  "blind  harpers,  or  such-like  tavern  minstrels,  that 
give  a  fit  of  mirth  for  a  groat ;  their  matters  being  for  the  most  part  stories 
of  old  time,  as  '  The  Tale  of  Sir  Topas,'  '  Bevis  of  Southampton,'  '  Guy  of  War 
wick,'  '  Adam  Bell  and  Clymme  of  the  'Clough,'  and  such  other  old  romances  or 
historical  rhymes,  made  purposely  for  the  recreation  of  the  common  people. 'f 
A  bold  fellow,  who  is  full  of  queer  stories  and  cant  phrases,  strikes  a  few  notes 
upon  his  gittern,  and  the  lads  and  lasses  are  around  him  ready  to  dance  their 


See  the  Northumberland  Household  Book, 
t  Ptittenham's  'Art  of  Poetry,'  1589 


A   BIOGTIAPHT. 

country  measures.  He  is  thus  described  in  the  year  1564,  in  a  tract  by  William 
Bulleyn  :  "  Sir,  there  is  one  lately  come  into  this  hall,  in  a  green  Kendal  coat, 
with  yellow  hose,  a  beard  of  the  same  colour,  only  upon  the  upper  lip  ;  a  russet 
hat,  with  a  great  plume  of  strange  feathers,  and  a  brave  scarf  about  his  neck, 
in  cut  buskins.  He  is  playing  at  the  trey-trip  .with  our  host's  son  :  he  playeth 
trick  upon  the  gittern,  and  dances  '  Trenchmore'  and  '  Heie  de  Gie,'  and  telleth 
news  from  Terra  Florida."  Upon  this  strange  sort  of  indigenous  troubadour 
did  the  schoolboy  gaze,  for  he  would  seem  to  belong  to  a  more  knowing  race 
than  dwelt  on  Avon's  side.  His  "  news  from  Terra  Florida"  tells  us  of  an  age 
of  newstongues,  before  newspapers  were.  Doubtless  such  as  he  had  many  a 
story  of  home  wonders  ;  he  had  seen  London  perhaps ;  he  could  tell  of  Queens 
and  Parliaments ;  might  have  beheld  a  noble  beheaded,  or  a  heretic  burnt ;  he 
could  speak,  we  may  fancy,  of  the  wonders  of  the  sea;  of  ships  laden  with  rich 
merchandize,  unloading  in  havens  far  from  this  inland  region  ;  of  other  ships 
wrecked  on  inhospitable  coasts,  and  poor  men  made  rich  by  the  ocean's  spoils. 
Food  for  thought  was  there  in  all  these  things,  seeds  of  poetry  scattertd  care 
lessly,  but  not  wastefully,  in  the  rich  imaginative  soil. 


[The  Fair.] 


The  Fair  is  over ;  the  booths  are  taken  down  ;  the  woollen  statute-caps,  which 
the  commonest  people  refuse  to  wear  because  there  is  a  penalty  for  not  wearing 
them,  are  packed  up  again  ;  the  prohibited  felt  hats  are  all  sold  ;  the  millinery 
has  found  a  ready  market  amongst  the  sturdy  yeomen,  who  are  careful  to 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  : 

propitiate  their  home-staying  wives  after  the  fashion  of  the  Wife  of  Bath's 
husbands : — 

"  I  governed  hem  so  well  after  my  lawe, 
That  eche  of  hem  full  blissful  was,  and  fawe 
To  bringen  me  gay  thinges  fro  the  feyrej 
They  were  full  glade,"  &c. 

The  juggler  has  packed  up  his  cup  and  balls;  the  last  cudgel-play  has  been 
fought  out : — 

"  Near  the  dying  of  the  day 
There  will  be  a  cudgel-play, 
Where  a  coxcomb  will  be  broke, 
Ere  a  good  word  can  be  spoke  : 
But  the  anger  ends  all  here, 
Drench"  d  in  ale,  or  drown' d  in  beer."  * 

Morning  comes,  and  Stratford  hears  only  the  quiet  steps  of  its  native  popula 
tion.  But  upon  the  bench,  under  the  walnut-tree  that  spreads  its  broad  arms 
to  shadow  a  little  inn,  sits  an  old  man,  pensive,  solitary ;  he  was  not  noted  in 
the  crowd  of  yesterday, — louder  voices  and  bolder  faces  carried  the  rewards 
which  he  had  once  earned.  The  old  man  is  poor ;  yet  is  his  gown  of  Kendal 
green  not  tattered  though  somewhat  tarnished.  The  harp  laid  by  his  side 
upon  the  bench  tells  his  profession.  There  was  a  time  when  he  was  welcomed 
at  every  hall,  and  he  might  fitly  wear  starched  ruffs,  and  a  chain  of  pewter  as 
bright  as  silver,  and  have  the  wrest  of  his  harp  jauntily  suspended  by  a  green 
lace.f  Those  times  are  past.  He  scarcely  now  dares  to  enter  worshipful 
men's  houses ;  and  at  the  Fairs  a  short  song  of  love  or  good  fellowship,  or  a 
dance  to  the  gittern,  are  preferred  to  his  tedious  legends.  He  may  now  say 
with  that  luckless  minstrel  Richard  Sheale  (who,  if  his  own  chants  are  deplor 
able  enough,  has  the  merit  of  having  assisted  in  the  preservation  of  '  Chevy 
Chase'),— 

"  My  audacity  is  gone,  and  all  my  merry  talk; 

.  There  is  some  here  have  seen  me  as  merry  as  a  hawk  ; 

But  now  I  am  so  troubled  with  phan'sies  in  my  mind, 
That  I  cannot  play  the  merry  knave  according  to  my  kind." 

There  are  two  or  three  boys  with  satchel  in  hand  gazing  on  that  old  minstrel ; 
one  of  them  bestows  on  him  a  penny,  and  goes  his  way.  School-time  is  over, 
and  as  the  boy  returns  the  old  man  is  still  sunning  himself  on  the  ale-bench. 
He  speaks  cheerfully  to  the  boy,  and  asks  him  his  name.  "  William  Shak- 
spere."  The  old  man's  eye  brightens.  "A  right  good  name,"  he  exclaims; 
"a  name  for  a  soldier:"  and  then,  with  a  clear  but  somewhat  tremulous  voice, 
he  sings — 

"  Off  all  that  se  a  Skottishe  knight, 

Was  callyd  Sir  Hewe  the  Mongon-byrry, 
He  sawe  the  Duglas  to  the  death  was  dyght ; 
He  spendyd  a  spear  a  trusti  tre  : 

•  Herrick.  t  See  Lanehain's  description  of  the  Minstrel  at  Kenilworth. 

58 


A   BIOGEAPHY. 

He  rod  uppon  a  corsiare 

Throughe  a  hondrith  archery  ; 
He  never  styntyde,  nar  never  blane, 

Till  lie  came  to  the  good  lord  Perse. 

He  set  uppone  the  lord  Perse 

A  dynte,  that  was  full  soare ; 
With  a  suar  spear  of  a  mighte  tre 

Clean  thorow  the  body  he  the  Perse  bore."  * 

The  boy's  heart  is  moved  "'more  than  with  a  trumpet/'  and  he  is  riot  content 
till  he  has  heard  the  whole  of  that  "  old  song  of  Percy  and  Douglas."  It  is  easy 
to  imagine,  further,  that  the  poor  minstrel  lingered  about  Stratford ;  that  he  had 
welcome  at  least  in  one  house ;  and  that  from  time  to  time  the  memory  of  the 
grammar-school  boy  was  not  unprofitably  employed  in  treasuring  up  snatches 
of  old  romances  side  by  side  with  his  syntax.  Could  not  that  old  man  tell  all 
the  veritable  legend  of  Sir  Guy,  how  he  wed  the  fair  Phillis,  and,  "  all  clad  in 
grey  in  pilgrim-sort,"  voyaged  to  the  Holy  Land,  and  there  slew  the  giant 
Amarant  and  the  treacherous  Knight  of  Pavye,  and  how  he  utterly  did  redeem 
England  from  Danish  tribute,  by  slaying  the  giant  Colbrand,  and  moreover 
destroyed  the  dragon  of  Northumberland,  and  the  cow  of  Dunsmore  Heath, 
whose  bones  even  then  might  be  seen  at  Warwick  ?  And  had  he  not  viewed 
the  cave  at  Guy's  Cliff  made  by  the  champion's  own  hands  out  of  a  craggy 
rock  of  stone,  where  he  long  dwelt  in  poverty,  begging  his  daily  bread  at  his 
own  castle-gate  ?  This  legend,  indeed,  would  tell  of  wondrous  deeds  done  close 
at  hand ;  and  the  boy-poet  would  ardently  desire  to  see  the  famous  castle  of 
Warwick,  and  the  hermit's  cave,  where  the  lady  of  Sir  Guy,  having  received 
their  wedding-ring  by  a  trusty  servant,  came  in  haste,  and  finding  her  sick  lord, 
"herself  closed  up  his  dying  eyes."  The  minstrel  would  affirm  the  truth  of 
this  legend ;  and  his  young  listener  would  believe  it  all.  There  was  not  only 
boy-faith  in  those  days,  but  there  was  faith  in  tradition  even  amongst  worldly 
men.  The  imagination  could  rest  confidingly  upon  the  distant  and  the  past. 
Even  in  the  middle  of  the  next  century  an  antiqnary,  unequalled  for  indus 
trious  and  minute  inquiry,  could  surrender  his  belief  to  the  general  truth  of 
the  history  of  Sir  Guy :  "Of  his  particular  adventures,  lest  what  I  say  should 
be  suspected  for  fabulous,  I  will  only  instance  that  combat  betwixt  him  and 
the  Danish  champion,  Colebrand,  whom  some  (to  magnify  our  noble  Guy  the 
more)  report  to  have  been  a  giant.  The  story  whereof,  however  it  may  be 
thought  fictitious  by  some,  forasmuch  as  there  be  those  that  make  a  question 
whether  there  was  ever  really  such  a  man ;  or,  if  so,  whether  all  be  not  a  dream 
which  is  reported  of  him,  in  regard  that  the  monks  have  sounded  out  his 
praises  so  hyperbolically :  yet  those  that  are  more  considerate  will  neither 
doubt  the  one  nor  the  other,  inasmuch  as  it  hath  been  so  usual  with  our  ancient 
historians,  for  the  encouragement  of  after-ages  unto  bold  attempts,  to  set  forth 
the  exploits  of  worthy  men  with  the  highest  encomiums  imaginable:  and 
therefore,  should  we  for  that  cause  be  so  conceited  as  to  explode  it,  all  history 

*  Ancient  ballad  of  '  Chevy  Chase  '—the  one  which  Sidney  describes  as  "eril  appareled  in  the 

dust  and  cobweb  of  that  uncivil  age." 

59 


WILLIAM    SIIAKSPKIIE  : 

of  those  times  might  as  well  be  villified.":      \\\-  arc  changed.     Is  the   change 
for  the  better? 

But  the  old  minstrel  has  heroic  songs  that  are  not  altogether  of  the  marvel 
lous.     There  was  a  story  of  Richard  Coeur-de-Lion — 

"  Against  whose  fury  and  unmatched  force 
The  awless  lion  could  not  wage  the  fijht;"  f 

which  told  in  homely  verse  how — 

"  The  lyon  was  hon^ry  and  megre, 
And  bette  his  tayle  to  be  egrc." 

There  was  the  simple  burst  of  patriotic  exultation  for  the  victory  at  Agincourt, 
beginning — 

"  Owre  kynge  went  forth  to  Normandy, 
With  grace  and  myght  of  chivalry ; 
The  God  for  him  wrought  marvelonsly, 
Wherefore  Englonde  may  calle,  and  cry 

Deo  griil  ins : 
Deo  gratias  Anglia  re  Ide  pro  victoria." 

Many  a  long  "fitte"  had  he,  which  told  of  doughty  deeds  of  Arthur  and  his 
chivalry,  Sir  Bevis,  Sir  Gawain,  Sir  Launfal,  and  Sir  Isenbras ;  and,  after  he 
had  praluded  with  his  harp,  the  minstrel  would  begin  each  in  stately  wise  with 
"  Listen,  lordlings,  and  hold  you  still,"  or  "  Listen  to  me  a  little  stond."  Pass 
we  over  all  the  merry  tales  of  Robin  Hood  which  fell  triplingly  from  his  tongue, 
for  many  of  these  were  fresh  in  the  memory  of  the  people,  and  were  sung  in  the 
greenwood  or  by  the  Christmas  fire.  But  he  had  songs  which  he  could  scarcely 
sing  without  a  tear  in  his  eye,  for  they  were  remembrances  of  days  when  the 
minstrel  was  welcomed  by  the  porter  at  the  abbey -gate,  and  the  buttery-hatch 
was  unclosed  to  give  him  a  generous  meal.  They  were  songs  of  pilgrimages 
made  by  true  lovers  to  shrines  of  Our  Lady, — songs  that  two  centuries  after 
were  to  be  adopted  in  a  more  correct  school  of  poetry,  but  one  scarcely  more 
spirited  and  natural : — 

"  Gentle  herdsman,  tell  to  me, 

Of  curtesy  I  thee  pray, 
Unto  the  town  of  Walsingham 

Which  is  the  right  and  ready  way," 

has  a  fine  racy  melody  about  it,  pleasanter  we  think,  than  the  somewhat  cloying 
"  Turn,  gentle  hermit  of  the  dale." 

The  minstrel  has  departed  ;  but  he  has  left  behind  him  such  lore  as  will  be  long 
cherished  by  that  wondrous  boy  of  the  Free  Grammar-school.  There  are  many 
traces  in  the  works  of  Shakspere  of  his  familiarity  with  old  romances  and  old 
ballads ;  but,  like  all  his  other  acquirements,  there  is  no  reproduction  of  the 
same  thing  under  a  new  form.  Rowe  fancied  that  Shakspere's  knowledge  of 
the  learned  languages  was  but  small,  because  "it  is  without  controversy  that  in 

•  Dng»la!c'jj  'Warwickshire,  page  299  ^  King  John,  Act  I.  Scene  r. 

60 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

his  works  we  scarce  find  any  traces  of  anything  that  looks  like  an  imitation  of 
the  ancients."  It  is  for  inferior  men  to  imitate.  It  was  for  Shakspere  t6  sub 
ject  his  knowledge  to  his  original  power  of  thought,  so  that  his  knowledge  and 
his  invention  should  become  one  perfect  and  entire  substance;  and  thus  the 
minute  critic,  who  desires  to  find  the  classical  jewels  set  in  the  English  gold, 
proclaims  that  they  are  not  there,  became  they  were  unknown  and  unappre 
ciated  by  the  uneducated  poet.  So  of  the  traditionary  lore  with  which  Shak 
spere  must  have  been  familiar  from  his  very  boyhood.  That  lore  is  not  in  his 
writings  in  any  very  palpable  shape,  but  its  spirit  is  there.  The  simplicity,  the 
vigour,  the  pathos,  the  essential  dramatic  power,  of  the  ballad  poetry  stood  out 
in  Shakspere's  boyhood  in  remarkable  contrast  to  the  drawling  pedantry  of  the 
moral  plays  of  the  early  stage.  The  ballads  kept  the  love  and  the  knowledge 
of  real  poetry  in  the  hearts  of  the  people.  There  was  something  high,  and 
generous,  and  tolerant,  in  those  which  were  most  popular ;  something  which 
demonstratively  told  they  belonged  to  a  nation  which  admired  courage,  which 
loved  truth,  which  respected  misfortune.  Percy,  speaking  of  the  more  ancient 
ballad  of  '  Chevy  Chase/  says — "  One  may  also  observe  a  generous  impartiality 
in  the  old  original  bard,  when  in  the  conclusion  of  his  tale  he  represents  both 
nations  as  quitting  the  field  without  any  reproachful  reflection  on  either  ;  though 
he  gives  to  his  own  countrymen  the  credit  of  being  the  smaller  number."  The 
author  of  that  ballad  was  an  Englishman ;  and  we  may  believe  this  "  impar 
tiality"  to  have  been  an  ingredient  of  the  old  English  patriotism.  At  any  rate 
it  entered  into  the  patriotism  of  Shakspere. 


WILLIAM    SIIAKSI'F.KF.  : 


[The  Boundary  Elm,  Stratford.] 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HOLIDAYS. 


IT  is  the  twenty-third  of  April,  and  the  birthday  of  William  Shakspere  is  a 
general  holiday  at  Stratford.  It  is  St.  George's  day.  There  is  high  feasting 
at  Westminster  or  at  Windsor.  The  green  rushes  are  strewn  in  the  outward 
courts  of  the  Palace ;  the  choristers  lift  up  the  solemn  chants  of  the  Litany 
as  a  procession  advances  from  the  Queen's  Hall  to  her  Chapel ;  the  Heralds 
move  on  gorgeously  in  their  coat-armour ;  the  Knights  of  the  Garter  and  the 
Sovereign  glitter  in  their  velvet  robes ;  the  Yeomen  of  the  Guard  close  round 
in  their  richest  liveries.*  At  Stratford  there  is  humbler  pageantry.  Upon 
the  walls  of  the  Chapel  of  the  Holy  Cross  there  was  a  wondrous  painting  of  a 
terrible  dragon  pierced  through  the  neck  with  a  spear  ;  but  he  has  snapped  the 


62 


•  Son  Nichols's  '  Progresses  of  Elizabeth,'  vol.  i.,  p.  88. 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

weapon  in  two  with  his  fearful  talons,  and  a  gallant  knight  in  complete  armour 
is  uplifting  his  sword,  whilst  the  bold  horse  which  he  bestrides  rushes  upon 
the  monster  with  his  pointed  champfrein :  *  in  the  background  is  a  crowned 
l&dy  with  a  lamb;  and  on  distant  towers  a  king  and  queen  watching  the 
combat.  This  story  of  Saint  George  and  the  delivery  of  the  Princess  of 
Silene  from  the  power  of  the  dragon  was,  on  the  twenty-third  of  April,  wont  to 
be  dramatized  at  Stratford.  From  the  altar  of  Saint  George  was  annually 
taken  down  an  ancient  suit  of  harness,  which  was  duly  scoured  and  repaired  ; 
and  from  some  storehouse  was  produced  the  figure  of  a  dragon,  which  had  also 
all  needful  annual  reparation.  Upon  the  back  of  some  sturdy  labourer  was 
the  harness  fitted,  and  another  powerful  man  had  to  bear  the  dragon,  into 
whose  body  he  no  doubt  entered.  Then,  all  the  dignitaries  of  the  town  being 
duly  assembled,  did  Saint  George  and  the  Dragon  march  along,  amidst  the 
ringing  of  bells  and  the  firing  of  chambers,  and  the  shout  of  the  patriotic 
population  of  "  Saint  George  for  England."  f  Here  is  the  simplest  of  dramatic 
exhibitions,  presented  through  a  series  of  years  to  the  observing  eyes  of  a  boy 
in  whom  the  dramatic  power  of  going  out  of  himself  to  portray  some  incident, 
or  character,  or  passion,  with  incomparable  truth,  was  to  be  developed  and 
matured  in  the  growth  of  his  poetical  faculty.  As  he  looked  upon  that  rude 
representation  of  a  familiar  legend  he  may  first  have  conceived  the  capability 
of  exhibiting  to  the  eye  a  moving  picture  of  events,  and  of  informing  it  with 
life  by  appropriate  dialogue.  But  in  truth  the  essentially  dramatic  spirit  of 
the  ancient  church  had  infused  itself  thoroughly  into  the  popular  mind ;  and 
thus,  long  after  the  Reformation  had  swept  away  most  of  the  ecclesiastical 
ceremonials  that  were  held  to  belong  to  the  superstitions  of  Popery,  the  people 
retained  this  principle  of  personation  in  their  common  festivals ;  and  many 
were  the  occasions  in  which  the  boy  and  the  man,  the  maiden  and  the  matron, 
were  called  upon  to  enact  some  part,  in  which  bodily  activity  and  mental 
readiness .  might  be  required ;  in  which  something  of  grace  and  even  of 
dignity  might  be  called  forth ;  in  which  a  free  but  good-tempered  wit  might 
command  the  applause  of  uncritical  listeners  ;  and  a  sweet  or  mellow  voice, 
pouring  forth  our  nation's  songs,  would  receive  the  exhilarating  homage  of  a 
jocund  chorus.  Let  us  follow  the  boy  William  Shakspere,  now,  we  will  sup 
pose,  some  ten  or  eleven  years  old,  through  the  annual  course  of  the  principal 
rustic  holidays,  in  which  the  yeoman  and  the  peasant,  the  tradesman  and  the 
artisan,  with  their  wives  and  children,  were  equally  ready  to  partake.  We 
may  discover  in  these  familiar  scenes  not  only  those  peculiar  forms  of  a  dra 
matic  spirit  in  real  manners  which  might  in  some  degree  have  given  a  direc 
tion  to  his  genius,  but,  what  is  perhaps  of  greater  importance,  that  poetical 
aspect  of  common  life  which  was  to  supply  materials  of  thought  and  of  imagery 

*  The  armour  for  the  horse's  head,  with  a  long  projecting  spike,  so  as  to  make  the  horse-re- 
semble  an  unicorn. 

t  It  appears  from  accounts  which  are  given  in  fac-simile  in  Fisher's  Work  on  the  Chapel  of 
the  Guild  that  this  procession  repeatedly  took  place  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII. ;  and  other  ac 

counts  show  that  it  was  continued  as  late  as  1579. 

63 


WILLIAM    8HAKSPKKK  : 

to  him  who  was  to  become  in  the  most  eminent  degree  the  poet  of  humanity 
in  all  its  imaginative  relations. 

The  festivities  of  Christmas  are  over.  The  opening  year  calls  the  husband 
man  again  to  his  labours  ;  and  Plough  Monday,  with  its  plough  dragged  along 
to  rustic  music,  and  its  sword-dance,  proclaims  that  wassail  must  give  place  to 
work.  The  rosemary  and  the  bays,  the  misletoe  and  the  holly,  are  removed 
from  the  porch  and  the  hall,  and  the  delicate  leaves  of  the  box  are  twined  into 
the  domestic  garland.*  The  Vigil  of  Saint  Agnes  has  rewarded  or  disappointed 
the  fateful  charm  of  the  village  maiden.  The  husbandman  has  noted  whether 
Saint  Paul's  day  "  be  fair  and  clear,"  to  guide  his  presages  of  the  year's  fertility. 
'  Cupid's  Kalendere '  has  been  searched  on  the  day  of  "  Seynte  Valentine,"  as 
Lydgate  tells.  The  old  English  chorus,  which  Shakspere  himself  has  pre 
served,  has  been  duly  sung — 

"  Tis  merry  in  hall,  when  beards  wag  all, 
And  welcome  merry  Shrove-tUo.'' 

Easter  is  come,  after  a  season  of  solemnity.  The  ashes  were  no  longer  blessed  at 
the  beginning  of  Lent,  nor  the  palms  borne  at  the  close  ;  yet  there  was  strong 
devotion  in  the  reformed  church — real  penitence  and  serious  contemplation. 
But  the  day  of  gladness  arrives — a  joy  which  even  the  great  eye  of  the  natural 
world  was  to  make  manifest.  Surely  there  was  something  exquisitely  beautiful 
in  the  old  custom  of  going  forth  into  the  fields  before  the  sun  had  risen  on 
Easter-day,  to  see  him  mounting  over  the  hills  with  a  tremulous  motion,  as  if 
it  were  an  animate  thing  bounding  in  sympathy  with  the  redeemed  of  man 
kind.  The  young  poet  might  have  joined  his  simple  neighbours  on  this  cheerful 
morning,  and  yet  have  thought  with  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  "  We  shall  not,  I 
hope,  disparage  the  Resurrection  of  our  Redeemer  if  we  say  that  the  sun  doth 
not  dance  on  Easter-day."  But  one  of  the  most  glorious  images  of  one  of  his 
early  plays  has  given  life  and  movement  to  the  sun  : — 

"  Night's  caudles  are  burnt  out,  and  jocund  day 
Stands  tiptoe  on  the  misty  mountain's  tops." 

Saw  he  not  the  sun  dance— heard  he  not  the  expression  of  the  undoubting 
belief  that  the  sun  danced — as  he  went  forth  into  Stratford  meadows  in  the 
early  twilight  of  Easter-day  ? 

On  the  road  to  Henley-in-Arden,  about  two  or  three  hundred  yards  from  the 
hou'-e  in  Henley  Street  where  John  Shakspere  once  dwelt,  there  stood,  when  this 
Biography  was  first  written,  a  very  ancient  boundary-tree — an  elm  which  is  recorded 
in  a  Presentment  of  the  Perambulation  of  the  boundaries  of  the  Borough  of  Strat 
ford,  on  the  7th  of  April,  1591,  as  "The  Elrac  at  the  Dovehouse- Close  end."f 
The  boundary  from  that  elm  in  the  Henley  road  continued  in  another  direction  to 
"•the  two  elms  in  Evesham  highway."  Such  are  the  boundaries  of  the  borough  at 
this  day.  At  a  period,  then,  when  it  was  usual  for  the  boys  of  Grammar  Schools 
t-j  attend  the  annual  perambulations  in  Rogation-week  of  the  clergy,  the  magis- 

*  He:rick.  f  The  original  came  into  the  possession  of  II.  Wheler,  Esq..  of  Stratford 

61 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 

trates  and  public  officers,  and  the  inhabitants,  of  parishes  and  towns,*  would 
William  Shakspere  be  found,  in  gleeful  companionship,  under  this  old  boundary 
elm.  There  would  be  assembled  the  parish  priest,  and  the  schoolmaster,  the 
bailiff  and  the  churchwardens.  Banners  would  wave,  poles  crowned  with  gar 
lands  would  be  carried  by  old  and  young.  Under  each  Gospel-tree,  of  which 
this  Dovehouse- Close  Elm  would  be  one,  a  passage  from  Scripture  would  be 
read,  a  collect  recited,  a  psalm  sung.  With  more  pomp  at  the  same  season 
might  the  Doge  of  Venice  espouse  the  Sea  in  testimony  of  the  perpetual 
domination  of  the  Republic,  but  not  with  more  heartfelt  joy  than  these  the 
people  of  Stratford  traced  the  boundaries  of  their  little  sway.  The  Reforma 
tion  left  us  these  parochial  processions.  In  the  7th  year  of  Elizabeth  (1565) 
the  form  of  devotion  for  the  "  Rogation  days  of  Procession  "  was  prescribed, 
"  without  addition  of  any  superstitious  ceremonies  heretofore  used  ;  "  and  it  was 
subsequently  ordered  that  the  curate  on  such  occasions  "  shall  admonish  the 
people  to  give  thanks  to  God  in  the  beholding  of  God's  benefits,"  and  enforce 
the  scriptural  denouncements  against  those  who  removed  their  neighbours' 
landmarks:  Beautifully  has  Walton  described  how  Hooker  encouraged  these 
annual  ceremonials  : — "  He  would  by  no  means  omit  the  customary  time  of  pro 
cession,  persuading  all,  both  rich  and  poor,  if  they  desired  the  preservation  of 
love  and  their  parish  rights  and  liberties,  to  accompany  him  in  his  perambula 
tion  ;  and  most  did  so  :  in  which  perambulation  he  would  usually  express  more 
pleasant  discourse  than  at  other  times,  and  would  then  always  drop  some  loving 
and  facetious  observations,  to  be  remembered  against  the  next  year,  especially 
by  the  boys  and  young  people;  still  inclining  them,  and  all  his  present 
parishioners,  to  meekness  and  mutual  kindnesses  and  love,  because  love  thinks 
not  evil,  but  covers  a  multitude  of  infirmities."  And  so,  perhaps,  listening  to 
the  gentle  words  of  some  venerable  Hooker  of  his  time,  would  the  young  Shak 
spere  walk  the  bounds  of  his  native  parish.  One  day  would  not  suffice  to  visit 
its  numerous  Gospel-trees.  Hours  would  be  spent  in  reconciling  differences 
amongst  the  cultivators  of  the  common  fields  ;  in  largesses  to  the  poor ;  in 
merry-making  at  convenient  halting-plaees.  A  wide  parish  is  this  of  Stratford, 
including  eleven  villages  and  hamlets,  A  district  of  beautiful  and  varied 
scenery  is  this  parish — hill  and  valley,  wood  and  water.  Following  the  Avon 
upon  the  north  bank,  against  the  stream,  for  some  two  miles,  the  processionists 
would  walk  through  low  and  fertile"  meadows,  unenclosed  pastures  then  in  all 
likelihood.  A  little  brook  falls  into  the  river,  coming  down  from  the  marshy 
uplands  of  Ingon,  where,  in  spite  of  modern  improvement,  the  frequent  bog 
attests  the  accuracy  of  Dugdale's  description.*  The  brook  is  traced  upwards 
into  the  hills  of  Welcombe ;  and  then  for  nearly  three  miles  from  Welcombe 
Greenhill  the  boundary  lies  along  a  wooded  ridge,  opening  prospects  of  sur 
passing  beauty.  There  may  the  distant  spires  of  Coventry  be  seen  peeping 
above  the  intermediate  hills,  and  the  nearer  towers  of  Warwick  lying  cradled 
in  their  surrounding  woods.  In  another  direction  a  cloud-like  spot  in  the 

•  See  Brand's  '  Popular  Antiquities,'  by  Sir  H.  Ellis,  edit.  1811,  vol.  i.,  p.  123. 

t  See  p.  29. 
LIFE.        F  66 


WILLIAM   SllAKtSPLKL  : 

extreme  distance  is  the  far-famed  Wrekm ;  and  turning  to  the  north-west  are 
the  noble  hills  of  Malvern,  with  their  well-defined  outlines.  The  Cotswolds 
lock-in  the  landscape  on  another  side  ;  while  in  the  middle  distance  the  bold 
Bredon-hill  looks  down  upon  the  vale  of  Evesham.  All  around  is  a  country  of 
unrivalled  fertility,  with  now  and  then  a  plain  of  considerable  extent ;  but  more 
commonly  a  succession  of  undulating  hills,  some  wood-crowned,  but  ail  culti 
vated.  At  the  northern  extremity  of  this  high  land,  which  principally  belongs 
to  the  estate  of  Clopton,  and  which  was  doubtless  a  park  in  early  times,  we 
have  a  panoramic  view  of  the  valley  in  which  Stratford  lies,  with  its  hamlets  of 
Bishopton,  Little  Wilmecote,  Shottery,  and  Drayton.  As  the  marvellous  boy 
of  the  Stratford  grammar-school  then  looked  upon  that  plain,  how  little  could 
he  have  foreseen  the  course  of  his  future  life  !  For  twenty  years  of  his  man 
hood  he  was  to  have  no  constant  dwelling-place  in  that  his  native  town  ;  but  it 
was  to  be  the  home  of  his  affections.  He  would  be  gathering  fame  and  opu 
lence  in  an  almost  untrodden  path,  of  which  his  young  ambition  could  shape  no 
definite  image ;  but  in  the  prime  of  his  life  he  was  to  bring  his  wealth  to  his 
own  Stratford,  and  become  the  proprietor  and  the  contented  cultivator  of  some 
of  the  loved  fields  that  he  now  saw  mapped  out  at  his  feet.  Then,  a  little 
while,  and  an  early  tomb  under  that  grey  tower — a  tomb  so  to  be  honoured  in 
all  ages  to  come, 

"  That  kings  for  such  a  tomb  would  wish  to  die." 

For  some  six  miles  the  boundary  runs  from  north  to  south,  partly  through 
land  which  was  formerly  barren,  and  still  known  as  Drayton  Bushes  and  Dray- 
ton  Wild  Moor.  Here, 

"Far  from  her  nest  the  lapwing  cries  away."  * 

The  green  bank  of  the  Avon  is  again  reached  at  the  western  extremity  of  the 
boundary,  and  the  pretty  hamlet  of  Luddington,  with  its  cottages  and  old  trees 
standing  high  above  the  river  sedges,  is  included.  The  Avon  is  crossed  where 
the  Stour  unites  with  it ;  and  the  boundary  extends  considerably  to  the  south 
east,  returning  to  the  town  over  Clopton's  Bridge.  Where  once  were  quiet 
pastures  there  is  now  the  Stratford  Railway  for  the  conveyance  of  coal  and 
corn — a  thing  undreamt  of  by  the  perambulators.  But  there  is  a  greater 
marvel  of  modern  science  associated  with  the  name  of  Shakspere.  The  cliff  at 
Dover,  whose  base  was  inaccessible  except  to 

"  The  fishermen  that  walk  upon  the  beach," 

is  now  pierced  through  by  the  tunnel  of  a  railway.  A  few  centuries,  a  thou 
sand  years,  and  the  arches  of  the  tunnel  may  be  fallen  in,  its  mouth  choked 
with  shingle  and  sea-weed,  and  some  solitary  antiquarian  poking  with  his  small 
lantern  amongst  its  rubbish.  But  the  rock  itself  will  be  unchanged  ;  and  so 
will  be  the  memorable  description  of  "  its  high  and  bending  head."  And  he 
who  wrote  that  description,  and  painted  the  awful  turmoil  of  human  passion 
and  misery  associated  with  that  rock,  is  at  the  time  of  which  we  speak  a  happy 

Q  *  Coiuody  of  Errors. 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

Schoolboy  at  Stratford  ;  perambulating  his  parish  with  his  honest  father ;  made 
joyful,  perhaps,  with  a  kind  word  or  two  from  the  great  esquire  ;  and  smiling 
to  himself  at  the  recollection  of  "  some  loving  and  facetious  observations  "  of  the 
good  vicar.  All  the  rest  of  that  group,  where  are  their  honours  now  ?  It  is 
something  to  know  that  when  William  Shakspere  was  twelve  years  old,  Henry 
Heycroft  was  vicar  of  Stratford,  and  William  Clopton  the  great  man  of  the 
parish.  If  they  bestowed  kindness  upon  that  boy,  as  upon  other  boys  ;  if  they 
cherished  the  poor  ;  if  they  reconciled  differences  ;  if  they  walked  humbly  in 
their  generation, — they  have  their  reward,  though  the  world  has  forgotten 
them. 

Shottery,  the  prettiest  of  hamlets,  is  scarcely  a  mile  from  Stratford.  Here, 
in  all  probability,  dwelt  one  who  in  a  few  years  was  to  have  an  important  influ 
ence  upon  the  destiny  of  the  boy-poet.  A  Court  Roll  of  the  34th  Henry  VIII. 
(1543)  shows  us  that  John  Hathaway  then  resided  at  Shottery;  and  the  sub 
stantial  house  which  the  Hathaways  possessed,  now  divided  into  several  cot 
tages,  remained  with  their  descendants  till  the  very  recent  period  of  1838. 
There  were  Hathaways,  also,  living  in  the  town  of  Stratford,  contemporaries  of 
John  Shakspere.  We  cannot  say,  absolutely,  that  Anne  Hathaway,  the  future 
wife  of  William  Shakspere,  was  of  Shottery  ;  but  the  prettiest  of  maidens  (for 
the  veracious  antiquarian  Oldys  says  there  is  a  tradition  that  she  was  eminently 
beautiful)  would  have  fitly  dwelt  in  the  pleasantest  of  hamlets.  Tieck  has 
written  an  agreeable  novelet,  'The  Festival  at  Kenilworth,'  on  the  subject  of 
Shakspere— introductory  to  another  on  the  same  subject,  '  Poet-Life.'  He 
makes,  somewhat  unnecessarily  we  think,  John  Shakspere  morose  and  harsh  to 
his  boy ;  and  he  brings  in  Anne  Hathaway  to  obtain  his  consent  that  William 
shall  go  to  Kenilworth  :  "  Anne  took  the  graceful  youth  in  her  arms,  and  said, 
laughingly,  '  Father  Shakspere,  you  know  William  is  my  sweetheart,  and 
belongs  as  much  to  me  as  to  you  ;  we  have  promised  one  another  long  ago,  and 
if  I  go  to  Kenilworth  he  must  go  with  me.'  William  withdrew  himself,  half- 
ashamed,  from  the  arms  of  the  mischievous  girl,  and  said,  with  great  feeling, 
'Cease,  Anne  ;  you  know  I  cannot  bear  this  :  I  am  too  young  for  you/  "  There 
is  verisimilitude  in  this  scene,  if  not  truth  ;  and  it  is  easy  to  comprehend  how 
the  playful  friendship  of  a  handsome  maiden  for  an  interesting  boy,  some  seven 
years  younger,  might  grow  into  a  dangerous  affection.  Assuredly,  with  neigh 
bourly  intercourse  between  their  families,  William  Shakspere  would  be  at 
Shottery, 

"  To  do  observance  to  a  morn  of  May;  "* 

and  indeed,  to  be  just  to  the  youths  ana  maidens  of  Stratford  and  Shottery,  it 
was  "  impossible  " 

"  To  make  them  sleep 
On  May-day  morning."  f 

Pass  the  back  of  the  cottage  in  which  the  Hathaways  dwelt  (of  which  we  shall 
hereafter  have  to  speak)  and  enter  that  beautiful  meadow  which  rises  into  a 

*  Midsummer-Night's  Dream.  t  Henry  VIII. 

F2  67 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

gentle  eminence  commanding  the  hamlet  at  several  points.  Throw  down  the 
hedges,  and  is  there  not  here  the  fittest  of  localities  for  the  May-games  ?  An 
impatient  group  is  gathered  under  the  shade  of  the  old  elms,  for  the  morn 
ing  sun  casts  his  slanting  beams  dazzlingly  across  that  green.  There  is  the 
distant  sound  of  tabor  and  bagpipe  : — 

"  Hark,  hark  !  I  hear  the  dancing, 
And  a  nimble  morris  prancing ; 
The  bagpipe  and  the  morris  bells, 
That  they  are  not  far  hence  ua  tells."  » 

From  out  of  the  leafy  Arden  are  they  bringing  in  the  May-pole.  The  oxen 
move  slowly  with  the  ponderous  wain:  they  are  garlanded,  but  not  for  the 
sacrifice.  Around  the  spoil  of  the  forest  are  the  pipers  and  the  dancers — 
maidens  in  blue  kirtles,  and  foresters  in  green  tunics.  Amidst  the  shouts  of 
young  and  old,  childhood  leaping  and  clapping  its  hands,  is  the  May-pole 
raised.  But  there  are  great  personages  forthcoming — not  so  great,  however,  as 
in  more  ancient  times.  There  are  Robin  Hood  and  Little  John,  in  their  grass- 
green  tunics;  but  their  bows  and  their  sheaves  of  arrows  are  more  for  show 
than  use.  Maid  Marian  is  there  ;  but  she  is  a  mockery — a  smooth-faced  youth 
in  a  watchet-coloured  tunic,  with  flowers  and  coronets,  and  a  mincing  gait,  but 
not  the  shepherdess  who 

"With  garlands  gay 
Was  made  the  lady  of  the  May."  f 

There  is  farce  amidst  the  pastoral.  The  age  of  unrealities  has  already  in  part 
arrived.  Even  amongst  country-folks  there  is  burlesque.  There  is  personation, 
with  a  laugh  at  the  things  that  are  represented.  The  Hobby-horse  and  the 
Dragon,  however,  produce  their  shouts  of  merriment.  But  the  hearty  Morris - 
dancers  soon  spread  a  spirit  of  genial  mirth  amidst  all  the  spectators.  The 
clownish  Maid  Marian  will  now 

"  Caper  upright  like  a  wild  Morisco ; "  J 

Friar  Tuck  sneaks  away  from  his  ancient  companions  to  join  hands  with  some 
undisguised  maiden ;  the  Hobby-horse  gets  rid  of  pasteboard  and  his  foot- 
cloth  ;  and  the  Dragon  quietly  deposits  his  neck  and  tail  for  another  season. 
Something  like  the  genial  chorus  of  '  Summer's  Last  Will  and  Testament '  is 
rung  out : — 

"  Trip  and  go,  heave  and  ho, 
Up  and  down,  to  and  fro, 
From  the  town  to  the  grove, 
Two  and  two,  let  us  rove, 
A  Maying,  a  playing; 
Love  hath  no  gainsaying : 
So  merrily  trip  and  go." 

The  early-rising  moon  still  sees  the  villagers  on  that  green  of  Shottery.  The 
Piper  leans  against  the  May-pole;  the  featliest  of  dancers  still  swim  to  his 
music : — 

Weelkes's  Madrigals,  1600. 

f  Nicholas  Breton.  *  Henry  VI.,  Part  IL 

68 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

"  So  have  I  seen 

Tom  Piper  stand  upon  our  village  green, 
Back'd  with  the  May-pole,  whilst  a  jocund  crew 
In  gentle  motion  circularly  threw 
Themselves  around  him."  * 

The  same  beautiful  writer — one4  of  the  last  of  our  golden  age  of  poetry — has 
described  the  parting  gifts  bestowed  upon  the  "merry  youngsters"  by 

"  The  lady  of  the  May 
Set  in  an  arbour,  (on  a  holy-day,) 
Built  by  the  May-pole,  where  the  jocund  swains 
Dance  with  the  maidens  to  the  bagpipe's  strains, 
When  envious  night  commands  them  to  be  gone."  f 

It  is  easy  to  believe  that  Anne  Hathaway  might  have  been  the  Lady  of  the 
May  of  Shottery ;  and  that  the  enthusiastic  boy  upon  whom  she  bestowed  "  a 
garland  interwove  with  roses "  might  have  cherished  that  gift  with  a  gratitude 
that  was  not  for  his  peace. 

*  Browne's  '  Britannia's  Pastorals,'  Book  ii.,  Second  Song.  f  Book  iL,  Fourth  Song. 


(Shottery.l 


WILLIAM   SIIAKSPERE  : 

Eight  villages  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Stratford  have  been  characterized  in 
well-known  lines  by  some  old  resident  who  had  the  talent  of  rhyme.  It  is 
remarkable  how  familiar  all  the  country-people  are  to  this  day  with  these 
lines,  and  how  invariably  they  ascribe  them  to  Shakspere  : — 

"  Piping  Pebworth,  dancing  Marston, 
Haunted  Hillborough,  hungry  Grafton, 
Dudging  *  Exhali,  Papist  Wicksford, 
Beggarly  Broom,  and  drunken  Bidford." 

It  is  maintained  that  these  epithets  have  a  real  historical  truth  about  them ; 
and  so  we  must  place  the  scene  of  a  Whitsun-Ale  at  Bidford.  Aubrey  has 
given  a  sensible  account  of  such  a  festivity : — "  There  were  no  rates  for  the 
poor  in  my  grandfather's  days ;  but  for  Kingston  St.  Michael  (no  small  parish) 
the  Church-Ale  of  Whitsuntide  did  the  business.  In  every  parish  is,  or  was,  a 
church-house,  to  which  belonged  spits,  crocks,  &c.,  utensils  for  dressing  provi 
sion.  Here  the  housekeepers  met  and  were  merry,  and  gave  their  charity. 
The  young  people  were  there,  too,  and  had  dancing,  bowling,  shooting  at  butts, 
&c.,  the  ancients  sitting  gravely  by,  and  looking  on.  All  things  were  civil,  and 
without  scandal."f  The  puritan  Stubbes  took  a  more  severe  view  of  the  matter 
than  Aubrey's  grandfather : — "  In  certain  towns  where  drunken  Bacchus  bears 
sway,  against  Christmas  and  Easter,  Whitsuntide,  or  some  other  time,  the 
churchwardens  of  every  parish,  with  the  consent  of  the  whole  parish,  provide 
half  a  score  or  twenty  quarters  of  malt,  whereof  some  they  buy  of  the  church- 
stock,  and  some  is  given  them  of  the  parishioners  themselves,  every  one  con 
ferring  somewhat,  according  to  his  ability ;  which  malt,  being  made  into  very 
strong  ale  or  beer,  is  set  to  sale,  either  in  the  church  or  some  other  place  assigned 
to  that  purpose,  Then,  when  this  is  set  abroach,  well  is  he  that  can  get  the 
soonest  to  it,  and  spend  the  most  at  it."  J  Carew,  the  historian  of  Cornwall 
(1602),  says,  "  The  neighbour  parishes  at  those  times  lovingly  visit  one  another, 
and  this  way  frankly  spend  their  money  together."  Thus  lovingly  might  John 
Shakspere  and  his  friends  on  a  Whit-Monday  morning  have  ridden  by  the 
pleasant  road  to  Bidford — now  from  some  little  eminence  beholding  their  Avon 
flowing  amidst  a  low  meadow  on  one  side  and  a  wood-crowned  steep  on  the 
other,  turning  a  mill-wheel,  rushing  over  a  dam — now  carefully  wending  their 
way  through  the  rough  road  under  the  hill,  or  galloping  over  the  free  downs, 
glad  to  escape  from  rut  and  quagmire.  And  then  the  Icknield  Street  §  is 
crossed,  and  they  look  down  upon  the  little  town  with  its  gabled  roofs ;  and 
they  pass  the  old  church,  whose  tower  gives  forth  a  lusty  peal ;  and  the  hostel 
at  the  bridge  receives  them  ;  and  there  is  the  cordial  welcome,  the  outstretched 
hand  and  the  full  cup. 

But  nearer  home  Whitsuntide  has  its  sports  also ;  and  these  will  be  more 
attractive  for  William  Shakspere.  Had  not  Stratford  its  "  Lord  of  Whitsun- 


•  Sulky,  stubborn,  in  dudgeon, 
t  Miscellanies.  J  Anatomy  of  Abuses,  1585. 

§  The  Koman  way  which  runs  near  Bidford. 
7<J 


[Bidford  Bridge.] 

tide  ? "  Might  the  boy  not  behold  at  this  season  innocence  wearing  a  face  ot 
freedom  like  his  own  Perdita  ? — 

"  Come,  take  your  flowers  : 
Methinks,  I  play  as  I  have  seen  them  do 
In  Whitsun  pastorals." 

Would  there  not  be  in  some  cheerful  mansion  a  simple  attempt  at  dramatic 
representation,  such  as  his  Julia  has  described  in  her  assumed  character  of  a 
page  ?— 

"  At  Pentecost, 

When  all  our  pageants  of  delight  were  play'd, 
Our  youth  got  me  to  play  the  woman's  part ; 
And  I  was  trimm'd  in  madam  Julia's  gown ; 
Which  served  me  as  fit,  in  all  men's  judgments, 
As  if  the  garment  had  been  made  for  me : 
Therefore,  I  know  she  is  about  my  height. 
And  at  that  time  I  made  her  weep  a-good, 
For  I  did  play  a  lamentable  part : 
Madam,  't  was  Ariadne,  passioning 
For  Theseus'  perjury  and  unjust  flight."  t 

Certainly  on  that  holiday  some  one  would  be  ready  to  recite  a  moving  tale 
from  Gower  or  from  Chaucer — a  fragment  of  the  '  Confessio  Amantis '  or  of  the 
'  Troilus  and  Creseide  : ' — 

"  It  hath  been  sung  at  festivals, 
On  ember  eves,  and  holy-ales."  J 

The  elements  of  poetry  would  be  around  him  ;  the  dramatic  spirit  of  the  people 

•  Winter's  Tale,  Act  iv.,  Scene  in.         t  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  Act  iv.,  Sc.  m. 

I  Pericles,  Act  I. 

71 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE  : 

would  be  struggling  to  give  utterance  to  its  thoughts,  and  even  then  he  might 
cherish  the  desire  to  lend  it  a  voice. 

The  sheep-shearing — that,  too,  is  dramatic.     Drayton,  the  countryman  of  our 
poet,  has  described  the  shepherd-king  : — 

"  But,  Muse,  return  to  tell  how  there  the  shepherd-king, 
Whose  flock  hath  chanc'd  that  year  the  earliest  lamb  to  bring, 
In  his  gay  baldric  sits  at  his  low  grassy  board, 
With  flawns,  curds,  clouted  cream,  and  country  dainties  stor'd : 
And,  whilst  the  bagpipe  plays,  each  lusty  jocund  swain 
Quaffs  syllabubs  in  cans  to  all  upon  the  plain ; 
And  to  their  country  gins,  whose  nosegays  they  do  wear, 
Some  roundelays  do  sing, — the  rest  the  burden  bear."  * 

The  vale  of  Evesham  is  the  scene  of  Drayton's  sheep -shearing.  But  higher  up 
the  Avon  there  are  rich  pastures ;  and  shallow  bays  of  the  clear  river,  where 
the  washing  may  be  accomplished.  Such  a  bay,  so  used,  is  there  near  the 
pretty  village  of  Alveston,  about  two  miles  above  Stratford.  One  of  the  most 
delicious  scenes  of  the  Winter's  Tale  is  that  of  the  sheep-shearing,  in  which 
we  have  the  more  poetical  shepherd  -queen.  There  is  a  minuteness  of  circum 
stance  amidst  the  exquisite  poetry  of  this  scene  which  shows  that  it  must  have 
been  founded  upon  actual  observation,  and  in  all  likelihood  upon  the  keen  and 
prying  observation  of  a  boy  occupied  and  interested  with  such  details.  Surely 
his  father's  pastures  and  his  father's  homestead  might  have  supplied  all  these 
circumstances.  His  father's  man -might  be  the  messenger  to  the  town,  and 
reckon  upon  "counters"  the  cost  of  the  sheep-shearing  feast.  "Three  pound 
of  sugar,  five  pound  of  currants,  rice  " — and  then  he  asks,  "  What  will  this  sister 
of  mine  do  with  rice  ?  "  In  Bohemia,  the  clown  might,  with  dramatic  propriety, 
not  know  the  use  of  rice  at  a  sheep -shearing ;  but  a  Warwickshire  swain  would 
have  the  flavour  of  cheese-cakes  in  his  mouth  at  the  first  mention  of  rice  and 
currants.  Cheese-cakes  and  warden-pies  were  the  sheep-shearing  delicacies. 
How  absolutely  true  is  the  following  picture  : — 

"  Fie,  daughter  1  when  my  old  wife  Hv'd,  upon 
This  day  she  was  both  pantler,  butler,  cook ; 
Both  dame  and  servant :  welcom'd  all,  serv'd  all 
Would  sing  her  song,  and  dance  her  turn ;  now  here 
At  upper  end  o'  the  table,  now  i'  the  middle ; 
On  his  shoulder,  and  his :  her  face  o'  fire 
With  labour ;  and  the  thing  she  took  to  quench  it 
She  would  to  each  one  sip." 

This  is  the  literal  painting  of  a  Teniers ;  but  the  same  hand  could  unite  the 
unrivalled  grace  of  a  Correggio.  William  Shakspere  might  have  had  some 
boyish  dreams  of  a  "  mistress  o'  the  feast,"  who  might  have  suggested  his  Per- 
dita ;  but  such  a  creation  is  of  higher  elements  than  those  of  the  earth.  Such  a 
bright  vision  is  something  more  than  "  a  queen  of  curds  and  cream." 
The  poet  who  says 

"  Come,  ho,  and  wake  Diaua  with  a  hymn ; 
With  sweetest  touches  pierce  your  mistress'  ear, 
And  draw  her  home  with  music,"  f 


•  Polyolbion,  Song  XIV.  j  Merchant  of  Venice,  Act  V.,  Scene  I. 

72 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

had  seen  the  Hock-Cart  of  the  old  harvest-home.  It  was  the  same  that  Paul 
Hentzner  saw  at  Windsor  in  1598:  "As  we  were  returning  to  our  inn  we 
happened  to  meet  some  country-people  celebrating  their  Harvest-home.  Their 
last  load  of  corn  they  crown  with  flowers,  having  besides  an  image  richly 
dressed,  by  which  perhaps  they  would  signify  Ceres.  This  they  keep  moving 
about,  while  men  and  women,  men  and  maid-servants,  riding  through  the 
streets  in  the  cart,  shout  as  loud  as  they  can  till  they  arrive  at  the  barn."  In 
the  reign  of  James  I.,  Moresin,  another  foreigner,  saw  a  figure  made  of  corn 
drawn  home  in  a  cart,  with  men  and  women  singing  to  the  pipe  and  the  drum. 
And  then  Puritanism  arose,  to  tell  us  that  all  such  expressions  of  the  heart 
were  pagan  and  superstitious,  relics  of  Popery,  abominations  of  the  Evil  One. 
Robert  Herrick,  full  of  the  old  poetical  feeling,  sung  the  glories  of  the  Hock- 
Cart  in  the  time  of  Charles  I. :  but  a  severe  religion,  and  therefore  an  unwise 
one,  denounced  all  such  festivals  as  the  causes  of  debauchery;  and  so  the 
debauchery  alone  remained  with  us.  The  music  and  the  dancing  were 
banished,  but  the  strong  drinks  were  left.  Herrick  tells  us  that  the  cere 
monies  of  the  Hock- Cart  were  performed  "  with  great  devotion."  Assuredly 
they  were.  Devotion  is  that  which  knocks  the  worldly  shackles  off  the  spirit ; 
strikes  a  spark  out  of  our  hard  and  dry  natures ;  enforces  the  money-getter 
for  a  moment  to  forego  his  gain,  and  the  penniless  labourer  to  forget  his 
hunger-satisfying  toil.  Devotion  is  that  which  brings  a  tear  into  the  eye, 
and  makes  the  heart  throb  against  the  bosom,  in  silent  forests  where  the  doe 
gazes  fearlessly  upon  the  unaccustomed  form  of  man,  by  rocks  overhanging  the 
sea,  in  the  gorge  of  the  mountains,  in  the  cloister  of  the  cathedral  when  the 
organ-peal  comes  and  goes  like  the  breath  of  flowers,  in  the  crowded  city  when 
joyous  multitudes  shout  by  one  impulse.  Devotion  lived  amidst  old  cere 
monials  derived  from  a  long  antiquity ;  it  waited  upon  the  seasons ;  it  hal 
lowed  the  seed-time  and  the  harvest,  and  made  the  frosts  cheerful.  And  thus 
it  grew  into  Religion.  The  feeling  became  a  principle.  But  the  formalists 
came,  and  required  men  to  be  devout  without  imagination;  to  have  faith, 
rejecting  tradition  and  authority,  and  all  the  genial  impulses  of  love  and  reve 
rence  associated  with  the  visible  world, — the  practical  poetry  of  life,  which  is 
akin  to  faith.  And  so  we  are  what  we  are,  and  not  what  God  would  have  us 
to  be. 

We  have  retained  Christmas;  a  starveling  Christmas;  one  day  of  excessive 
eating  for  all  ages,  and  Twelfth-cake  for  the  children.  It  is  something  that 
relations  meet  on  Christmas-day;  that  for  one  day  in  the  year  the  outward 
shows  of  rivalry  and  jealousy  are  not  visible ;  that  the  poor  cousin  puts  on  his 
best  coat  to  taste  port  with  his  condescending  host  of  the  same  name ;  that  the 
portionless  nieces  have  their  annual  guinea  from  their  wealthy  aunt.  But 
where  is  the  real  festive  exhilaration  of  Christmas ;  the  meeting  of  all  ranks 
as  children  of  a  common  father  ;  the  tenant  speaking  freely  in  his  landlord's 
hall;  the  labourers  and  their  families  sitting  at  the  same  great  oak  table;  the 
Yule  Log  brought  in  with  shout  and  song  ? 

"No  night  is  now  with  hymn  or  carol  blest,"  » 

•  Midsummer  Night's  Dream. 

I  o 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  : 

There  are  singers  of  carols  even  now  at  a  Stratford  Christmas.  Warwickshire 
has  retained  some  of  its  ancient  carols.  But  the  singers  are  wretched  chorus- 
makers,  according  to  the  most  unmusical  style  of  all  the  generations  from  the 
time  of  the  Commonwealth.  There  are  no  "three-man  song-men"  amongst 
them,  no  "means  and  bases;"  there  is  not  even  "a  Puritan"  who  "sings 
psalms  to  hornpipes."*  They  have  retained  such  of  the  carols  as  will  most 
provoke  mockery : — 

"  Rise  up,  rise  up,  brother  Dives, 

And  come  along  with  me, 
For  you've  a  place  provided  in  hell, 
Upon  a  sarpant's  knee." 

And  then  the  crowd  laugh,  and  give  their  halfpennies.  But  in  an  age  of  music 
we  may  believe  that  one  young  dweller  in  Stratford  gladly  woke  out  of  his 
innocent  sleep,  after  the  evening  bells  had  rung  him  to  rest,  when  in  the  still 
ness  of  the  night  the  psaltery  was  gently  touched  before  his  father's  porch, 
and  he  heard,  one  voice  under  another,  these  simple  and  solemn  strains  : — 

"  As  Jpseph  was  a-walking 
He  heard  an  angel  sing, 
This  night  shall  be  born 
Our  heavenly  king. 

He  neither  shall  be  born 

In  housen  nor  in  hall, 
Nor  in  the  place  of  Paradise, 

But  in  an  ox's  stall. 

He  neither  shall  be  clothed 

In  purple  nor  in  pall, 
But  all  in  fair  linen, 

As  were  babies  all. 

He  neither  shall  be  rock'd 

In  silver  nor  in  gold, 
But  in  a  wooden  cradle 

That  rocks  on  the  mould." 

London  has  perhaps  this  carol  yet,  amongst  its  halfpenny  ballads.  A  man 
whose  real  vocation  was  mistaken  in  his  busy  time,  for  he  had  a  mind  attuned 
to  the  love  of  what  was  beautiful  in  the  past,  instead  of  being  enamoured  with 
the  ugly  disputations  of  the  present,  has  preserved  it  ;f  but  it  was  for  another 
age.  It  was  for  the  age  of  William  Shakspere.  It  was  for  the  age  when 
superstition,  as  we  call  it,  had  its  poetical  faith  : — 

"  Some  say,  that  ever  'gainst  that  season  comes 
Wherein  our  Saviour's  birth  is  celebrated, 
This  bird  of  dawning  singeth  all  night  long ; 
And  then,  they  say,  no  spirit  dares  stir  abroad ; 
The  nights  are  wholesome ;  then  no  planets  strike, 
No  fairy  takes,  nor  witch  hath  power  to  charm  : 
So  hallow'd  and  so  gracious  is  the  time."  J 


•  Winter's  Tale. 

t  William  Hone's  '  Ancient  Mysteries,'  p.  92.  I  Hamlet,  Act  I.,  Scene  I. 

74 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

Surely  it  is  the  poet  himself,  who  adds,  in  the  person  of  Horatio, 
"  So  have  I  heard,  and  do  in  part  Relieve  it." 

Such  a  night  was  a  preparation  for  a  "  happy  Christmas;" — the  prayers  of  an 
earnest  Church,  the  Anthem,  the  Hymn,  the  Homily.  The  cross  of  Stratford 
was  garnished  with  the  holly,  the  ivy,  and  the  bay.  Hospitality  was  in  every 
house ;  but  the  hall  of  the  great  landlord  of  the  parish  was  a  scene  of  rare 
conviviality.  The  frost  or  the  snow  will  not  deter  the  principal  friends  and 
tenants  from  the  welcome  of  Clopton.  There  is  the  old  house,  nestled  in  the 
woods,  looking  down  upon  the  little  town.  Its  chimneys  are  reeking ;  there  is 
bustle  in  the  offices ;  the  sound  of  the  trumpeters  and  the  pipers  is  heard 
through  the  open  door  of  the  great  entrance ;  the  steward  marshals  the  guests ; 
the  tables  are  fast  filling.  Then  advance,  courteously,  the  master  and  the  mis 
tress  of  the  feast.  The  Boar's  head  is  brought  in  with  due  solemnity ;  the  wine- 
cup  goes  round;  and  perhaps  the  Saxon  shout  of  Waes-hael  and  Drink-hael 
may  still  be  shouted.  The  boy-guest  who  came  with  his  father,  the  tenant  of 
Ingon,  has  slid  away  from  the  rout ;  for  the  steward,  who  loves  the  boy,  has  a 
sight  to  make  him  merry.  The  Lord  of  Misrule,  and  his  jovial  attendants, 
are  rehearsing  their  speeches ;  and  the  mummers  from  Stratford  are  at  the 
porch.  Very  sparing  are  the  cues  required  for  the  enactment  of  this  short 
drama.  A  speech  to  the  esquire,  closed  with  a  merry  jest ;  something  about 
ancestry  and  good  Sir  Hugh ;  the  loud  laugh ;  the  song  and  the  chorus, — and 
the  Lord  of  Misrule  is  now  master  of  the  feast.  The  Hall  is  cleared  •  "  Away 


75 


f Clopton  House.  J 


WII.I.IAST   STIAKSPERE  : 

with  the  joint-stools,  remove  the  court-cupboard,  look  to  the  plate."  *  There 
is  dancing  till  Curfew ;  and  then  a  walk  in  the  moonlight  to  Stratford,  the 
pale  beam  shining  equally  upon  the  dark  resting-place  in  the  lonely  aisle  of 
the  Clopton  who  is  gone,  and  upon  the  festal  hall  of  the  Clopton  who  remains, 
where  some  loiterers  of  the  old  and  the  young  still  desire 

"  To  burn  this  night  with  torches."  f 


•  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Act  i.,  Scene  v.  f  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  Act  iv.,  Scene  n. 


(The  Clopton  Monument  in  Stratloid  Chmich.) 


WAS  William  Shakspere  at  Kenilworth  in  that  summer  of  1575,  when  the 
great  Dudley  entertained  Elizabeth  with  a  splendour  which  annalists  have 
delighted  to  record,  and  upon  which  one  of  our  own  days  has  bestowed  a  fame 
more  imperishable  than  that  of  any  annals?  Percy,  speaking  of  the  old 
Coventry  Hock-play,  says,  "Whatever  this  old  play  or  storial  show  was  at 
the  time  it  was  exhibited  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  it  had  probably  our  young 
Shakspere  for  a  spectator,  who  was  then  in  his  twelfth  year,  and  doubtless 
attended  with  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  surrounding  country  at  these  '  princely 
pleasures  of  Kenilworth/  whence  Stratford  is  only  a  few  miles  distant."  *  The 
preparations  for  this  celebrated  entertainment  were  on  so  magnificent  a  scale, 
the  purveyings  must  have  been  so  enormous,  the  posts  so  unintermitting,  that 
there  had  needed  not  the  flourishings  of  paragraphs  (for  the  age  of  paragraphs 
was  not  as  yet)  to  have  roused  the  curiosity  of  all  mid-England.  Elizabeth 
had  visited  Kenilworth  on  two  previous  occasions.  In  1565,  after  she  had 
created  Robert  Dudley  Earl  of  Leicester,  she  bore  her  sunshine  to  the  posses 
sions  she  had  given  to  her  favourite ;  and  passing  through  Coventry,  "  she  was 
honourably  received  by  the  mayor  and  citizens  with  many  fair  shows  and 
pageants."  It  was  on  this  occasion  that  Humphrey  Brownell,  the  Mayor, 
must  have  delighted  the  Queen  with  his  impromptu  speech,  worth  a  hundred 


'  On  the  Origin  of  the  English  Stage  :' — Keliques,  vol.  L 


77 


WILLIAM   SHAKSJ'KKK  : 

of  the  magnificent  orations  of  John  Throgmorton  the  Recorder.  Elizabeth  had 
a  ready  hand  for  the  rich  gifts  of  her  subjects ;  and  when  on  their  knees  the 
Corporation  of  Coventry. presented  her  Majesty  a  heavy  purse,  her  satisfaction 
broke  out  into  the  exclamation,  "A  good  gift,  a  hundred  pounds  in  gold  !  I 
have  but  few  such  gifts ! "  The  words  were  addressed  to  her  lords ;  but  the 
honest  Mayor  boldly  struck  in,  "  If  it  please  your  grace,  there  is  a  great  deal 
more  in  it."  "What  is  that?"  said  the  Queen.  "The  hearts  of  all  your 
loving  subjects,"  replied  the  Mayor.*  Elizabeth  on  this  occasion  departed 
from  Kenilworth  offended  with  Leicester.  Had  he  been  too  bold  or  too  timid  ? 
In  the  summer  of  1572  the  royal  progress  was  again  for  Warwickshire.  "The 
weather  having  been  very  foul  long  time  before,  and  the  way  much  stained 
with  carriage,"  the  Queen  was  conveyed  into  her  good  town  of  Warwick 
through  bye-ways  not  quite  so  miry ;  but  the  bailiff  and  the  burgesses  knelt  in 
the  dirt,  and  her  Majesty's  coach  was  brought  as  near  to  the  said  kneelers  as  it 
could  be.  The  long  oration,  and  the  heavy  purse,  of  course  followed.  During 
this  visit  to  Kenilworth  in  1572  two  important  state  affairs  were  despatched. 
Thomas  Percy  Earl  of  Northumberland  was  beheaded  at  York  ;  and  the  offer 
of  marriage  of  Francis  Duke  of  Alen9on  was  definitively  rejected.  In  the 
previous  June,  Leicester  wrote  touching  this  proposal, — "  It  seems  her  Majesty 
meaneth  to  give  good  ear  to  it."  There  was  a  counsellor  at  Kenilworth  in  the 
following  August  who  would  possess  the  Queen's  "  good  ear  "  in  a  more  eminent 
degree  than  Montmorenci,  the  French  Ambassador.  In  1575,  when  Robert 
Dudley  welcomed  his  sovereign  with  a  more  than  regal  magnificence,  it  is  easy 
to  believe  that  his  ambition  looked  for  a  higher  reward  than  that  of  continuing 
a  queen's  most  favoured  servant  and  counsellor.  It  is  tolerably  clear  that  the 
exquisite  speech  of  Oberon  in  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  is  associated  with 
some  of  the  poetical  devices  which  the  young  Shakspere  might  have  beheld 
at  Kenilworth,  or  have  heard  described  :— 


"  Obe.  My  gentle  Puck,  come  hither :  Thou  remember'st 
Since  once  I  sat  upon  a  promontory, 
And  heard  a  mermaid,  on  a  dolphin's  back, 
Uttering  such  dulcet  and  harmonious  breath, 
That  the  rude  sea  grew  civil  at  her  song ; 
And  certain  stars  shot  madly,  from  their  spheres, 
To  hear  the  sea-maid's  music. 

Puck.  I  remember. 

Obe.  That  very  time  I  saw,  (but  thou  couldst  not,) 
Flying  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  watery  moon ; 
And  the  imperial  votaress  passed  on, 
In  maiden  meditation,  fancy-free." 


•  See  Nichols's  '  Progresses/  vol.  i.,  p.  192. 
78 


Elizabeth.] 

The  most  remarkable  of  the  shows  of  Kenilworth  were  associated  with  the 
mythology  and  the  romance  of  lakes  and  seas.  "  Triton,  in  likeness  of  a  mer 
maid,  came  towards  the  Queen's  Majesty."  "  Arion  appeared  sitting  on  a 
dolphin's  back."  So  the  quaint  and  really  poetical  George  Gascoigne,  in  his 
'  Brief  Rehearsal,  or  rather  a  true  copy  of  as  much  as  was  presented  before 
her  Majesty  at  Kenilworth.'  But  the  diffuse  and  most  entertaining  coxcomb 
Laneham  describes  a  song  of  Arion  with  an  ecstacy  which  may  justify  the 
belief  that  the  "  dulcet  and  harmonious  breath  "  of  "  the  sea-maid's  music  " 
might  be  the  echo  of  the  melodies  heard  by  the  young  poet  as  he  stood  beside 
the  lake  at  Kenilworth  : — "  Now,  Sir,  the  ditty  in  metre  so  aptly  endited  to 
the  matter,  and  after  by  voice  deliciously  delivered ;  the  song,  by  a  skilful 
artist  into  his  parts  so  sweetly  sorted ;  each  part  in  his  instrument  so  clean 
and  sharply  touched  ;  every  instrument  again  in  his  kind  so  excellently  tunable  ; 
and  this  in  the  evening  of  the  day,  resounding  from  the  calm  waters,  where  the 
presence  of  her  Majesty,  and  longing  to  listen,  had  utterly  damped  all  noise 
and  din,  the  whole  harmony  conveyed  in  time,  tune,  and  temper,  thus  incom 
parably  melodious;  with  what  pleasure  (Master  Martin),  with  what  sharpness 
of  conceit,  with  what  lively  delight,  this  might  pierce  into  the  hearers'  hearts, 
I  pray  ye  imagine  yourself,  as  ye  may."  If  Elizabeth  be  the  "  fair  vestal 
throned  by  the  west,"  of  which  there  can  be  no  reasonable  doubt,  the  most 
appropriate  scene  of  the  mermaid's  song  would  be  Kenilworth,  and  "  that  very 
time"  the  summer  of  1575.  Of  the  hidden  meaning  of  that  song  we  shall  have 
presently  to  speak. 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPERF.  : 

Percy,  believing  that  the  boy  Shakspere  was  at  Kenilworth.  has  remarked, 
with  his  usual  taste  and  judgment,  that  "  the  dramatic  cast  of  many  parts  of 
that  superb  entertainment  must  have  had  a  very  great  effect  upon  a  young 
imagination,  whose  dramatic  powers  were  hereafter  to  astonish  the  world." 
Without  assuming  with  Percy  that  "our  young  bard  gained  admittance  into 
the  castle  "  on  the  evening  when  "  after  supper  there  was  a  play  of  a  very  good 
theme  presented ;  but  so  set  forth,  by  the  actors'  well  handling,  that  pleasure 
and  mirth  made  it  seem  very  short,  though  it  lasted  two  good  hours  and 
more;"*  yielding  not  our  consent  to  Tieck's  fiction,  that  the  boy  performed 
the  part  of  '  Echo '  in  Gascoigne's  address  to  the  Queen,  and  was  allowed  to 
see  the  whole  of  the  performances  by  the  especial  favour  of  her  Majesty, — we 
shall  run  over  the  curious  narratives  of  Laneham  and  of  Gascoigne,  to  show 
that,  without  being  a  favoured  spectator,  William  Shakspere  with  his  friends 
might  have  beheld  many  things  on  this  occasion  which  "  must  have  had  a  very 
great  effect  upon  a  young  imagination,"  and  have  assisted  still  further  in  giving 
it  that  dramatic  tendency  which,  as  we  have  endeavoured  already  to  point  out, 
was  a  peculiar  characteristic  of  the  simplest  and  the  commonest  festivals  of  his 
age. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  Saturday  the  9th  of  July  when,  after 
"  great  cheer  at  dinner,"  at  a  place  seven  miles  from  Kenilworth,  and  "  pleasant 
pastime  in  hunting  by  the  way  after,"  Elizabeth  arrived  within  "a  flight- 
shoot  "  of  the  first  gate  of  the  castle.  The  open  space  before  that  gate  would 
be  crowded  with  spectators,  some,  worn  out  with  long  waiting,  stretched 
beneath  the  trees  of  the  park,  others  gazing  upon  the  leads  and  battlements, 
where  stood,  "six  trumpeters  hugely  advanced,  much  exceeding  the  common 
stature  of  men  in  this  age,  who  had  likewise  huge  and  monstrous  trumpets 
counterfeited,  wherein  they  seemed  to  sound. "f  But  before  the  real  trumpeters 
hidden  behind  them  sounded,  Sibylla,  "  comely  clad  in  a  pall  of  white  silk,  pro 
nounced  a  proper  poesy  in  English  rhyme  and  metre. "J  Sibylla  would,  we 
are  sure,  repeat  to  the  crowd  what  she  had  addressed  to  the  Queen ;  for  Master 
Hunnis,  master  of  her  Majesty's  chapel,  would  desire  all  honour  for  his  pleasant 
verses :  — 

"  The  rage  of  war  bound  fast  in  chains 

Shall  never  stir  nor  move ; 
But  peace  shall  govern  all  your  days, 

Increasing  subjects'  love." 

It  was  through  the  gate  of  the  tilt-yard,  on  the  south  side  of  the  castle,  and 
not  by  the  great  gate-house  on  the  north,  that  Elizabeth  entered.  Little  would 
the  crowd  hear  therefore  of  the  speech  of  the  mighty  porter,  "  tall  of  person, 
big  of  limb,  and  stern  of  countenance,"  who  met  the  Queen  at  the  gate  of  Morti 
mer's  Tower,  which  led  into  the  base-court ;  and,  indeed,  even  for  ourselves, 
Gascoigne  and  Laneham  might  have  spared  their  descriptions,  for  a  mightier 
than  they  has  described  this  part  of  the  ceremonial  after  his  own  fashion.  The 

•  Lanehara.  f  Gascoigne. 

J  Lanehara.     As  we  shall   quote  fragments  from  each  writer,  it  will  be  scarcely  necessary  to 
Itfer  to  them  on  every  occasion. 
80 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

gate  croses  upon  the  train,  when  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  "  from  the  midst  of  the 
pool,  where,  upon  a  moveablc  island,  bright  blazing  with  torches,  she  floated  to 
land,  met  her  Majesty  with  a  well-penned  metre."  The  wearied  Queen  had 
yet  more  to  endure ;  there  were  Latin  verses  to  be  pronounced  before  she  could 
be  conveyed  up  to  her  chamber ;  and  then  "  after  did  follow  so  great  a  peal  of 
guns,  and  such  lightning  by  firework,"  that  "  the  noise  and  flame  were  heard  and 
seen  twenty  miles  off." 

Sunday  was  a  day  of  rest;  but  Monday  brought  another  of  the  store  of 
dramatic  devices — open-air  recitations,  which  Elizabeth  would  be  best  pleased 
to  hear  with  the  people  crowding  around  her.  In  the  evening  of  a  hot  day  the 
Queen  rode  into  the  chase  "to  hunt  the  hart  of  force;"  and  upon  her  return 
by  torchlight  there  came  forth  out  of  the  woods  a  savage  man,  "  with  an  oaken 
plant,  plucked  up  by  the  roots,  in  his  hand,  himself  foregrown  all  in  moss  and 
ivy,  who,  for  personage,  gesture,  and  utterance  beside,  countenanced  the  mat 
ter  to  very  good  liking."  The  savage  man,  and  his  attendant  '  Echo/  may 
appear  to  us  a  rude  device,  and  there  would  be  little  dramatic  propriety  in  the 
man  "  all  in  ivy"  pouring  forth  such  verses  as, — - 

"  The  winds  resound  your  worth, 
The  rocks  record  your  name, 

These  hills,  these  dales,  these  woods,  these  waves, 
These  fields,  pronounce  your  fame." 

The  days  of  the  gorgeous  and  refined  masque  were  not  yet  come  ;  the  drama  had 
almost  wholly  to  be  created.  But  the  writer  of  these  lines,  a  man  of  consider 
able  talent,  was  evidently  proud  of  his  invention  of  the  savage  man  and  his 
echo,  for  he  says,  with  a  laughable  humility,  "  These  verses  were  devised, 
penned,  and  pronounced,  by  Master  Gascoigne;  and  that  (as  I  have  heard 
credibly  reported)  upon  a  very  great  sudden."  To  William  Shakspere  such 
representations,  rude  as  they  were,  must  have  been  exceedingly  impressive. 
The  scene  was  altogether  one  of  romance.  That  magnificent  castle,  its  stately 
woods,  its  pleasant  lake,  its  legends  of  King  Arthur,  its  histories  of  the  Mont- 
forts  and  the  Mortimers,  its  famous  revivals  of  the  Round  Table,  the  presence 
of  a  real  Queen,  the  peaceable  successor  of  the  fiery  Yorkists  and  Lancastrians 
who  had  once  inhabited  it, — would  stir  his  imagination  even  though  he  saw  not 
the  devices  and  heard  not  the  poetry.  The  enthusiasm  of  Master  Gascoigne, 
when  he  pronounced  the  wild  man's  address,  bordered  a  little  upon  the  extrava 
gant,  according  to  Laneham  :  "  As  this  savage,  for  the  more  submission,  broke 
his  tree  asunder,  and  cast  the  top  from  him,  it  had  almost  light  upon  her  High- 
ness's  horse's  head;  whereat  he  startled,  and  the  gentleman  much  dismayed." 
Ihe  recollection  of  the  savage  man's  ecstacy  might  have  slept  in  the  mind  of  the 
young  poet  till  it  shaped  itself  into  the  passion  of  Biron  :  — 

"  Who  sees  the  heavenly  Eosaline, 
That,  like  a  rude  and  savage  man  of  Inde, 

At  the  first  opening  of  the  gorgeous  east, 
Bowa  not  his  vassal  head ;  and,  struckeu  blind, 

Kisses  the  base  ground  with  ot^dient  breast  ? "  * 


*  Love's  Labour's  Lost,  Act  iv.,  Seen*  I. 
LIFE.         G 


[Gaseoigne.] 

Thursday,  the  fourteenth  of  July,  saw  a  change  in  the  Queen's  diversions. 
There  were  thirteen  bears  in  the  inner  court  of  Kenilworth,  and  "  a  great  sort 
of  ban-dogs  "  in  the  outer.  They  were  brought  together,  and  set  face  to  face. 
•"  It  was  a  sport,"  says  the  coxcomb-historian,  "  very  pleasant  of  these  beasts : 
to  see  the  bear  with  his  pink  eyes  leering  after  his  enemies'  approach,  the 
nimbleness  and  wait  of  the  dog  to  take  his  advantage,  and  the  force  and  ex 
perience  of  the  bear  again  to  avoid  the  assault :  If  he  was  bitten  in  one  place 
how  he  would  pinch  in  another  to  get  free ;  that  if  he  was  taken  once  then 
what  shift,  with  biting,  with  clawing,  with  roaring,  tossing,  and  tumbling,  he 
would  work  to  wind  himself  from  them ;  and  when  he  was  loose,  to  shake  his 
«ars  twice  or  thrice,  with  the  blood  and  the  slaver  about  his  visnomy,  was  a 
matter  of  a  goodly  relief."  Oh,  Master  Laneham,  is  it  you,  "  always  among  the 
gentlewomen  by  my  good  will," — is  it  you,  with  your  dancing,  your  gittern,  your 
cittern,  your  virginals, — your  high  reaches,  your  fine  feigning,  your  deep  diapa 
son,  your  wanton  warblings,  when  the  ladies  flock  about  you  like  bees  to  honey, 
that  can  write  thus  of  these  cruelties  ?  And  truly  in  this  matter  of  the  bears 
we  believe  you  speak  more  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  polite  than  "  Cousin 
Abraham  Slender,"  when  he  said  "  Women,  indeed,  cannot  abide  'em."  They 
came  into  the  inner  court  for  the  diversion  of  the  Queen  and  her  ladies  ;  they 
were  brought  especially  from  London ;  the  masters  of  her  Majesty's  games  had 
the  Chamberlain's  warrant  to  travel  peaceably  with  the  bears,  and  to  press  all 
ban-dogs  that  should  be  needful ;  they  were  the  lawful  tenants  of  Paris  Garden, 
before  the  glories  of  the  Globe  Theatre,  and  they  divided  the  town  with 
Hamlet  even  in  that  theatre's  most  palmy  days.  When  the  young  Shakspere 
heard  the  roaring  and  the  barking  he  knew  not  that  his  most  obstinate  rivals 
were  at  their  vocation ; — rivals  that  even  his  friend  Alleyn  would  build  his 
best  profits  upon  in  future  days,  and  found  a  college  out  of  their  blood  and 
82 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 


slaver.  But  let  us  not  forget  that  they  were  the  especial  amusements  of  the 
town ;  and  that  forty  years  after,  the  sovereign  of  a  debauched  and  idle  court, 
although  he  could  enjoy  the  comedies  of  Shakspere  and  the  masques  of  Jonson', 
is  petitioned  by  Philip  Henslowe  and  Edward  Alleyn  for  some  gratuity,  seeing 
the  great  diminution  of  profits  they  sustain  by  the  restraint  against  baiting  "  on 
the  Sundays  in  the  afternoon,  after  divine  service,"  more  particularly  on  account 
of  "  the  loss  of  divers  of  these  beasts,  as  before  the  King  of  Denmark,  which 
lost  a  goodly  bear  called  George  Stone ;  and  at  our  last  being  before  your 
Majesty  were  killed  four  of  our  best  bears,  which  in  your  kingdom  are  not  the 
like  to  be  had."  *  Laneham  tells  us  not  that  the  country-folks  were  recreated 
with  the  bears  : — "  As  this  sport  was  held  at  day-time  in  the  castle,  so  was  there 
abroad  at  night  very  strange  and  sundry  kinds  of  fireworks." 

The  bear-tragedy  of  Thursday  was  succeeded  by  the  enactment  of  a  most 
extraordinary  farce  on  Sunday.  "After  divine  service  in  the  parish-church  for 
the  Sabbath-day,  and  a  fruitful  sermon  there  in  the  forenoon,"  Elizabeth  was 
recreated  with  a  mockery  of  the  simple  ceremonials  of  her  people,  on  one  of  the 
most  joyful  and  yet  serious  occasions  of  human  life.  A  village -bridal  was  to  be 
burlesqued — a  "  merry-marriage,"  as  Gascoigne  calls  it.  A  procession  was  set  in 
order  in  the  tilt-yard  to  make  its  show  in  the  Castle  before  the  Great  Court. 
"  Sixteen  wights,  riding-men,  and  well  beseen,"  and  then  "  the  bridegroom  fore 
most  in  his  father's  tawny  worsted  jacket  (for  his  friends  were  fain  that  he 
should  be  a  bridegroom  before  the  Queen),  a  fair  straw  hat  with  a  capital 
crown,  steeple-wise  on  his  head  ;  a  pair  of  harvest- gloves  on  his  hands,  as  a  sign 
of  good  husbandry ;  a  pen  and  inkhorn  at  his  back,  for  he  would  be  known  to 
be  bookish  ;  lame  of  a  leg  that  in  his  youth  was  broken  at  foot-ball ;  well-beloved 
of  his  mother,  who  lent  him  a  new  muffler  for  a  napkin,  that  was  tied  to  his 
girdle  for  losing  it.  It  was  no  small  sport  to  mark  this  minion  in  his  full 
appointment ;  that,  through  good  tuition,  became  as  formal  in  his  action  as  had 
he  been  a  bridegroom  indeed."  Then  came  the  morris-dancers,  Maid  Marian, 
and  the  Fool ;  bride- maids,  "  as  bright  as  a  breast  of  bacon,  of  thirty  years  old 
apiece;"  a  freckled-faced,  red-headed  lubber  with  the  bride-cup;  the  "wor 
shipful  bride,  thirty-five  years  old,  of  colour  brown-bay,  not  very  beautiful 
indeed,  6ut  ugly,  foul,  and  ill-favoured ; "  and,  lastly,  a  dozen  other  damsels 
"  for  bride-maids,  that  for  favour,  attire,  for  fashion  and  cleanliness,  were  as 
meet  for  such  a  bride  as  a  tureen-ladle  for  a  porridge-pot."  We  must  do  Eliza 
beth  the  justice  to  believe  that  such  a  mummery  was  scarcely  agreeable  to 
her ;  it  could  not  have  been  agreeable  to  her  people.  In  that  Court,  as  in 
.other  Courts,  must  there  have  dwelt  that  heartless  exclusiveness  which  finds 
subjects  for  ridicule  in  what  delights  the  earnest  multitudes.  Many  a  bridal 
procession  had  gone  forth  from  the  happy  cottages  of  Kenilworth  to  the  porch 
of  that  old  parish-church,  amidst  song  and  music,  with  garlands  of  rosemary 
and  wheat-ears,  parents  blessing,  sisters  smiling  in  tears;  and  then  the  great 
lord— the  heartless  lord,  as  the  peasants  might  whisper,  whose  innocent  wife 


*  Collier's  '  Memoirs  of  Edward  Alleyn,'  p.  75. 

83 


perished    untimely — is   to    make   sport   oi    then 

homely   joys   before   their   Queen.     There  was, 

perhaps,    one   in    the   crowd    on   that    Sunday  afternoon    who    was    to    see  the 

very  heaven  of  poetry  in  such  simple  rites — who  was  to  picture  the  shepherd 

thus  addressing  his  mistress  in  the  solemnity  of  the  troth-plight : — 

"  I  take  thy  hand  ;  this  hand 
Aa  soft  as  dove's  down,  and  as  white  as  it ; 
Or  Ethiopian's  tooth,  or  the  fann'd  snow 
That 's  bolted  by  the  northern  blasts  twice  o'er."  • 

lie  would  agree  not  with  Master  Laneham — "  By  my  troth  't  was  a  lively  pas 
time  :  I  believe  it  would  have  moved  a  man  to  a  right  merry  m6od,  though  it 
had  been  told  him  that  his  wife  lay  dying."  Leicester,  as  we  have  seen,  had 
procured  abundance  of  the  occasional  rhymes  of  flattery  to  propitiate  Elizabeth. 
This  was  enough.  Poor1  Gascoigne  had  prepared  an  elaborate  masque,  in  two 
acts,  of  Diana  and  her  Nymphs,  which  for  the  time  is  a  remarkable  production. 
"  This  show,"  says  the  poet,  "  was  devised  and  penned  by  Master  Gascoigne, 
and  being  prepared  and  ready  (every  actor  in  his  garment)  two  or  three  days 
together,  yet  never  came  to  execution.  The  cause  whereof  I  cannot  attribute 
to  any  other  thing  than  to  lack  of  opportunity  and  seasonable  weather."  It  is 
easy  to  understand  that  there  was  some  other  cause  of  Gascoigne's  disappoint 
ment.  Leicester,  perhaps,  scarcely  dared  to  set  the  puppets  moving  who  were 
to  conclude  the  masque  with  these  lines  :  — 


*  Winter's  Talo,  Act  iv.,  Scene  HI. 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

"  A  world  of  wealth  at  will 

You  henceforth  shall  enjoy 
In  wedded  state,  and  there  withal 

Hold  up  from  great  annoy 
The.  staff  of  your  estate  : 

0  queen,  0  worthy  queen, 
Yet  never  wight  felt  perfect  bliss 

But  such  as  wedded  been." 

But  when  the  Queen  laughed  at  the  word  marriage,  the  wily  courtier  had  his 
impromptu  device  of  the  mock  bridal.  The  marriages  of  the  poor  were  the 
marriages  to  be  made  fun  of.  But  there  was  a  device  of  marriage  at  which 
Diana  would  weep,  and  all  the  other  Gods  rejoice,  when  her  Majesty  should 
give  the  word,  Alas,  for  that  crowning  show  there  was  "  lack  of  opportunity 
and  seasonable  weather." 

It  is  difficult  to  imagine  anything  more  tedious  than  the  fulsome  praise,  the 
mythological  pedantries,  the  obscure  allusions  to  Constancy  and  Deep-Desire, 
which  were  poured  into  the  ears  of  Elizabeth  during  the  nineteen  days  of 
Kenil worth.  There  was  not,  according  to  the  historians  of  this  visit,  one  frag 
ment  of  our  real  old  poetry  produced  to  gratify  the  Queen  of  a  nation  that  had 
the  songs  and  ballads  of  the  chivalrous  times  still  fresh  upon  its  lips.  There 
were  no  Minstrels  at  Kenilworth  ;  the  Harper  was  unbidden  to  its  halls.  The 


lLe;eestcr.] 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

old  English  spirit  of  poetry  was  dead  in  a  scheming  court.  We  have  many 
evidences  besides  the  complaint  of  poor  Richard  Sheale,*  that  the  courtly  and 
the  rich  had  begun  to  hold  the  travelling  depositaries  of  the  old  traditionary 
lore  of  England  in  unwise  contempt.  A  few  years  after,  and  they  were  pro 
scribed  by  statute  : — 

"  Beggars  they  are  with  one  consent., 
And  rogues  by  act  of  parliament."  ] 

Laneham  gives  an  account  of  "  a  ridiculous  device  of  an  ancient  minstrel  and 
his  song,  prepared  to  have  been  proffered,  if  meet  time  and  place  had  been 
found  for  it."  This  is  not  the  minstrel  himself,  but  a  travestie  of  him.  He 
was  "a  Squire  Minstrel  of  Middlesex;"  and  an  absurd  narrative  is  put  into 
his  mouth  of  "  the  worshipful  village  of  Islington,  well  known  to  be  one  of  the 
most  ancient  and  best  towns  in  England  next  London,  at  this  day."  Laneham 
goes  on  to  describe  how  "in  a  worshipful  company"  the  "fool"  who  was  to 
play  the  Minstrel  was  put  out  of  countenance  by  one  cleverer  than  himself — 
Master  Laneham  perhaps ;  and  how  "  he  waxed  very  wayward,  eager,  and 
sour."  But  he  was  pacified  with  fair  words,  and  sack  and  sugar;  and  after  a 
little  warbling  on  his  harp  came  forth  with  a  "  solemn  song,  warranted  for  story 
out  of  King  Arthur's  acts,  the  1st  book  and  26th  chapter."  Percy  prints  '  The 
Minstrel's  Sonnet '  in  his  '  Reliques,'  under  the  title  of  '  King  Ryence's  Chal 
lenge,'  saying — "  This  song  is  more  modern  than  many  of  them  which  follow  it, 
but  is  placed  here  for  the  sake  of  the  subject.  It  was  sung  before  Queen  Eliza 
beth  at  the  grand  entertainment  at  Kenilworth  Castle  in  1575,  and  was  proba 
bly  composed  for  that  occasion."  Not  so.  Laneham  says  expressly,  "  it  was 
prepared  to  have  been  proffered."  It  is  remarkable  that  Percy  does  not  state 
what  is  so  evident — that  this  ballad  was  intended  to  be  a  burlesque  upon  the 
Romances  of  Chivalry.  If  all  Laneham's  conceited  description  of  the  Minstrel 
did  not  show  this,  the  following  stanza  is  decisive  enough  ;  being  the  answer  to 
the  messenger  of  King  Ryence,  who  came  to  demand,  in  the  language  of  the 
'  Morte  Arthur,' the  beard  of  the  British  king,  "for  king  Ryence  had  purfeled 
a  mantell  with  kings'  beards,  and  there  lacked  for  one  a  place  in  the  mantell : " — 

"_But  say  to  sir  Ryence,  thou  dwarf,  quoth  the  king, 

That  for  hia  bold  message  I  do  him  defye  ; 
And  shortlye  with  basins  and  pans  will  him  ring 

Out  of  North-Gales  :  where  he  and  I 

With  swords  and  not  razors  quickly  shall  trye 
Whether  he  or  king  Arthur  will  prove  the  best  barbor ; 
And  therewith  he  shook  his  good  sword  Excalabor." 

It  was  something  higher  that  in  a  few  years  called  up  Spenser  and  Shakspere. 
Yet  there  was  one  sport,  emanating  from  the  people,  which  had  heart  and 
reality  in  it.  Laneham  describes  this  as  a  "  good  sport  presented  in  an  historical 
cue  by  certain  good-hearted  men  of  Coventry,  my  lord's  neighbours  there." 
They  "  made  petition  that  they  might  renew  now  their  old  storial  show : 
of  argument  how  the  Danes,  whilom  here  in  a  troublous  season,  were  for 

*  See  Chapter  V. 
66 


A    BIOGKAPHi'. 

quietness  borne  withal  and  suffered  in  peace ;  that  anon,  by  outrage  and  unsup- 
portable  insolency,  abusing  both  Ethelred  the  King,  then,  and  all  estates  every 
where  beside,  at  the  grievous  complaint  and  counsel  of  Huna,  the  King's  chief 
tain  in  wars,  on  Saint  Brice's  night,  Anno  Dom.  1012  (as  the  book  says,  that 
falleth  yearly  on  the  thirteenth  of  November),  were  all  despatched,  and  the 
realm  rid.  And  for  because  that  the  matter  mentioneth  how  valiantly  our 
Englishwomen,  for  love  of  their  country,  behaved  themselves,  expressed  in 
action  and  rhymes  after  their  manner,  they  thought  it  might  move  some  mirth 
to  her  Majesty  the  rather.  The  thing,  said  they,  is  grounded  in  story,  and  for. 
pastime  wont  to  be  played  in  our  city  yearly,  without  ill  example  of  manners, 
papistry,  or  any  superstition ;  and  else  did  so  occupy  the  heads  of  a  number, 
that  likely  enough  would  have  had  worse  meditations ;  had  an  ancient  beginning 
and  a  long  continuance,  till  now  of  late  laid  down,  they  knew  no  cause  why, 
unless  it  was  by  the  zeal  of  certain  of  their  preachers,  men  very  commendable 
for  their  behaviour  and  learning,  and  sweet  in  their  sermons,  but  somewhat  too 
sour  in  preaching  away  their  pastime."  The  description  by  Laneham  is  the 
only  precise  account  which  remains  to  us  of  the  "old  storial  show,"  the  "  sport 
presented  in  an  historical  cue."  It  was  a  show  not  to  be  despised,  for  it  told  the 
people  how  their  Saxon  ancestors  had  arisen  to  free  themselves  from  "  outrage 
and  unsupportable  insolency,"  and  "  how  valiantly  our  Englishwomen,  for  love 
of  their  country,  behaved  themselves."  Laneham,  in  his  accustomed  style,  is 
more  intent  upon  describing  "  Captain  Cox,"  an  odd  man  of  Coventry,  "  mason, 
ale-conner,  who  hath  great  oversight  in  matters  of  story,"  than  upon  giving  us 
a  rational  account  of  this  spectacle.  We  find,  however,  that  there  were  the 
Danish  lance-knights  on  horseback,  and  then  the  English  ;  that  they  had  furious 
encounters  with  spear  and  shield,  with  sword  and  target ;  that  there  were  foot 
men,  who  fought  in  rank  and  squadron  ;  and  that  "  twice  the  Danes  had  the 
better,  but  at  the  last  conflict  beaten  down,  overcome,  and  many  led  captive  for 
triumph  by  our  Englishwomen."  The  court  historian  adds, — -"  This  was  the 
effect  of  this  show,  that  as  it  was  handled  made  much  matter  of  good  pastime, 
brought  all  indeed  into  the  great  court,  even  under  her  Highness's  window,  to 
have  seen."  But  her  Highness,  having  pleasanter  occupation  within,  "  saw  but 
little  of  the  Coventry  play,  and  commanded  it  therefore  on  the  Tuesday  follow 
ing  to  have  it  full  out,  as  accordingly  it  was  presented."  This  repetition  of  the 
Hock-play  in  its  completeness,  full  out,  necessarily  leads  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  action  was  somewhat  more  complicated  than  the  mere  repetition  of  a  mock- 
combat.  Laneham,  in  his  general  description  of  the  play,  says,  "  expressed  in 
action  and  rhymes."  That  he  has  preserved  none  of  the  rhymes,  and  has  given 
us  a  very  insufficient  account  of  the  action,  is  characteristic  of  the  man,  and  of 
the  tone  of  the  courtiers.  The  Coventry  clowns  came  there,  not  to  call  up  any 
patriotic  feeling  by  their  old  traditionary  rhymes  and  dumb-show,  but  to  be 
laughed  at  for  their  awkward  movement  and  their  earnest  declamation.  It 
appears  to  us  that  the  conclusion  is  somewhat  hasty  which  says  of  this  play  of 
Hock  Tuesday,  "  It  seems  to  have  been  merely  a  dumb-show." "  Percy,  rest- 

«  Collier,  'Annals  of  the  Stege,'  vol.  i.,  p.  234. 

87 


WILLIAM  SITAKRPERE  : 

ing  upon  the  authority  of  Laneham,  says  that  the  performance  "  seems  on  Hint 
occasion  to  have  been  without  recitation  or  rhymes,  and  reduced  to  mere  dumb- 
show."  Kvc-n  this  \\<.-  doubt.  But  certainly  it  is  difficult  to  airive  at  any  other 
conclusion  than  that  of  Percy,  that  the  play,  as  originally  performed  by  the 
men  of  Coventry,  "  expressed  in  action  and  rhymes  after  their  manner," — re 
presenting  a  complicated  historical  event, — the  insolence  of  tyranny,  the  indig 
nation  of  the  oppressed,  the  grievous  complaint  of  one  injured  chieftain,  the 
secret  counsels,  the  plots,  the  conflicts,  the  triumph, — must  have  offered  us  "  a 
regular  model  of  a  complete  drama."  If  the  young  Shakspere  were  a  witness 
to  the  performance  of  this  drama,  his  imagination  would  have  been  more  highly 
and  more  worthily  excited  than  if  he  had  been  the  favoured  spectator  of  all  the 
shows  of  Tritons,  and  Dianas,  and  Ladies  of  the  Lake,  that  proceeded  from  "  the 
conceit  so  deep  in  casting  the  plot "  of  his  lordship  of  Leicester.  It  would  be 
not  too  much  to  believe  that  this  storial  show  might  first  suggest  to  him  how 
English  history  might  be  dramatized  ;  how  a  series  of  events,  terminating  in 
some  remarkable  catastrophe,  might  be  presented  to  the  eye  ;  how  fighting- 
men  might  be  marshalled  on  a  mimic  field  ;  how  individual  heroism  might 
stand  out  from  amongst  the  mass,  having  its  own  fit  expression  of  thought  and 
passion  ;  how  the  wife  or  the  mother,  the  sister  or  the  mistress,  might  be  there 
to  uphold  the  hero,  even  as  the  Englishwomen  assisted  their  warriors ;  and  how 
all  this  might  be  made  to  move  the  hearts  of  the  people,  as  the  old  ballads  had 
once  moved  them.  Such  a  result  would  have  repaid  a  visit  to  Kenilworth  by 
William  Shakspere.  Without  this,  he,  his  father,  and  their  friends,  might  have 
retired  from  the  scene  of  Dudley's  magnificence,  as  most  thinking  persons  in  all 
probability  retired,  with  little  satisfaction.  There  was  lavish  expense ;  but 
according  to  the  most  credible  accounts,  the  possessor  of  Kenilworth  was  the 
oppressor  of  his  district.  We  see  him  not  delighting  to  show  his  Queen  a 
happy  tenantry,  such  as  the  less  haughty  and  ambitious  nobles  and  esquires 
were  anxious  to  cultivate.  The  people  come  under  the  windows  of  Elizabeth 
as  objects  of  ridicule.  Slavish  homage  would  be  there  to  Leicester  from  the 
gentlemen  of  the  county.  They  would  replenish  his  butteries  with  their  gifts . 
they  would  ride  upon  his  errands  ;  they  would  wear  his  livery.  There  was  one 
gentleman  in  Warwickshire  who  would  not  thus  do  Leicester  homage — Edward 
Arden,  the  head  of  the  great  house  of  Arden,  the  cousin  of  William  Shakspere's 
mother.  But  the  mighty  favourite  was  too  powerful  for  him  :  "  Which  Edward 
though  a  gentleman  not  inferior  to  the  rest  of  his  ancestors  in  those  virtues 
wherewith  they  were  adorned,  had  the  hard  hap  to  come  to  an  untimely  death 
in  27  Eliz.,  the  charge  laid  against  him  being  no  less  than  high  treason  against 
the  Queen,  as  privy  to  some  foul  intentions  that  Master  Somerville,  his  son-in- 
law  (a  Roman  Catholic),  had  towards  her  person  :  For  which  he  was  prosecuted 
with  so  great  rigour  and  violence,  by  the  Earl  of  Leicester's  means,  whom  he 
had  irritated  in  some  particulars  (as  I  have  credibly  heard),  partly  in  disdain- 
ing  to  wear  his  livery,  which  many  in  this  country,  of  his  rank,  thought,  in  those 
days,  no  small  lionour  to  them  ;  but  chiefly  for  galling  him  by  certain  harsh 
expressions,  touching  his  private  accesses  to  the  Countess  of  Essex  before  she 

88 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

was  his  wife ;  that  through  the  testimony  of  one  Hall,  a  priest,  he  was  found 
guilty  of  the  fact,  and  lost  his  life  in  Smithfield."*  The  Rev.  N.  J.  Halpin,  who 
has  contributed  a  most  interesting  tract  to  the  publications  of  '  The  Shakespeare 
Society '  on  the  subject  of  '  Oberon's  Vision  in  the  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,' 
has  explained  the  allusions  in  that  exquisite  passage  with  far  more  success, than 
the  belief  of  Warburton  that  the  Queen  of  Scots  was  pointed  at.  or  of  Mr.  Boaden 
that  Amy  Robsart  was  the  "little  western  flower."  He  considers  that  Edward 
Arden,  a  spectator  of  those  very  entertainments  at  Kenilworth,  discovered 
Leicester's  guilty  "  accesses  to  the  Countess  of  Essex  ;"  that  the  expression  of 
Oberon,  "  That  very  time,  I  saw,  but  thou  couldst  not,"  referred  to  this  discovery; 
that  when  "  the  Imperial  Votaress  passed  on,"  he  "  marked  where  the  bolt  of 
Cupid  fell ;"  that  "  the  little  western  flower,"  pure,  "  milk-white  "  before  that 
time,  became  spotted,  "  purple  with  love's  wound."  We  may  add  that  there  is 
bitter  satire  in  what  follows — "that  flower,"  retaining  the  original  influence, 
"will  make  or  man  or  woman  madly  dote,"  as  Lettice,  Countess  of  Essex,  was 
infatuated  by  Leicester.  The  discovery  of  Edward  Arden,  and  his  "harsh  expres 
sions  "  concerning  it,  might  be  traditions  in  Shakspere's  family,  and  be  safely 
allegorized  by  the  poet  in  1594  when  Leicester  was  gone  to  his  account. f 

Laneham  asks  a  question  which  in  his  giddy  style  he  does  not  wait  to 
answer,  or  even  to  complete  : — "  And  first,  who  that  considers  unto  the  stately 
seat  of  Kenilworth  Castle,  the  rare  beauty  of  building  that  his  Honour  hath 
advanced,  all  of  the  hard  quarry-stone ;  every  room  so  spacious,  so  well  be- 

*  Dugdale's    Warwickshire,'  p.  681. 

"t*  Professor  Craik,  in  his  most  interesting  work,  '  The  Romance  of  the  Peerage/  is  of  opinion 
that  no  reader  who  shall  come  to  the  perusal  of  Mr.  Halpin's  Essay,  with  a  mind  free  from  prepos 
sessions  and  a  sufficient  knowledge  of  the  time,  "  will  retain  any  doubt  that  the  secret  meaning  of 
these  lines  has  now  been  discovered — that  Cupid  is  Leicester,  that  the  Moon  and  the  Vestal  typify 
Elizabeth,  that  the  Earth  is  the  Lady  Sheffield,  and  the  little  western  flower  the  Countess  of 
Essex."  (Vol.  i.  p.  75.) 


[Ruins  of  Kcuilworth,  in  the  inh  centur;;.] 


WII.UAM    SIIAKSl'KRE: 

lighted,  and  so  high  roofed  within  ;  so  seemly  to  sight  by  due  proportion  with 
out  ;  in  day-time  on  every  side  so  glittering  by  glass ;  at  nights,  by  continual 
brightness  of  candle,  fire,  and  torch-light,  transparent  through  the  lightsome 
windows,  as  it  were  the  Egyptian  Pharos  relucent  unto  all  the  Alexandrian 
coast," — who  that  considers  (we  finish  the  sentence)  what  Kenilworth  thus 
was  in  the  year  1575  will  not  contrast  it  with  its  present  state  of  complete  ruin? 
Never  did  a  fabric  of  such  unequalled  strength  and  splendour  perish  so  inglo- 
riously.  Leicester  bequeathed  the  possession  to  his  brother  the  Earl  of 
Warwick  for  life,  and  the  inheritance  to  his  only  son,  Sir  Robert  Dudley, 
whose  legitimacy  was  to  be  left  doubtful.  The  rapacious  James  contrived, 
through  the  agency  of  the  widow  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  to  cheat  the  son  out 
of  the  father's  great  possessions.  The  more  generous  Prince  Henry,  upon 
whom  Kenilworth  was  bestowed,  negotiated  for  its  purchase  with  Sir  Robert 
Dudley,  who  had  gone  abroad.  A  fifth  only  of  the  purchase-money  was  ever 
paid ;  yet  upon  the  death  of  his  brother,  Charles  took  possession  of  the  castle 
as  his  heir.  A  stronger  than  Charles  divided  the  castle  and  lands,  thus  un 
justly  procured  by  the  Crown,  amongst  his  captains  and  counsellors  ;  and  from 
the  time  of  Cromwell  the  history  of  Kenilworth  is  that  of  its  gradual  decay 


[Entrance  to  the  Hall.) 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

and  final  ruin.  No  cannon  has  battered  its  strong  walls,  "  in  many  places  of 
fifteen  and  ten  foot  thickness  ; "  no  turbulent  soldiery  has  torn  down  the  hang 
ings  and  destroyed  the  architraves  and  carved  ceilings  of  "  the  room.)  of  great 
state  within  the  same;"  no  mines  have  exploded  in  its  "stately  cellars,  all 
carried  upon  pillars  and  architecture  of  freestone  carved  and  wrought."  The 
buildings  were  whole,  and  are  described,  as  we  have  just  quoted,  in  a  survey 
when  James  laid  his  hand  upon  them.  Of  many  of  the  outer  walls  the 
masonry  is  still  as  fresh  and  as  perfect  as  if  the  stone  had  only  been  quarried 
half  a  century  ago.  Silent  decay  has  done  all  this  work.  The  proud  Leicester, 
who  would  have  been  king  in  England,  could  not  secure  his  rightful  inherit 
ance  to  his  son,  undoubtedly  legitimate,  whom  he  had  the  baseness  to  disown 
whilst  he  was  living.  No  just  possessor  came  after  him.  One  rapacity  suc 
ceeded  another,  so  that  even  a  century  ago  Kenilworth  was  a  monument  of  the 
worthlessness  of  a  grovelling  ambition. 

The  historian  of  Warwickshire  has  given  us  "  the  ground-plot  of  Kenil 
worth  Castle,"  as  it  was  in  1640.  By  this  we  may  trace  the  pool  and 
the  pleasance  ;  the  inner  court,  the  base  court,  and  the  tilt-yard ;  Caesar's 
Tower  and  Mortimer's  Tower ;  King  Henry's  Lodgings  and  Leicester's 
Buildings  ;  the  Hall,  the  Presence  Chamber,  and  the  Privy  Chamber.  There 
was  an  old  fresco  painting,  too,  upon  a  wall  at  Newnham  Padox,  which 
was  copied  in  1716,  and  is  held  to  represent  the  castle  in  the  time  of  James  I. 
Without  these  aids  Kenilworth  would  only  appear  to  us  a  mysterious  mass  of 
ruined  gigantic  walls ;  deep  cavities  whose  uses  are  unknown ;  arched  door 
ways,  separated  from  the  chambers  to  which  they  led  ;  narrow  staircases, 
suddenly  opening  into  magnificent  recesses,  with  their  oriels  looking  over 
corn-field  and  pasture  ;  a  hall  with  its  lofty  windows  and  its  massive  chimney- 
pieces  still  entire,  but  without  roof  or  flooring ;  mounds  of  earth  in  the  midst 
of  walled  chambers,  and  the  hawthorn  growing  where  the  dais  stood.  The 
desolation  would  probably  have  gone  on  for  another  century  ;  the  stones  of 
Kenilworth  would  still  have  mended  roads,  and  been  built  into  the  cowshed 
and  the  cottage,  till  the  ploughshare  had  been  carried  over  the  grassy  courts ; 
had  not,  some  twenty-five  years  ago,  a  man  of  middle  age,  with  a  lofty  forehead 
and  a  keen  grey  eye,  slightly  lame  but  withal  active,  entered  its  gatehouse, 
and,  having  looked  upon  the  only  bit  of  carving  left  to  tell  something  of  interior 
magnificence,  passed  into  those  ruins,  and  stood  there  silent  for  some  two  hours.* 
Then  was  the  ruined  place  henceforward  to  be  sanctified.  The  progress  of 
desolation  was  to  be  arrested.  The  torch  of  genius  again  lighted  up  "  every 
room  so  spacious,"  and  they  were  for  ever  after  to  be  associated  with  the  recol 
lections  of  their  ancient  splendour.  There  were  to  be  visions  of  sorrow  and 
suffering  there  too  ;  woman's  weakness,  man's  treachery.  And  now  Kenilworth 
is  worthily  a  place  which  is  visited  from  all  lands.  The  solitary  artist  sits  on 

*  Some  five  and  twenty  years  ago  there  was  a  venerable  and  intelligent  farmer,  Mr.  Bodington, 
living  in  the  Gatehouse  at  Keuilworth.  He  remembered  Scott's  visit,  although  he  knew  not  at  the 
time  of  the  visit  who  he  was ;  and  the  frank  manners  and  keen  inquiries  of  the  great  novelist  left  au 
impression  upon  him  which  he  described  to  us.  The  old  man  is  dead. 

91 


WILLIAM    RIIAKSPKKF  : 

the  stone  seat  of  the  great  bay-window,  and  sketches  the  hall  where  he  fancies 
Elizabeth  banqueting.  A  knot  of  young  antiquarians,  ascending  a  narrow 
staircase,  would  identify  the  turret  as  that  in  which  Amy  Robsart  took  refuge. 
Happy  children  nm  up  and  down  the  grassy  slopes,  and  wonder  who  made  so 
pretty  a  ruin.  The  contemplative  man  rejoices  that  the  ever-vivifying  power 
of  nature  throws  its  green  mantle  over  what  would  be  ugly  in  decay ;  and  that, 
in  the  same  way,  the  poetical  power  invests  the  desolate  places  with  life  and 
beauty,  and,  when  the  material  creations  of  ambition  lie  perishing,  builds  them 
up  again,  not  to  be  agai-n  destroyed. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

PAGEANTS. 


thereof  goes  through  the  country,  and  Coventry  i 
crowds  on  the  day  of  Corpus  Christi. 

*  See  '  A  Briefe  Conceipte  of  English  Pollkye,'  1581. 


IT  is  "  the  middle  summer's  spring."  On 
the  day  before  the  feast  of  Corpus  Christi 
all  the  roads  leading  to  Coventry  have  far 
more  than  their  accustomed  share  of  pedes 
trians  and  horsemen.  The  pageants  are  to 
be  acted  to-morrow,  and  perhaps  for  the  last 
time.  The  preachers  in  their  sermons  have 
denounced  them  again  and  again ;  but  since 
the  Queen's  Majesty  was  graciously  pleased 
with  the  Hock-play  at  Kenilworth,  that 
ancient  sport,  so  dear  to  the  men  of  Coven 
try,  has  been  revived,  and  the  Guilds  have 
struggled  against  the  preachers  to  prevent 
their  old  pageants  from  being  suppressed. 
And  why,  say  they,  should  they  be  sup 
pressed  ?  Have  not  they,  the  men  of  the 
Guilds,  been  accustomed  to  act  their  own 
pageants  long  after  the  Grey  Friars  had 
gone  into  obscurity  ?  Has  not  the  good  city 
all  that  is  needful  for  their  proper  per 
formance  ?  Do  not  they  all  know  their 
parts,  as  arranged  by  the  town-clerk  ?  Are 
not  their  robes  in  goodly  order,  some  new, 
and  all  untattered  ?  Moreover,  is  not  the 
trade  of  the  city  greatly  declined— its  blue 
thread  thrust  out  by  thread  brought  from 
beyond  sea— its  caps  and  girdles  superseded 
by  gear  from  London;*  and  was  not  in  the 
old  time  "  the  confluence  of  people  from  far 
and  near  to  see  this  show  extraordinary 
great,  and  yielded  no  small  advantage  to 
this  city  ?  "  t  The  pageants  shall  be  played 
in  spite  of  the  preachers ;  and  so  the  bruit 
'  itill  to  see  its  accustomed 


t  Dugdale. 
93 


WILLIAM    SH. \KSPERE: 

It  requires  not  the  imagination  of  the  romance-wriu-r  to  assume  that  before 
William  Shakspere  was  sixteen,  that  is,  before  the  year  1580,  when  the  pageants 
at  Coventry,  with  one  or  two  rare  exceptions,  were  finally  suppressed,  he  would 
be  a  spectator  of  one  of  these  remarkable  performances,  which  were  in  a  few 
years  wholly  to  perish ;  becoming,  however,  the  foundations  of  a  drama  more 
suited  to  the  altered  spirit  of  the  people,  more  universal  in  its  range, — the 
drama  of  the  laity,  and  not  of  the  church.  What  a  glorious  city  must  Coventry 
have  been  in  the  days  when  that  youth  first  looked  upon  it — the  "  Prince's 
Chamber,"  as  it  was  called,  the  "  third  city  of  the  realm,"  a  "  shire-town,"  *  full 
of  stately  buildings  of  great  antiquity,  unequalled  once  in  the  splendour  of  its 
monastic  institutions,  full  of  associations  of  regal  state,  and  chivalry,  and  high 
events !  As  he  finally  emerges  from  the  rich  woodlands  and  the  elm -groves 
which  reach  from  Kenilworth,  there  would  that  splendid  city  lie  before  him, 
surrounded  by  its  high  wall  and  its  numerous  gates,  its  three  wondrous  spires, 
which  he  had  often  gazed  upon  from  the  hill  of  Welcombe,  rising  up  in  match 
less  height  and  symmetry,  its  famous  cross  towering  above  the  gabled  roofs. 
At  the  other  extremity  of  the  wall,  gates  more  massive  and  defying — a  place  of 
strength,  even  though  no  conqueror  of  Cressy  now  dwelt  therein— a  place  of 
magnificence,  though  the  hand  of  spoliation  had  been  there  most  busy.  William 
Shakspere  and  his  company  ride  through  the  gate  of  the  Grey  Friars,  and  they 
are  presently  in  the  heart  of  that  city.  Eager  crowding  is  there  already  in 
these  streets  on  that  eve  of  Corpus  Christi,  for  the  waits  are  playing,  and  ban 
ners  are  hung  out  at  the  walls  of  the  different  Guilds.  The  citizens  gathered 
round  the  Cross  are  eagerly  discussing  the  particulars  of  to-morrow's  show. 
Here  and  there  one  with  a  beetling  brow  indignantly  denounces  the  superstitious 
and  papistical  observance ;  whilst  the  laughing  smith  or  shearman,  who  is  to 
play  one  of  the  magi  on  the  morrow,  describes  the  bravery  of  his  new  robe  and 
the  lustre  of  his  pasteboard  crown  that  has  been  fresh  gilded.  The  inns  are 
full,  "  great  and  sumptuous  inns,"  as  Harrison  describes  those  of  this  very  day, 
"  able  to  lodge  two  hundred  or  three  hundred  persons,  and  their  horses,  at  ease, 
and  thereto,  with  a  very  short  warning,  make  such  provision  for  their  diet  as 
to  him  that  is  unacquainted  withal  may  seem  to  be  incredible :  And  it  is  a 
world  to  see  how  each  owner  of  them  contendeth  with  other  for  goodness  of 
entertainment  of  their  guests,  as  about  fineness  and  change  of  linen,  furniture 
of  bedding,  beauty  of  rooms,  service  at  the  table,  costliness  of  plate,  strength  of 
drink,  variety  of  wines,  or  well  using  of  horses."  So  there  would  be  no  lack  of 
cheer ;  and  the  hundreds  that  have  come  into  Coventry  will  be  fed  and  lodged 
better  even  than  in  London,  whose  inns,  as  the  same  authority  tells  us,  are  the 
worst  in  the  kingdom.  Piping  and  dancing  is  there  in  the  chambers,  madrigals 
worth  the  listening.  But  silence  and  sleep  at  last  fitly  prepare  for  a  busy  day. 
Perhaps,  however,  a  stray  minstrel  might  find  his  way  to  this  solemnity,  and 
forget  the  hour  in  the  exercise  of  his  vocation,  like  the  very  ancient  anony 
mous  poet  of  the  Alliterative  Metre,  whose  manuscript,  probably  of  the  date  of 
Henry  V.,  has  contrived  to  escape  destruction  : — 

•  Coventry  has  altogether  separate  jurisdiction.     It  is  "  the  County  of  the  City  of  Coventry." 
It  U  called  "a  shire-towu"  by  Dugdale,  to  mark  this  distinction. 
94 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

"  Ones  y  me  ordayned,  as  y  have  ofte  doon, 
With  frendcs,  and  felawes,  frendemen,  and  other ; 
And  caught  me  in  a  company  on  Corpus  Christ!  even, 
Six,  other  seven  myle,  oute  of  Suthampton, 
To  take  melodye,  and  mirthes,  among  my  makes  ; 
With  redyng  of  romaunces,  and  revelyng  among, 
The  dym  of  the  darknesse  drowe  into  the  west, 
And  began  for  to  spryng  in  the  grey  day."* 

Perhaps  the  inquiring  youth  from  Stratford  would  meet  with  some  old  Coventry 
man,  who  would  describe  the  pageants  as  they  were  acted  by  the  Grey  Friars 
before  the  dissolution  of  their  religious  house.  The  old  man  would  tell  him 
how  these  pageants,  "  acted  with  mighty  state  and  reverence  by  the  friars  of 
this  house,  had  theatres  for  the  several  scenes,  very  large  and  high,  placed  upon 
wheels,  and  drawn  to  all  the  eminent  parts  of  the  city  for  the  better  advantage 
of  spectators  ;  and  contained  the  story  of  the  New  Testament  composed  into  old 
English  rhyme,  as  appeareth  by  an  ancient  manuscript,  entitled  Dudus  Corporis 
Christi,  or  Ludus  Coventrice."^-  That  ancient  man,  who  might  have  been  a 
friar  himself,  but  felt  it  not  safe  to  proclaim  his  vocation,  might  describe  how 
Henry  V.  and  his  nobles  took  great  delight  in  seeing  the  pageants ;  how  Queen 
Margaret  in  the  days  of  her  prosperity  came  from  Kenilworth  to  Coventry 
privily  to  see  the  play,  and  saw  all  the  pageants  played  save  one,  which  could 
not  be  played  because  night  drew  on ;  how  the  triumphant  Richard  III.  came 
to  see  the  Corpus  Christi  plays  ;  and  how  Henry  VII.  much  commended  them.]: 
He  could  recite  lines  from  these  Corpus  Christi  plays  with  a  reverential  solem 
nity  ;  lines  that  for  the  most  part  sounded  rude  in  the  ear  of  that  youth,  but 
which,  nevertheless,  had  a  vigorous  simplicity,  fit  for  the  teaching  of  an  unin- 
structed  people.  He  would  tell  how  in  the  play  of  '  The  Creation '  the  pride 
of  Lucifer  disdained  the  worship  of  the  angels,  and  how  he  was  cast  down — 

"  With  mirth  and  joy  neve.'  n.ore  to  mell." 
How  in  the  play  of  '  The  Fall,'  Eve  sang— 

"  In  Ihis  garden  I  will  go  see 
All  the  flowers  of  fair  beauty, 
And  tasteii  the  fruits  of  great  plenty 
That  be  in  Paradise ; " 

and  how  the  first  pair  lost  that  garden,  and  went  forth  into  the  land  to  labour. 
He  could  repeat,  too,  a  hymn  of  Abel,  very  sweet  in  its  music : — 

"  Almighty  God,  and  full  of  might, 

By  whom  all  thing  is  made  of  nought, 
To  thee  my  heart  is  ready  dight, 
For  upon  thee  is  all  my  thought." 

Moreover,  in  the  play  of  '  Noah/  when  the  dove  returned  to  the  ark  with  the 

*  See  Percy's  '  Reliques  : '  On  the  Alliterative  Metre.     We  give  the  lines  as  corrected  in  Sharp's 
'  Coventry  Mysteries.' 

t  Dugdale.  .      F 

I  See  Sharp's  quotations  from  the  manuscript  Annals  of  Coventry,  'Dissertation,  p.  4. 


WILLIAM   SHAKSP1.1.I 

olive-branch,  there  was  a  joyful  chorus,  such  as  now  could  never  be  heard  in  the 
streets  of  Coventry  :— 

"  Mare  vidit  et  fugit, 
Jordanis  conversus  eat  retrorsum. 
Non  nobis,  Domine,  non  nobis, 
Sed  nornini  tuo  da  gloriam." 

Much  more  would  he  have  told  of  those  ancient  plays,  forty-three  in  number, 
but  time  would  not.*  He  defended  the  objects  for  which  they  were  instituted  : 
the  general  spread  of  knowledge  might  have  brought  other  teaching,  but  they 
familiarized  the  people  with  the  great  scriptural  truths  ;  they  gave  them  amuse 
ments  of  a  higher  nature  than  military  games,  and  contentions  of  mere  brute 
force.  They  might  be  improved,  and  something  like  the  drama  of  Greece  and 
Rome  might  be  founded  upon  them.  But  now  the  same  class  of  subjects  were 
to  be  handled  by  rude  artificers,  who  would  make  them  ridiculous.  There  was 
much  truth  in  what  the  old  man  said  ;  and  the  youth  of  Stratford  would  go 
thoughtfully  to  rest. 

The  morning  of  Corpus  Christi  comes,  and  soon  after  sunrise  there  is  stir  in 
the  streets  of  Coventry.  The  old  ordinances  for  this  solemnity  require  that  the 
Guilds  should  be  at  their  posts  at  five  o'clock.  There  is  to  be  a  solemn  proces 
sion — formerly,  indeed,  after  the  performance  of  the  pageant — and  then,  with 
hundreds  of  torches  burning  around  the  figures  of  our  Lady  and  St.  John,  can 
dlesticks  and  chalices  of  silver,  banners  of  velvet  and  canopies  of  silk,  and  the 
members  of  the  Trinity  Guild  and  the  Corpus  Christi  Guild  bearing  their  cruci 
fixes  and  candlesticks,  with  personations  of  the  angel  Gabriel  lifting  up  the  lily, 
the  twelve  apostles,  and  renowned  virgins,  especially  St.  Catherine  and  St.  Mar 
garet.  The  Reformation  has,  of  course,  destroyed  much  of  this  ceremonial ; 
and,  indeed,  the  spirit  of  it  has  in  great  part  evaporated.  But  now,  issuing 
from  the  many  ways  that  lead  to  the  cross,  there  is  heard  the  melody  of  harpers 
and  the  voice  of  minstrelsy ;  trumpets  sound,  banners  wave,  riding-men  come 
thick  from  their  several  halls  ;  the  mayor  and  aldermen  in  their  robes,  the  city 
servants  in  proper  liveries,  St.  George  and  the  Dragon,  and  Herod  on  horse 
back.  The  bells  ring,  boughs  are  strewed  in  the  streets,  tapestry  is  hung  out  of 
the  windows,  officers  in  scarlet  coats  struggle  in  the  crowd  while  the  procession 
is  marshalling.  The  crafts  are  getting  into  their  ancient  order,  each  craft  with 
its  streamer  and  its  men  in  harness.  There  are  "  Fysshers  and  Cokes, — Bax 
ters  and  Milners, — Bochers, — Whittawers  and  Glovers, — Pynners,  Tylers,  and 
Wrightes, —  Skynners,  —  Barkers,  —  Corvysers,  —  Smythes,  —  Wevers,  —  Wir- 
drawers. — Cardemakers,  Sadelers,  Peyntours,  and  Masons, — Gurdelers, — Tay- 
lours,  Walkers,  and  Sherman, — Deysters, — Drapers, — Mercers."  f  At  length 
the  procession  is  arranged.  It  parades  through  the  principal  lines  of  the  city, 
from  Bishopgate  on  the  north  to  the  Grey  Friars'  Gate  on  the  south,  and  from 
Broadgate  on  the  west  to  Gosford  Gate  on  the  east.  The  crowd  is  thronging 
to  the  wide  area  on  the  north  of  Trinity  Church  and  St.  Michael's,  for  there  is 

*  See  the  '  Ludua  Coventrise,'  published  by  the  Shakespeare  Society. 

f  Sharp's  'Dissertation,'  page  160. 
96 


[Coventry  Churches  and  Pageants.] 


the  pageant  to  be  first  performed.  There  was  a  high  house  or  carriage  which 
stood  upon  six  wheels  ;  it  was  divided  into  two  rooms,  one  above  the  other.  In 
the  lower  room  were  the  performers  ;  the  upper  was  the  stage.  This  ponderous 
vehicle  was  painted  and  gilt,  surmounted  with  burnished  vanes  and  streamers, 
and  decorated  with  imagery ;  it  was  hung  round  with  curtains,  and  a  painted 
cloth  presented  a  picture  of  the  subject  that  was  to  be  performed.  This  simple 
stage  had  its  machinery,  too ;  it  was  fitted  for  the  representation  of  an  earth 
quake  or  a  storm ;  and  the  pageant  in  most  cases  was  concluded  in  the  noise 
and  flame  of  fireworks.  It  is  the  pageant  of  the  company  of  Shearmen  and 
Tailors  which  is  now  to  be  performed, — the  subject  of  the  Birth  of  Christ  and 
Offering  of  the  Magi,  with  the  Flight  into  Egypt  and  Murder  of  the  Innocents. 
The  eager  multitudes  are  permitted  to  crowd  within  a  reasonable  distance  of 
the  car.  There  is  a  moveable  scaffold  erected  for  the  more  distinguished  spcc- 
LIFK.  H  P7 


WII.I.IAM    siiAK>ri:i:i:  : 

tators.  Tlie  men  of  the  Guilds  sit  firm  on  their  horses.  Amidst  the  sound*  of 
harp  and  trumpet  the  curtains  are  withdrawn,  and  Isaiah  appears,  prophesying 
the  blessing  which  is  to  come  upon  the  earth.  Gabriel  announces  to  Mary  the 
embassage  upon  which  he  is  sent  from  Heaven.  Then  a  dialogue  between  Mary 
and  Joseph,  and  the  scene  changes  to  the  field  where  shepherds  are  abiding  in 
the  darkness  of  the  night — a  night  so  dark  that  they  know  not  where  their  sheep 
may  be  ;  they  are  cold  and  in  great  heaviness.  Then  the  star  shines,  and  they 
hear  the  song  of  "  Gloria  in  excelsis  Deo."  A  soft  melody  of  concealed  music 
hushes  even  the  whispers  of  the  Coventry  audience  ;  and  three  songs  are  sung, 
such  as  may  abide  in  the  remembrance  of  the  people,  and  be  repeated  by  them 
at  their  Christmas  festivals.  "  The  first  the  shepherds  sing  :  " — 

"  As  I  rode  out  this  endera  *  night, 
Of  three  jolly  shepherds  I  saw  a  sight, 
And  all  about  their  fold  a  star  shone  bright ; 
They  sang  terli  terlow  : 
So  merrily  the  shepherds  their  pipes  can  blow." 

There  is  then  a  song  "  the  women  sing :  "• 

*'  Lully,  lulla,  you  little  tiny  child  : 
By,  by,  lully,  lullay,  you  little  tiny  child  : 

By,  by,  lully,  lulLiy. 
0  sisters  two,  how  may  we  do 
For  to  preserve  this  day 
This  poor  youngling,  for  whom  we  do  sing 
By,  by,  lully,  lullay  ? 

Herod  the  king,  in  his  raging, 
Charged  he  hath  this  day 
His  men  of  might,  in  his  own  sight, 
All  young  children  to  slay. 

That  woe  is  me,  poor  child,  for  thee, 
And  ever  mourn  and  say, 
For  thy  parting  neither  say  nor  sing 
By,  by,  lully,  lullay." 

The  shepherds  again  take  up  the  song  : — 

"  Down  from  heaven,  from  heaven  so  high, 
Of  angels  there  came  a  great  company, 
With  mirth,  and  joy,  and  great  solemnity  : 
They  sang  terly;  terlow  : 
So  merrily  the  shepherds  their  pipes  can  blow." 

The  simple  melody  of  these  songs  has  come  down  to  us  ;  they  are  part  songs, 
each  having  the  treble,  the  tenor,  and  the  bass.f  The  star  conducts  the  shepherds 
to  the  "  crib  of  poor  repast,"  where  the  child  lies;  and,  with  a  simplicity  which 

*  Enderi  night — last  night. 

t  This  very  curious  Pageant,  essentially  different  from  the  same  portion  of  Scripture-history 
in  the  '  Ltulut  Coventriat'  is  printed  entire  in  Mr.  Sharp's  Dissertation,'  as  well  as  the  score  of 
these  songs. 

98 


A   BIOGRAPHY.     , 

is  highly  characteristic,  one  presents  the  child  his  pipe,  the  second  his  hat,  and 
the  third  his  mittens.  Prophets  now  come,  who  declare  in  lengthened  rhyme 
the  wonder  and  the  blessing  : — 

"  Neither  in  halls  nor  yet  in  bowers 
Born  would  he  not  be, 
Neither  in  castles  nor  yet  in  towers 
That  seemly  were  to  see." 

The  messenger  of  Herod  succeeds  ;  and  very  curious  it  is,  and  characteristic  of 
a  period  when  the  king's  laws  were  delivered  in  the  language  of  the  Conqueror, 
that  he  speaks  in  French.  This  circumstance  would  carry  back  the  date  of  the 
play  to  the  reign  of  Edward  III.,  though  the  language  is  occasionally  modern 
ized.  We  have  then  the  three  kings  with  their  gifts.  They  are  brought  before 
Herod,  who  treats  them  courteously,  but  is  inexorable  in  his  cruel  decree. 
Herod  rages  in  the  streets  ;  but  the  flight  into  Egypt  takes  place,  and  then  the 
massacre.  The  address  of  the  women  to  the  pitiless  soldiers,  imploring,  defying, 
is  not  the  least  curious  part  of  the  performance  ;  for  example — 

"  Sir  knightes,  of  your  courtesy, 
This  day  shame  not  your  chivalry, 
But  on  my  child  have  pity," 

is  the  mild  address  of  one  mother.     Another  raves — 

"  He  that  slays  my  child  in  sight, 
If  that  my  strokes  on  him  may  light, 
Be  he  squire  or  knight, 
I  hold  him  but  lost." 

The  fury  of  a  third  is  more  excessive  :  — 

"  Sit  he  never  so  high  in  saddle, 
But  I  shall  make  his  brains  addle, 
And  here  with  my  pot  ladle 
With  him  will  I  fight." 

We  have  little  doubt  that  he  who  described  the  horrors  of  a  siege, — 

"  Whiles  the  mad  mothers  with  their  howls  confus'd 
Do  break  the  clouds,  as  did  the  wives  of  Jewry 
At  Herod's  bloody-hunting  slaughtermen,"  * 

had  heard  the  howlings  of  the  women  in  the  Coventry  pageant.     And  so  "fynes 
lude  de  taylars  and  scharmcn." 

The  pageants  thus  performed  by  the  Guilds  of  Coventry  were  of  various  sub- 
jects,  but  all  scriptural.  The  Smiths'  pageant  was  the  Crucifixion ;  and  most 
curious  are  their  accounts,  from  1449  till  the  time  of  which  we  are  speaking, 
for  expenses  of  helmets  for  Herod  and  cloaks  for  Pilate  ;  of  tabards  for  Caiaphas 

*  Henry  V.,  Act  in.,  Scene  in. 
H2  " 


WILLIAM    SIIAKRPKKF. : 

and  gear  for  Pilate's  wife  ;  of  a  staff  for  the  Demon,  and  a  beard  for  Judas 
There  are  payments,  too,  to  a  man  for  hanging  Judas  and  for  cock-crowing. 
The  subject  of  the  Cappers'  pageant  was  the  Resurrection.  They  hare  charges 
for  making  the  play-book  and  pricking  the  songs  ;  for  money  spent  at  the  first 
rehearsal  and  the  second  rehearsal  ;  for  supper  on  the  play-day,  for  breakfasts 
and  for  dinners.  The  subject  of  the  Drapers'  pageant  was  that  of  Doomsday  ; 
and  one  of  their  articles  of  machinery  sufficiently  explains  the  character  of  their 
performance — "  A  link  to  set  the  world  on  fire,"  following  "  Paid  for  the  barrel 
for  the  earthquake."  We  may  readily  believe  that  the  time  was  fast  approach 
ing  when  such  pageants  would  no  longer  be  tolerated.  It  is  more  than  probable 
that  the  performances  of  the  Guilds  were  originally  subordinate  to  those  of  the 
Grey  Friars  ;  perhaps  devised  and  supported  by  the  parochial  clergy.*  But 
when  the  Church  became  opposed  to  such  representations — when,  indeed,  they 
were  incompatible  with  the  spirit  of  the  age — it  is  clear  that  the  efforts  of  the 
laity  to  uphold  them  could  not  long  be  successful.  They  would  be  certainly 
performed  without  the  reverence  which  once  belonged  to  them.  Their  rude 
action  and  simple  language  would  be  ridiculed  ;  and  when  the  feeling  of  ridi 
cule  crept  in,  their  nature  would  be  altered,  and  they  would  become  essentially 
profane.  There  is  a  very  curious  circumstance  connected  with  the  Coventry 
pageants  which  shows  the  struggle  that  was  made  to  keep  the  dramatic  spirit 
of  the  people  in  this  direction.  In  1584  the  Smiths  performed,  after  many  pre 
parations  and  rehearsals,  a  new  pageant,  the  Destruction  of  Jerusalem.  The 
Smiths  applied  to  one  who  had  been  educated  in  their  own  town,  in  the  Free 
School  of  Coventry,  and  who  in  1584  belonged  to  St.  John's,  Oxford,  to  write 

this  new  play  for  them.     The  following  entry  appears  in  the  city  accounts : — 

• 

"  Paid  to  Mr  Smythe  of  Oxford  the  xvth  daye  of  aprill  1584  for  hys  paynes  for  writing  of  the 
tragedy e— xiy1,  vj",  viijd." 

We  regret  that  this  play,  so  liberally  paid  for  when  compared  with  subse 
quent  payments  to  the  Jonsons  and  Dekkers  of  the  true  drama,  has  not  been 
preserved.  It  would  be  curious  to  contrast  it  with  the  beautiful  dramatic  poem 
on  the  same  subject,  by  an  accomplished  scholar  of  our  own  day,  also  a  member 
of  the  University  of  Oxford.  But  the  list  of  characters  remains,  which  shows 
that  the  play  was  essentially  historical,  exhibiting  the  contests  of  the  Jewish 
factions  as  described  by  Josephus.  The  accounts  manifest  that  the  play  was  got 
up  with  great  magnificence  in  1584  ;  but  it  was  not  played  again  till  1591,  when 
it  was  once  more  performed  along  with  the  famous  Hock  Tuesday.  It  was  then 
ordered  that  no  other  plays  whatever  should  be  performed  ;  and  the  same  order, 
which  makes  this  concession  "  at  the  request  of  the  Commons,"  directs  "  that 
all  the  May-poles  that  now  are  standing  in  this  city  shall  be  taken  down  before 
Whitsunday  next,  and  none  hereafter  to  be  set  up."  In  that  year  Coventry 
saw  the  last  of  its  pageants.  But  Marlowe  and  Shakspere  were  in  London, 
building  up  something  more  adapted  to  that  age  ;  more  universal :  dramas  that 

•  It  is  clear,  we  think,  that  the  pageants  performed  by  the  Guilds  were  altogether  different 
from  the  '  Ludus  Coveutria?.'  which  Dugdale  expressly  tells  us  were  performed  by  tho  Grey 
Friura. 

100 


A   BIOGRAPHY 


no  change  of  manners  or  of  politics  can  destroy.  The  Pageants  of  Coventry 
have  perished,  as  her  strong  gates  and  walls  have  perished.  They  belonged 
essentially  to  other  times.  They  are  no  longer  needed.  A  few  fragments 
remain  to  tell  us  what  they  were ;  and  upon  these  the  learned,  as  they  are 
called,  will  doubt  and  differ,  and  the  general  world  heed  them  not. 

And  now  the  men  of  Coventry  lead  the  way  of  the  strangers  to  another  spot, 
with  the  cry  of  "  The  Hock-play,  the  Hock-play  !"  There  was  yawning  and  ill- 
repressed  laughing  during  the  pageant,  but  the  whole  population  now  seems 
animated  with  the  spirit  of  joyfulness.  As  one  of  the  worthy  aldermen  gallantly 
presses  his  horse  through  the  crowd,  is  there  not  a  cry,  too,  of  "  A  Nycklyn,  a 
Nycklyn  ! "  for  did  not  the  worthy  mayor,  Thomas  Nycklyn,  three  years  ago, 
cause  "  Hock  Tuesday,  whereby  is  mentioned  an  overthrow  of  the  Danes  by  the 
inhabitants  of  this  city,  to  be  again  set  up  and  showed  forth,  to  his  great  com- 
mendation  and  the  city's  great  commodity  ?  "*  In  the  wide  area  of  the  Cross- 
cheaping  is  the  crowd  now  assembled.  The  strangers  gaze  upon  "  that  stately 
Cross,  being  one  of  the  chief  things  wherein  this  city  most  glories,  which  for 
workmanship  and  beauty  is  inferior  to  none  in  England."f  It  was  not  then 
venerable  for  antiquity,  for  it  had  been  completed  little  more  than  thirty  years  ; 
but  it  was  a  wondrous  work  of  gorgeous  architecture,  story  rising  above  story, 
with  canopies  and  statues,  to  a  magnificent  height,  glittering  with  vanes  upon 
its  pinnacles,  and  now  decorated  with  numerous  streamers.  J  Around  the  square 
are  houses  of  most  picturesque  form;  the  balconies  of  their  principal  floors 
filled  with  gazers,  and  the  windows  immediately  beneath  the  high-pitched  roofs 
showing  as  many  heads  as  could  be  thrust  through  the  open  casements.  The 
area  is  cleared,  for  the  play  requires  no  scaffold.  The  English  and  the  Danes 
marshal  on  opposite  sides.  There  are  fierce  words  and  imprecations,  shouts  of 
defiance,  whisperings  of  counsel.  What  is  imperfectly  heard  or  ill  understood 
by  the  strangers  is  explained  by  those  who  are  familiar  with  the  show.  There 
is  no  ridicule  now  ;•  no  laughing  at  Captain  Cox,  in  his  velvet  cap,  and  flourish 
ing  his  tonsword  ;  all  is  gravity  and  exultation.  Then  come  the  women  of 
Coventry,  ardent  in  the  cause  of  liberty,  courageous,  much  enduring ;  and  some 
one  tells  in  the  pauses  of  the  play,  how  there  once  rode  into  that  square,  in  a 
death-like  solitude  and  silence,  a  lady  all  naked,  who,  "  bearing  an  extraordinary 
affection  for  this  place,  often  and  earnestly  besought  her  husband  that  he  would 
free  it  from  that  grievous  servitude  whereunto  it  was  subject  ;"§  and  he  telling 
her  the  hard  conditions  upon  which  her  prayer  would  be  granted — 
"  She  rode  forth,  clothed  on  with  chastity." 


*  Extract  from  manuscript  Annals  of  Coventry  in  Sharp's  '  Dissertation,'  p.  129. 

t  Dugdale. 

J  The  Cross  has  perished,  not  through  age,  but  by  the  hands  of  Cominon-councilmen  and  Com 
missioners  of  Pavement.  The  Turks  broke  up  the  Elgin  marbles  to  make  mortar  for  their  Athenian 
hovels,  and  we  call  them  barbarians.  These  things  went  on  amongst  us  up  to  a  very  recent  time. 
In  an  old  Chapel  of  Ease  iu  the  neighbourhood  of  Stratford  was,  a  few  years  ago,  one  of  the  very 
fine  recumbent  figures  of  a  Templar.  The  figure  was  missed  by  a  clergyman  who  sometimes  visited 
the  place,  and  he  asked  the  sexton  what  had  become  cf  it  ?  The  answer  was,  "  What  !  that  cross- 
Jegged  chap  ?  Oh  !  I  mendsd  the  road  wi'  he;  a  saved  a  deal  o'  limestone." 

§  Dugdale, 

101 


\M   sn.\Ksri:i:i. : 

Noble-hearted  women  such  as  the  Lady  Godiva  were  those  of  Coventry  who 
assisted  their  husbands  to  drive  out  the  Danes ;  and  there  they  lead  their  captives 
in  triumph ;  and  the  Hock-play  terminate*  with  song  and  chorus. 

But  the  solemnities  of  the  day  are  not  yet  concluded.  In  the  space  around 
Swine  Cross,  and  near  St.  John's  School,  is  another  scaffold  erected  ;  not  a  lofty 
scaffold  like  that  of  the  drapers  and  shearmen,  but  gay  witli  painted  cloths  and 
ribbons.  The  pageant  of  '  The  Nine  "Worthies '  is  to  be  performed  by  the  dramatic 
body  of  the  Grammar  School ;  the  ancient  pageant,  such  as  was  presented  to 
Henry  VI.  and  his  Queen  in  1455,  and  of  which  the  Leet-book  contains  the 
faithful  copy.*  Assuredly  there  was  one  who  witnessed  that  performance  care 
fully  employed  in  noting  down  the  lofty  speeches  which  the  three  Hebrews, 
Joshua,  David,  and  Judas  Maccabaeus ;  the  three  Infidels,  Hector,  Alexander,  and 
Julius  Caesar ;  and  the  three  Christians,  Arthur,  Charlemagne,  and  Godfrey  of 
Boulogne,  uttered  on  that  occasion.  In  the  Coventry  pageant  Hector  thus 
speaks :  — 

"  Most  pleasant  princes,  recorded  that  may  be, 
I,  Hector  of  Troy,  that  am  chief  conqueror, 
Lowly  will  obey  you,  and  kneel  on  my  knee." 

And  Alexander  thus  : — 

"  I,  Alexander,  that  for  chivalry  beareth  the  ball, 
Most  courageous  in  conquest  through  the  world  am  I  named, — 
Welcome  you,  princes." 

And  Julius  Caesar  thus  :  — 

"  I,  Julius  Caesar,  sovereign  of  knighthood 
And  emperor  of  mortal  men,  most  high  and  mighty, 
Welcome  you,  princes  most  benign  and  good." 

Surely  it  was  little  less  than  plagiary,  if  it  were  not  meant  for.  downright  parody, 
when,  in  a  pageant  of  '  The  Nine  Worthies '  presented  a  few  years  after,  Hector 
comes  in  to  say — 

"  The  armipotent  Mars,  of  lances  the  almighty, 

Gave  Hector  a  gift,  the  heir  of  Ilion  : 
A  man  so  breath'd,  that  certain  he  would  fight,  yea, 

From  morn  till  night,  out  of  his  pavilion. 
I  am  that  flower." 

And  Alexander  : — 

"  When  in  the  world  I  liv'd,  I  was  the  world's  commander ; 
By  east,  west,  north,  and  south,  I  spread  my  conquering  might : 
My  'scutcheon  plain  declares  that  I  am  Alisander." 

And  Pompey,  usurping  the  just  hono'urs  of  his  triumphant  rival  : — 

"  1  Pompey  am,  Pompey  surnamed  the  great, 
That  oft  in  field,  with  targe  and  shield,  did  make  my  foe  to  sweat." 

J0>,  *  Sharp,  page  14u. 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

But  the  laugh  of  the  parody  was  a  harmless  one.  The  Nine  Worthies  were 
utterly  dead  and  gone  in  the  popular  estimation.  Certainly  in  the  crowd  before 
St.  John's  School  at  Coventry  there  would  be  more  than  one  who  would  laugh 
at  the  speeches — merry  souls,  ready  to  "  play  on  the  tabor  to  the  Worthies,  and 
let  them  dance  the  hay."* 

*  Love's  Labour's  Lost,  Act  V.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  refer  the  reader  to  the  same  play 
for  the  speeches  of  Hector,  Alexander,  and  Pompey.  The  coincidence  between  these  and  the 
old  Coventry  Pageant  in  remarkable. 


[Ancient  Gate  of  Coventry,  1842.] 


WILLIAM    SHAKSI'KIJK. 


NOTE  ON  THE  COVENTRY  PAGEANTS. 


THE  "Chester  Mysteries,"  which  appear  greatly  to  have  resembled  those  of  Coventry,  were 
fnally  suppressed  in  1574.  Archdeacon  Rogers,  who  in  his  MSS.  rejoices  that  "such  a  cloud 
of  ignorance  "  would  be  no  more  seen,  appears  to  have  been  an  eye-witness  of  their  performance, 
of  which  he  has  left  the  following  description : — (See  Markland's  '  Introduction  to  a  Specimen 
of  the  Chester  Mysteries.") 

"  Now  of  the  playes  of  Chester,  called  the  Whitson  playes,  when  the  weare  played,  and  what 
occupations  bringe  forthe  at  theire  charges  the  playes  or  pagiantes. 

"  lleare  note  that  these  playes  of  Chester,  called  the  Whitson  playes,  weare  the  worke  of  one 
Kondell,  a  Moncke  of  the  Abbaye  of  Sainte  Warburghe  in  Chester,  who  redused  the  whole  hia- 
torye  of  the  bible  into  euglishe  etoryes  in  metter  in  the  englishe  tounge ;  and  this  Monke,  in  a 
good  desire  to  doe  good,  published  the  same.  Then  the  firs'.e  maior  of  Chester,  namely,  Sr  John 
Arnewaye,  Kuighte,  he  caused  the  same  to  l>e  played :  the  mauer  of  which  playes  was  thus : — 
they  weare  divided  into  24  pagiantes  according  to  the  copauyes  of  the  Cittie ;  and  every  com 
pany  e  broughte  forthe  theire  pagiant,  wth  was  the  cariage  or  place  w'u  the  played  in ;  and  before 
these  playes  weare  played,  there  was  a  man  wch  did  ride,  as  I  take  it,  upon  Sl  Georges  daye 
throughe  the  Cittie,  and  there  published  the  tyme  and  the  matter  of  the  plays  in  breelfe :  the 
weare  played  upon  Mondaye,  Tuesday,  and  Wensedaye  iu  Whitsou  weeke.  And  thei  first  be- 
ganne  at  the  Abbaye  gates ;  and  when  the  firste  pagiante  was  played  at  the  Abbaye  gates,  then 
it  was  wheled  from  thense  to  the  Pentice,  at  the  hyghe  Crosse,  before  the  maior,  and  before  th.it 
was  donne  the  seconde  came ;  and  the  firste  went  into  the  Watergate  Streete,  and  from  thense 
unto  Bridge  Streete,  and  so  one  after  an  other  'till  all  the  pagiantes  weare  played  appoyuted  for 
the  firste  daye,  and  BO  likewise  for  the  seconde  and  the  thirde  daye.  These  pagiantes  or  carige 
was  a  hyghe  place  made  like  a  howse  with  2  rowmes,  beinge  open  on  the  tope ;  the  lower  rowme 
theie  apparrelled  and  dressed  themselves,  and  the  higher  rowine  theie  played,  and  theie  stoode 
upon  vi  wheeles ;  and  when  the  had  donne  with  one  cariage  in  one  place  theie  wheled  the  same 
from  one  streete  to  another,  first  from  the  Abbaye  gate  to  the  pentise,  then  to  the  Watergate 
streete,  then  to  the  bridge  streete  through  the  lanes,  and  so  to  the  este  gate  streete :  and  thus 
tha  came  from  one  streete  to  another,  kepinge  a  directe  order  in  everye  streete,  for  before  thei 
firate  carige  was  gone  from  one  place  the  seconde  came,  and  so  before  the  secoude  was  gone  the 
thirde  came,  and  so  till  the  laste  was  donne  all  in  order  withoute  anye  stayeiuge  in  auye  place, 
for  worde  beinge  broughte  howe  every  place  was  neoro  dooue,  the  came  and  made  no  place  to 
tarye  tell  the  laste  was  played." 


104 


[Stratford  Church,  and  Mill.    From  an  original  drawing  at  tUe  beginning  of  the  last  Century.] 

CHAPTER    IX. 

HOME. 


WE  have  thus  endeavoured  to  fill  up,  with  some  imperfect  forms  and  feeble 
colours,  the  very  meagre  outline  which  exists  of  the  schoolboy  life  of  William 
Shakspere.  He  is  now,  we  will  assume,  of  the  age  of  fourteen — the  year  1578 ; 
a  year  which  has  been  held  to  furnish  decisive  evidence  as  to  the  worldly  con 
dition  of  his  father  and  ^his  family.  The  first  who  attempted  to  write  '  Some 
Account  of  the  Life  of  William  Shakspeare,'  Rowe,  says,  "  His  father,  who  was 
a  considerable  dealer  in  wool,  had  so  large  a  family,  ten  children  in  all,  that, 
though  he  was  his  eldest  son,  he  could  give  him  no  better  education  than  his 
own  employment.  He  had  bred  him,  it  is  true,  for  some  time  at  a  free-school, 
where,  it  is  probable,  He  acquired  what  Latin  he  was  master  of :  but  the  narrow 
ness  of  his  circumstances,  and  the  want  of  his  assistance  at  home,  forced  his 
father  to  withdraw  him  from  thence,  and  unhappily  prevented  his  further  pro 
ficiency  in  that  language."  This  statement,  be  it  remembered,  was  written 
one  hundred  and  thirty  years  after  the  event  which  it  professes  to  record — the 
early  removal  of  WilHam  Shakspere  from  the  free-school  to  which  he  had  been 
sent  by  his  father.  We  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  the  statement  is 
manifestly  based  upon  two  assumptions,  both  of  which  are  incorrect : — The 
first,  that  his  father  had  a  large  family  of  ten  children,  and  was  so  narrowed  in 
his  circumstances  that  he  could  not  spare  even  the  time  of  his  eldest  son,  he 
being  taught  for  nothing;  and,  secondly,  that  the  son,  by  his  early  removal 

from  the  school  where  he  acquired  "  what  Latin  he  was  master  of,"  was  pre- 
105 


WII.F.I  \M 

vented  attaining  a  "proficiency  in  that  language,"  his  works  manifesting  "an 
ignorance  of  the  ancients."  It  mav  be  convenient  that  we  should  in  this  place 
endeavour  to  dispose  of  both  these  assertions.  Mr.  Halliwell,  commenting  upon 
this  statement,  says,  "  John  Shakspeare's  circumstances  began  to  fail  him  when 
William  was  about  fourteen,  and  he  then  withdrew  him  from  the  grammar-school, 
for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  his  assistance  in  his  agricultural  pursuits."  Was 
fourteen  an  unusually  early  age  for  a  boy  to  be  removed  from  a  grammar-school  ? 
We  think  not,  at  a  period  when  there  were  boy-bachelors  at  the  Universities.  If 
he  had  been  taken  from  the  school  three  years  before,  when  he  was  eleven, — 
certainly  an  early  age, — we  should  have  seen  his  father  then  recorded,  in  1575, 
as  the  purchaser  of  two  freehold  houses  in  Henley  Street,  and  the  "  narrowness 
of  his  circumstances"  as  the  reason  of  Shakspere's  "no  better  proficiency," 
would  have  been  at  once  exploded.  In  his  material  allegation  Rowe  utterly 
fails. 

The  family  of  John  Shakspere  did  not  consist,  as  we  have  already  shown,  of  ten 
children.  In  the  year  1578,  when  the  school  education  of  William  may  be 
reasonably  supposed  to  have  terminated,  and  before  which  period  his  "  assistance 
at  home "  would  rather  have  been  embarrassing  than  useful  to  his  father,  the 
family  consisted  of  five  children  :  William,  aged  fourteen  ;  Gilbert,  twelve  ;  Joan, 
nine  ;  Anne,  seven  ;  and  Richard  four.  Anne  died  early  in  the  following  year ; 
and,  in  1580,  Edmund,  the  youngest  child,  was  born  ;  so  that  the  family  never 
exceeded  five  living  at  the  same  time.  But  still  the  circumstances  of  John 
Shakspere,  even  with  five  children,  might  have  been  straitened.  The  assertion  of 
Rowe  excited  the  persevering  diligence  of  Malone ;  and  he  has  collected  together 
a  series  of  documents  from  which  he  infers,  or  leaves  the  reader  to  infer,  that 
John  Shakspere  and  his  family  gradually  sunk  from  their  station  of  respectability 
at  Stratford  into  the  depths  of  poverty  and  ruin.  The  sixth  section  of  Malone's 
posthumous  '  Life '  is  devoted  to  a  consideration  of  this  subject.  It  thus  com 
mences  :  "  The  manufacture  of  gloves,  which  was,  at  this  period,  a  very  flourishing 
one,  both  at  Stratford  and  Worcester  (in  which  latter  £ity  it  is  still  carried  on 
with  great  success),  however  generally  beneficial,  should  seem,  from  whatever 
cause,  to  have  afforded  our  poet's  father  but  a  scanty  maintenance."  The 
assumption  that  John  Shakspere  depended  for  his  "  maintenance "  upon  "  the 
manufacture  of  gloves  "  rests  entirely  and  absolutely  upon  one  solitary  entry  in 
the  books  of  the  bailiff's  court  at  Stratford.  In  Chapter  II.  we  have  endeavoured 
to  show  to  what  extent,  and  in  what  manner,  John  Shakspere  was  a  glover. 
Glover  or  not,  he  was  a  landed  proprietor  and  an  occupier  of  land  in  1578. 

We  proceed  to  the  decisive  statement  of  Malone  that  "  when  our  author 
was  about  fourteen  years  old,"  the  "  distressed  situation  "  of  his  father  was  evi 
dent  :  it  rests  "  upon  surer  grounds  than  conjecture."  The  Corporation  books 
have  shown  that  on  particular  occasions,  such  as  the  visitation  of  the  plague  in 
1564,  John  Shakspere  contributed  like  others  to  the  relief  of  the  poor  ;  but  now, 
in  January,  1577-8,  he  is  taxed  for  the  necessities  of  the  borough  only  to  pay 
half  what  other  aldermen  pay  ;  and  in  November  of  the  Mime  year,  \vhil>t  other 
aldermen  are  assessed  fourpence  weekly  towards  the  relief  of  the  poor,  John 

Shakspere  "shall  not  be  taxed  to  pay  anything."      In   1579  the  sum  levied  upon 

lo; 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

him  for  providing  soldiers  at  the  charge  of  the  borough  is  returned,  amongst 
similar  sums  of  other   persons,  as  "  unpaid  and  unaccounted  for."     Finally,  this 
unquestionable  evidence  of  the  books  of  the  borough  shows  that  this  merciful 
forbearance    of    his    brother    townsmen    was    unavailing  ;    for,    in    an    action 
brought   against   him    in  the  bailiff's  court  in  the  year   1586,  he  during  these 
seven   years   having   gone  on  from  bad  to  worse,  the  return  by  the  Serjeants 
at  mace  upon  a  warrant  of  distress  is,  that  John  Shakspere  has  nothing  upon 
which  distress  can  be  levied.*     There  are  other  corroborative  proofs  of  John 
Shakspere's  poverty  at  this  period  brought  forward  by  Malone.     In  this  precise 
year,  1578,  he  mortgages  iiis  wife's  inheritance  of  Asbies  to  Edmund  Lambert 
for  forty  pounds ;  and,  in  the  same  year,  the  will  of  Mr.  Roger  Sadler,  of  Strat 
ford,  to  which  is  subjoined  a  list  of  debts  due  to  him,  shows  that  John  Shak 
spere  was  indebted  to  him  five  pounds,  for  which  sum  Edmund  Lambert  was  a 
security, — "-By  which,"  says  Malone,  "it   appears   that   John    Shakspere  was 
then  considered  insolvent,  if  not  as  one  depending  rather  on  the  credit  of  others 
than  his  own."       It  is  of  little  consequence  to  the  present  age  to  know  whether 
an  alderman  of  Stratford,  nearly  three  hundred  years  past,  became  unequal  to 
maintain  his  social  position ;  but  to  enable  us  to  form  a  right  estimate  of  the 
education   of  William    Shakspere,   and  of  the  circumstances  in  which  he  was 
placed   at  the  most  influential  period  of  his  life,  it  may  not  be  unprofitable  to 
consider  how  far  these  revelations  of  the  private  affairs  of  his  father  support  the 
case  which  Malone  holds  he  has  so  triumphantly  proved. 

At  the  time  in  question,  the  best  evidence  is  unfortunately  destroyed ;  for  the 
registry  of  the  Court  of  Record  at  Stratford  is  wanting,  from  1569  to  1585. 
Nothing  has  been  added  to  what  Malone  has  collected  as  to  this  precise  period. 
It  amounts  therefore  to  this,— that  in  1578  he  mortgages  an  estate  for  forty 
pounds ;  that  he  is  indebted  also  five  pounds  to  a  friend  for  which  his  mortgagee 
had  become  security ;  and  that  he  is  excused  one  public  assessment,  and  has  not 
contributed  to  another.  At  this  time  he  is  the  possessor  of  two  freehold  houses 
in' Henley  Street,  bought  in  1574.  Malone,  a  lawyer  by  profession,  supposes 
that  the  money  for  which  Asbies  was  mortgaged  went  to  pay  the  purchase  of  the 
Stratford  freeholds ;  according  to  which  theory,  these  freeholds  had  been  unpaid- 
for  during  four  years,  and  the  "  good  and  lawful  money  "  was  not  "  in  hand  " 
when  the  vendor  parted  with  the  premises.  We  hold,  and  we  think  more  reason 
ably,  that  in  1578,  when  he  mortgaged  Asbies,  John  Shakspere  became  the 
purchaser,  or  at  any  rate  the  occupier,  of  lands  in  the  parish  of  Stratford,  but  not 
in  the  borough;  and  that,  in  either  case,  the  money  for  which  Asbies  was 
mortgaged  was  the  capital  employed  in  this  undertaking.  The  lands  which  were 
purchased  by  William  Shakspere  of  the  Combe  family,  in  1601,  are  described  in 
the  deed  as  "  lying  or  being  within  the  parish,  fields,  or  town  of  Old  Stretford. 
But  the  will  of  William  Shakspere,  he  having  become  the  heir-at-law  of  his  father, 
devises  all  his  lands  and  tenements  "within  the  towns,  hamlets,  villages,  fields, 
and  grounds  of  Stratford-upon-Avon,  Old  Stratford,  Bishopton,  and  Wei 

*  We  print  correct  eopies  of  these  entries  at  the  end  of  the  Chapter.     Malone's  copies  exhilil 
his  usual  inaccuracies. 


WILLIAM  BHAKBPEBK: 

Old  Stratford  is  a  local  denomination,  essentially  different  from  Bishopton  or 
Welcombe ;  and,  therefore,  whilst  the  lands  purchased  by  the  son  in  1601  might 
be  those  recited  in  the  will  as  lying  in  Old  Stratford,  he  might  have  derived  from 
his  father  the  lands  of  Bbhopton  and  Welcombe,  of  the  purchase  of  which  by 
himself  we  have  no  record.  But  we  have  a  distinct  record  that  William  Shakspare 
did  derive  lands  from  his  father,  in  the  same  way  that  he  inherited  the  two 
freeholds  in  Henley  Street.  Mr.  Halliwell  prints,  without  any  inference,  a  "  Deed 
of  Settlement  of  Shakespeare's  Property,  1639  ;"  that  deed  contains  a  remarkable 
recital,  which  appears  conclusive  as  to  the  position  of  the  father  as  a  landed 
proprietor.  The  fine  for  the  purpose  of  settlement  is  faken  upon  ;  1,  a  tenement 
in  Blackfriars ;  2,  a  tenement  at  Acton ;  3,  the  capital  messuage  of  New  Place ; 
4,  the  tenement  in  Henley  Street ;  5,  one  hundred  and  twenty. seven  acres  of 
land  purchased  of  Combe  ;  and  6,  "  all  other  the  messuages,  lands,  tenements 
and  hereditaments  whatsoever,  situate  lying  and  being  in  the  towns,  hamlets, 
villages,  fields  and  grounds  cf  Stratford-upon-Avon,  Old  Stratford,  Bishopton, 
and  Welcombe,  or  any  of  them  in  the  said  county  of  Warwick,  ichich  heretofore 
were  the  INHERITANCE  of  William  Shakspere,  gent.,  deceased."  The  word 
inheritance  could  only  be  used  in  one  legal  sense ;  they  came  to  him  by  descent,  as 
heir-at-law  of  his  father.  It  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  more  distinct  confirma 
tion  of  the  memorandum  upon  the  grant  of  arms  in  the  Heralds'  College  to 
John  Shakspere,  "  he  hath  lands  and  tenements,  of  good  wealth  and  substance, 
500/."  The  lands  of  Bishopton  and  Welcombe  are  in  the  parish  of  Stratford,  but 
not  in  the  borough.  Bishopton  was  a  hamlet,  having  an  ancient  chapel  of  ease. 
We  hold,  then,  that  in  the  year  1578  John  Shakspere,  having  become  more  com 
pletely  an  agriculturist — a  yeoman  as  he  is  described  in  a  deed  of  1579 — ceased, 
for  the  purposes  of  business,  to  be  an  occupier  within  the  borough  of  Stratford. 
Other  aldermen  are  rated  to  pay  towards  the  furniture  of  pikemen,  billmen,  and 
archers,  six  shillings  and  eight-pence ;  whilst  John  Shakspere  is  to  pay  three 
shillings  and  four-pence.  Why  less  than  other  aldermen  ?  The  next  entry  but 
one,  which  relates  to  a  brother  alderman,  suggests  an  answer  to  the  question : — 
"  Robert  Bratt,  not/liny  IN  THIS  PLACE."  Again,  ten  months  after, — "  It  is 
ordained  that  every  alderman  shall  pay  weekly,  towards  the  relief  of  the  poor, 
four-pence,  save  John  Shakspere  and  Robert  Bratt,  who  shall  not  be  taxed  to  pay 
any  thing."  Here  John  Shakspere  is  associated  with  Robert  Bratt,  who,  according 
to  the  previous  entry,  was  to  pay  nothing  in  this  place ;  that  is,  in  the  borough  of 
Stratford,  to  which  the  orders  of  the  council  alone  apply.  The  return,  in  1579, 
of  Mr.  Shakspere  as  leaving  unpaid  the  sum  of  three  shillings  and  three-pence, 
was  the  return  upon  a  levy  for  the  borouf/h,  in  which,  although  the  possessor  of 
property,  he  might  have  ceased  to  reside,  or  have  only  partially  resided,  paying  his 
assessments  in  the  parish.  The  Borough  of  Stratford,  and  the  Parish  of  J5tratford, 
are  essentially  different  things,  as  regards  entries  of  the  Corporation  and  of  the 
Court  of  Record.  The  Report  from  Commissioners  of  Municipal  Corporations 
says,  "The  limits  of  the  borough  extend  over  a  space  of  about  half  a  mile  in 
breadth,  and  rather  more  in  length  *  *  *.  The  mayor,  recorder,  and  senior 
aldermen  of  the  borough  have  also  jurisdiction,  as  justices  of  the  peace,  over  a 
small  town  or  suburb  adjoining  the  Church  of  Stratford-upon  Avon,  called  Old 
K8 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

Stratford,  and  over  the  precincts  of  the  church  itself."  We  shall  have  occasion 
to  revert  to  this  distinction  between  the  borough  and  the  parish,  at  a  more 
advanced  period  in'  the  life  of  Shakspere's  father,  when  his  utter  ruin  has  been 
somewhat  rashly  inferred  from  certain  obscure  registers. 

Seeing,  then,  that  at  any  rate,  in  the  year  1574,  when  John  Shakspere  pur 
chased  two  freehold  houses  in  Stratford,  it  was  scarcely  necessary  for  him  to 
withdraw  his  son  William  from  school,  as  Rowe  has  it,  on  account  of  the  narrow 
ness  of  his  circumstances  (the  education  at  that  school  costing  the  father  nothing), 
it  is  not  difficult  to  believe  that  the  son  remained  there  till  the  period  when 
boys  were  usually  withdrawn  from  grammar-schools.  In  those  days  the 
education  of  the  university  commenced  much  earlier  than  at  present.  Boys 
intended  for  the  learned  professions,  and  more  especially  for  the  church, 
commonly  went  to  Oxford  and  Cambridge  at  eleven  or  twelve  years  of  age.  If 
they  were  not  intended  for  those  professions,  they  probably  remained  at  the 
grammar-school  till  they  were  thirteen  or  fourteen ;  and  then  they  were  fitted 
for  being  apprenticed  to  tradesmen,  or  articled  to  attorneys,  a  numerous  and 
thriving  body  in  those  days  of  cheap  litigation.  Many  also  went  early  to  the 
Inns  of  Court,  which  were  the  universities  of  the  law,  and  where  there  was 
real  study  and  discipline  in  direct  connection  with  the  several  Societies.  To 
assume  that  William  Shakspere  did  not  stay  long  enough  at  the  grammar- 
school  of  Stratford  to  obtain  a  very  fair  "  proficiency  in  Latin,"  with  some 
knowledge  of  Greek,  is  to  assume  an  absurdity  upon  the  face  of  the  circum 
stances  ;  and  it  could  never  have  been  assumed  at  all,  had  not  Rowe,  setting 
out  upon  a  false  theory,  that,  because  in  the  works  of  Shakspere  "  we  scarce  find 
any  traces  of  anything  that  looks  like  an  imitation  of  the  ancients,"  held  that 
therefore  "  his  not  copying  at  least  something  from  them  may  be  an  argument  of 
his  never  having  read  them."  Opposed  to  this  is  the  statement  of  Aubrey,  much 
nearer  to  the  times  of  Shakspere :  "  he  understood  Latin  pretty  well."  Rowe 
had  been  led  into  his  illogical  inference  by  the  "  small  Latin  and  less  Greek  " 
of  Jonson ;  the  "  old  mother-wit "  of  Denham ;  the  "  his  learning  was  very 
little "  of  Fuller ;  the  "  native  wood-notes  wild "  of  Milton, — phrases,  every 
one  of  which  is  to  be  taken  with  considerable  qualification,  whether  we  regard 
the  peculiar  characters  of  the  utterers,  or  the  circumstances  connected  with  the 
words  themselves.  The  question  rests  net  upon  the  interpretation  of  the  dictum 
of  this  authority  or  that ;  but  upon  the  indisputable  fact  that  the  very  earliest 
writings  of  Shakspere  are  imbued  with  a  spirit  of  classical  antiquity ;  and  that 
the  allusive  nature  of  the  learning  that  manifests  itself  in  them,  whilst  it  offers 
the  best  proof  of  his  familiarity  with  the  ancient  writers,  is  a  circumstance 
which  has  misled  those  who  never  attempted  to  dispute  the  existence  of  the 
learning  which  was  displayed  in  the  direct  pedantry  of  his  contemporaries. 
"  If"  said  Hales  of  Eton, ""  he  had  not  read  the  classics,  he  had  likewise  not 
stolen  from  them."  Marlowe,  Greene,  Peele,  and  all  the  early  dramatists,  over 
load  their  plays  with  quotation  and  mythological  allusion.  According  to  Hales, 
they  steal,  and  therefore  they  have  read.  He  who  uses  his  knowledge  skilfully 
is  assumed  not  to  have  read. 


WILLIAM   SHAKSI'KRK  : 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  enter  upon  a  general  examination  of  the  various 
opinions  that  have  been  held  as  to  the  learning  of  Shakspere,  and  the  tend 
ency  of  those  opinions  to  show  that  he  was  without  learning.*  We  only 
desire  to  point  out,  by  a  very  few  observations,  that  the  learning  manifested  in 
his  early  productions  does  not  bear  out  the  assertion  of  Rowe  that  his  profi 
ciency  in  the  Latin  language  was  interrupted  by  his  early  removal  from  the 
free -school  of  Stratford.  His  youthful  poem,  Venus  and  Adonis,  the  first  heir 
of  his  invention,  is  upon  a  classical  subject.  The  Rape  of  Lucrece  is  founded 
upon  a  legend  of  the  beginnings  of  Roman  history.  Would  he  have  ventured 
upon  these  subjects  had  he  been  unfamiliar  with  the  ancient  writers,  from  the 
attentive  study  of  which  he  could  alone  obtain  the  knowledge  which  would 
enable  him  to  treat  them  with  propriety  ?  His  was  an  age  of  sound  scholarship. 
He  dedicates  both  poems  to  a  scholar,  and  a  patron  of  scholars.  Does  any  one 
of  his  contemporaries  object  that  these  classical  subjects  were  treated  by  a  young 
man  ignorant  of  the  classics?  Will  the  most  critical  examination  of  these 
poems  detect  anything  that  betrays  this  ignorance?  Is  there  not  the  most 
perfect  keeping  in  both  these  poems, — an  original  conception  of  the  mode  of 
treating  these  subjects,  advisedly  adopted  with  the  full  knowledge  of  what 
might  be  imitated,  but  preferring  the  vigorous  painting  of  nature  to  any  imita 
tion  ?  Love's  Labour  's  Lost,  undoubtedly  one  of  the  earliest  comedies,  shows — 
upon  the  principle  laid  down  by  Coleridge,  that  "  a  young  author's  first  work 
almost  always  bespeaks  his  recent  pursuits" — that  the  habits  of  William  Shak 
spere  "  had  been  scholastic,  and  those  of  a  student."  The  Comedy  of  Errors  is 
full  of  those  imitations  of  the  ancients  in  particular  passages  which  critics  have 
in  all  cases  been  too  apt  to  take  as  the  chief  evidences  of  learning.  The  critics 
of  Shakspere  are  puzzled  by  these  imitations  ;  and  when  they  see  with  what 
skill  he  adopts,  or  amends,  or  rejects,  the  incidents  of  the  '  Menaechmi '  of 
Plautus,  they  have  no  resource  but  to  contend  that  his  knowledge  of  Plautus 
was  derived  from  a  wretched  translation,  published  in  all  probability  eight  or. 
ten  years  after  the  Comedy  of  Errors  was  written.  The  three  Parts  of  Henry 
VI.  are  the  earliest  of  the  historical. plays.  Those  who  dispute  the  genuineness 
of  the  First  Part  affirm  that  it  contains  more  allusions  to  mythology  and  classical 
authors  than  Shakspere  ever  uses  ;  but,  with  a  most  singular  inconsistency,  in 
the  passages  of  the  Second  and  Third  Parts  which  they  have  chosen  to  pronounce 
as  the  additions  of  Shakspere  to  the  original  plays  of  another  writer  or  writers, 
there  are  to  be  found  as  many  allusions  to  mythology  and  classical  writers  as  in 
the  part  which  they  deny  to  be  his.f  We  have  remarked  upon  these  passages 
that  they  furnish  the  proof  that,  as  a  young  writer,  he  possessed  a  competent 
knowledge  of  the  ancient  authors,  and  was  not  unwilling  to  display  it ;  "  but 
that,  with  that  wonderful  judgment  which  was  as  remarkable  as  the  pro 
digious  range  of  his  imaginative  powers,  he  soon  learnt  to  avoid  the  pedantry 
to  which  inferior  men  so  pertinaciously  clung  in  the  pride  of  their  scholarship." 


*  This  question   is  further  touched   upon    in  our  '  Hi.-t'>ry  of   Opinion  on   the    Writii 
Shakspere.' — Section  I. 

t  See  our  Essay  on  Henry  VI.  ami  Richard  III.  If  {.storied,  Vol.  II.  ]  ;IL'I  4:>'2. 
llo 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

Ranging  over  the  whole  dramatic  works  of  Shakspere,  whenever  we  find  a  clas 
sical  image  or  allusion,  such  as  in  Hamlet, — 

"  A  station  like  the  herald  Mercury, 
New  lighted  on  a  heaven-kissing  hill," — 

the  management  of  the  idea  is  always  elegant  and  graceful ;  and  the  passage 
may  sustain  a  contrast  with  the  most  refined  imitations  of  his  contemporaries, 
or  of  his  own  imitator,  Milton.  In  his  Roman  plays  he  appears  co-existent 
with  his  wonderful  characters,  and  to  have  read  all  the  obscure  pages  of  Roman 
history  with  a  clearer  eye  than  philosopher  or  historian.  When  he  employs 
Latinisms  in  the  construction  of  his  sentences,  and  even  in  the  creation  of  new 
words,  he  does  so  with  singular  facility  and  unerring  correctness.  And  then, 
we  are  to  be  told,  he  managed  all  this  by  studying  bad  translations,  and  by 
copying  extracts  from  grammars  and  dictionaries  ;  as  if  it  was  reserved  for  such 
miracles  of  talent  and  industry  as  the  Farmers  and  the  Steevenses  to  read  Ovid 
and  Virgil  in  their  original  tongues,  whilst  the  dull  Shakspere,  whether  school 
boy  or  adult,  was  to  be  contented  through  life  with  the  miserable  translations 
of  Arthur  Golding  and  Thomas  Phaer.*  We  believe  that  his  familiarity  at 
least  with  the  best  Roman  writers  was  begun  early,  and  continued  late ;  and 
that  he,  of  all  boys  of  Stratford,  would  be  the  least  likely  to  discredit  the  teach 
ing  of  Thomas  Hunt  and  Thomas  Jenkins,  the  masters  of  the  grammar-school 
from  1572  till  1580. 

The  happy  days  of  boyhood  are  nearly  over.  William  Shakspere  no  longer 
looks  for  the  close  of  the  day  when,  in  that  humble  chamber  in  Henley  Street, 
his  father  shall  hear  something  of  his  school  progress,  and  read  with  him  some 

*  See  a  series  of  learned  and  spirited  papers  by  Dr.  Masjiun  on  Farmer's  Essay,  printed  in 
Frazer's  Magazine.     1839. 


WII.T.IAM    RIIAKSPEKE  : 

English  book  of  history  or  travel, — volumes  which  the  active  presses  of  London 
had  sent  cheaply  amongst  the  people.  The  time  is  arrived  when  he  has  quitted 
the  free-school.  His  choice  of  a  worldly  occupation  is  scarcely  yet  made.  The 
wishes  of  his  father,  whatever  they  may  be,  are  rather  hinted  at  than  carried  out. 
It  is  that  pause  which  so  often  takes  place  in  the  life  of  a  youth,  when  the  world 
shows  afar  off  like  a  vast  plain  with  many  paths,  all  bright  and  .sunny,  and  losing 
themselves  in  the  distance,  where  it  is  fancied  there  is  something-  brighter  still. 
At  this  season  we  may  paint  the  family  of  John  Shakspere  at  their  evening 
fireside.  The  mother  is  plying  her  distaff,  or  hearing  Richard  his  lesson  out  of 
the  ABC  book.  The  father  and  the  elder  son  are  each  intent  upon  a  book  of 
chronicles,  manly  reading.  Gilbert  is  teaching  his  sister  Joan  Gamut,  "  the 
ground  of  all  accord  ;"  whilst  the  little  Anne,  a  petted  child,  is  wilfully  twang 
ing  upon  the  lute  which  her  sister  has  laid  down.  A  neighbour  comes  in  upon 
business  with  the  father,  who  quits  the  room  ;  and  then  all  the  group  crowd 
round  their  elder  brother,  who  has  laid  aside  his  chronicle,  to  entreat  him  for  a 
story;  the  mother  even  joins  in  the  children's  prayer  to  their  gentle  brothei. 
Has  not  he,  himself,  pictured  such  a  home  scene  ?  May  we  not  read  for  Her- 
mione,  Mary  Shakspere,  and  for  Mamillius,  William  ? — 

"  Her.  What  wisdom  stirs  amongst  you  ?    Come,  sir,  now 
I  am  for  you  again  :  Pray,  you,  sit  by  us, 
And  tell  'B  a  tale.' 

Mam.  Merry,  or  sad,  shall 't  be  1 

Her.  As  merry  as  you  will. 

Mam.  A  sad  tale  'a  best  for  winter  : 

I  have  one  of  sprites  and  goblins. 

Her.  Let 's  have  that,  good  sir. 

Come  on,  sit  down  : — Come  on,  and  do  your  best 
To  fright  me  with  your  sprites  :  you  're  powerful  at  it. 

Mam.  There  was  a  man, — 

Jler.  Nay,  come,  sit  down  ;  then  on. 

Mam.  Dwelt  by  a  churchyard. — I  will  tell  it  softly; 
Yon  crickets  shall  not  hear  it. 

Her.  Come  on  then, 

And  give  't  me  in  mine  ear."  * 

And  truly  that  boy  had  access  to  a  prodigious  mine  of  such  stories,  whether 
"  merry  or  sad."  He  had  a  copy,  well  thumbed  from  his  first  reading  days,  of 
'  The  Palace  of  Pleasure,  beautified,  adorned,  and  well  furnished  with  pleasaunt 
histories  and  excellent  nouelles,  selected  out  of  diuers  good  and  commendable 
authors  ;  by  William  Painter,  Clarke  of  the  Ordinaunce  and  Armarie.'  In  this 
book,  according  to  the  dedieation  of  the  translator  to  Ambrose  Earl  of  Warwick, 
was  set  forth  "  the  great  valiance  of  noble  gentlemen,  the  terrible  combats  of 
courageous  personages,  the  virtuous  minds  of  noble  dames,  the  chaste  hearts  of 
constant  ladies,  the  wonderful  patience  of  puissant  princes,  the  mild  sufferance 
of  well-disposed  gentlewomen,  and,  in  divers,  the  quiet  bearing  of  adverse 
fortune."  Pleasant  little  apophthegms  and  short  fables  were  there  in  that  book, 
which  the  brothers  and  sisters  of  William  Shakspere  had  heard  him  tell  with 
marvellous  spirit,  and  they  abided  therefore  in  their  memories.  There  was 

•  Winter's  Tale,  Act  n ,  Scene  I. 
112 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

jEsop's  fable  of  the  old  lark  and  her  young  ones,  \vherein  "  he  prettily  and  aptly 
doth  premonish  that  hope  and  confidence  of  things  attempted  by  man  ought  to 
be  fixed  and  trusted  in  none  other  but  in.  himself."  There  was  the  story,  most 
delightful  to  a  child,  of  the  bondman  at  Rome,  who  was  brought  into  the  open 
place  upon  which  a  great  multitude  looked,  to  fight  with  a  lion  of  a  marvellous 
bigness  ;  and  the  fierce  lion  when  he  saw  him  "  suddenly  stood  still,  and  after 
wards  by  little  -  and  little,  in  gentle  sort,  he  came  unto  the  man  as  though  he 
had  known  him,"  and  licked  his  hands  and  legs  ;  and  the  bondman  told  that  he 
had  healed  in  former  time  the  wounded  foot  of  the  lion,  and'  the  beast  became 
his  friend.  These  were  for  the  younger  children  ;  but  William  had  now  a  new 
tale,  out  of  the  same  storehouse,  upon  which  he  had  often  pondered ;  the  subject 
of  which  had  shaped  itself  in  his  mind  into  dialogue  that  almost  sounded  like 
verse  in  his  earnest  and  graceful  recitation.  It  was  a  tale  which  Painter  trans 
lated  from  the  French  of  Pierre  Boisteau — a  true  tale,  as  he  records  it,  "  the 
memory  whsreof  to  this  day  is  so  well  known  at  Verona,  as  unneths*  their 
blubbered  eyes  be  yet  dry  that  saw  and  beheld  that  lamentable  sight."  It  was 
'  The  goodly  history  of  the  true  and  constant  love  between  Romeo  and  Julietta.' 
Then  the  youth  described  how  Romeo  came  into  the  hall  of  the  Capulets,  whose 
family  were  at  variance  with  his  own,  the  Montesches,  and,  "  very  shamefaced, 
withdrew  himself  into  a  corner ; — but  by  reason  of  the  light  of  the  torches, 
which  burned  very  bright,  he  was  by  and  by  known  and  looked  upon  by  the 
whole  company;"  how  he  held  the  frozen  hand  of  Juliet,  the  daughter  of  the 
Capulet,  and  it  warmed  and  thrilled,  so  that  from  that  moment  there  was  love 
between  them  ;  how  the  lady  was  told  that  Romeo  was  the  "  son  of  her  father's 
capital  enemy  and  deadly  foe;"  how,  in  the  little  street  before  her  father's 
house,  Juliet  saw  Romeo  walking,  "through  the  brightness  of  the  moon;"  how 
they  were  joined  in  holy  marriage  secretly  by  the  good  Friar  Lawrence  ;  and 
then  came  bloodshed,  and  grief,  and  the  banishment  of  Romeo,  and  the  friar 
gave  the  lady  a  drug  to  produce  a  pleasant  sleep,  which  was  like  unto  death ; 
and  she,  "  so  humble,  wise,  and  debonnaire,"  was  laid  "  in  the  ordinary  grave  of 
the  Capulets,"  as  one  dead,  and  Romeo,  having  bought  poison  of  an  apothecary, 
went  to  the  tomb,  and  there  lay  down  !ind  died  ;  and  the  sleeping  wife  awoke,  and 
with  the  aid  of  the  dagger  of  Romeo  she  died  beside  him.  There  were  "  blub 
bered  eyes  "  also  at  that  fireside  of  the  Shaksperes,  for  the  youth  told  the  story 
with  wonderful  animation.  From  the  same  collection  of  tales  had  he  before 
half  dramatized  the  story  of  "  Giletta  of  Narbonne,"  who  cured  the  King  of 
France  of  a  painful  malady,  and  the  King  gave  her  in  marriage  to  the  Count 
Beltramo,  with  whom  she  had  been  brought  up,  and  her  husband  despised  and 
forsook  her,  but  at  last  they  were  united,  and  lived  in  great  honour  and  felicity. 
There  was  another  collection,  too,  which  that  youth  had  diligently  read,— the 
'Gesta  Romanorum/ translated  by  R.  Robinson  in  1577,— old  legends,  come 
down  to  those  latter  days  from  monkish  historians,  who  had  embodied  in  their 
narratives  all  the  wild  traditions  of  the  ancient  and  modern  world.  He  could 
tell  the  story  of  the  rich  heiress  who  chose  a  husband  by  the  machinery  of  a 
gold,  a  silver,  and  a  leaden  casket ;— and  another  story  of  the  merchant  whose 

*   Unneths,  scarcely. 
LIFE.        I  113 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  : 

inexorable  creditor  required  the  fulfilment  of  his  bond  in  cutting  a  pound  of 
flesh  nearest  the  merchant's  heart,  and  by  the  skilful  interpretation  of  the  bond 
the  cruel  creditor  was  defeated.  There  was  the  story  too,  in  these  legends,  of 
the  Emperor  Theodosius,  who  had  three  daughters  ;  and  those  two  daughters 
who  said  they  loved  him  more  than  themselves  were  unkind  to  him,  but  the 
youngest,  who  only  said  she  loved  him  as  much  as  he  was  worthy,  succoured 
him  in  his  need,  and  was  his  true  daughter.  There  was  in  that  collection  also 
a  feeble  outline  of  the  history  of  a  king  whose  wife  died  upon  the  stormy  sea,  and 
her  body  was  thrown  overboard,  and  the  child  she  then  bore  was  lost,  and  found 
by  the  father  after  many  years,  and  the  mother  was  also  wonderfully  kept  in 
life.  Stories  such  as  these,  preserved  amidst  the  wreck  of  time,  were  to  that 
youth  like  the  seeds  that  are  found  in  the  tombs  of  ruined  cities,  lying  with  the 
bones  of  forgotten  generations,  but  which  the  genial  influences  of  nature  will 
call  into  life,  and  they  shall  become  flowers,  and  trees,  and  food  for  man. 

But,  beyond  all  these,  our  Mamillius  had  many  a  tale  "  of  sprites  and  goblins." 
He  told  them,  we  may  well  believe  at  that  period,  with  an  assenting  faith,  if 
not  a  prostrate  reason.  They  were  not  then,  in  his  philosophy,  altogether  "  the 
very  coinage  of  the  brain."  Such  appearances  were  above  nature,  but  the  com 
monest  movements  of  the  natural  world  had  them  in  subjection  : — 

"  I  have  heard, 

The  cock,  that  is  the  trumpet  to  the  morn, 
Doth  with  his  lofty  and  shrill-sounding  throat 
Awake  the  god  of  day,  and  at  his  warning, 
Whether  in  sea  or  fire,  in  earth  or  air, 
The  extravagant  and  erring  spirit  hiea 
To  his  confine."  * 

Powerful  they  were,  but  yet  powerless.  They  came  for  benevolent  purposes ; 
to  warn  the  guilty ;  to  discover  the  guilt.  The  belief  in  them  was  not  a  debasing 
thing.  It  was  associated  with  the  enduring  confidence  that  rested  upon  a  world 
beyond  this  material  world.  Love  hoped  for  such  visitations  ;  it  had  its  dreams 
of  such — where  the  loved  one  looked  smilingly,  and  spoke  of  regions  where 
change  and  separation  were  not.  They  might  be  talked  of,  even  amongst 
children  then,  without  terror.  They  lived  in  that  corner  of  the  soul  which  had 
trust  in  angel  protections  ;  which  believed  in  celestial  hierarchies ;  which  listened 
to  hear  the  stars  moving  in  harmonious  music — 

"  Still  quiring  to  the  young-eyed  cherubins," 

but  listened  in  vain,  for, 

"  Whilse  thig  muddy  vesture  of  decay 
Doth  grossly  close  it  in,  we  cannot  hear  it."  f 

William  Shakspere  could  also  tell  to  his  greedy  listeners,  how 

"  In  olde  dayia  of  the  king  Artour, 
•  Of  which  that  Bretons  speken  gret  honour, 

All  was  this  lond  full  filled  of  faerie ; 
The  elf-queene,  with  her  jolly  compagnie, 
Danced  full  oft  in  many  a  grene  mode."  J 


Hamlet.  f  Merchant  of  Venice.  J  Chaucer,  '  Wife  of  Bath's  Tale.' 

in 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

Here  was  something  in  his  favourite  old  poet  for  the  youth  to  work  out  into 
beautiful  visions  of  a  pleasant  race  of  supernatural  beings  ;  who  lived  by  day  in 
the  acorn  cups  of  Arden,  and  by  moonlight  held  their  revels  on  the  green  sward 
of  Avon-side,  the  ringlets  of  their  dance  being  duly  seen, 

"  Whereof  the  ewe  not  bites ;" 

who  tasted  the  honey-bag  of  the  bee,  and  held  counsel  by  the  light  of  the  glow- 
worm ;  who  kept  the  cankers  from  the  rosebuds,  and  silenced  the  hootings  of 
the  owl.  But  he  had  his  story,  too,  of  a  "  shrewd  and  knavish  sprite,"  whether 
named  Robin- Goodfellow,  Kit-with-the-canstick,  Man-in-the-oak,  Fire-drake, 
Puckle,  Tom-tumbler,  or  Hobgoblin.  Did  he  not  grind  malt  and  mustard! 
and  sweep  the  house  at  midnight,  and  was  not  his  standing  fee  a  mess  of  white 
milk  ?  *  Some  day  would  William  make  a  little  play  of  Fairies,  and  Joan 
should  be  the  Queen,  and  he  would  be  the  King ;  for  he  had  talked  with  the 
Fairies,  and  he  knew  their  language  and  their  manners,  and  they  were  "  good 
people,"  and  would  not  mind  a  boy's  sport  with  them. 

But  when  the  youth  began  to  speak  of  witches  there  was  fear  and  silence. 
For  did  not  his  mother  recollect  that  in  the  year  she  was  married  Bishop  Jewel 
had  told  the  Queen  that  her  subjects  pined  away,  even  unto  the  death,  and  that 
their  affliction  was  owing  to  the  increase  of  witches  and  sorcerers  ?  Was  it  not 
known  how  there  were  three  sorts  of  witches, — those  that  can  hurt  and  not  help, 
those  that  can  help  and  not  hurt,  and  those  that  can  both  help  and  hurt  ?  f  It 
was  unsafe  even  to  talk  of  them.  But  the  youth  had  met  with  the  history  of 
the  murder  of  Duncan  King  of  Scotland,  in  a  chronicler  older  than  Holinshed  ; 
and  he  told  softly,  so  that  "  yon  crickets  shall  not  hear  it/' — that,  as  Macbeth 
and  Banquo  journeyed  from  Forres,  sporting  by  the  way  together,  when  the 
warriors  came  in  the  midst  of  a  laund  three  weird  sisters  suddenly  appeared  to 
them,  in  strange  and  wild  apparel,  resembling  creatures  of  an  elder  world,  and 
prophesied  that  Macbeth  should  be  King  of  Scotland  ;  and  Macbeth  from  that 
hour  desired  to  be  King,  and  so  killed  the  good  King  his  liege  lord.  And  then 
the  story-teller  and  his  listeners  would  pass  on  to  safer  matters — to  the  calcula 
tions  of  learned  men  who  could  read  the  fates  of  mankind  in  the  aspects  of  the 
stars  ;  and  of  those  more  deeply  learned,  clothed  in  garments  of  white  linen, 
who  had  command  over  the  spirits  of  the  earth,  of  the  water,  and  of  the  air. 
Some  of  the  children  said  that  a  horse-shoe  over  the  door,  and  vervain  and  dill, 
would  preserve  them,  as  they  had  been  told,  from  the  devices  of  sorcery.  But 
their  mother  called  to  their  mind  that  there  was  security  far  more  to  be  relied 
on  than  charms  of  herb  or  horse-shoe — that  there  was  a  Power  that  would  pre 
serve  them  from  all  evil,  seen  or  unseen,  if  such  were  His  gracious  will,  and 
if  they  humbly  sought  Him,  and  offered  up  their  hearts  to  Him,  in  all  love  and 
trust.  And  to  that  Power  this  household  then  addressed  themselves ;  and  the 
night  was  without  fear,  and  their  sleep  was  pleasant. 

'  See  Scot's  'Discovery  of  Witchcraft/  1584.  t  Ibid- 


115 


..    ^    .^, 

•'••     -~        --        -      •  '.'  f)  ; 
IMratlord  Church,  West  End.J 


NOTE  ON  THE  STRATFORD  REGISTERS. 


THE  Parish  Register  of  Stratford  is  a  tall,  narrow  book,  of  considerable  thickness,  the  leaves 
formed  of  very  fine  vellum.  This  one  book  contains  the  entries  of  Baptisms,  Marriages,  and 
Burials.  The  Register  commences  with  the  record  of  a  baptism,  on  the  25th  of  March,  1558. 
But  it  has  not  been  previously  stated  (it  ought  to  have  been  stated  by  Malone)  that  the  entries, 
whether  of  Baptisms,  Marriages,  or  Burials,  are  all,  without  exception,  in  the  same  handwriting, 
from  the  first  entry,  to  September  14  in  the  year  1600.  But  although  the  Register  is  thus  only 
a  transcript  for  forty-two  years,  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  its  authenticity  and  perfect  correct 
ness;  for  each  page  is  signed  by  Richard  Bifield,  the  vicar,  and  four  churchwardens,  in  attesta 
tion  of  its  being  a  correct  copy.  Richard  Bifield  was  vicar  of  Stratford  from  1596  to  1610;  and 
to  him  we  are,  in  all  probability,  indebted  for  this  transcript  of  the  original  Registers,  which 
were  most  likely  on  loose  leaves  of  paper.  Subsequently,  the  Registers  are  not  made  at  the  time 
of  the  performance  of  the  Church-office.  They  generally  appear  to  be  entered  monthly ;  but 
sometimes  the  transcript  seems  to  have  been  made  at  longer  intervals.  The  signature  of  the 
churchwardens  of  the  year  is  then  affixed  to  each  page  as  a  testimonial  of  its  accuracy. 

The  following  List  is  transcribed  verbatim  from  this  Register  Book.     It  includes  all  the  entries 
which  are  important  to  the  general  reader. 
IH 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 


BAPTISMS. 

1558  Septeberl5 Jone  Shakspere  daughter  to  John  Shakspere. 

1562  December  2 Margareta  filia  Johannis  Shakspere. 

1564  April  26 Gulielrnus  filius  Johannes  Shakspere. 

1566  October  13 Gilbertus  filius  Johannis  Shakspere. 

1569  April  15 lone  the  daughter  of  John  Shakspere. 

1571  Septeb  28 Anna  filia  Magistri  Shakspere. 

1573  [15734]  March  11    .     .     .  Richard  sonne  to  Mr.  John  Shakspeer. 

1580  May  3 Edmund  sonne  to  Mr.  John  Shakspere. 

1583  May  26 Susanna  daughter  to  William  Shakspere. 

1584  [1584-5]  February  2 ...  Hamnet  &  ludeth  sonne  and  daughter  to  Willia 

Shakspere. 

,.     There  are  then   entries   of  Ursula,   1588;  Humphrey,  1590;   Philippus,  1591 ;— children   of 

John  Shakspere  (not  Mr.). 

MARRIAGES. 

1607  Junii  5 John  Hall  genfclema  &  Susanna  Shaxspere. 

1615  [1615-6]  February  10    .    .     Tho :  Queeny  tow  Judith  Shakspere. 

BURIALS. 

1563  April  30 Margareta  filia  Johaunis  Shakspere. 

1579  April  4 Aune  daughter  to  Mr.  John  Shakspere. 

1596  August  11 Hamnet  filius  William  Shakspere. 

1601  Septemb  8 Mr.  Johanes  Shakspeare. 

1608  Sept  9 Mayry  Shaxspere,  Wydowe. 

1612  [1612-13]  February  4    .     .     Rich.  Shakspeare. 

1616  April  25 Will :  Shakspere,  Gent. 

1623  August  8 Mrs.  Shakspeare. 

1649  July  16 Mrs.  Susanna  Hall,  Widow. 

1661   [1661-2]  Feb  9     ....     Judith,  uxor  Thomas  Quiiiey. 

*#*  It  appears  by  the  Register  of  Burials  that  Dr.  Hall,  one  of  the  sons-in-law  of  Willian 
Shakspere,  was  buwed  on  the  26th  November,  1635.  He  is  described  in  the  entry  as  "Medicui 
peritissimus."  The  Register  contains  no  entry  of  the  burial  of  Thomas  Quiney.  Elizabeth, 
the  daughter  of  John  and  Susanna  Hall,  was  baptized  February  21,  1607  [1607-8];  and  sha 
is  mentioned  in  her  illustrious  grandfather's  will.  The  children  of  Judith,  who  was  only  married 
two  months  before  the  death  of  her  father,  appear  to  have  been  three  sons,  all  of  whom  died 
before  their  mother. 


117 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 


NOTE  ON  THE  ALLEGED  POVERTY  OF  JOHN  SHAKSPERE. 


THE  following  are  the  principal  documents  upon  which  Malone's  argument  is  established  : — 

•  Ad  aulain  ibm  tent.  xxix°  die  Januarii.  a°  rejmi  dnro  Elizabeth,  &c.,  vicesimo. 
Stratford,    j 

At  this  hall  yt  is  agreed  that  every  alderman,  except  such  underwrytten  excepted,  shall 
paye  towards  the  furniture  of  three  pikemen,  ij  billmon,  and  one  archer,  via.  viijc/.,  and 
every  burgess,  except  such  underwrytten  excepted,  shall  pay  iij*.  ivd. : — 
Mr.  Plymley,  v*. 
Mr.  Shaxpeare,  iij*.  ivd. 
John  Walker,  ijs.  vid. 
Robert  Bratt,  nothinge  in  this  place. 
Thomas  Brogden,  ij*.  via". 
William  Brace,  ij*. 
Anthony  Tanner,  ij*.  -rid. 

Sum,  vi//.  xiiij'/. 

The  inhabitants  of  every  ward  are  taxed  at  this  hall,*  as  by  notes  to  them  delivered  yt 
may  appear." 

2.  "  Ad  aulam  ibm  tent.  xix°.  die  Novembris  a°  regni  dnae  Elizabeth,  &c.,  xxi°. 

Itm.  yt  is  ordeined  that  every  alderman  shall  paye  weekely  towards  the  releif  of  the  poore 
iiijef.  saving  John  Shaxpeare  and  Robert  Bratt,  who  shall  not  be  taxed  to  pay  any- 
thinge.  Mr.  Lewes  and  Mr.  Plimley  are  taxed  to  pay  weekely,  eyther  of  them  iijd.,t 
and  every  burgesses  are  taxed  to  pay  weekely  at  \jd.  apece." 

8.  "Stratford  )  Curia  dnee   Regina;   ibm    tent.  xiii.  die    Januarii,    anno    regni,  Ac.,   vicesimo 
Burgus.      f          octavo. 

Ad  hunc  diem  Servien.  ad  Clavam  burgi  predict,  retorn.  pr.  djj  distr.  eis  direct,  versus 
Johem  Shackspere  ad  sect.  Johis  Browne,  qd  predict.  Johes  Shackspejre  nihil  habet 
undo  distr.  potest.J  Ideo  fiat  Ca.  versus  Johem  Shackspere  ad  sect  Johis  Browne,  si 
petatur." 

4.  "  Debtes  which  are  owing  unto  me,  Roger  Sadler. 

Imprimis,  of  Mr.  John  Combes,  the  elder,  for  a  horse,  Zl. 

Item,  of  the  same  J.  C.,  due  to  me  by  bond  at  Christmas  next,  202. 

Item,  of  Richard  Hathaway,  alias  Gardyner,  of  Shottery,  61.  8*.  4eZ. 

Item,  of  Edmond  Larnbart,  and  Cornishe,  for  the  debt  of  Mr.  John  Shacksper.  51." 

*  Malone  has  omitted,  at  this  hall.  f  Malone  here  inserts,  apeak 

+  Here  Malone  has  inserted,  levari. 


118 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 


NOTE  ON  THE  SCHOOL  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE. 


WE  have  already  referred  to  the  two  novelets  of  Tieck,  in  which  he  sketches  out  the  early  career 
of  the  poet.  The  following  extract  rmy  be  interesting  to  our  readers.  It  is  scarcely  necessary 
to  say  that  we  do  not  take  the  same  view  as  the  German  critic— that  we  do  not  think  the  school- 
progress  of  William  Shakspere  was  slow ;  that  he  suffered  from  the  strict  temper  of  his  father, 
and  was  the  witness  of  family  misfortunes.  The  evidence  of  all  the  early  writings  of  Shakspere 
goes  far  to  prove  that  he  had  looked  upon  existence  with  an  eye  of  untroubled  cheerfulness.  Never 
did  any  young  poet  possess  his  soul  more  undisturbed  with  fears  of 

"  Poverty's  unconquerable  bar." 

The  narrative  which  we  subjoin  professes  to  be  a  relation  by  the  poet  himself  to  the  Earl  of 
Southampton.  We  give  it  from  a  translation  which  appeared  some  years  ago  in  '  The  Academic 
Chronicle/  a  literary  journal  of  considerable  merit,  but  of  short  vitality : — 

'' '  It  was  in  a  season  of  religious  and  political  commotion,'  resumed  the  poet,  '  that  I  myself 
was  born.  It  happened,  too,  that  at  that  very  period  there  came  to  Warwickshire  and  the  neigh 
bouring  counties  a  man  of  superior  ability  and  learning,  who  in  the  course  of  his  travels  had  gained 
over  numerous  converts  to  the  Catholic  Church, — William  Allen,  who  was  afterwards  made  a 
cardinal.  Among  other  places  he  visited  Stratford,  and  excited  much  disquiet  both  in  that  little 
town  and  in  our  family.  He  entirely  worked  himself  into  the  affections  of  my  uncle,  my  father's 
brother ;  and  even  my  father  himself  was  for  some  time  wavering  in  doubt,  and  greatly  troubled 
in  mind.  The  latter,  who  was  of  a  gloomy  disposition,  was  always  melancholy,  and  this  agitation 
of  religious  opinions  led  him  into  many  disputes  both  with  his  own  relations  and  with  his  neigh 
bours.  Besides  this,  it  was  a  matter  of  peril  to  hold  any  intercourse  with  foreign  priests,  while, 
at  the  same  time,  those  who  were  either  evil-disposed,  or  were  zealous  Protestants,  caught  at  every 
suspicious  report.  My  earliest  impressions  were  of  a  gloomy  cast;  my  mother  alone,  who  made 
much  of  me,  was  of  a  cheerful  temper.  She  was  of  a  clever  turn,  and  her  memory  was  stored  with 
many  a  tale  of  marvel  and  mystery  which  she  was  wont  to  relate  to  me.  On  the  intelligence  of 
the  dreadful  tragedy  of  St.  Bartholomew's  eve  reaching  England,  many  proselytes — at  least  those 
who  had  begun  to  lean  towards  the  ancient  faith — again  changed  their  sentiments. 

" '  My  father,  however,  still  continued  dissatisfied  with  me,  for  my  progress  at  school  was 
exceedingly  slow.  Never  shall  I  forget  that  free-school  in  the  Guildhall,  where  I  used  to  sit  at  the 
old  worm-eaten  oaken  desk,  poring  over  my  task,  till  what  sense  and  comprehension  I  had  seemed 
ready  to  leave  me,  and  I  often  feared  that  I  should  become  quite  stupid.  Would  not  one  be 
tempted  to  think  such  schools  had  been  purposely  contrived  to  terrify  children  altogether  from 
study  and  learning,  lest  too  much  thinking  should  disturb  society  ?  This  eternal  going  over  the 
same  thing,  this  useless  repetition  of  what  has  already  been  learned,  calculated  only  for  such  as 
are  slow  of  comprehension,  while  no  regard  is  had  to  him  who  is  more  apt  in  his  studies,  often 
drove  me  to  distraction.  Even  this  very  repetition  of  what  was  already  familiar  to  me  prevented 
me  from  retaining  it  in  my  memory,  and  my  disgust  at  this  mode  of  teaching  increased  to  such  a 
degree,  that  I  felt  a  horror  of  mind  whenever  I  thought  of  this  school  and  my  instructors  there. 

" '  My  poor  father,  whose  business  was  altered  materially  for  the  worse,  wished  to  have  as  soon 
as  possible  some  assistance  in  the  management  of  it  and  in  keeping  his  accounts  ;  nor  was  I  by 
any  means  sorry  that  he  took  me  away  earlier  than  usual  from  school,  and  gave  me  a  private 
teacher  at  home,  while  I  was  employed  by  him  in  his  own  affairs.  It  was  natural  that  I  should 
form  acquaintances  with  lads  of  my  own  age,  who  would  frequently  take  me  along  with  them  in 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPKKi:: 

their  little  excursions  and  rambles,  or  invite  me  to  join  their  meetings.  My  father,  however,  who 
entertained  very  strict  and  singular  notions  of  morality,  accounted  all  such  recreations  sinful 
indulgence,  nor  could  he  easily  be  brought  to  consent  that  I  should  partake  in  them.  In  the 
family  of  the  Hathaways  I  used  to  spend  much  of  my  time :  the  son  was  a  brisk,  lively  fellow — 
a  jolly  boon-companion ;  and  the  daughter,  Anne,  who  was  my  senior  by  some  ten  years,* 
treated  me  as  if  I  had  been  her  younger  brother.  Like  many  other  persons  in  our  town  and  its 
neighbourhood,  the  Hathaways  showed  me  friendliness  and  kindness,  but  I  perceived  they  consi 
dered  me  a  lad  fit  for  very  little,  and  one  who  would  never  turn  out  to  be  anything  extraordinary.' " 

*  An  error.    Anne  Hathaway  (Ticck  calls  her  Johanne)  died  in  1023,  aged  07.    She  was  thus  about  seven  years  (tide; 
than  her  husband. 


[Chimnej  Corner  of  the  Kitchen  in  Henley  Street.] 


[The  Bailiff's  nay.] 


CHAPTER   X. 


THE   PLAYERS    AT   STRATFORD. 


THE  ancient  accounts  of  the  Chamberlain  of  the  borough  of  Stratford  exhibit  a 
number  of  payments  made  out  of  the  funds  of  the  corporation  for  theatrical  per 
formances.*  In  1569,  when  John  Shakspere  was  high  bailiff,  there  is  a  payment 
of  nine  shillings  to  the  Queen's  players,  and  of  twelve  pence  to  the  Earl  of 
Worcester's  players.  In  1573  the  Earl  of  Leicester's  players  received  five  shillings 
and  eightpence.  In  1576  "my  Lord  of  Warwick's  players"  have  a  gratuity  of 
seventeen  shillings,  and  the  Earl  of  Worcester's  players  of  five  and  eightpence.  In 
1577  "my  Lord  of  Leicester's  players"  receive  fifteen  shillings,  and  "my  Lord  of 
Worcester's  players"  three  and  fourpence.  In  1579  and  1580  the  entries  are  more 
circumstantial : — 

*  Mr.  Halliwell,  in  his  Life  of  Shakspere,  presents  us  with  voluminous  extracts  from  the  account 
books  of  the  chamberlains  from  1543  to  1717. 

121 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

"1579.  Item  paid  to  my  Lord  Strange  men  the  xith  day  of  February  at  the  comaundement  of 
Mr.  Buyliffe,  v«. 

PJ  at  the  coraandement  of  Mr.  Balifie  to  the  Countys  of  Essex  pi  ears,  xiv*.  vid. 
1580.  P '  to  the  Earle  of  Darbyes  players  at  the  comaundement  of  Mr.  Baliffe,  viiu.  ivtl." 

It  thus  appears  that  there  had  been  three  sets  of  players  at  Stratford  withiii  a 
short  distance  of  the  time  when  William  Shakspere  was  sixteen  years  of  age. 
We  shall  here  endeavour  to  present  a  general  view  of  the  state  of  the  stage  at 
this  point  of  its  history ;  with  reference  to  the  impressions  which  theatrical 
performances  would  then  make  upon  him  who  would  be  the  chief  instrument  in 
building  up  upon  these  rude  foundations  a  noble  and  truly  poetical  drama — 
such  a  view  as  may  enable  the  reader  to  form  a  tolerable  conception  of  the 
amusements  which  were  so  highly  popular,  and  so  amply  encouraged,  in  a  small 
town  far  distant  from  the  capital,  as  to  invite  three  distinct  sets  of  players  there 
to  exhibit  in  the  brief  period  which  is  defined  in  the  above  entries. 

It  is  a  curious  circumstance  that  the  most  precise  and  interesting  account 
which  we  possess  of  one  of  the  earliest  of  the  theatrical  performances  is  from 
the  recollection  of  a  man  who  was  born  in  the  same  year  as  William  Shakspere. 
In  1639  R.  W.  (R.  Willis),  stating  his  age  to  be  seventy-five,  published  a  little 
volume,  called  '  Mount  Tabor,'  which  contains  a  passage  which  is  essential  to 
be  given  in  any  history  or  sketch  of  the  early  stage.* 

"UPON  A  STAGE- PLAT  WHICH  I  SAW  WHEN  I  WAS  A  CHILD. 

"  In  the  city  of  Gloucester  the  manner  is  (as  I  think  it  is  in  other  like  corporations)  that,  when 
players  of  interludes  come  to  town,  they  first  attend  the  mayor,  to  inform  him  what  nobleman's 
servants  they  are,  and  so  to  get  licence  for  their  public  playing ;  and  if  the  mayor  like  the  actors, 
or  would  show  respect  to  their  lord  and  master,  he  appoints  them  to  play  their  first  play  before 
himself  and  the  aldermen  and  common  council  of  the  city ;  and  that  is  called  the  mayor's  play, 
where  every  one  that  will  comes  in  without  money,  the  mayor  giving  the  players  a  reward  as  he 
thinks  fit,  to  show  respect  unto  them.  At  such  a  play  my  father  took  me  with  him,  and  made 
me  stand  between  his  legs,  as  he  sat  upon  one  of  the  benches,  where  we  saw  and  heard  very  well. 
The  play  was  called  'The  Cradle  of  Security,'  wherein  was  personated  a  king  or  some  great  prince 
with  his  courtiers  of  several  kinds,  amongst  which  three  ladies  were  in  special  grace  with  him,  and 
they,  keeping  him  in  delights  and  pleasures,  drew  him  from  his  graver  counsellors,  hearing  of  ser- 
luons,  and  listening  to  good  counsel  and  admonitions,  that  in  the  end  they  got  him  to  lie  down  in 
a  cradle  upon  the  stage,  where  these  three  ladies,  joining  in  a  sweet  song,  rocked  him  asleep,  that 
he  snorted  again,  and  in  the  mean  time  closely  conveyed  under  the  clothes  wherewithal  he  was 
covered  a  vizard  like  a  swine's  snout  upon  his  face,  with  three  wire  chains  fastened  thereunto,  the 
other  end  whereof  being  holden  severally  by  those  three  ladie?,  who  fall  to  singing  again,  and  then 
discovered  his  face,  that  the  spectators  might  see  how  they  had  transformed  him  going  on  with 
their  singing.  Whilst  all  this  was  acting,  there  came  forth  of  another  door  at  the  farthest  end  of  the 
stage,  two  old  men,  the  one  in  blue,  with  a  sergeant-at-arms  his  mace  on  his  shoulder,  the  other  in 
red,  with  a  drawn  sword  in  hia  hand,  and  leaning  with  the  other  hand  upon  the  other's  shoulder, 
and  so  they  two  went  along  in  a  soft  pace,  round  about  by  the  skirt  of  the  stage,  till  at  last  they 
came  to  the  cradle,  when  all  the  court  was  in  greatest  jollity,  and  then  the  foremost  old  man  with 
his  mace  struck  a  fearful  blow  upon  the  cradle,  whereat  all  the  courtiers,  with  the  three  ladies  and 
the  vizard,  all  vanished ;  and  the  desolate  prince,  starting  up  barefaced,  and  finding  himself  thus 
sent  for  to  judgment,  made  a  lamentable  complaint  of  hia  miserable  case,  and  so  was  carried  away 
by  wicked  spirits.  This  prince  did  personate  in  the  moral  the  wicked  of  the  world;  the  three 


*  This  account  was  first  extracted  by  Malone  in  his  '  Rise  and  Progress  of  the  English  Stage." 
It  has  been  given  alao,  with  the  correction  of  a  few  inaccuracies,  by  Mr.  Collier. 
122 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

ladies,  pride,  covetousness,  and  luxury ;  the  two  old  men,  the  end  of  the  world  and  the  last  judg 
ment.  This  sight  took  such  impression  in  me,  that  when  I  came  towards  man's  estate  it  was  aa 
fresh  in  my  memory  as  if  I  had  seen  it  newly  acted." 

We  now  understand  why  the  bailiff  of  Stratford  paid  the  players  out  of  the 
public  money.  The  first  performance  of  each  company  in  this  town  was  the 
bailiff's,  or  chief  magistrate's,  play;  and  thus,  when  the  father  of  William  Shak- 
spere  was  bailiff,  the  boy  might  have  stood  "  between  his  legs  as  he  sat  upon  one 
of  the  benches."  It  would  appear  from  Willis's  description  that  '  The  Cradle  of 
Security'  was  for  the  most  part  dumb  show.  It  is  probable  that  he  was  present 
at  its  performance  at  Gloucester  when  he  was  six  or  seven  years  of  age;  it 
evidently  belongs  to  that  class  of  moral  plays  which  were  of  the  simplest  con 
struction.  And  yet  it  was  popular  long  after  the  English  drama  had  reached  its 
highest  eminence.  When  the  pageants  and  mysteries  had  been  put  down  by 
the  force  of  public  opinion,  when  spectacles  of  a  dramatic  character  had  ceased 
to  be  employed  as  instruments  of  religious  instruction,  the  professional  players 
who  had  sprung  up  founded  their  popularity  for  a  long  period  upon  the  ancient 
habits  and  associations  of  the  people.  Our  drama  was  essentially  formed  by  a 
course  of  steady  progress,  and  not  by  rapid  transition.  We  are  accustomed  to 
say  that  the  drama  was  created  by  Shakspere,  Marlowe,  Greene,  Kyd,  and  a  few 
others  of  distinguished  genius ;  but  they  all  of  them  worked  upon  a  foundation 
which  was  ready  for  them.  The  superstructure  of  real  tragedy  and  comedy  had 
to  be  erected  upon  the  moral  plays,  the  romances,  the  histories,  which  were 
beginning  to  be  popular  in  the  very  first  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  continued 
to  be  so,  even  in  their  very  rude  forms,  beyond  the  close  of  her  long  reign. 

We  have  very  distinct  evidence  that  stories  from  the  Sacred  Scriptures,  in 
character  perhaps  very  little  different  from  the  ancient  Mysteries,  were  per 
formed  upon  the  London  stage  at  a  period  when  classical  histories,  romantic 
legends,  and  comedies  of  intrigue,  attracted  numerous  audiences  both  in  the 
capital  and  the  provinces.  At  the  period  which  we  are  now  describing  there 
was  a  fierce  controversy  going  forward  on  the  subject  of  theatrical  exhibitions ; 
and  from  the  very  rare  tracts  then  published  we  are  enabled  to  form  a  tolerably 
accurate  estimate  of  the  character  of  the  early  theatre.  In  one  of  these  tracts, 
which  appeared  in  1580,  entitled  '  A  Second  and  Third  Blast  of  Retrait  from 
Plaies  and  Theaters,'  we  have  the  following  passage  : — "  The  reverend  word  of 
God,  and  histories  of  the  Bible,  set  forth  on  the  stage  by  these  blasphemous 
players,  are  so  corrupted  by  their  gestures  of  scurrility,  and  so  interlaced  with 
unclean  and  whorish  speeches,  that  it  is  not  possible  to  draw  any  profit  out  of 
the  doctrine  of  their  spiritual  moralities.  For  that  they  exhibit  under  laugh 
ing  that  which  ought  to  be  taught  and  received  reverendly.  So  that  their 
auditory  may  return  made  merry  in  mind,  but  none  comes  away  reformed  in 
manners.  And  of  all  abuses  this  is  most  undecent  and  intolerable,  to  suffer 
holy  things  to  be  handled  by  men  so  profane,  and  defiled  by  interposition  of 
dissolute  words."  (Page  103.)  Those  who  have  read  the  ancient  Mysteries, 
and  even  the  productions  of  Bishop  Bale  which  appeared  not  thirty  years 
before  this  was  written,  will  agree  that  the  players  ought  not  wholly  to  have 
the  blame  of  the  "interposition  of  dissolute  words."  But  unquestionably  it 

123 


WILLIAM   SIIAKSPERE  : 

was  a  great  abuse  to  have  "histories  of  the  Bible  set  forth  on  the  stage;"  for 
the  use  and  advantage  of  such  dramatic  histories  had  altogether  ceased.  In 
deed  although  Scriptural  subjects  might  have  continued  to  h?ve  been  repre 
sented  in  1580,  we  apprehend  that  they  were  principally  taken  from  apocryphal 
stories,  which  were  regarded  with  little  reverence  even  by  those  who  were 
most  earnest  in  their  hostility  to  the  stage.  Of  such  a  character  is  the  very 
curious  play,  printed  in  1565,  entitled  '  A  pretie  new  Enterlude,  both  pithie 
and  pleasaunt,  of  the  story  of  King  Daryus,  being  taken  out  of  the  third  and 
fourth  chapter  of  the  third  book  of  Esdras.'  This  was  an  interlude  that 
might  acceptably  have  been  performed,  at  the  commandment  of  the  bailiff  of 
Stratford,  by  my  Lord  Strange's  men,  in  February,  1580;  and  we  request 
therefore  the  indulgence  of  our  readers  whilst  we  endeavour  to  describe  what 
such  a  performance  would  have  been. 

The  hall  of  the  Guild,  which  afterwards  became  the  Town  Hall,  was  the 
occasional  theatre  of  Stratford.  It  is  now  a  long  room,  and  somewhat  low, 
the  building  being  divided  into  two  floors,  the  upper  of  which  is  used  as 
the  Grammar  School.  The  elevation  for  the  Court  at  one  end  of  the  hall 
would  form  the  stage ;  and  on  one  side  is  an  ancient  separate  chamber,  to  which 
the  performers  would  retire.  With  a  due  provision  of  benches,  about  three 
hundred  persons  could  be  accommodated  in  this  room ;  and  no  doubt  Mr. 
Bailiff  would  be  liberal  in  the  issue  of  his  invitations,  so  that  Stratford  might 
not  grudge  its  expenditure  of  five  shillings.  A  plain  cloth  curtain — "  the 
blanket"  of  the  stage — is  drawn  on  one  side ;  and  "  the  Prolocutor"  comes 
forward  with  solemn  stride,  to  explain  the  object  of  '  The  worthy  Entertain 
ment  of  King  Daryus  : ' — 

"  Good  people,  hark,  and  give  car  a  while, 
For  of  this  enterlude  I  will  declare  the  style. 

A  certain  king  to  you  we  shall  bring  in 
Whose  name  was  Darius,  good  and  virtuous ; 
This  king  commanded  a  feast  to  be  made, 
And  at  that  banquet  many  people  had. 

And  when  the  king  in  counsel  was  set 

Two  lords  commanded  he  to  be  fet, 

As  concerning  matters  of  three  young  men ; 

Which  briefly  showed  their  fantasy  then : 

In  writings  their  meanings  they  did  declare, 

And  to  give  them  to  the  king  they  did  not  spare. 

Now  silence  I  desire  you  therefore, 
For  the  Vice  is  entering  at  the  door." 

The  stage-direction  then  says,  "  The  Prologue  goeth  out  and  Iniquity  comes 
in.  This  is  "the  formal  Vice  Iniquity"  of  Richard  III.  ;  the  "Vetus  Ini- 
quitas"  of  'The  Devil  is  an  Ass;'  the  Iniquity  with  a  "wooden  dagger,"  and 
"  a  juggler's  jerkin  with  false  skirts,"  of  '  The  Staple  of  News.'  But  in  the  in 
terlude  of  '  Darius'  he  has  less  complex  offices  than  are  assigned  him  by  Gifford — 
"  to  instigate  the  hero  of  the  piece  to  wickedness,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to 
124 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

protect  him  from  the  devil,  whom  he  was  permitted  to  buffet  and  baffle  with 
his  wooden  sword,  till  the  process  of  the  story  required  that  both  the  protector 
and  the  protected  should  be  carried  off  by  the  fiend ;  or  the  latter  driven  roaring 
from  the  stage  by  some  miraculous  interposition  in  favour  of  the  repentant 
offender."5  The  first  words  which  Iniquity  utters  indicate,  however,  that  he 
was  familiar  with  the  audience,  and  the  audience  familiar  with  him  : 

"  How  now,  my  masters ;  how  goeth  the  world  now  ? 
I  come  gladly  to  talk  with  you." 

And  in  a  most  extraordinary  manner  he  does  talk;  swaggering  and  bullying  as 
if  the  whole  world  was  at  his  command,  till  Charity  comes  in,  and  reads  him  a 
very  severe  lecture  upon  the  impropriety  of  his  deportment.  It  is  of  little 
avail ;  for  two  friends  of  Iniquity — Importunity  and  Partiality — come  to  his 
assistance,  and  fairly  drive  Charity  off  the  stage.  Then  Equity  enters  to  take 
up  the  quarrel  against  Iniquity  and  his  fellows;  but  Equity  is  no  match  for 
them,  and  they  all  make  way  for  King  Darius.  This  very  long  scene  has 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  main  action  of  the  piece,  or  rather  what  pro 
fesses  to  be  its  action.  But  the  Stratford  audience  is  a  patient  one ;  and  the 
Vice,  however  dull  was  his  profligacy,  contrived  to  make  them  laugh  by  the 
whisking  of  his  tail  and  the  brandishing  of  his  sword,  assisted  no  doubt  by 
some  well-known  chuckle  like  that  of  the  Punch  of  our  own  days.  King  Darius, 
however,  at  length  comes  with  all  his  Council ;  and  most  capital  names  do  his 
chief  councillors  bear,  not  unworthy  to  be  adopted  even  in  Courts  of  greater 
refinement — Perplexity  and  Curiosity.  The  whole  business  of  this  scene  of 
King  Darius  is  to  present  a  feast  to  the  admiring  spectators.  Up  to  the  present 
day  the  English  audience  delights  in  a  feast;  and  will  endure  that  two  men 
should  sit  upon  the  stage  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  uttering  the  most  unrepeatable 
stupidity,  provided  they  seem  to  pick  real  chicken-bones  and  drink  real  port. 
The  Darius  of  the  interlude  feasted  whole  nations — upon  the  representative 
system  ;  and  here,  at  Stratford,  Ethiopia,  Persia,  Judah,  and  Media,  ate  their 
fill  and  were  very  grateful.  But  feasts  must  have  their  end ;  and  so  the  curtain 
closes  upon  the  eaters,  and  Iniquity  "cometh  in  singing:"— 

"  La,  soule,  soule,  fa,  my,  re,  re, 
I  misa  a  note  I  dare  well  say  : 
I  should  have  been  low  when  I  was  so  hi^h  : 
I  shall  have  it  right  anon  verily." 

Again  come  his  bottle-holders,  Importunity  and  Partiality;  and  in  the  course 
of  their  gabble  Iniquity  tells  them  that  the  Pope  is  his  father.  Unhappily  his 
supporters  go  out ;  and  then  Equity  attacks  him  alone.  Loud  is  their  debate ; 
and  faster  and  more  furious  is  the  talk  when  Constancy  and  Charity  come  in. 
The  matter,  however,  ends  seriously;  and  they  resolving  that  it  is  useless  to 
argue  longer  with  this  impenitent  sinner,  "  somebody  casts  fire  to  Iniquity,"  and 
he  departs  in  a  tempest  of  squibs  and  crackers.  The  business  of  the  play  now 

*  Ben  Jonsons  Works.     Note  on  '  The  Devil  is  an  Ass.' 

125 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

at  length  begins.      Darius  tells  his  attendants  that  the  three  men  who  kept  his 
chamber  while  he  slept  woke  him  by  their  disputing  and  murmuring,— 

"  Every  man  to  say  a  weightier  matter  than  the  other." 

The  subject  of  their  dispute  was,  what  is  the  strongest  thing ;  and  their  answers 
as  we  are  informed  by  the  King's  attendants,  had  been  reduced  to  writing  :— 

"  The  sentence  of  the  first  man  is  this, 
Wine  a  very  strong  thing  is ; 
The  second  also  I  will  declare  to  you, 
That  the  king  is  stronger  than  any  other  thing  verily ; 
The  third  also  I  will  declare — 
Women,  saith  he,  is  the  strongest  of  all, 
Though  by  women  we  had  a  fall." 

Of  their  respective  texts  the  three  young  men  are  then  called  in  to  make  expo 
sition  ;  and  certainly,  whatever  defects  of  manners  were  exhibited  by  the 
audiences  of  that  day,  they  must  have  possessed  the  virtue  of  patience  in  a 
remarkable  degree  to  have  enabled  them  to  sit  out  these  most  prolix  harangues. 
But  they  have  an  end ;  and  the  King  declares  Zorobabel  to  be  deserving  of 
signal  honours,  in  his  demonstration  that,  of  all  things,  woman  is  the  strongest. 
A  metrical  prayer  for  Queen  Elizabeth,  uttered  by  Constancy,  dismisses  the 
audience  to  their  homes  in  such  a  loyal  temper  as  befits  the  Corporation  of 
Stratford  and  their  friends  on  all  public  occasions  to  cherish.  We  doubt  if 
WiUiam  Shakspere  considers  "  the  pretty  new  interlude  both  pithy  and  plea 
sant  of  the  story  of  King  Darius"  to  be  the  perfect  model  of  a  populai 
drama.* 

The  sojourn  of  my  Lord  Strange's  men  at  Stratford  has  been  short;  but  now 
the  Countess  of  Essex's  players  have  arrived.  We  have  seen  that  in  previous 
years  the  players  of  Lord  Warwick,  of  Lord  Leicester,  of  Lord  Worcester,  have 
been  at  Stratford,  and  on  each  occasion  they  have  been  patronised  by  the  Corpora 
tion.  In  a  later  period  of  the  stage,  when  the  actors  chiefly  depended  upon  the 
large  support  of  the  public,  instead  of  receiving  the  wages  of  noblemen,  how 
ever  wealthy  and  powerful,  the  connection  of  a  company  of  players  with  the 
great  personage  whose  "  servants "  they  were  called  was  scarcely  more  than  a 
licence  to  act  without  the  interference  of  the  magistrate.  But  in  the  period  of 
the  stage  which  we  are  now  describing,  it  would  appear  that  the  players  were 
literally  the  retainers  of  powerful  lords,  who  employed  them  for  their  own 
recreation,  and  allowed  them  to  derive  a  profit  from  occasional  public  exhibi 
tions.  In  'The  Third  Blast  of  Retreat  from  Plays  and  Theatres'  we  have  the 
following  passage,  which  appears  decisive  upon  this  point : — "  What  credit  can 
return  to  the  nobleman  to  countenance  his  men  to  exercise  that  quality  which  is 
not  sufferable  in  any  commonweal  ?  Whereas,  it  was  an  ancient  custom  that  no 
man  of  honour  should  retain  any  man  but  such  as  was  as  excellent  in  some  one 

•  There  is  a  copy  of  this  very  curious  production  in  the  Garrick  Collection  of  plays  in  the  British 
Museum;  and  a  transcript  of  Garrick' a  copy  is  in  the  Bodleian  Library.  Its  date,  as  before  mentioned, 
in  1565. 

126 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

good  quality  or  another,  whereby,  if  occasion  so  served,  he  might  get  his  own 
living.  Then  was  every  nobleman's  house  a  commonweal  in  itself.  But  since 
the  retaining  of  these  caterpillars  the  credit  of  noblemen  hath  decayed,  and  they 
are  thought  to  be  covetous  by  permitting  their  servants,  which  cannot  live  by 
themselves,  and  whom  for  nearness  they  will  not  maintain,  to  live  on  the  devo 
tion  or  alms  of  other  men,  passing  from  country  to  country,  from  one  gentleman's 
house  to  another,  offering  their  service,  which  is  a  kind  of  beggary.  Who, 
indeed,  to  speak  more  truly,  are  become  beggars  for  their  servants.  For  com 
monly  the  good  will  men  bear  to  -their  lords  makes  them  draw  the  strings  of 
their  purses  to  extend  their  liberality  to  them,  where  otherwise  they  would  not." 
Speaking  of  the  writers  of  plays,  the  same  author  adds, — "  But  some  perhaps 
will  say  the  nobleman  delighteth  in  such  things,  whose  humours  must  be  con 
tented,  partly  for  fear  and  partly  for  commodity;  and  if  they  write  matters 
pleasant  they  are  best  preferred  in  Court  among  the  cunning  heads." — (Page 
108.)  In  the  old  play  of  'The  Taming  of  a  Shrew'  the  players  in  the  'In 
duction'  are  presented  to  us  in  very  homely  guise.  The  messenger  tells  the 
lord — 

"  Your  players  be  come, 
And  do  attend  your  honour's  pleasure  here." 

The  stage-direction  then  says,  "  Enter  two  of  the  players  with  packs  at  their  backs, 
and  a  boy.0  To  the  questions  of  the  lord, — 

"  Now,  sirs,  what  store  of  plays  have  you?" — 

the  Clown  answers,  "  Marry,  my  lord,  you  may  have  a  tragical  or  a  commodity, 
or  what  you  will ; "  for  which  ignorance  the  other  player  rebukes  the  Clown, 
saying,  "  A  comedy,  thou  shouldst  say  :  zounds  !  thou  'It  shame  us  all."  Whether 
this  picture  belongs  to  an  earlier  period  of  the  stage  than  the  similar  scene  in 
Shakspere's  '  Induction,'  or  whether  Shakspere  was  familiar  with  a  better  order 
of  players,  it  is  clear  that  in  his  scene  the  players  appear  as  persons  of  somewhat 
more  importance  .and  are  treated  with  more  respect : — 

"  Lord.  Sirrah,  go  see  what  trumpet 't  is  that  sounds : 
Belike,  some  noble  gentleman,  that  means, 
Travelling  some  journey,  to  repose  him  here. 

Re-enter  a  Servant, 

How  now  ?  who  is  it  ? 

Serv.  An  it  please  your  honour, 

Players,  that  offer  service  to  your  lordship. 

Lord.  Bid  them  come  near. 

Enter  Players. 

Now,  fellows,  you  are  welcome. 
Players.  We  thank  your  honour. 
Lord.  Do  you  intend  to  stay  with  me  to-night  ? 
2  Play.  So  please  your  lordship  to  accept  our  duty. 
Lord.  With  all  mv  heart." 

The  lord,  however,  even  in  this  scene,  gives  his  order,  "Take  them  to  the 
buttery," — a  proof  that  the  itinerant  companies  were  classed  little  above  menials. 

127 


[Itinerant  Players.] 


The  welcome  of  a  corporate  town  was  perhaps  as  acceptable  to  the  players  of 
the  Countess  of  Essex  as  the  abundance  of  the  esquire's  kitchen  ;  and  so  the 
people  of  Stratford  are  to  be  treated  with  the  last  novelty. 

The  play  which  is  now  to  be  performed  is  something  very  different  from 
'  King  Darius.'  It  is  'A  Pleasant  Comedie  called  Common  Conditions.'  This 
is  neither  a  Mystery  nor  a  Moral  Play.  It  dispenses  with  impersonations  of 
Good  and  Evil ;  Iniquity  holds  no  controversy  with  Charity,  and  the  Devil  is 
not  brought  in  to  buffet  or  to  be  buffeted.  The  play  is  written  in  rhymed 
verse,  and  very  ambitiously  written.  The  matter  is  "  set  out  with  sweetness 
of  words,  fitness  of  epithets,  with  metaphors,  allegories,  hyperboles,  amphibolo 
gies,  similitude."*  It  is  a  dramatized  romance,  of  which  the  title  expresses 
that  it  represents  a  possible  aspect  of  human  life  ;  and  the  name  of  the  chief 
character,  Common  Conditions,  from  which  the  play  derives  its  title,  would 
import  that  he  does  not  belong  to  the  supernatural  or  allegorical  class  of  per 
sonages,  f  The  audience  of  Stratford  have  anticipated  something  at  which  they 

*  Gosson.     '  Plays  Confuted,'  second  action. 

t  Mr.  Collier,  iu  his  'History  of  Dramatic  Poetry,'  expresses  an  opinion  that  the  character  of 
128 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

are  to  laugh;  and  their  mirth  is  much  provoked  when  three  tinkers  appear 
upon  the  stage  singing, 

"  Hey  tisty  toisty,  tinkers  good  fellows  they  be ; 
In  stopping  of  one  hole,  they  use  to  make  three." 

These  worthies  are  called  Drift,  Unthrift,  and  Shift;  and,  trade  being  bad  with 
them,  they  agree  to  better  it  by  a  little  robbing.  Unthrift  tells  his  companions, 

"  But,  masters,  wot  ye  what  ?    I  have  heard  news  about  the  court  this  day, 
That  there  is  a  gentleman  with  a  lady  gone  away ; 
And  have  with  them  a  little  parasite  full  of  money  and  coin." 

These  travellers  the  tinkers  agree  to  rob ;  and  we  have  here  an  example  of  the 
readiness  of  the  stage  to  indulge  in  satire.  The  purveyors  who,  a  few  years 
later,  were  denounced  in  parliament,  are,  we  suppose,  here  pointed  at.  Shift 
says, 

"  We  will  take  away  their  purses,  and  say  we  do  it  by  commissi.on  ;  " 
to  which  Drift  replies, 

"  Who  made  a  commissioner  of  you? 
If  thou  make  no  better  answer  at  the  bar,  thou  wilt  hang,  I  tell  thee  true." 

The  gentleman  and  lady  from  the  court,  Sedmond  and  Clarisia,  then  come  out 
of  the  wood,  accompanied  by  their  servant,  Conditions.  It  appears  that  their 
father  has  long  been  absent,  and  they  are  travelling  to  seek  him.  Clarisia  is 
heavy-hearted  ;  and  her  brother  thus  consoles  her,  after  the  fashion  of  "  epi 
thets,  metaphors,  and  hyperboles  :  " — 

"  You  see  the  chirping  birds  begin  you  melody  to  make, 
But  you,  ungrateful  unto  them,  their  pleasant  voice  forsake : 
You  see  the  nightingale  also,  with  sweet  and  pleasant  lay, 
Sound  forth  her  voice  in  chirping  wise  to  banish  care  away. 
You  see  Dame  Tellus,  she  with  mantle  fresh  and  green, 
For  to  display  everywhere  most  comely  to  be  seen ; 
You  see  Dame  Flora,  she  with  flowers  fresh  and  gay, 
Both  here  and  there  and  everywhere,  her  banners  to  display." 

The  lady  will  have  no  comfort.  She  replies  to  her  brother  in  a  long  echo  to 
his  speech,  ending — 

"  And  therefore,  brother,  leave  off  talk ;  in  vain  you  seem  to  prate  : 
Not  all  the  talk  you  utter  can,  my  sorrows  can  abate." 

Conditions  ungallantly  takes  part  against  the  lady,  by  a  declamation  in  dis 
praise  of  women ;  which  is  happily  cut  short  by  the  tinkers  rushing  in.  Now 
indeed  we  have  movement  which  will  stir  the  audience.  The  brother  escapes  ; 
the  lady  is  bound  to  a  tree :  Conditions  is  to  be  hanged ;  but  his  adroitness, 
which  is  excessively  diverting,  altogether  reminding  one  of  another  little  knave, 
the  Flibbertigibbet  of  Scott,  is  setting  the  Stratford  audience  in  a  roar.  They 

Common  Conditions  is  the  Vice  of  the  performance.  It  appears  to  us,  on  the  contrary,  that  the 
ordinary  craft  of  a  cunning  knave — a  little,  restless,  tricky  servant — works  out  all  the  action,  in  the 
same  way  that  the  Vice  had  formerly  interfered  with  it  in  the  moral  plays ;  but  that  he  is  essen 
tially  and  purposely  distinguished  from  the  Vice.  Mr.  Collier  also  calls  this  play  merely  an  inter- 
lude  :  it  appears  to  us  in  its  outward  form  to  be  as  much  a  comedy  as  the  Winter's  Tale. 

L:FK  K  129 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

are  realizing  the  description  of  Gosson,— "  In  the  theatres  they  generally  take 
up  a  wonderful  laughter,  and  shout  altogether  with  one  voice  when  they  see 
some  notable  cozenage  practised."*  When  the  tinkers  have  the  noose  round 
the  neck  of  Conditions,  he  persuades  them  to  let  him  hang  himself,  and  to  help 
him  up  in  the  tree  to  accomplish  his  determination.  They  consent;  arguing 
that  if  he  hangs  himself  they  shall  be  frees  from  the  penalty  of  hanging  him  ; 
and  so  into  the  tree  he  goes.  Up  the  branches  he  runs  like  a  squirrel,  halloo 
ing  for  help,  whilst  the  heavy  tinkers  have  no  chance  against  his  activity  and 
his  Sheffield  knife.  They  finally  make  off;  and  Conditions  releases  his  mistress. 
The  next  scene  presents  us  Sedmond,  the  brother,  alone.  He  laments  the 
separation  from  his  sister,  and  the  uncertainty  which  he  has  of  ever  finding  his 
father ;  and  he  expresses  his  grief  and  his  determination  in  lines  which  seem  to 
have  rested  upon  the  ear  of  one  of  that  Stratford  audience  :— 

"  But  farewell  now,  my  coursers  brave,  attrapped  to  the  ground ; 
Farewell,  adieu,  all  pleasures  eke,  with  comely  hawk  and  hound  : 
Farewell,  ye  nobles  all ;  farewell  each  martial  knight ; 
Farewell,  ye  famous  ladies  all,  in  whom  I  did  delight." 

And,  continuing  his  lament,  he  says, — 

"Adieu,  my  native  soil;  adieu,  Arbaccas  king; 
Adieu  each  wight  and  martial  knight ;  adieu  each  living  thing : 
Adieu  my  woful  sire,  and  sister  in  like  case, 
Whom  never  I  shall  see  again  each  other  to  embrace ; 
For  now  I  will  betake  myself  a  wandering  knight  to  be, 
Into  some  strange  and  foreign  land,  their  comeliness  to  see." 

When  Conditions  released  the  lady  we  learnt  that  the  scene  was  Arabia  : — 
"  And,  lady,  it  is  not  best  for  us  in  Arabia  longer  to  tarry." 

It  is  to  Arabia,  his  native  soil,  that  Sidmond  bids  adieu.  But  the  Strattord 
audience  learn  by  a  very  simple  expedient  that  a  change  is  to  take  place  :  a 
board  is  stuck  up  with  the  word  "Phrygia"  upon  it,  and  a  new  character, 
Galiarbus,  entereth  "out  of  Phrygia."  He  is  the  father  of  the  fugitives,  who, 
banished  from  Arabia,  has  become  rich,  and  obtained  a  lordship  from  the  Duke 
of  Phrygia ;  but  he  thinks  of  his  children,  and  bitterly  laments  that  they  must 
never  meet.  Those  children  have  arrived  in  Phrygia ;  for  a  new  character  ap 
pears,  Larnphedon,  the  son  of  the  Duke,  who  has  fallen  violently  in  love  with  a 

•  'Plays  Confuted,'  &c. 

t  We  have  analysed  this  very  curious  comedy  from  the  transcript  in  the  Bodleian  Library  made 
under  the  direction  of  Maloue  from  the  only  printed  copy,  and  that  an  imperfect  one,  which  is 
supposed  to  exist.  In  the  page  which  contains  the  passage  now  given  Malone  has  inserted  the  fol 
lowing  foot-note,  after  quoting  the  celebrated  lines  in  Othello,  "  Farewell  the  tranquil  mind,"  &<x  : — 
"  The  coincidence  is  so  striking  that  one  is  almost  tempted  to  think  that  Shakspeare  had  read  this 
wretched  piece."  It  is  scarcely  necessary  for  us  to  point  out  how  constantly  the  date  of  a  play 
must  be  borne  in  mind  to  allow  us  to  form  any  fair  opinion  of  its  merits.  Malone  himself  con- 
eiders  that  this  play  was  printed  about  the  year  1570,  although  we  believe  that  this  conjecture 
fixes  the  date  at  least  ten  years  too  early.  It  appears  to  ua  that  it  is  a  remarkable  production  even 
for  1580;  and  if ,  as  a  work  of  art,  it  be  of  little  worth,  it  certainly  contains  the  elements  of  the 
romantic  drama,  except  th«  true  poetical  element,  which  could  only  be  the  result  of  extraordi 
nary  individual  genius. 
130 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

iady  whom  we  know  by  his  description  to  be  Clarisia.  Conditions  has  discovered 
that  his  mistress  is  equally  in  love  with  Lamphedon  ;  all  which  circumstances 
are  described  and  not  rendered  dramatic :  and  then  Conditions,  for  his  own  ad 
vantage,  brings  the  two  lovers  together,  and  they  plight  their  troth,  and  are  finally 
married.  The  lost  brother,  Sedmond,  next  makes  his  appearance  under  the 
name  of  Nomides  ;  and  with  him  a  Phrygian  lady,  Sabia,  has  fallen  in  love. 
But  her  love  is  unrequited  ;  she  is  rejected,  and  the  uncourteous  knight  flies 
from  her.  Lamphedon  and  Clarisia  are  happy  at  the  Duke's  court ;  but  Con 
ditions,  as  it  obscurely  appears,  wanting  to  be  travelling  again,  has  irritated  the 
Duchess  against  her  daughter-in-law,  and  they  both,  accompanied  by  Conditions, 
fly  to  take  ship  for  Thracia.  They  fall  in  with  pirates,  who  receive  them  on 
ship-board,  having  been  secretly  promised  by  Conditions  that  they  will  afford 
a  good  booty.  We  soon  learn,  by  the  appearance  of  Lamphedon,  that  they  have 
thrown  him  overboard,  and  that  he  has  lost  his  lady  ;  but  the  pirates,  who  are 
by  no  means  bad  specimens  of  the  English  mariner,  soon  present  themselves 
again,  with  a  sea-song,  which  we  transcribe  ;  for  assuredly  it  was  fitted  to  rejoice 
the  hearts  of  the  playgoers  of  a  maritime  nation  : — 

"  Lustily,  lustily,  lustily,  let  us  sail  forth  ; 
The  wind  trim  doth  serve  us,  it  blows  from  the  north. 

All  things  we  have  ready  and  nothing  we  want 

To  furnish  our  ship  that  rideth  hereby ; 
Victuals  and  weapons  they  be  nothing  scant ; 

Like  worthy  mariners  ourselves  we  will  try. 

Lustily,  lustily,  &c. 

Her  flags  be  new  trimmed,  set  flaunting  aloft  ; 

Our  ship  for  swift  swimming,  oh,  she  doth  excel : 
We  fear  no  enemies,  we  have  escaped  them  oft : 

Of  all  ships  that  swimmeth,  she  beareth  the  bell. 

Lustily,  lustily,  &c. 

And  here  is  a  master  excelleth  in  skill, 

And  our  master's  mate  he  is  not  to  seek  ; 
And  here  is  a  boatswain  will  do  his  good  will, 

And  here  is  a  ship,  boy,  we  never  had  leak- 
Lustily,  lustily,  &c. 

If  Fortune  then  fail  not,  and  our  next  voyage  prove, 

We  will  return  merrily  and  make  good  cheer, 
And  hold  all  together  as  friends  link'd  in  love  ; 

The  cans  shall  be  filled  with  wine,  ale,  and  beer. 

Lustily,  lustily,  &c." 

The  action  of  this  comedy  is  conducted  for  the  most  part  by  description  ;  an 
easier  thing  than   the  dramatic   development  of   plot  and   character.      Lamphe 
don  falls  in  with  the  pirates,  and  by  force  of  arms  he  compels  them  to  tell  him 
of  the  fate  of  his  wife.     She  has  been  taken,  it  seems,  by  Conditions  to  be  s< 
to  Cardolus,   an  island  chief;  and  then  Lamphedon  goes  to  fight  Cardolus,  and 
he  does  fight  him,  but  finds  not  the  lady.     Conditions   has    however  got  nd 
his  charge,  by  persuading  her  to  assume  the  name  of  Metraea,  and  enter  the  ser 
vice  of  Leosthines.     Hardship  must  have  wonderfully  changed  her  ;   for  after  a 

Era 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE: 

tima  her  brother,  Sedmond,  arrives  under  his  assumed  name,  and  becomes  a  can 
didate  for  her  affections.  The  good  old  man  under  whose  protection  she  re 
mains  has  adopted  her  as  his  daughter.  Lamphedon  is  on  the  way  to  seek 
her,  accompanied  by  Conditions  ;  and  thus  by  accident,  and  by  the  intrigues  of 
the  knavish  servant,  all  those  are  reunited  who  have  suffered  in  separation  :  for 
Leosthines  is  the  banished  father.*  How  Conditions  is  disposed  of  is  not  so 
clear.  He  is  constantly  calling  himself  a  little  knave,  and  a  crafty  knave,  a 
parasite,  a  turncoat ;  and  he  says, 

"  Conditions  ?  nay,  double  Conditions  is  my  name, 
That  for  my  own  advantage  such  dealings  can  frame." 

It  is  difficult  to  discover  what  advantage  he  derives  from  his  trickiness,  yet  he 
has  always  a  new  trick.  It  is  probable  that  he  was  personated  by  some  dimi 
nutive  performer,  whose  grimaces  and  ugliness  would  make  the  audience  roar 
with  delight.  The  tinkers  in  the  first  scene  say  they  know  not  what  to  do  with 
him,  except  to  "  set  him  to  keep  crows."  The  object  of  the  writer  of  the 
comedy,  if  he  had  any  object,  would  appear  to  be  to  show  that  the  purposes  of 
craft  may  produce  results  entirely  unexpected  by  the  crafty  one,  and  that  hap 
piness  may  be  finally  obtained  through  the  circumstances  which  appear  most  to 
impede  its  attainment.  This  comedy  is  remarkable  for  containing  none  of  the 
ribaldry  which  was  so  properly  objected  to  in  the  plays  of  the  early  stage.  It 
is  characterised,  also,  by  the  absence  of  that  melo-dramatic  extravagance  which 
belonged  to  this  period,  exhibiting  power,  indeed,  but  not  the  power  of  real 
art.  These  extravagances  are  well  described  by  the  author  of  '  The  Third  Blast 
of  Retreat  from  Plays  and  Theatres  ; '  although  his  notion  that  an  effort  of  ima 
gination,  and  a  lie,  are  the  same  thing  is  very  characteristic  : — "  The  writers  of 
our  time  are  so  led  away  with  vain  glory  that  their  only  endeavour  is  to  plea 
sure  the  humour  of  men,  and  rather  with  vanity  to  content  their  minds  than 
to  profit  them  with  good  ensample.  The  notablest  liar  is  become  the  best  poet ; 
he  that  can  make  the  most  notorious  lie,  and  disguise  falsehood  in  such  sort  that 
he  may  pass  unperceived,  is  held  the  best  writer.  For  the  strangest  comedy 
brings  greatest  delectation  and  pleasure.  Our  nation  is  led  away  with  vanity, 
which  the  author  perceiving,  frames  himself  with  novelties  and  strange  trifles 
to  content  the  vain  humours  of  his  rude  auditors,  feigning  countries  never  heard 
of,  monsters  and  prodigious  creatures  that  are  not :  as  of  the  Arimaspie,  of  the 
Grips,  the  Pigmies,  the  Cranes,  and  other  such  notorious  lies."  Sidney,  writing 
of  the  same  period  of  the  drama,  speaks  of  the  apparition  of  "a  hideous  mon 
ster  with  fire  and  smoke."f  And  Gosson,  having  direct  reference  to  some 
romantic  dramas  formed  upon  romances  and  legendary  tales,  as  '  Common  Con 
ditions '  was,  says,  "Sometimes  you  shall  see  nothing  but  the  adventures  of  an 
amorous  knight,  passing  from  country  to  country  for  the  love  of  his  lady,  en 
countering  many  a  terrible  monster  trade  of  brown  paper  ;  and  at  his  return  is 
so  wonderfully  changed,  that  he  cannot  be  known  but  by  some  posy  in  his 

•  A  leaf  or  two  is  lost  of  the  original  copy,  but  enough  remains  to  let  us  see  how  the  plot  will 
end.    We  learn  that  Nomides  repents  of  his  rejection  of  Sabia. 
t  '  Defence  of  Poesy.' 
132 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

tablet,  or  by  a  broken  ring,  or  a  handkerchief,  or  a  piece  of  a  cockle-shelJ.  '* 
When  the  true  masters  of  the  romantic  drama  arose,  they  found  the  people  pre 
pared  for  the  transformation  of  the  ridiculous  into  the  poetical. 

If  there  was  amongst  that  audience  at  Stratford,  in  1580,  witnessing  the 
performance  of  '  Common  Conditions/  one  in  whom  the  poetical  feeling  was 
rapidly  developing,  and  whose  taste  had  been  formed  upon  better  models  than 
anything  which  the  new  drama  could  offer  to  him — such  a  one  perhaps  was 
there  in  the  person  of  William  Shakspere — he  would  perceive  how  imper 
fectly  this  comedy  attained  the  end  of  giving  delight  to  a  body  of  persons 
assembled  together  with  an  aptitude  for  delight.  And  yet  they  were  pleased 
and  satisfied.  There  was  in  this  comedy  bustle  and  change  of  scene;  some 
thing  to  move  the  feelings  in  the  separation  of  lovers  and  their  re-union; 
laughter  excited  by  grotesqueness  which  stood  in  the  place  of  wit  and  humour ; 
music  and  song ;  and,  more  than  all,  lofty  words  and  rhymed  cadences  which 
sounded  like  poetry.  But  to  that  one  critical  listener  the  total  absence  of  the 
real  dramatic  spirit  would  be  most  perplexing.  At  the  moment  when  he  him 
self  would  be  fancying  what  the  characters  upon  the  scene  were  about  to  do, — 
how  their  discourse,  like  that  of  real  life,  would  have  reference  to  the  imme 
diate  business  of  the  action  in  which  they  were  engaged,  and  explain  their 
own  feelings,  passions,  peculiarities, — the  writer  would  present,  through  the 
mouth  of  some  one  of  these  characters,  a  description  of  what  some  one  else  was 
doing  or  had  done  ;  and  thus,  though  the  poem  was  a  dialogue,  it  was  not  to 
his  sense  a  drama ;  it  did  not  realize  the  principle  of  personation  which  his 
mind  was  singularly  formed  to  understand  and  cultivate.  The  structure  of 
the  versification,  too,  would  appear  to  him  altogether  unfit  to  represent  the 
thoughts  and  emotions  of  human  beings  engaged  in  working  out  a  natural  train 
of  adventures.  Some  elevation  of  style  would  be  required  to  distinguish  the 
language  from  that  of  ordinary  life,  without  being  altogether  opposed  to  that 
language ;  something  that  would  convey  the  idea  of  poetical  art,  whilst  it 
was  sufficiently  real  not  to  make  the  art  too  visible.  He  had  diligently  read 
'The  Tragedy  of  Ferrex  and  Porrex;'  and  the  little  volume  printed  in  1571, 
containing  that  play  "  as  the  same  was  showed  on  the  stage  before  the  Queen's 
Majesty,  about  nine  year  past,  by  the  gentlemen  of  the  Inner  Temple,"  was  a 
precious  volume  to  him  ;  for  it  gave  to  him  the  most  complete  specimen  of  that 
species  of  verse  which  appeared  fitted  for  the  purposes  of  the  higher  drama. 
The  speeches  were  indeed  long,  after  the  model  of  the  stately  harangues 
which  he  had  read  in  his  'Livy'  and  'Sallust;'  but  they  were  forcible  and  im 
pressive  ;  and  he  had  often  upon  his  lips  those  lines  on  the  causes  and  miseries 
of  civil  war  of  which  our  history  had  furnished  such  fearful  examples  : — 

"  And  thou,  0  Britain  !  whilom  in  renown, 
"Whilom  in  wealth  and  fame,  shalt  thus  be  torn, 
Dismember'd  thus,  and  thus  be  rent  in  twain, 
Thus  wasted  and  defac'd,  spoil'd  and  destroy'd  : 
These  be  the  fruits  your  civil  wars  will  bring. 


*  '  Plays  Confuted.' 

M3 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

Hereto  it  comes,  when  kings  will  not  consent 

To  grave  advice,  but  follow  wilful  will. 

This  is  the  end,  when  in  fond  princes'  hear*  s 

Flattery  prevails,  and  sage  rede  hath  no  place. 

These  are  the  plagues,  when  murder  is  the  mean 

To  make  new  heirs  unto  the  royal  crown. 

Thus  wreak  the  gods,  when  that  the  mother's  wrath 

Naught  but  the  blood  of  her  own  child  may  'suage. 

These  mischiefs  sp/ing  when  rebels  will  arise, 

To  work  revenge,  and  judge  their  prince's  fact. 

This,  this  ensues,  when  noble  men  do  fail 

In  loyal  truth,  and  subjects  will  be  kings. 

And  this  doth  grow,  when,  lo  !  unto  the  prince, 

Whom  death  or  sudden  hap  of  life  bereaves, 

No  certain  heir  remains  ;  such  certain  heir 

As  not  all  only  is  the  rightful  heir, 

But  to  the  realm  is  so  made  known  to  be, 

And  truth  thereby  vested  in  subjects'  hearts." 

Even  this  versification  he  would  think  might  be  improved.  The  entire  play 
of  '  Ferrex  and  Porrex,'  was  to  him  monotonous  and  uninteresting ;  it  seemed 
as  if  the  dramatic  form  oppressed  the  undoubted  genius  of  one  of  the  authors 
of  that  play.  How  inferior  were  the  finest  lines  which  Sackville  wrote  in  this 
play,  correct  and  perspicuous  as  they  were,  compared  with  some  of  the  noble 
bursts  in  the  Induction  to  'A  Mirror  for  Magistrates' !  Surely  the  author  of 
the  sublime  impersonation  of  War  could  have  written  a  tragedy  that  would 
have  filled  the  heart  with  terror,  if  not  with  pity  ! — 

"  Lastly  stood  War  in  glittering  arms  yclad, 

With  visage  grim,  stern  looks,  and  blackly  hued ; 

In  his  right  hand  a  naked  sword  he  had 

That  to  the  hilts  was  all  with  blood  imbrued ; 

And  in  his  left  (that  kings  and  kingdoms  rued) 

Famine  and  Fire  he  held,  and  therewithal 

He  razed  towns,  and  threw  down  towers  and  alL" 

Still,  he  wondered  that  the  example  which  Sackville  had  given  of  dramatic 
blank  verse  had  not  been  followed  by  the  writers  of  plays  for  the  common 
theatres.  He  saw,  however,  that  a  change  was  taking  place  ;  for  the  First  Part 
of  '  Promos  and  Cassandra,'  of  which  he  had  recently  obtained  a  copy,  was 
wholly  in  rhyme ;  while  in  the  Second  Part,  Master  George  Whetstone  had 
freely  introduced  blank  verse.  In  the  little  book  which  Stephen  Gosson  had 
just  written  against  plays, — his  second  book  in  answer  to  Thomas  Lodge, — 
which  had  been  lent  him  to  read  by  a  zealous  minister  of  the  church  who 
disapproved  of  such  vanities,  he  found  an  evidence  that  the  multitude  most 
delighted  in  rhyme :  "  The  poets  send  their  verses  to  the  stage,  upon  such  feet 
as  continually  are  rolled  up  in  rhyme  at  the  fingers'  ends,  which  is  plausible  to 
the  barbarous  and  carrieth  a  sting  into  the  ears  of  the  common  people."1*  And 
yet,  from  another  passage  of  the  same  writer,  he  might  collect  that  even  the 
refined  and  learned  were  delighted  with  the  poetical  structure  of  the  common 

*  '  Plays  Confuted,  in  Five  Actions.' 
134 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

dramas :  "  So  subtle  is  the  devil,  that  under  the  colour  of  recreation  in  Lon 
don,  and  of  exercise  of  learning  in  the  universities,  by  seeing  of  plays,  he 
maketh  us  to  join  with  the  Gentiles  in  their  corruption.  Because  the  sweet 
numbers  of  poetry,  flowing  in  verse,  do  wonderfully  tickle  the  hearers'  ears, 
the  devil  hath  tied  this  to  most  of  our  plays,  that  whatsoever  he  would  have 
stick  fast  to  our  souls  might  slip  down  in  sugar  by  this  enticement,  for  that 
which  delighteth  never  troubleth  our  swallow.  Thus,  when  any  matter  of  love 
is  interlarded,  though  the  thing  itself  be  able  to  allure  us,  yet  it  is  so  set  out 
with  sweetness  of  words,  fitness  of  epithets,  with  metaphors,  allegories,  hyper 
boles,  amphibologies,  similitude ;  with  phrases  so  picked,  so  pure,  so  proper ; 
with  action  so  smooth,  so  lively,  so  wanton ;  that  the  poison,  creeping  on  se 
cretly  without  grief,  chokes  us  at  last,  and  hurleth  us  down  in  a  dead  sleep." 
It  was  difficult  to  arrive  at  an  exact  knowledge  of  the  truth  from  the  descrip 
tion  of  one  who  wrote  under  such  strong  excitement  as  Master  Stephen  Gosson. 

The  controversy  upon  the  lawfulness  of  stage-plays  was  a  remarkable  feature 
of  the  period  which  we  are  now  describing ;  and,  as  pamphlets  were  to  that 
age  what  newspapers  are  to  ours,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  even  in  the 
small  literary  society  of  Stratford  the  tracts  upon  this  subject  might  be  well 
known.  The  dispute  about  the  Theatre  was  a  contest  between  the  holders  of 
opposite  opinions  in  religion.  The  Puritans,  who  even  at  that  time  were 
strong  in  their  zeal  if  not  in  their  numbers,  made  the  Theatre  the  especial 
object  of  their  indignation,  for  its  unquestionable  abuses  allowed  them  so  to 
frame  their  invectives  that  they  might  tell  with  double  force  against  every 
description  of  public  amusement,  against  poetry  in  general,  against  music, 
against  dancing,  associated  as  they  were  with  the  excesses  of  an  ill-regulated 
stage.  A  Treatise  of  John  Northbrooke,  licensed  for  the  press  in  1577,  is 
directed  against  "  dicing,  dancing,  vain  plays,  or  interludes."  Gosson,  who  had 
been  a  student  of  Christchurch,  Oxford,  had  himself  written  two  or  three  plays 
previous  to  his  publication,  in  1579,  of  'The  School  of  Abuse,  containing  a 
Pleasant  Invective  against  Poets,  Pipers,  Players,  Jesters,  and  such-like  Cater 
pillars  of  a  Commonwealth.'  This  book,  written  with  considerable  ostentation 
of  learning,  and  indeed  with  no  common  vigour  and  occasional  eloquence, 
defeats  its  own  purposes  by  too  large  an  aim.  Poets,  whatever  be  the  character 
of  their  poetry,  are  the  objects  of  Gosson's  new-born  hostility: — "Tiberias  the 
Emperor  saw  somewhat  when  he  judged  Scaurus  to  death  for  writing  a  tragedy ; 
Augustus  when  he  banished  Ovid;  and  Nero  when  he  charged  Lucan  to  put 
up  his  pipes,  to  stay  his  pen,  and  write  no  more."  Music  comes  in  for  the 
same  denunciation,  upon  the  authority  of  Pythagoras,  who  "  condemns  them 
for  fools  that  judge  music  by  sound  and  ear."  The  three  abuses  of  the  time 
are  held  to  be  inseparable :—"  As  poetry  and  piping  are  cousin-germans,  so 
piping  and  playing  are  of  great  affinity,  and  all  three  chained  in  links  of 
abuse."  It  is  not  to  be  thought  that  declamation  like  this  would  produce  any 
great  effect  in  turning  a  poetical  mind  from  poetry,  or  that  even  Master 
Gosson's  contrast  of  the  "manners  of  England  in  old  time"  and  "  New  England" 
would  go  far  to  move  a  patriotic  indignation  against  modern  refinements.  We 
have,  on  one  hand,  Dion's  description  how  Englishmen  "  went  naked  and  were 

135 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE  : 

good  soldiers  ;  they  fed  upon  roots  and  barks  of  trees  ;  they  would  stand  up 
to  the  chin  many  days  in  marshes  without  victuals;"  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
"  but  the  exercise  that  is  now  among  us  is  banqueting,  playing,  piping,  and 
dancing,  and  all  such  delights  as  may  win  us  to  pleasure,  or  rock  us  in  sleep. 
Quantum  mutatus  ab  illo !"  If  the  young  Shakspere  had  his  ambition  turned 
towards  dramatic  poetry  when  he  was  sixteen,  that  ambition  was  not  likely  to 
be  damped  by  Gosson's  general  declamation ;  and  in  truth  in  this  his  first 
tract  the  worthy  man  has  a  sneaking  kindness  for  the  theatre  which  he  can 
with  difficulty  suppress: — "As  some  of  the  players  are  far  from  abuse,  so 
some  of  their  plays  are  without  rebuke,  which  are  easily  remembered,  as 
quickly  reckoned.  The  two  prose  books  played  at  the  Bell  Savage,  where  you 
shall  find  never  a  word  without  wit,  never  a  line  without  pith,  never  a  letter 
placed  in  vain.  '  The  Jew,'  and  '  Ptolemy,'  shown  at  the  Bull ;  the  one  repre 
senting  the  greediness  of  worldly  choosers,  and  bloody  minds  of  usurers ;  the 
other  very  lively  describing  how  seditious  estates  with  their  own  devices, 
false  friends  with  their  own  swords,  and  rebellious  commons  in  their  own 
snares  are  overthrown  ;  neither  with  amorous  gestures  wounding  the  eye,  nor 
with  slovenly  talk  hurting  the  ears  of  the  chaste  hearers.  'The  Blacksmith's 
Daughter,'  and  '  Catiline's  Conspiracies,'  usually  brought  in  at  the  Theatre : 
the  first  containing  the  treachery  of  Turks,  the  honourable  bounty  of  a  noble 
mind,  the  shining  of  virtue  in  distress.  The  last,  because  it  is  known  to  be  a 
pig  of  mine  own  sow,  I  will  speak  the  less  of  it ;  only  giving  you  to  understand 
that  the  whole  mark  which  I  shot  at  in  that  work  was  to  show  the  reward  of 
traitors  in  Catiline,  and  the  necessary  government  of  learned  men  in  the  per 
son  of  Cicero,  which  foresees  every  danger  that  is  likely  to  happen,  and  fore 
stalls  it  continually  ere  it  take  effect." 

The  praise  of  the  "two  prose  books  at  the  Bell  Savage,"  that  contained 
"never  a  word  without  wit,  never  a  line  without  pith,  never  a  letter  placed  in 
vain,"  is  quite  sufficient  to  show  us  that  these  prose  books  exhibited  neither 
character  nor  passion.  The  'Ptolemy'  and  the  '  Catiline'  there  can  be  no  doubt 
were  composed  of  a  succession  of  tedious  monologues,  having  nothing  of  the 
principle  of  dramatic  art  in  them,  although  in  their  outward  form  they  appeared 
to  be  dramas.  Gosson  says,  "  These  plays  are  good  plays  and  sweet  plays,  and 
of  all  plays  the  best  plays,  and  most  to  be  liked,  worthy  to  be  sung  of  the  Muses, 
or  set  out  with  the  cunning  of  Roscius  himself;  yet  are  they  not  fit  for  every 
man's  diet,  neither  ought  they  commonly  to  be  shown."  It  is  clear  that  these 
good  plays  and  sweet  plays  had  not  in  themselves  any  of  the  elements  of  popu 
larity;  therefore  they  were  utterly  barren  of  real  poetry.  The  highest  poetry 
is  essentially  the  popular  poetry  :  it  is  universal  in  its  range,  it  is  unlimited  in 
its  duration.  The  lowest  poetry  (if  poetry  it  can  be  called)  is  conventional ;  it 
lives  for  a  little  while  in  narrow  corners,  the  pet  thing  of  fashion  or  of  pedantry. 
When  Gosson  wrote,  the  poetry  of  the  English  drama  was  not  yet  born ;  and 
the  people  contented  themselves  with  something  else  that  was  nearer  poetry 
than  the  plays  which  were  "  not  fit  for  every  man's  diet."  Gosson,  in  his 
second  tract  which,  provoked  by  the  answer  of  Lodge  to  his  '  School  of  Abuse,' 
is  written  with  much  more  virulence  against  plays  especially,  thus  describes 
136 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

what  the  people  most  delighted  in:  "As  the  devil  hath  brought  in  all  that 
Poetry  can  sing,  so  hath  he  sought  out  every  strain  that  Music  is  able  to  pipe, 
and  drawn  all  kinds  of  instruments  into  that  compass,  simple  and  mixed.  Foi 
the  eye,  beside  the  beauty  of  the  houses  and  the  stages,  he  sendeth  in  garish 
apparel,  masks,  vaulting,  tumbling,  dancing  of  jigs,  galiards,  morisces,  hobby 
horses,  showing  of  juggling  casts  ;  nothing  forgot  that  might  serve  to  set  out 
the  matter  with  pomp,  or  ravish  the  beholders  with  variety  of  pleasure."  Lodge, 
in  his  reply  to  Gosson's  '  School  of  Abuse,'  had  indirectly  acknowledged  the 
want  of  moral  purpose  in  the  stage  exhibitions;  but  he  contends  that,  as  the 
ancient  satirists  were  reformers  of  manners,  so  might  plays  be  properly  directed 
to  the  same  end.  "  Surely  we  want  not  a  Roscius,  neither  are  there  great 
scarcity  of  Terence's  profession  :  but  yet  our  men  dare  not  now-a-days  presume 
so  much  as  the  old  poets  might ;  and  therefore  they  apply  their  writings  to  the 
people's  vein;  whereas,  if  in  the  beginning  they  had  ruled,  we  should  now-a- 
days  have  found  small  spectacles  of  folly,  but  of  truth You  say, 

unless  the  thing  be  taken  away  the  vice  will  continue ;  nay,  I  say,  if  the  style 
were  changed  the  practice  would  profit."  To  this  argument,  that  the  Theatre 
might  become  a  censor  of  manners,  Gosson  thus  replies :  "  If  the  common  people 
which  resort  to  theatres,  being  but  an  assembly  of  tailors,  tinkers,  cordwainers, 
sailors,  old  men,  young  men,  women,  boys,  girls,  and  such-like,  be  the  judges  of 
faults  there  pointed  out,  the  rebuking  of  manners  in  that  place  is  neither  law 
ful  nor  convenient,  but  to  be  held  for  a  kind  of  libelling  and  defaming."  *  The 
notion  which  appears  to  have  possessed  the  minds  of  the  writers  against  the 
stage  at  this  period  is,  that  a  fiction  and  a  lie  were  the  same.f  Gosson  says, 
"  The  perfectest  image  is  that  which  maketh  the  thing  to  seem  neither  greater 
nor  less  than  indeed  it  is ;  but  in  plays,  either  the  things  are  feigned  that  never 
were,  as  Cupid  and  Psyche  played  at  Paul's,  and  a  great  many  comedies  more 
at  the  Blackfriars,  and  in  every  playhouse  in  London,  which,  for  brevity  sake, 
I  overskip  ;  or,  if  a  true  history  be  taken  in  hand,  it  is  made  like  our  shadows, 
longest  at  the  rising  and  fall  of  the  sun  ;  shortest  of  all  at  high  noon." 

The  notion  evidently  was,  that  nothing  ought  to  be  presented  upon  the  stage 
but  what  was  an  historical  fact ;  that  all  the  points  belonging  to  such  a  history 
should  be  given  ;  and  that  no  art  should  be  used  in  setting  it  forth  beyond  that 
necessary  to  give  the  audience,  not  to  make  them  comprehend,  all  the  facts.  It 
is  quite  clear  that  such  a  process  will  present  us  little  of  the  poetry  or  the 
philosophy  of  history.  The  play- writers  of  1580,  weak  masters  as  they  were, 
knew  their  art  better  than  Gosson  ;  they  made  history  attractive  by  changing 


*  'Plavs  Confuted '  fcc.  The  Shakspere  Society  reprinted  in  one  volume  'The  School  of  Abuse, 
first  published  in  1579,  and  Heywood's  « Apology  for  Actors/  first  published  in  1612  These  publica 
tions  belong  to  different  period,  The  controversy  of  the  first  period  was  presented  »»«»*"* 
by  Lodge's  answer  to  Gosson,  by  Gosson's  'Plays  Confuted'  in  reply  to  Lodge  and  by  the  Second 
and  Third  '  Blast  of  Retreat  from  Plays  and  Theatres,'  the  author  of  wh.ch  counted  Ihe  School  of 
Abuse '  the  First  Blast.  These  tracts  are  exceedingly  rare,  and  they  open  to  us  cle* 
early  stage  than  any  other  contemporary  productions. 

t  See  Note  at  the  end  of  this  chapter. 

1  Of 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

it  into  a  melo-drama : — "  The  poets  drive  it  (a  true  history)  most  commonly 
unto  such  points  as  may  best  show  the  majesty  of  their  pen  in  tragical  speeches, 
or  set  the  heroes  agog  with  discourses  of  love,  or  paint  a  few  antics  to  fit  their 
own  humours  with  scoffs  and  taunts,  or  bring  in  a  show  to  furnish  the  stage 
when  it  is  bare.  When  the  matter  of  itself  comes  short  of  this,  they  follow  the 
practice  of  the  cobbler,  and  set  their  teeth  to  the  leather  to  pull  it  out.  So  was 
the  history  of  '  Caesar  and  Pompey,'  and  the  play  of  '  The  Fabii/  at  the  theatre 
both  amplified  there  where  the  drums  might  walk  or  the  pen  ruffle.  When  the 
history  swelled  or  ran  too  high  for  the  number  of  the  persons  who  should  play 
it,  the  poet  with  Proteus  cut  the  same  to  his  own  measure :  when  it  afforded  no 
pomp  at  all,  he  brought  it  to  the  rack  to  make  it  serve.  Which  invincibly 
proveth  on  my  side  that  plays  are  no  images  of  truth."  The  author  of  'The 
Blast  of  Retreat,'  who  describes  himself  as  formerly  "  a  great  affector  of  that 
vain  art  of  play-making,"  charges  the  authors  of  historical  plays  not  only  with 
expanding  and  curtailing  the  action,  so  as  to  render  them  no  images  of  truth, 
but  with  changing  the  historical  facts  altogether : — "  If  they  write  of  histories 
that  are  known,  as  the  life  of  Pompey,  the  martial  affairs  of  Caesar,  and  other 
worthies,  they  give  them  a  new  face,  and  turn  them  out  like  counterfeits  to 
show  themselves  on  the  stage."  From  the  author  of  'The  Blast  of  Retreat 'we 
derive  the  most  accurate  account  of  those  comedies  of  intrigue  of  which  none 
have  come  down  to  us  from  this  early  period  of  the  drama.  We  might  fancy 
he  was  describing  the  productions  of  Mrs.  Behn  or  Mrs.  Centlivre,  in  sentences 
that  might  appear  to  be  quoted  from  Jeremy  Collier's  attacks  upon  the  stage 
more  than  a  century  later : — "Some,  by  taking  pity  upon  the  deceitful  tears  of 
the  stage-lovers,  have  been  moved  by  their  complaint  to  rue  on  their  secre: 
friends,  whom  they  have  thought  to  have  tasted  like  torment :  some,  having 
noted  the  ensamples  how  maidens  restrained  from  the  marriage  of  those  whom 
their  friends  have  misliked,  have  there  learned  a  policy  to  prevent  their  parents 
by  stealing  them  away :  some,  seeing  by  ensample  of  the  stage-player  one  carried 
with  too  much  liking  of  another  man's  wife,  having  noted  by  what  practice  she 
has  been  assailed  and  overtaken,  have  not  failed  to  put  the  like  in  effect  in 
earnest  that  was  afore  shown  in  jest The  device  of  carrying  and  re- 
carrying  letters  by  laundresses,  practising  with  pedlars  to  transport  their  tokens 
by  colourable  means  to  sell  their  merchandise,  and  other  kind  of  policies  to 
beguile  fathers  of  their  children,  husbands  of  their  wifes,  guardians  of  their 
wards,  and  masters  of  their  servants,  is  it  not  aptly  taught  in  'The  School  of 
Abuse'?"*  Perhaps  the  worst  abuse  of  the  stage  of  this  period  was  the  licence 
of  the  clown  or  fool — an  abuse  which  the  greatest  and  the  most  successful  of 
dramatic  writers  found  it  essential  to  denounce  and  put  down.  The  author  of 
'  The  Blast  of  Retreat '  has  described  this  vividly : — "  And  all  be  [although] 
these  pastimes  were  not,  as  they  are,  to  be  condemned  simply  of  their  own  nature, 
yet  because  they  are  so  abused  they  are  abominable.  For  the  Fool  no  sooner 
showeth  himself  in  his  colours,  to  make  men  merry,  but  straightway  lightly 
there  followeth  some  vanity,  not  only  superfluous,  but  beastly  and  wicked.  Yet 

*  The  editor  of  the  tract  appends  a  note  : — "  Ue  meaneth  plays,  who  are  not  unfitly  so  called." 
138 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 

we,  so  carried  away  by  his  unseemly  gesture  and  unreverenced  scorning,  that 
we  seem  only  to  be  delighted  in  him,  and  are  not  content  to  sport  ourselves  with 
modest  mirth,  as  the  matter  gives  occasion,  unless  it  be  intermixed  with  knavery, 
drunken  merriments,  crafty  cunnings,  undecent  jugglings,  clownish  conceits,  and 
such  other  cursed  mirth,  as  is  both  odious  in  the  sight  of  God,  and  offensive  to 
honest  ears." 

In  the  controversial  writers  of  the  period  immediately  before  us  we  find  no 
direct  mention  of  those  Histories,  "  borrowed  out  of  our  English  chronicles, 
wherein  our  forefathers'  valiant  acts  that  have  been  long  buried  in  rusty  brass 
and  worm-eaten  books  are  revived,  and  they  themselves  raised  from  the  grave 
of  oblivion  and  brought  to  plead  their  aged  honours  in  open  presence."  This 
is  a  description  of  the  early  chronicle  histories  of  the  stage,  as  given  by  Thomas 
Nashe  in  1592;  and  although  we  believe  that  in  this  description  some  of  the 
plays  of  Shakspere  himself  would  necessarily  be  included,  it  can  scarcely  be 
imagined  that  he  was  altogether  the  inventor  of  this  most  attractive  as  well  as 
most  obvious  species  of  drama.  Whilst  the  writers  for  the  stage  previous  to 
1580  were  reproducing  every  variety  of  ancient  history  and  fable,  it  is  not 
likely  that  they  would  have  entirely  neglected  the  copious  materials  which  the 
history  of  their  own  country  would  present  to  them.  Nashe  in  another  passage 
says,  "  What  a  glorious  thing  it  is  to  have  King  Henry  V.  represented  on  the 
stage  leading  the  French  King  prisoner,  and  forcing  both  him  and  the  Dauphin 
to  swear  fealty ! "  Something  like  this  dramatic  action  is  to  be  found  in  one  of 
these  elder  historical  plays  which  have  come  down  to  us,  'The  Famous  Vic 
tories  of  Henry  V.,  containing  the  Honourable  Battle  of  Agincourt.'  The  only 
other  English  historical  play  that  can  be  safely  assigned  to  the  dramatic  period 
before  Shakspere  is  '  The  True  Tragedy  of  Richard  III.'*  It  has  been  already 
necessary  for  us  to  notice  '  The  Famous  Victories '  somewhat  fully  in  connexion 
with  Shakspere's  plays  of  King  Henry  IV.,  and  King  Henry  V.,  but  the  view 
which  we  are  here  endeavouring  to  give  of  the  state  of  the  early  stage  would 
be  essentially  incomplete,  were  we  to  pass  over  a  class  of  dramas  so  important 
in  themselves,  and  so  interesting  in  connexion  with  what  we  may  believe  to 
have  been  the  earliest  productions  of  Shakspere's  dramatic  genius,  as  the  English 
Histories  ;  and  of  these  '  The  Famous  Victories '  is  an  authentic  and  a  very  curious 
example.f 

There  is  a  full  audience  collected  in  the  ^w-.  Hall  of  Stratford,  to  witness 
the  new  performance  of  the  Earl  of  Darby's  players.  Slight  preparation  will 
be  necessary  for  the  performance,  although  the  history  to  be  performed  will  be 
a  regal  story;  its  scenes  changing  from  the  tavern  to  the  palace,  from  England 
to  France;  now  exhibiting  the  wild  Prince  striking  the  representative  of  his 
father  on  the  seat  of  justice,  and  then  after  a  little  while  the  same  Prince  a 
hero  and  a  conqueror.  The  raised  floor  at  the  upper  end  of  the  Town  Hall 
will  furnish  ample  room  for  all  these  displays.  The  painted  board  will  lead 

*  See  the  Notices  of  Richard  III.  in  the  fourth  volume  of  this  edition. 

t  The  play  of  '  The  Famous  Victories'  was  not  printed  till  1594 ;  but  there  is  no  doubt  that  the 
celebrated  Tarleton,  who  died  in  1583,  played  the  clown  in  it;  and  it  is  reasonably  assigned  to 

the  period  of  which  we  are  writing. 

139 


WILLIAM  SIIAKSPERE: 

the  imagination  of  the  audience  from  one  country  to  another;  and  when  the 
honourable  battle  of  Agincourt  is  to  be  fought,  "  two  armies  fly  in  represented 
with  four  swords  and  bucklers,  and  then  what  hard  heart  will  not  receive  it 
for  a  pitched  field?"*  The  curtain  is  removed,  and  without  preparation  we 
encounter  the  Prince  in  the  midst  of  his  profligacy.  Ned  and  Tom  are  his 
companions ;  and  when  the  Prince  says,  "  Think  you  not  that  it  was  a  villainous 
part  of  me  to  rob  my  father's  receivers?"  Ned  very  charitably  answers,  "Why 
no,  my  lord,  it  was  but  a  trick  of  youth."  Sir  John  Oldcastle,  who  passes  by 
the  familiar  name  of  Jockey,  joins  this  pleasant  company,  and  he  informs  the 
Prince  that  the  town  of  Deptford  has  risen  with  hue  and  cry  after  the  Prince's 
man  who  has  robbed  a  poor  carrier.  The  accomplished  Prince  then  meets 
with  the  receivers  whom  he  has  robbed ;  and,  after  bestowing  upon  them  the 
names  of  villains  and  rascals,  he  drives  them  off  with  a  threat  that  if  they  say 
a  word  about  the  robbery  he  will  have  them  hanged.  With  their  booty,  then, 
will  they  go  to  the  tavern  in  Eastcheap,  upon  the  invitation  of  the  Prince : — 
"  We  are  all  fellows,  I  tell  you,  sirs ;  an  the  king  my  father  were  dead,  we 
would  be  all  kings."  The  scene  is  now  London,  with  John  Cobbler,  Robin 
Pewterer,  and  Lawrence  Costermonger  keeping  watch  and  ward  in  the  accus 
tomed  style  of  going  to  sleep.  There  is  short  rest  for  them ;  for  Derrick,  the 
carrier  who  has  been  robbed  by  the  Prince's  servant,  is  come  to  London  to  seek 
his  goods.  But  why  does  the  Stratford  audience  begin  to  roll  about  in  a 
phrenzy  of  laughter,  which  waits  not  for  laughter-moving  words,  but  is  set  on 
by  a  look  or  a  gesture,  more  irresistible  than  words?  It  is  Tarleton,  the 
famous  Clown,  who  plays  the  Kentish  carrier ;  and  he  is  in  high  humour  to 
night.  It  matters  little  what  the  author  of  the  play  has  written  down  for 
him,  for  his  "  wondrous  plentiful  pleasant  extemporal  wit "  will  do  much 
better  for  the  amusement  of  his  audience  than  the  dull  dialogue  of  the  prompt 
books.  In  the  scene  before  us  he  has  to  catch  the  thief,  and  to  take  him  before 
the  Lord  Chief  Justice ;  and  when  the  Court  is  set  in  order,  and  the  Chief 
Justice  cries,  "  Gaoler,  bring  the  prisoner  to  the  bar,"  Derrick  speaks  accord 
ing  to  the  book, — "  Hear  you,  my  lord,  I  pray  you  bring  the  bar  to  the 
prisoner ; "  but  what  he  adds,  having  this  hint  for  a  clown's  licence,  soon  renders 
the  Chief  Justice  a  very  insignificant  personage.  The  real  wit  of  Tarleton 
probably  did  mufti  to  render  the  dullness  of  the  early  stage  endurable  by 
persons  of  any  refinement.  *— .r£et>j<  Chettle,  in  his  curious  production  '  Kind- 
Hartes  Dreame,'  written  about  four  years  after  Tarleton's  death,  thus  describes 
his  appearance  in  a  vision  : — "  The  next,  by  his  suit  of  russet,  his  buttoned 
cap,  his  tabor,  his  standing  on  the  toe,  and  other  tricks,  I  knew  to  be  either 
the  body  or  resemblance  of  Tarleton,  who  living,  for  his  pleasant  conceits  was 
of  all  men  liked,  and  dying,  for  mirth  left  not  his  fellow. "t  The  Piince 

*  Sidney.     '  Defence  of  Poesy." 

t  From  the  '  Palladia  Tamia '  of  Francis  Meres  we  learn  that  Dr.  John  Case,  the  commentator 
upon  Aristotle,  did  not  think  Tarleton  beneath  his  notice : — "  As  Antipater  Sidonius  was  famous 
for  extemporal  verse  in  Greek,  and  Ovid  for  his  '  Quicquid  conabar  dicere  versus  erat,'  so  was  our 
Tarleton,  of  whom  Dr.  Case,  that  learned  physician,  thus  speaketh  in  the  seventh  book  and  seven 
teenth  chapter  of  his  '  Politics  :'— '  Aristoteles  suum  Theodoretum  laudavit  quendam  peritura  tragoa- 
140 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

enters  and  demands  the  release  of  his  servant,  which  the  Chief  Justice  refuses. 
The  scene  which  ensues  when  the  Prince  strikes  the  Chief  Justice  is  a  remark- 
able  example  of  the  poetical  poverty  of  the  early  stage.  In  the  representation 
the  action  would  of  course  be  exciting,  but  the  dialogue  which  accompanies  it 
is  beyond  comparison  bald  and  meaningless.  The  audience  was,  however, 
compensated  by  Tarleton's  iteration  of  the  scene  :— "  Faith,  John,  I'll  tell  thee 
what;  thou  shalt  be  my  lord  chief  justice,  and  thou  shalt  sit  in  the  chair; 
and  I'll  be  the  young  prince,  and  hit  thee  a  box  on  the  ear;  and  then  thou 
shalt  say,  To  teach  you  what  prerogatives  mean,  I  commit  you  to  the  Fleet." 
The  Prince  is  next  presented  really  in  prison,  where  he  is  visited  by  Sir  John 
Oldcastle.  The  Prince,  in  his  dialogue  with  Jockey,  Ned,  and  Tom,  again 
exhibits  himself  as  the  basest  and  most  vulgar  of  ruffians;  but,  hearing  his 
father  is  sick,  he  goes  to  Court,  and  the  bully,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye, 
becomes  a  saintly  hypocrite :— "  Pardon  me,  sweet  father,  pardon  me ;  good 
my  lord  of  Exeter,  speak  for  me:  pardon  me,  pardon,  good  father:  not  a 
word :  ah,  he  will  not  speak  one  word :  ah,  Harry,  now  thrice  unhappy  Harry. 
But  what  shall  I  do?  I  will  go  take  me  into  some  solitary  place,  and  there 
lament  my  sinful  life,  and,  when  I  have  done,  I  will  lay  me  down  and  die." 
The  scene  where  the  Prince  removes  the  crown,  poor  as  it  is  in  poetical  con 
ception,  touches  the  Stratford  audience ;  and  there  is  one  there  who  fancies  he 
could  extemporize  that  scene  into  something  more  touching.  Henry  IV.  dies; 
Henry  V.  is  crowned;  the  evil  companions  are  cast  off;  the  Chief  Justice  is 
forgiven;  and  the  expedition  to  France  is  resolved  upon.  To  trace  the  course 
of  the  war  would  be  too  much  for  the  patience  of  our  readers.  The  clashing  of 
the  four  swords  and  bucklers  might  have  rendered  its  stage  representation 
endurable,  and  Derrick  has  become  a  soldier.  This  is  the  wit  set  down  for 
him  : — 

"Derrick.  I  was  four  or  five  times  slain. 

John.  Four  or  five  times  slain!  Why,  how  couldst  thou  have  been 
alive  now? 

Derrick.  0  John,  never  say  so,  for  I  was  called  the  bloody  soldier 
amongst  them  all. 

John.  Why,  what  didst  thou? 

Derrick.  Why,  I  will  tell  thee,  John :  every  day  when  I  went  into  the 
field,  I  would  take  a  straw,  and  thrust  it  into  my  nose,  and  make  my 
nose  bleed ;  and  then  I  would  go  into  the  field ;  and  when  the  captain  saw 
me,  he  would  say,  Peace,  ah  bloody  soldier;  and  bid  me  stand  aside, 
whereof  I  was  glad." 

The  scene  which  Nashe  represented  as  a  glorious  thing  does  not  violate  the  his 
torical  fact  in  making  Henry  lead  the  French  king  prisoner;  but  there  is  a 
swearing  of  fealty  in  which  the  Dauphin  participates : — 

"Henry  V.  Well,  my  good  brother  of  France,  there  is  one  thing  I 
must  needs  desire. 

French  King.  What  is  that,  my  good  brother  of  England  ? 
Henry  V.  That  all  your  nobles  must  be  sworn  to  be  true  to  me. 


diarum  actorem ;  Cicero  suum  Roscium ;  nos  Angli  Tarletonum,  in  cujus  voce  et  vultu  omnea  jocosi 
affectus,  in  cujus  cerebroso  capite  lepidse  facetiae  habitant.'  " 

141 


WILLIAM  SIIAKSPERE: 

Preach.  King.  Whereas  they  have  not  stuck  with  greater  matters,  I 
know  they  will  not  stick  with  such  a  trifle :  begin  you  with  uiy  lord 
duke  of  Burgundy. 

Henry  V.  Come,  my  lord  of  Burgundy,  take  your  oath  upon  my 
•word. 

Burgundy.  I,  Philip  duke  of  Burgundy,  swear  to  Henry  king  of 
England  to  be  true  to  him,  and  to  become  his  league-man ;  and  that,  if 
I,  Philip,  hear  of  any  foreign  power  coming  to  invade  the  said  Henry, 
or  his  heirs,  then  I,  the  said  Philip,  to  send  him  word,  and  aid  him 
with  all  the  power  I  can  make ;  and  thereunto  I  take  my  oath. 

[He  Idssetk  the  sword. 

Henry  V.  Come,  prince  Dolphin,  you  must  swear  too. 

[He  Jcistcth  tfie  sword." 

Ii  was  about  the  period  which  we  are  now  touching  upon  that  Sidney  wrote 
his  Defence  of  Poesy.'  The  drama  was  then  as  he  has  described  it,  "  much 
used  in  England,  and  none  can  be  more  pitifully  abused ;  which,  like  an  unman 
nerly  daughter  showing  a  bad  education,  causeth  her  mother  Poesy's  honour  to 
be  called  in  question."  The  early  framers  of  the  drama  seem  scarcely  to  have 
considered  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  Poesy.  A  desire  for  dramatic  exhibi 
tions — not  a  new  desire,  but  taking  a  new  direction — had  forcibly  seized  upon 
the  English  people.  The  demand  was  to  be  supplied  as  it  best  might  be,  by 
the  players  who  were  to  profit  by  it.  They  were,  as  they  always  will  be,  the 
best  judges  of  what  would  please  an  audience ;  and  it  was  to  be  expected  that, 
having  within  themselves  the  power  of  constructing  the  rude  plot  of  any  popular 
story,  so  as  to  present  rapid  movement,  and  what  in  the  language  of  the  stage  is 
called  business,  the  beauty  or  even  propriety  of  the  dialogue  would  be  a  second 
ary  consideration,  and  indeed  would  be  pretty  much  left  to  the  extemporal 
invention  of  the  actor.  That  the  wit  of  the  clown  was  almost  entirely  of  this 
nature  we  have  the  most  distinct  evidence.  Sidney,  with  all  his  fine  taste,  was 
a  stickler  for  "place  and  time,  the  two  necessary  companions  of  all  corporal 
actions.  For,"  he  says,  "where  the  stage  should  always  represent  one  place, 
and  the  uttermost  time  presupposed  in  it  should  be,  both  by  Aristotle's  precept 
and  common  reason,  but  one  day,  there  is  both  many  days  and  many  places 
inartificially  imagined."  As  the  players  were  the  rude  builders  of  our  early 
drama,  and  as  that  drama  was  founded  upon  the  ruder  Mysteries  and  Moral 
Plays,  in  which  all  propriety  was  disregarded,  so  that  the  senses  could  be  grati 
fied,  they  naturally  rejected  the  unities  of  time  and  place,  the  observance  of 
which  would  have  deprived  their  plays  of  their  chief  attraction — rapid  change 
and  abundant  incident.  And  fortunate  was  it  that  they  did  so ;  for  they  thus 
went  on  strengthening  and  widening  the  foundations  of  our  national  drama,  the 
truth  and  freedom  of  which  could  not  exist  under  a  law  which  is  not  the  law  of 
nature.  Had  Sidney  lived  five  or  six  years  longer,  had  he  seen  or  read  Romeo 
and  Juliet,  or  A  Midsummer-Night's  Dream,  he  would  probably  have  ceased 
to  regard  the  drama  as  the  unmannerly  daughter  of  Poesy ;  he  would  in  all 
likelihood  have  thought  that  something  was  gained  even  through  the  "defec- 
tuous  circumstances"  that  spurn  the  bounds  of  time  and  place,  and  compel  the 
imagination  to  be  still  or  to  travel  at  its  bidding,  to  be  utterly  regardless  of  the 
142 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

halt  or  the  march  of  events,  so  that  one  dominant  idea  possess  the  souj  and  sway 
all  its  faculties.  But  this  was  only  to  be  effected  when  a  play  was  to  become  a 
great  work  ©f  art;  when  all  the  conditions  of  its  excellence  should  be  fully 
comprehended;  when  it  should  unite  the  two  main  conditions  of  the  highest 
excellence — that  of  subjecting  the  popular  mind  to  its  power,  through  the  skill 
which  only  the  most  refined  understanding  can  altogether  appreciate.  When 
the  young  man  of  Stratford,  who,  as  we  have  conceived,  knew  the  drama  of  his 
time  through  the  representations  of  itinerant  players,  heard  the  rude  dialogue 
of  'The  Famous  Victories'  not  altogether  without  delight,  and  laughed  most 
heartily  at  the  extemporal  pleasantness  of  the  witty  clown,  a  vivid  though  an 
imperfect  notion  of  the  excellence  that  might  be  attained  by  working  up  such 
common  materials  upon  a  principle  of  art  must  assuredly  have  been  developed 
in  his  mind.  If  Sidney's  noble  defence  of  his  beloved  Poesy  had  then  been  pub 
lished,  he  would,  we  think,  have  found  in  it  a  reflection  of  his  own  opinions  as 
to  the  "bad  education"  of  the  drama.  "All  their  plays  be  neither  right 
tragedies  nor  right  comedies,  mingling  kings  and  clowns,  not  because  the  matter 
so  carrieth,  but  thrust  in  the  clown  by  head  and  shoulders  to  play  a  part  in 
majestical  matters,  with  neither  decency  nor  discretion :  so  as  neither  the 
admiration  and  commiseration,  nor  the  right  sportfulness,  is  by  their  mongrel 
tragi-comedy  obtained."  The  objection  here  is  scarcely  so  much  to  the  mingling 
kings  and  clowns,  when  "the  matter  so  carrieth,"  as  to  the  thrusting  in  the 
clown  by  head  and  shoulders.  Upon  a  right  principle  of  art  the  familiar  and 
the  heroic  might  be  advantageously  blended.  Here,  in  this  play  of  'The 
Famous  Victories,'  the  Prince  was  not  only  prosaic,  but  altogether  brutalized, 
so  that  the  transition  from  the  ruffian  to  the  hero  was  distasteful  and  unnatural. 
But  surround  the  same  Prince  with  companions  whose  profligacy  was  in  some 
sort  balanced  and  counteracted  by  their  intellectual  energy,  their  wit,  their 
genial  mirthfulness  ;  make  the  Prince  a  gentleman  in  the  midst  of  his  most 
wanton  levity ;  and  the  transition  to  the  hero  is  not  merely  probable,  it  is  grace 
ful  in  itself,  it  satisfies  expectation.  But  the  young  poet  is  yet  without  models, 
and  he  will  remain  so.  He  has  to  work  out  his  own  theory  of  art ;  but  that 
theory  must  be  gradually  and  experimentally  formed.  He  has  the  love  of 
country  living  in  his  soul  as  a  presiding  principle.  There  are  in  his  country's 
annals  many  stories  such  as  this  of  Henry  V.  that  might  be  brought  upon  the 
stage  to  raise  "heroes  from  the  grave  of  oblivion,"  for  glorious  example  to 
"these  degenerate  days."  But  in  those  annals  are  also  to  be  found  fit  subjects 
for  "the  high  and  excellent  tragedy,  that  openeth  the  greatest  wounds,  and 
showeth  forth  the  ulcers  that  are  covered  with  tissue;  that  maketh  kings 
fear  to  be  tyrants,  and  tyrants  to  manifest  their  tyrannical  humours ;  that,  with 
stirring  the  affections  of  admiration  and  commiseration,  teacheth  the  uncer 
tainty  of  this  world,  and  upon  how  weak  foundations  gilded  roofs  are  builded.'" 
As  the  young  poet  left  the  Town  Hall  of  Stratford  he  would  forget  Tarleton 
and  his  tricks;  he  would  think  that  an  English  historical  play  was  yet  to  be 
written;  perhaps,  as  the  ambitious  thought  crossed  his  mind  to  undertake  such 
a  task,  the  noble  lines  of  Sackville  would  be  present  to  his  memory  : — 

*  Sidney.     '  Defence  of  Poesy.' 

143 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPEKK  : 

'  And  sorrowing  I  to  see  the  summer  flowers. 
The  lively  green,  the  lusty  leas  forlorn, 
The  sturdy  trees  so  shatter* d  with  the  showers. 
The  fields  so  fade  that  flourish' d  so  beforn ; 
It  taught  me  well  all  earthly  things  be  born 
To  die  the  death,  for  nought  long  time  may  last ; 
The  summer's  beauty  yields  to  winter's  blast. 

Then  looking  upward  to  the  heaven's  learns, 
With  night's  stars  thick-powdered  everywhere, 
Which  erst  so  glisten' d  with  the  golden  streams 
That  cheerful  Phoebus  spread  down  from  his  spherr, 
Beholding  dark  oppressing  day  so  near : 
The  sudden  sight  reduced  to  my  mind 
The  sundry  changes  that  in  earth  we  find. 

That  musing  on  this  worldly  wealth  in  thought, 

Which  comes  and  goes  more  faster  than  we  see 

The  flickering  flame  'that  with  the  fire  is  wrought, 

My  busy  mind  presented  unto  me 

Such  fall  of  peers  as  in  this  realm  had  l>e : 

That  oft  I  wish'd  some  would  their  woes  deserive, 

'io  warn  the  rest  whom  fortune  left  alive." 


[Thomas  Sacfcville.] 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 


NOTE  ON  SIDNEY'S  'DEFENCE  OF  POESY.1 


IT  has  scarcely,  we  think,  been  noticed  that  the  justly-celebrated  work  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney  fonr.a 
an  important  part  of  the  controversy,  not  only  against  the  Stage,  but  against  Poetry  and  Music,  that 
appears  to  have  commenced  in  England  a  little  previous  to  1580.  Gosson,  as  we  have  seen,  attacks 
the  Stage,  not  only  for  its  especial  abuses,  but  because  it  partakes  of  the  general  infamy  of  Poetry. 
According  to  this  declaimer,  it  is  "the  whole  practice  of  poets,  either  with  fables  to  show  their 
abuses,  or  with  plain  terms  to  unfold  their  mischief,  discover  their  shame,  discredit  themselves, 
and  disperse  their  poison  throughout  the  world."  Gosson  dedicated  his  'School  of  Abuse'  to 
Sidney;  and  Spenser,  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Gabriel  Harvey,  shows  how  Sidney  received  the 
compliment :— "  New  books  I  hear  of  none ;  but  only  of  one  that,  writing  a  certain  book  called 
'  The  School  of  Abuse,'  and  dedicating  it  to  Master  Sidney,  was  for  his  labour  scorned ;  if,  at 
least,  it  be  in  the  goodness  of  that  nature  to  scorn.  Such  folly  is  it  not  to  regard  aforehaud 
the  inclination  and  quality  of  him  to  whom  we  dedicate  our  books."  We  have  no  doubt  that 
the  'Defence  of  Poesy,'  or,  as  it  was  first  called,  'An  Apology  for  Poetry,'  was  intended 
as  a  reply  to  the  dedicator.  There  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  it  was  written  in  1581. 
Sidney  can  scarcely  avoid  pointing  at  Gosson  when  he  speaks  of  the  "  Poet-haters,"  as  of  "  people 
who  seek  a  praise  by  dispraising  others,"  that  they  "  do  prodigally  spend  a  great  many  wandering 
words  in  quips  and  scoffs,  carping  and  taunting  at  each  thing  which,  by  stirring  the  spleen,  may 
stay  the  brain  from  a  thorough  beholding  the  worthiness  of  the  subject."  We  have  seen  how  the 
early  fanatical  writers  against  the  stage  held  that  a  Poet  and  a  Liar  were  synonymous.  To  this 
ignorant  invective,  calculated  for  the  lowest  understandings,  Sidney  gives  a  brief  and  direct  answer : 
— "  That  they  should  be  the  principal  liars,  I  answer  paradoxically,  but  truly,  I  think  truly,  that  of 
all  writers  under  the  sun,  the  poet  is  the  least  liar,  and  though  he  would,  as  a  poet,  can  scarcely  be 
a  liar.  The  astronomer,  with  his  cousin  the  geometrician,  can  hardly  escape  when  they  take  upon 
them  to  measure  the  height  of  the  stars.  How  often,  think  you,  do  the  physicians  lie,  when  they 
aver  things  good  for  sicknesses,  which  afterwards  send  Charon  a  great  number  of  souls  drowned  in 
a  potion  before  they  come  to  his  ferry  ?  And  no  less  of  the  rest  which  take  upon  them  to  affirm : 
Now  for  the  poet,  he  nothing  affirmeth,  and  therefore  never  lieth ;  for,  as  I  take  it,  to  lie  is  to  affirm 
that  to  be  true  which  is  false  :  So  as  the  other  artists,  and  especially  the  historian,  affirming  many 
things,  can,  in  the  cloudy  knowledge  of  mankind,  hardly  escape  from  many  lies :  But  the  poet,  as 
I  said  before,  never  affirmeth,  the  poet  never  maketh  any  circles  about  your  imagination,  to  conjure 
you  to  believe  for  true  what  he  writeth :  He  citeth  not  authorities  of  other  histories,  but  even  for 
his  entry  calleth  the  sweet  Muses  to  aspire  unto  him  a  good  invention :  In  troth,  not  labouring  to 
to  tell  you  what  is  or  is  not,  but  what  should  or  should  not  be.  And  therefore,  though  he  recount 
things  not  true,  yet,  because  he  telleth  them  not  for  true,  he  lieth  not,  unless  we  will  say  that 
Nathan  lied  in  his  speech,  before  alleged,  to  David;  which  as  a  wicked  man  durst  scarce  sa^,  so 
think  I  none  so  simple  would  say  that  JEsop  lied  in  the  tales  of  his  beasts ;  for  who  thinketh  that 
.iEsop  wrote  it  for  actually  true  were  well  worthy  to  have  his  name  chronicled  among  the  beasts  he 
writeth  of.  What  child  is  there  that,  coming  to  play  and  seeing  'Thebes'  written  in  great  letters 
upon  an  old  door,  doth  believe  that  it  is  Thebes  ?  If  then  a  man  can  arrive  to  the  child's  age,  to 
know  that  the  poet's  persons  and  doings  are  but  pictures  what  should  be,  and  not  stories  what  have 
been,  they  will  never  give  the  lie  to  things  not  affirmatively,  but  allegorically  and  figuratively, 
written ;  and  therefore,  as  in  history,  looking  for  truth,  they  may  go  away  full  fraught  with  false 
hood,  so  in  poesy,  looking  but  for  fiction,  they  shall  use  the  narration  but  as  an  imaginative  ground- 
plat  of  a  profitable  invention." 


LIFK. 


CHAPTER    XI. 


LIVING    IX    THE    PAST. 


THE  earliest,  and  the  most  permanent,  of  poetical  associations  are  those  which 
are  impressed  upon  the  mind  by  localities  which  have  a  deep  historical  interest. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  district  possessing  more  striking  remains  of  a  past 
time  than  the  neighbourhood  in  which  William  Shakspere  spent  his  youth. 
The  poetical  feeling  which  the  battle-fields,  and  castles,  and  monastic  ruins  of 
mid  England  would  excite  in  him,  may  be  reasonably  considered  to  have  derived 
an  intensity  through  the  real  history  of  these  celebrated  spots  being  vague,  and 
for  the  most  part  traditional.  The  ase  of  local  historians  had  not  yet  arrived. 
The  monuments  of  the  past  were  indeed  themselves  much  more  fresh  and  per 
fect  than  in  the  subsequent  days,  when  every  tomb  inscription  was  copied,  and 
every  mouldering  document  set  forth.  But  in  the  year  1580,  if  William  Shak 
spere  desired  to  know,  or  example,  with  some  precision,  the  history  which 

belonged   to   those   noble   towers   of  Warwick   upon  which   he   had   often  gazed 
146 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

with  a  delight  that  scarcely  required  to  be  based  upon  knowledge,  he  would 
look  in  vain  for  any  guide  to  his  inquiries.  Some  old  people  might  tell  him 
that  they  remembered  their  fathers  to  have  spoken  of  one  John  Rous,  the  son 
of  Geffrey  Rous  of  Warwick,  who,  having  diligently  studied  at  Oxford,  and 
obtained  a  reputation  for  uncommon  learning,  rejected  all  ambitious  thoughts, 
shut  himself  up  with  his  books  in  the  solitude  of  Guy's  Cliff,  and  was  engaged 
to  the  last  in  writing  the  Chronicles  of  his  country,  and  especially  the  history 
of  his  native  County  and  its  famous  Earls ;  and  there,  in  the  quiet  of  that 
pleasant  place,  performing  his  daily  offices  of  devotion  as  a  chantry  priest  in  the 
little  chapel,  did  John  Rous  live  a  life  of  happy  industry  till  1491.  But  the 
world  in  general  derived  little  advantage  from  his  labours.  Another  came 
after  him,  commissioned  by  royal  authority  to  search  into  all  the  archives  of  the 
kingdom,  and  to  rescue  from  damp  and  dust  all  ancient  manuscripts,  civil  and 
ecclesiastical.  The  commission  of  Leland  was  well  performed ;  but  his  '  Itine 
rary  '  was  also  to  be  of  little  use  to  his  own  generation.  William  Shakspere 
knew  not  what  Leland  had  written  about  Warwickshire;  how  the  enthusiastic 
and  half-poetical  antiquary  had  described,  in  elegant  Latinity,  the  beauties  of 
woodland  and  river ;  and  had  even  given  the  characteristics  of  such  a  place  as 
Guy's  Cliff  in  a  few  happy  words,  that  would  still  be  an  accurate  description  of 
its  natural  features,  even  after  the  lapse  of  three  centuries.  Caves  hewn  in  the 
living  rock,  a  thick  overshadowing  wood,  sparkling  springs,  flowery  meadows, 
mossy  grottos,  the  river  rolling  over  the  stones  with  a  gentle  noise,  solitude  and 
the  quiet  most  friendly  to  the  Muses, — these  are  the  enduring  features  of  the  place 


[Chapel  at  Guy:s  Cliff.] 


L  2 


Wll.I.TAM    SIIAKSPF.RE  : 

ns  painted  by  the  fine  old  topographer.*  But  his  manuscripts  were  as  sealed  to 
the  young  Shakspere  as  those  of  John  Rous.  Yet  if  the  future  Poet  sustained 
some  disadvantage  by  living  before  the  days  of  antiquarian  minuteness,  he  could 
still  dwell  in  the  past,  and  people  it  with  the  beings  of  his  own  imagination. 
The  Chroniclers  who  had  as  yet  attempted  to  collect  and  systematize  the  records 
of  their  country  did  not  aim  at  any  very  great  exactness  either  of  time  or  place. 
When  they  dealt  with  a  remote  antiquity  they  were  as  fabulous  as  the  poets 
themselves ;  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  they  most  assumed  the  appearance  of 
exactness  when  they  wrote  of  times  -which  have  left  not  a  single  monumental 
record.  Very  diffuse  were  they  when  they  had  to  talk  of  the  days  of  Brute. 
Intimately  could  they  decipher  the  private  history  of  Albanact  and  Humber. 
The  Fatal  passion  of  Locrine  for  Elstride  was  more  familiar  to  them  than  that 
of  Henry  for  Rosamond  Clifford,  or  Edward  for  Elizabeth  Woodville.  Of  the 
cities  and  the  gales  of  King  Lud  they  could  present  a  most  accurate  descrip 
tion.  Of  King  Leir  very  exact  was  their  narration:  how  he,  the  son  of  Baldud, 
"  was  made  ruler  over  the  Britons  the  year  of  the  world  4338  ;  was  noble  of 
conditions,  and  guided  his  land  and  subjects  in  great  wealth."  Minutely  thus 
does  Fabyan,  a  chronicler  whose  volume  was  open  to  William  Shakspere's  boy 
hood,  describe  how  the  King,  "  fallen  into  impotent  age,"  believed  in  the  pro 
fessions  of  his  two  elder  daughters,  and  divided  with  them  his  kingdom,  leaving 
his  younger  daughter,  who  really  loved  him,  to  be  married  without  dower  to 
the  King  of  France ;  and  then  how  his  unkind  daughters  and  their  husbands 
^'bereft  him  the  governance  of  the  land,"  and  he  fled  to  Gallia,  "  for  to  be  com 
forted  of  his  daughter  Cordeilla,  whereof  she  having  knowledge,  of  natural 
kindness  comforted  him."  This  in  some  sort  was  a  story  of  William  Shak 
spere's  locality ;  for,  according  to  the  Chronicle.  Leir  "  made  the  town  of  Caer- 
leir,  now  called  Leiceter  or  Leicester;"  and  after  he  was  "restored  again  to  his 
lordship  he  died,  and  was  buried  at  his  town  of  Caerleir."  The  local  associa 
tion  may  have  helped  to  fix  the  story  in  that  mind,  which  in  its  maturity  was 
to  perceive  its  wondrous  poetical  capabilities.  The  early  legends  of  the  chroni 
clers  are  not  to  be  despised,  even  in  an  age  which  in  many  historical  things 
iustly  requires  evidence ;  for  they  were  compiled  in  good  faith  from  the  his- 
toiies  which  had  been  compiled  before  them  by  the  monkish  writers,  who 
handed  down  from  generation  to  generation  a  narrative  which  hung  together 
with  singular  consistency.  They  were  compiled,  too,  by  the  later  chroniclers, 
with  a  zealous  patriotism.  Fabyan,  in  his  Prologue,  exclaims,  with  a  poetical 
spirit  which  is  more  commendable  even  than  the  poetical  form  which  he  adopts, — 

"  Not  for  any  pomp,  nor  yet  for  groat  nieed, 

This  work  have  I  taken  on  hand  to  compile, 
But  only  because  that  I  would  spread 

The  famous  honour  of  this  fertile  isle, 

That  hath  continued,  by  many  a  long  while, 
In  excellent  honour,  with  many  a  royal  guide, 
Of  whom  the  deeds  have  sprong  to  the  world  wide." 


*  "  Antra  in  vivo  saxo,  uemusculum  ibidem   opacum,  fontes  liquidas  et  gemmei ;   prata  florida, 
nntra  muscosa,  rivi  levia  et  per  saxa  discursus  ;  necnon   solitudo  et  quies   Musis   amicissima." — 
I. eland's  MS.  'Itinerary,'  as  quoted  by  Dugdale. 
148 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

Lines  such  as  these,  homely  though  they  are,  were  as  seeds  sown  upon  a  goodly 
soil,  when  they  were  read  by  William  Shakspere.  His  patriotism  was  almost 
instinct. 

In  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  Stratford  there  are  two  remarkable 
monuments  of  ancient  civilization, — the  great  roads  of  the  Ichnield-way  and 
the  Foss-way.  Upon  these  roads,  which  two  centuries  and  a  half  ago  would 
present  a  singular  contrast  in  the  strength  of  their  construction  to  the  miry 
lanes  of  a  later  period,  would  the  young  Shakspere  often  walk ;  and  he  would 
naturally  regard  these  ways  with  reverence  as  well  as  curiosity,  for  his  chro 
niclers  would  tell  him  that  they  were  the  work  of  the  Britons  before  the  inva 
sion  of  the  Romans.  Fabyan  would  tell  him,  in  express  words,  that  they  were 
the  work  of  the  Britons ;  and  Camden  and  Dugdale  were  not  as  yet  to  tell  him 
otherwise.  Robert  of  Gloucester  says — 

"  Faire  weyes  many  on  ther  ben  in  Englonde ; 

But  four  most  of  all  ther  ben  I  understand  e, 

That  thurgh  an  old  kynge  were  made  ere  this, 

As  men  schal  in  this  boke  aftir  here  tell  I  wis, 

Fram  the  South  into  the  North  takith  Erminge-strete.     . 

Fram  the  East  into  the  West  goeth  Ikeneld-strete. 

Fram  South  est  to  North-west,  that  is  sum  del  grete 

Frain  Dover  into  Chestre  goth  Watlyng-strete. 

The  ferth  of  thise  is  most  of  alle  that  tilleth  frain  Tateneys. 
•   Fram  the  South-west  to  North-est  into  Englondes  ende 

Fosse  men  callith  thilke  wey  that  by  mony  town  doth  wende. 

Thise  foure  weyes  on  this  londe  kyng  Bel  in  the  wise 

Made  and  ordeined  hem  with  gret  fraunchise." 

His  notion,  therefore,  of  the  people  of  the  days  of  Lud  and  Cymbeline  would 
be  that  they  were  a  powerful  and  a  refined  people ;  excelling  in  many  of  the 
arts  of  life ;  formidable  in  courage  and  military  discipline ;  enjoying  free  insti 
tutions.  When  the  matured  dramatist  had  to  touch  upon  this  period,  he  would 
paint  the  Britons  boldly  refusing  the  Roman  yoke,  but  yet  partakers  of  the 
Roman  civilization.  The  English  king  who  defies  Augustus  says — 

"  Thy  Csesar  knighted  me ;  my  youth  I  spent 
Much  under  him ;  of  him  I  gather'd  honour ; 
Which  he  to  seek  of  me  again,  perforce, 
Behoves  me  keep  at  utterance."  * 

This  is  an  intelligent  courage,  and  not  the  courage  of  a  king  of  painted  savages. 
In  the  depths  of  the  remarkable  intrenchments  which  surround  the  hill  of 
Welcombe,  hearing  only  the  noise  of  the  sheep-bell  in  the  uplands,  or  the  even- 
ing  chime  from  the  distant  church-tower,  would  William  Shakspere  think 
much  of  the  mysterious  past.  No  one  could  tell  him  who  made  these  intrench- 
ments,  or  for  what  purpose  they  were  made.  Certainly  they  were  produced  by 
the  hand  of  man  ;  but  were  they  for  defence  or  for  religious  ceremonial  ?  Was 
the  lofty  mound,  itself  probably  artificial,  which  looked  down  upon  them,  a  fort 

*  Cytnbeline,  Act  ill.,  Scene  I. 

149 


WILLIAM    SHAKSl'KUK  : 

or  a  temple  ?  Man,  who  would  know  everything  and  explain  everything, 
assuredly  knows  little,  when  he  cannot  demand  of  the  past  an  answer  to  such 
inquiries.  But  does  he  know  much  more  of  things  which  are  nearer  to  his 
own  days?  Is  the  annalist  to  be  trusted  when  he  undertakes  not  only  to 
describe  the  actions  and  to  repeat  the  words,  but  to  explain  the  thoughts  and 
the  motives  which  prompted  the  deeds  that  to  a  certain  extent  fixed  the  destiny 
of  an  age  ?  There  was  a  truth,  however,  which  was  to  be  found  amidst  all  the 
mistakes  and  contradictions  of  the  annalists — the  great  poetical  truth,  that  the 
devices  of  men  are  insufficient  to  establish  any  permanent  command  over  events  ; 
that  crime  would  be  followed  by  retribution  ;  that  evil  passions  would  become 
their  own  tormentors  ;  that  injustice  could  not  be  successful  to  the  end  ;  that, 
although  dimly  seen  and  unwillingly  acknowledged,  the  great  presiding  power 
of  the  world  could  make  evil  work  for  good,  and  advance  the  general  happiness 
out  of  the  particular  misery.  This  was  the  mode,  we  believe,  in  which  that 
thoughtful  youth  read  the  Chronicles  of  his  country,  whether  brief  or  elaborate. 
Looking  at  them  by  the  strong  light  of  local  association,  there  would  be  local 
tradition  at  hand  to  enforce  that  universal  belief  in  the  justice  of  God's  provi 
dence  which  is  in  itself  alone  one  of  the  many  proofs  of  that  justice.  It  is  this 
religious  aspect  of  human  affairs  which  that  young  man  cultivated  when  he 
cherished  the  poetical  aspect.  His  books  have  taught  him  to  study  history 
through  the  medium  of  poetry.  '  The  Mirror  for  Magistrates '  is  a  truer  book 
for  him  than  Fabyan's  '  Chronicle.'  He  can  understand  the  beauty  and  the 
power  of  his  beloved  Froissart,  who  described  with  incomparable  clearness  the 
events  which  he  saw  with  his  own  eyes.  To  do  this,  as  Froissart  has  done  it, 
requires  a  gift  of  imagination  as  well  as  of  faithfulness ;  of  that  imagination 
which,  grouping  and  concentrating  things  apparently  discordant,  produces  the 
highest  faithfulness,  because  it  sees  and  exhibits  all  the  facts.  But  the  prosaic 
digest  of  what  others  had  seen  and  written  about,  disproportionate  in  its  estimate 
of  the  importance  of  events,  dwelling  little  upon  the  influences  of  individual 
character,  picturing  everything  in  the  same  monotonous  light,  and  of  the  same 
height  and  breadth ;  this,  which  was  called  history,  was  to  him  a  tedious  fable. 
He  stands  by  the  side  of  the  tomb  of  King  John  at  Worcester.  There,  with 
little  monumental  pomp,  lies  the  faithless  King,  poisoned,  as  he  has  read,  by  a 
monk.  The  poetical  aspect  of  that  man's  history  lies  within  a  narrow  compass. 
He  was  intriguing,  treacherous,  bloody,  an  oppressor  of  his  people,  a  persecutor 
of  the  unprotected.  His  life  is  one  of  contest  and  misery  ;  he  loses  his  foreign 
possessions;  his  own  land  is  invaded.  But  he  stands  up  against  foreign 
domination,  and  that  a  priestly  domination.  According  to  the  tradition,  he 
falls  by  private  murder,  as  a  consequence,  not  of  his  crimes,  but  of  his  resistance 
to  external  oppression.  The  prosaic  view  of  this  man's  history  separates  the 
two  things,  his  crimes  and  their  retribution.  The  poetical  view  connects  them. 
Arthur  is  avenged  when  the  poisoned  king,  hated  and  unlamented,  finds  a  rest 
ing-place  from  his  own  passions  and  their  consequences  in  the  earth  beneath  the 
paving-stones  of  the  cathedral  of  Worcester.  But  there  was  a  tear  even  for  that 
man's  grave,  when  his  last  sufferings  were  shadowed  out  in  the  young  poet's 
mind  : — 
150 


(Tomb  of  King  John,  Worcester.] 

"  Poison' djlp-iH» fare;— dead,  forsook,  cast  off; 
And  none  of  you  will  bid  the  winter  come, 
To  thrust  Tiis  icy  fingers  in  my  maw ; 
Nor  let  my  kingdom's  rivers  take  their  course 
Through  my  burn'd  bosom ;  nor  entreat  the  north 
To  make  his  bleak  winds  kiss  my  parched  lips, 
And  comfort  me  with  cold."  * 

When  the  dramatic  power  was  working,  as  we  have  no  doubt  it  was  working 
early,  in  the  mind  of  William  Shakspere,  he  would  look  at  history  to  see  how 
events  might  be  brought  together,  not  in  the  exact  order  of  time,  but  in  the 
more  natural  order  of  cause  and  effect.  Events  would  be  made  prominent,  not 
according,  to  their  absolute  political  importance,  but  as  they  were  the  result  of 
high  passions  and  fearful  contests  of  opinion.  The  epic  of  history  is  a  different 
thing  from  the  dramatic.  In  the  epic  the  consequences  of  an  event,  perhaps  the 
remote  consequences,  may  be  more  important  than  the  event  itself;  may  be  fore 
seen  before  the  event  comes ;  may  be  fully  delineated  after  the  event  has  hap 
pened.  In  the  drama  the  importance  of  an  actio'n  must  be  understood  in  the 
action  itself ;  the  hero  must  be  great  in  the  instant  time,  and  not  in  the  possible 
future.  It  is  easy  to  understand,  therefore,  how  the  matured  Shakspere 
attempted  not  to  work  upon  many  of  the  local  associations  which  must  have 
been  vividly  present  to  his  youthful  fancy.  The  great  events  connected  with 
certain  localities  were  not  capable  of  sustaining  a  dramatic  development.  There 

*  King  John,  Act  v.,  Scene  vn. 

151 


WILLIAM    SHAKSl'ERE: 

was  no  event,  for  example,  more  important  in  its  consequences  than  the  Battle 
of  Evesham.  The  battle-field  must  have  been  perfectly  familiar  to  the  young 
Shakspere.  About  two  miles  and  a  half  from  Evesham  is  an  elevated  point, 
near  the  village  of  Twyford,  vhere  the  Alcester  road  is  crossed  by  another 
track.  The  Avon  is  not  more  than  a  mile  distant  on  either  hand  ;  for,  flowing 
from  Oflfenham  to  Evesham,  a  distance  of  about  three  miles,  it  encircles  that 
town,  returning  in  a  nearly  parallel  direction,  about  the  same  distance,  to  Charl- 
bury.  The  great  road,  therefore,  from  Alcester  to  Evesham  continues,  after  it 
passes  Twyford,  through  a  narrow  tongue  of  land  bounded  by  the  Avon,  having 
considerable  variety  of  elevation.  Immediately  below  Twyford  is  a  hollow 
now  called  Battlewell,  crossing  which  the  road  ascends  to  the  elevated  platform 
of  Greenhill.  Here,  then,  was  the  scene  of  that  celebrated  battle  which  put  an  end 
to  the  terrible  conflicts  between  the  Crown  and  the  Nobility,  and  for  a  season 
left  the  land  in  peace  under  the  sway  of  an  energetic  despotism.  The  circum 
stances  which  preceded  that  battle,  as  told  in  '  The  Chronicle  of  Evesham  '  (which 
in  William  Shakspere's  time  would  have  been  read  and  remembered  by  many 
an  old  tenant  of  the  Abbey),  were  singularly  interesting.  Simon  Montfort,  the 
great  Earl  of  Leicester,  was  waiting  at  Evesham  the  arrival  of  his  son's  army 
from  Ken il worth  ;  but  Prince  Edward  had  surprised  that  army,  and  taken 
many  of  its  leaders  prisoners,  and  young  Montfort  durst  not  leave  his  strong- 
hold.  In  that  age  rumour  did  not  fly  quite  so  quickly  as  in  our  days.  The 
Earl  of  Leicester  was  ignorant  of  the  events  that  had  happened  at  Kenilworth. 
He  had  made  forced  marches  from  Hereford  to  Worcester,  and  thence  to  Eves- 
ham.  There  were  solemn  masses  in  the  Abbey  Church  on  the  3rd  of  August, 
1265,  and  the  mighty  Earl,  who  had  won  for  himself  the  name  of  'Sir  Simon 
the  Righteous,'  felt  assured  that  his  son  was  at  hand,  and  that  Heaven  would 
uphold  his  cause  against  a  perjured  Prince.  On  the  morning  of  the  4th  of 
August  the  Earl  of  Leicester  sent  his  barber  Nicholas  to  the  top  of  the  Abbey 
tower,  to  look  for  the  succour  that  was  coming  over  the  hills  from  Kenilworth. 
The  barber  came  down  with  eager  gladness,  for  he  saw,  a  few  miles  off,  the  banner 
of  young  Simon  de  Montfort  in  advance  of  a  mighty  host.  And  again  the  Earl 
sent  the  barber  to  the  top  of  the  Abbey  tower,  and  the  man  hastily  descended 
in  fear  and  sorrow,  for  the  banner  of  young  de  Montfort  was  no  more  to  be  seen, 
but,  coming  nearer  and  nearer,  were  seen  the  standards  of  Prince  Edward,  and 
of  Mortimer,  and  of  Gloucester.  Then  saw  the  Earl  his  imminent  peril ;  and 
he  said,  according  to  one  writer,  "  God  have  our  souls  all,  our  days  are  all  done ;  " 
or,  according  to  another  writer,  "  Our  souls  God  have,  for  our  bodies  be  theirs." 
But  Montfort  was  not  a  man  to  fly.  Over  the  bridge  of  Evesham  he  might 
have  led  his  forces,  so  as  to  escape  from  the  perilous  position  in  which  he  was 
shut  up.  He  hastily  marched  northward,  with  King  Henry  his  prisoner,  at 
two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  that  day.  Before  nightfall  the  waters  of  the 
little  valley  were  blood-red.  Thousands  were  slain  between  those  two  hills ; 
thousands  fled,  but  there  was  no  escape  but  by  the  bridge  of  Evesham,  and  they 
perished  in  the  Avon.  The  old  King,  turned  loose  upon  a  war-horse  amidst  the 
terrible  conflict,  was  saved  from  death  at  the  hands  of  the  victors  by  crying 
out,  "  I  am  Henry  of  Winchester."  The  massacre  of  Evesham,  where  a  hun- 
152 


[Bridge  at  Evesham.] 

dred  ai.d  eighty  barons  and  knights,  in  arms  for  what  they  call  their  liberties, 
were  butchered  without  quarter,  was  a  final  measure  of  royal  vengeance.  It 
was  a  great  epic  story.  It  had  dramatic  points,  but  it  was  not  essentially 
dramatic.  If  Shakspere  had  chosen  the  wars  of  the  Barons,  instead  of  the  wars 
of  the  Roses,  for  a  vast  dramatic  theme,  the  fate  of  Simon  de  Montfort  and  his 
gallant  company  might  have  been  told  so  as  never  to  have  been  forgotten.  But 
he  had  another  tale  of  civil  war  to  tell ;  one  more  essentially  dramatic  in  the 
concentration  of  its  events,  the  rapid  changes  in  its  fortunes,  the  marked  cha 
racters  of  its  leaders.  On  the  battle-field  of  Evesham  he  would  indeed  medi 
tate  upon  "  The  ill  success  of  treason,  the  fall  of  hasty  climbers,  the  wretched 
end  of  usurpers,  the  misery  of  civil  dissension,  and  how  just  God  is  evermore 
in  punishing  murder."*  But  these  lessons  were  to  be  worked  out  more  em 
phatically  in  other  histories.  Another  Warwickshire  poet  would  sing  the  great 
Battle  of  Edward  and  Leicester : — 

"  In  that  black  night  before  this  sad  and  dismal  day, 
Were  apparitions  strange,  as  dread  Heaven  would  bewray 
The  horrors  to  ensue :  0  most  amazing  sight ! 
Two  armies  in  the  air  discerned  were  to  fight, 
Which  came  so  near  to  earth,  that  in  the  morn  they  found 
The  prints  of  horses'  feet  remaining  on  the  ground ; 
Which  came  but  as  a  show,  the  time  to  entertain 
Till  th'  angry  armies  join'd,  to  act  the  bloody  scene. 
Shrill  shouts,  and  deadly  cries,  each  way  the  air  do  fill, 
And  not  a  word  was  heard  from  either  side,  but  kill ; 
The  father  'gainst  the  sou,  the  brother  'gainst  the  brother, 
With  gleaves,  swords,  bills,  and  pikes,  were  murthering  one  another. 


Nashe, 


WII.UAM    SI!  AKSri.l;!.  : 

The  full  luxurious  earth  seems  surfeited  with  blood, 
Whilst  in  his  uncle's  gore  th*  unnatural  nephew  stood ; 
Whilst  with  their  charged  staves  the  desperate  horsemen  meet, 
They  hear  their  kinsmen  groan  under  their  horses'  feet. 
Dead  men,  and  weapons  broke,  do  on  the  earth  abound  ; 
The  drums,  bedash'd  with  brains,  do  give  a  dismal  sound. 
Great  Le'ster  there  expir'd,  with  Henry  hia  brave  son, 
When  many  a  high  exploit  they  in  that  day  had  done. 
Scarce  was  there  noble  house  of  which  those  times  could  tell, 
But  that  some  one  thereof  on  this  or  that  side  fell ; 
Amongst  the  slaughter'd  men  that  there  lay  heap'd  on  piles, 
Bohuns  and  Beauchamps  were,  Bassets  and  Mandeviles : 
Segraves  and  Saint  Johns  seek,  upon  the  end  of  all, 
To  crive  those  of  their  names  their  Christian  burial. 
Ten  thousand  on  both  sides  were  ta'en  and  slain  that  day  ; 
Prince  Edward  gets  the  goal,  and  bears  the  palm  away."  * 

There  is  peace  awhile  in  the  land.  A  strong  man  is  on  the  throne.  The 
first  Edward  dies,  and,  a  weak  and  profligate  sort  succeeding  him,  there  is 
again  misrule  and  turbulence.  Within  ten  miles  of  Stratford  there  was  a 
fearful  tragedy  enacted  in  the  year  1312.  On  the  little  knoll  called  Blacklow 
Hill,  about  a  mile  from  Warwick,  would  William  Shakspere  ponder  upon  the 
fate  of  Gaveston.  In  that  secluded  spot  all  around  him  would  be  peacefulness ; 
the  only  sound  of  life  about  him  would  be  the  dashing  of  the  wheel  of  the  old 
mill  at  Guy's  Cliff.  The  towers  of  Warwick  would  be  seen  rising  above  their 


[Mill  at  Guy'»  Cliff.] 


surrounding  trees  ;  and,  higher  than  all,  Guy's  Tower.  He  would  have  heard 
that  this  tower  was  not  so  called  from  the  Saxon  champion,  the  Guy  of  min 
strelsy,  whose  statue,  bearing  shield  and  sword,  he  had  often  looked  upon  in 
the  chapel  of  St.  Mary  Magdalen  at  Guy's  Cliff.  The  Tower  was  called  after 


*  Draytou's  '  Polyolbion/  22nd  Song. 
154 


[Ancient  Statue  of  Guy  at  Guy's  Cliff.  1 

I 

the    Guy    whose    common   name — a    name   of    opprobrium    fixed    on   him    by 
Gaveston — was  associated  with  that  of  his  maternal  ancestors, — Guy,  the  Black 
Dog  of  Arden.     And  then  the  tragedy  of  Blacklow  Hill,  as  he  recollected  this, 
would  present    itself   to    his    imagination.     There    is   a  prisoner  standing  in  the 
great   hall   of  Warwick   Castle.     He    is    unarmed ;    he    is  clad  in  holiday  vest 
ments,  but  they,  are  soiled  and  torn ;  his  face  is  pale  with  fear  and  the  fatigue 
of  a  night  journey.     By  force  has  he  been  hurried  some  thirty  miles  across  the 
country   from    Dedington,    near  Banbury;    and  amidst    the    shouts    of    soldiery 
and   the   rude   clang   of   drum    and  trumpet   has    he    entered   the   castle   of  his 
enemies,    where   they  are  sitting  upon  the  dais, — Warwick   and   Lancaster,   and 
Hereford   and    Arundel, — and   the    prisoner    stands    trembling    before    them,    a 
monarch's    minion,   but   one   whom   they   have    no   right   to   punish.      But   the 
sentence  is  pronounced  that  he  shall  die.     He  sued  for  mercy  to  those  whom 
he  had  called  "  the  black  dog"  and   "  the  old  hog,"  but  they  spurned  him.     A 
sad   procession  is  marshalled.     The  castle   gates  are  opened ;    the   drawbridge   is 
let  down.     In  silence  the  avengers  march  to  Blacklow  Hill,  with  their  prisoner 
in  the  midst.     He  dies  by  the   axe.     In  a  few  years  his   unhappy  master  falls 
still    more   miserably.     Here   is,  ihdeed,    a   story   fit   for  tragedy ;   and  that  the 
young    Shakspere   had   essayed   to   dramatize   it,    or   at   any   rate   had   formed  a 
dramatic   picture   of   so   remarkable  an   event,    one   so  fitted   for   the  display   of 
character   and   passion,    may   be   easily  conjectured.       But   it  was  a  story,  also, 
which   in   some   particulars  his  judgment   would   have  rejected,  as  unworthy  to 
be   dramatized.      Another   poet   would    arise,   a   man   of    undoubted   power,    of 
daring    genius,    of    fiery    temperament,    who    would    seize   upon    the    story    of 
Edward    II.    and    his    wretched   favourite,    and   produce   a   drama    that    should 
present   a   striking   contrast   to   the  drawling  histories  of  the  earlier  stage.     The 

155 


WILLIAM   SHAKSl'KKE  : 

subject    upon  which   the    "dead  Shepherd"  had   put   forth  his  strength  was  m.t 
to  be  touched  by  his  greater  rival.* 

A  reign  of  power  succeeds  to  one  of  weakness.  Edward  III.  is  upon  the 
throne.  William  Shakspere  is  familiar  with  the  great  events  of  this  reign ;  for 
the  '  Chronicles  '  of  Froissart,  translated  by  Lord  Berners,  have  more  than  the 
charm  of  the  romance-writers ;  they  present  realities  in  colours  more  brilliant 
than  those  of  fiction.  The  clerk  of  the  chamber  to  Queen  Philippa  is  overflow 
ing  with  that  genial  spirit  which  was  to  be  a  great  characteristic  of  Shakspere 
himself.  Froissart  looks  upon  nothing  with  indifference.  He  enters  most 
heartily  into  the  spirit  of  every  scene  into  which  he  is  thrown.  The  luxuries 
of  courts  unfit  him  not  for  a  relish  of  the  charms  of  nature.  The  fatigues  of 
camps  only  prepare  him  for  the  enjoyment  of  banquets  and  dances.  He  throws 
himself  into  the  boisterous  sports  of  the  field  at  one  moment,  and  is  proud  to 
produce  a  virelay  of  his  own  composition  at  another.  The  early  violets  and 
white  and  red  roses  are  sweet  to  his  sense  ;  and  so  is  a  night  draught  of  claret 
or  Rochelle  wine.  He  can  meditate  and  write  as  he  travels  alone  upon  his 
palfrey,  with  his  portmanteau,  having  no  follower  but  his  faithful  greyhound ; 
he  can  observe  and  store  up  in  his  memory  when  he  is  in  the  court  of  David  II. 
of  Scotland,  or  of  Gaston  de  Foix,  or  in  the  retinue  of  the  Black  Prince.  The 
hero  of  Froissart  is  Edward  Prince  of  Wales,  the  glorious  son  of  a  glorious 
father.  William  Shakspere  was  in  the  presence  of  local  associations  connected 
with  this  prince.  He  was  especially  Prince  of  Coventry ;  it  was  his  own  city ; 
and  he  gave  licence  to  build  its  walls  and  gates,  and  cherished  its  citizens,  and 
dwelt  among  them.  As  the  young  poet  walked  in  the  courts  of  the  old  hall  ot 
St.  Mary's,  itself  a  part  of  an  extensive  palace,  he  would  believe  that  the  prince 
had  sojourned  there  after  he  had  won  his  spurs  at  Cressy  ;  and  he  would  picture 
the  boy-hero,  as  Froissart  had  described  him,  left  by  his  confiding  father  in  the 
midst  of  danger  to  struggle  alone,  and  alone  to  triumph  : — "  The  prince's  bat 
talion  at  one  period  was  very  hard  pressed  ;  and  they  with  the  prince  sent  a 
messenger  to  the  king,  who  was  on  a  little  windmill  hill ;  then  the  knight  said 
to  the  king,  '  Sir,  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  and  the  Earl  of  Oxford,  Sir  Regnold 
Cobham,  and  others,  such  as  be  about  the  prince  your  son,  are  fiercely  fought 
withal,  and  are  sore  handled ;  wherefore  they  desire  you  that  you  and  your 
battle  will  come  and  aid  them  ;  for  if  the  Frenchmen  increase,  as  they  doubt 
they  will,  your  son  and  they  shall  have  much  ado.'  Then  the  king  said,  '  Is 
my  son  dead  or  hurt,  or  on  the  earth  felled  ?'  '  No,  Sir/  quoth  the  knight,  '  but 
he  his  hardly  matched,  wherefore  he  hath  need  of  your  aid.'  '  Well,'  said  the 
king,  '  return  to  him  and  to  them  that  sent  you  hither,  and  say  to  them  that 
they  send  no  more  to  me  for  any  adventure  that  falleth,  as  long  as  my  son  is 
alive ;  and  also  say  to  them  that  they  suffer  him  this  day  to  win  his  spurs,  for, 

•  The  notice  by  Shakspere  of  Marlowe,  in  As  You  Like  It,  in  one  of  the  few  examples  we  have 
of  any  mention  by  the  great  poet  of  his  contemporaries.  This  is  a  kind  notice  conveyed  in  the  in 
troduction  of  a  line  from  Marlowe's  '  Hero  and  Leander  :' — 

"  Dead  Shepherd  !  now  I  find  thy  saw  of  might, 
Who  ever  lov'd  that  lov'd  not  at  first  sight  ? " 


[St.  Mary's  Hall,  Court  Front.] 


if  God  be  pleased,  I  will  this  journey  be  his,  and  the  honour  thereof,  and  to 
them  that  be  about  him/  Then  the  knight  returned  again  to  them,  and  showed 
the  king's  words,  the  which  greatly  encouraged  them,  and  they  repined  in  that 
they  had  sent  to  the  king  as  they  did."  And  then,  it  may  be,  the  whole  epopee 
of  that  great  war  for  the  conquest  of  France  might  be  shaped  out  in  the  young 
man's  imagination,  and  amidst  its  chivalrous  daring,  its  fields  of  slaughter,  its 
perils  overcome  by  almost  superhuman  strength,  kings  and  princes  for  prisoners, 
and  the  conqueror  lowly  and  humble  in  his  triumph,  would  there  be  touching 
domestic  scenes, — Sir  Eustace  de  Pierre,  the  rich  burgher  of  Calais,  putting  his 
life  in  jeopardy  for  the  safety  of  the  good  town,  and  the  vengeance  of  the  stern 
conqueror  averted  by  his  gentle  queen,  all  arranging  themselves  into  something 
like  a  great  drama.  But  even  here  the  dramatic  interest  was  not  sustained. 
There  was  a  succession  of  stirring  events,  but  no  one  great  action  to  which  all 
other  actions  tended  and  were  subservient.  Cressy  is  fought,  Calais  is  taken, 
Poictiers  is  to  come,  after  the  hero  has  marched  through  the  country,  burning 

157 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPKIiK  : 

and  wasting,  regardless  of  the  people,  thinking  only  of  his  father's  disputed 
rights  ;  and  then  a  mercenary  war  in  Spain  in  a  bad  cause,  and  the  hero  dies  in 
his  bed,  and  the  war  for  conquest  is  to  generate  other  wars.  These  are  events 
that  belong  to  the  chronicler,  and  not  to  the  dramatist.  Romance  has  come  in 
to  lend  them  a  human  interest.  The  future  conqueror  of  France  is  to  be  a  weak 
lover  at  the  feet  of  a  Countess  of  Salisbury  ;  to  be  rejected  ;  to  cast  off  his  weak 
ness.  The  drama  may  mix  the  romance  and  the  chronicle  together  ;  it  has  done 
so :  but  we  believe  not  that  he  who  had  a  struggle  with  his  judgment  to  unite 
the  epic  and  the  dramatic  in  the  history  of  Henry  V.  ever  attempted  to  drama 
tize  the  story  of  Edward  III.* 

Warwick — it  is  full  of  historical  associations,  but  its  early  history  is  not  dra 
matic  according  to  the  notions  that  William  Shakspere  will  subsequently  work 
out.  Let  the  ballad -makers  and  the  heroic  pcets  that  are  to  follow  sing  the 
legend  of  Guy  the  Saxon,  and  his  combat  with  Colbrand  the  Dane.  The  stern 
power  of  the  later  Guy  is  for  another  to  dramatize.  Thomas  Earf  of  Warwick, 
who  led  the  van  at  Cressy,  shall  have  his  fame  with  the  Cobhams  and  the  Chan- 

•  See  our  Notice  of  the  play  entitled  '  The  Reign  of  Edward  III.'  in  the  Analysis  of  plays 
ascribed  to  Shakspere. 


[Warwick  Cnrtif.  from  the 


158 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

doses,  and  posterity  shall  look  upon  his  tomb  in  the  midst  of  the  choir  of  the 
collegiate  church  at  Warwick.  The  Earl  who  was  cast  aside  by  Richard  II. 
(he  also  was  named  Thomas)  shall  be  merged  in  the  eventful  history  of  that 
time ;  but  it  shall  be  recollected  that  he  built  "  that  strong  and  stately  tower 
standing  at  the  north-east  corner  of  the  Castle  here  at  Warwick."*  His  strong 
and  stately  tower  could  not  stead  him  in  his  necessity,  for  he  was  made  prisoner 
by  the  King  at  a  feast  to  which  he  was  treacherously  invited,  banished,  subse 
quently  imprisoned  in  the  Tower,  and  his  possessions  seized  upon.  The  fall  of 
Richard  restored  him  to  his  honours  and  possessions ;  and  he  was  enabled  to 
appoint  by  his  will  "  that  the  sword  and  coat  of  mail  sometime  belonging  to  the 
famous  Guy"  should  remain  to  his  son  and  his  heirs  after  him.  This  sword 
and  coat  of  mail  would  have  been  a  more  appropriate,  though  perhaps  not  a 
more  authentic,  relic  for  the  young  Shakspere  to  look  upon  than  the  famous 
porridge-pot  of  our  own  day.  In  the  reign  of  Henry  IV.  there  came  Earl 
Richard,  who  took  the  banner  of  Owen  Glendower,  and  fought  against  the  Percies 
at  Shrewsbury ;  who  voyaged  to  the  Holy  Land,  and  hung  up  his  offerings 
at  the  holy  sepulchre  at  Jerusalem,  and  was  royally  feasted  by  the  Soldan's 
lieutenant,  "  hearing  that  he  was  descended  from  the  famous  Sir  Guy  of  War 
wick,  whose  story  they  had  in  books  of  their  own  language. "f  And  it  was  he 
who  was  sent  to  France  to  treat  for  the  marriage  of  Henry  V.  with  the  Lady 
Katherine ;  and  it  was  he  who,  after  the  death  of  the  Conqueror  of  Agincourt, 
had  tutelage  of  the  young  Henry  his  son;  and  was  lieutenant-general  and 
governor  of  the  realm  of  France.  The  remainder  of  his  history  might  be  read 
by  William  Shakspere,  inscribed  upon  that  splendid  monument  which  he  erected 
in  the  chapel  called  after  his  name,  and  ordered  by  his  will  to  be  built  adjoining 
the  collegiate  church.  Visited  by  long  sickness,  he  died  in  the  Castle  at  Rouen. 
His  monument  is  still  a  glorious  specimen  of  the  arts  of  the  middle  ages,  and  so 
is  the  chapel  under  whose  roof  it  is  erected.  Another  lord  of  Warwick  suc 
ceeded,  who,  having  been  created  Duke  of  Warwick,  moved  the  envy  of  other 
great  ones  in  that  time  of  faction :  but  he  died  young,  and  without  issue ;  and 
his  sister,  the  wife  of  Richard  Neville,  succeeded  to  her  brother's  lands  and 
castles,  and  by  patent  her  husband  became  Earl  of  Warwick.  This  was  indeed 
a  mighty  man,  the  stout  Earl  of  Warwick,  the  king-maker,  he  who  first  fought 
at  St.  Albans  in  the  great  cause  of  York,  and  after  many  changes  of  opinion 
and  of  fortune  fell  at  Barnet  in  the  cause  of  Lancaster.  The  history  of  this, 
the  greatest  of  the  lords  of  the  ragged  staff,  is  in  itself  a  wonderful  drama,  in  a 
series  of  dramas  that  are  held  together  by  a  strong  poetical  chain.  The  first 
scene  of  this  great  series  of  dramas  begins  when  the  Duke  of  Hereford  and  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk  meet  in  the  lists 

"  At  Coventry  upon  St.  Lambert's  clay."  J 

The  last  scene  is  at  Bosworth,  when  he  who  is  held  to  have  wanted  every  virtue 
but  courage  left  the  world  exclaiming 

"  A  horge,  a  horse,  my  kingdom  for  a  horse  !"§ 

*  Dugdale,  quoting  Walsingham.  t  Dugdale. 

J  Richard  II.,  Act  I.  §  Richard  III.,  Act  v 

1  *>»T 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  : 

The  family  traditions  of  William  Shakspere;  the  Chronicle  "of  the  two  noble 
and  illustre  Families  of  Lancaster  and  York,"  his  household  book;  the  localities 
amidst  which  he  dwelt ;  must  have  concurred  early  in  fixing  his  imagination 
upon  the  dramatic  capabilities  of  that  magnificent  story  which  has  given  us  a 
series  of  eight  poetical  '  Chronicle  Histories,'  of  which  a  German  critic  has  said, — 
"  The  historian  who  cannot  learn  from  them  is  not  yet  perfect  in  his  own  art."" 

*  Tiock.     '  Dramatnrgische  Blatter. 


mp  Chapel,  Warwick  | 


160 


(St.  Mary's  Hall— Interior., 


CHAPTER    XII. 


YOEK  AND  LANCASTER. 


HALL,  the  chronicler,  writing  his  history  of  '  The  Families  of  Lancaster  and 
York/  about  seventy  years  after  the  "  continual  dissension  for  the  crown  of  this 
noble  realm  "  was  terminated,  says, — "  What  nobleman  liveth  at  this  day,  or  what 
gentleman  of  any  ancient  stock  or  progeny  is  clear,  whose  lineage  hath  not  been 
infested  and  plagued  with  this  unnatural  division?"  During  the  boyhood  of 
William  Shakspere,  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  he  would  meet  with  many  a  gentle 
man,  and  many  a  yeoman,  who  would  tell  him  how  their  forefathers  had  been 
LIFE.  M  Tfll 


WILLIAM  SIIAKSIM:I;I: 

thus  "  infested  and  plagued."  The  traditions  of  the  most  stirring  events  of  that 
contest  would  at  this  time  be  about  a  century  old  ;  generally  diluted  in  their 
interest  by  passing  through  the  lips  of  three  or  four  generations,  but  occasionally 
presented  vividly  to  the  mind  of  the  inquiring  boy  in  the  narration  of  some 
amongst  the  "  hoary-headed  eld,"  whose  fathers  had  fought  at  Bosworth  or 
Tewksbury.  Many  of  these  traditions,  too,  would  be  essentially  local  ;•  extend 
ing  back  even  to  the  period  when  the  banished  Duke  of  Hereford,  in  his  bold 
march 

"  From  Ravenspurg  to  CotawolJ,"  * 

gathered  a  host  of  followers  in  the  counties  of  Derby,  Nottingham,  Leicester, 
Warwick,  and  Worcester.  Fields,  where  battles  had  been  fought ;  towns,  where 
parliaments  had  assembled,  and  treaties  had  been  ratified  ;  castles,  where  the 
great  leaders  had  stood  at  bay,  or  had  sallied  forth  upon  the  terrified  country — 
such  were  the  objects  which  the  young  poet  would  associate  with  many  an 
elaborate  description  of  the  chroniclers,  and  many  an  interesting  anecdote  of  his 
ancient  neighbours.  Let  us  endeavour  rapidly  to  trace  such  portion  of  the 
history  of  these  events  as  may  be  placed  in  association  with  the  localities  that 
were  familiar  to  William  Shakspere ;  for  it  appears  to  us  that  his  dramatic 
power  was  early  directed  towards  this  long  and  complicated  story,  by  some  prin 
ciple  even  more  exciting  than  its  capabilities  for  the  purposes  of  the  drama.  It 
was  the  story,  we  think,  which  was  presented  to  him  in  the  evening-talk  around 
the  hearth  of  his  childhood ;  it  was  the  story  whose  written  details  were  most 
accessible  to  him,  being  narrated  by  Hall  with  a  rare  minuteness  of  picturesque 
circumstance  ;  but  it  was  a  story  also  of  which  his  own  district  had  been  the 
scene,  in  many  of  its  most  stirring  events.  Out  of  ten  English  Historical  Plays 
which  were  written  by  him,  and  some  undoubtedly  amongst  his  first  perform 
ances,  he  has  devoted  eight  to  circumstances  belonging  to  this  memorable  story. 
No  other  nation  ever  possessed  such  a  history  of  the  events  of  a  century, — a 
history  in  which  the  agents  are  not  the  hard  abstractions  of  warriors  and  states 
men,  but  men  of  flesh  and  blood  like  ourselves  ;  men  of  passion,  and  crime,  and 
virtue  ;  elevated  perhaps  by  the  poetical  art,  but  filled,  also  through  that  art, 
with  such  a  wondrous  life,  that  we  dwell  amongst  them  as  if  they  were  of  our 
own  day,  and  feel  that  they  must  have  spoken  as  he  has  made  them  speak,  and 
act  as  he  has  made  them  act.  It  is  in  vain  that  we  are  told  that  some  events  are 
omitted,  and  some  transposed  ;  that  documentary  history  does  not  exhibit  its 
evidence  here,  that  a  contemporary  narrative  somewhat  militates  against  the 
representation  there.  The  general  truth  of  this  dramatic  history  cannot  be 
shaken.  It  is  a  philosophical  history  in  the  very  highest  sense  of  that  some 
what  abused  term.  It  contains  the  philosophy  that  can  only  be  produced  by 
the  union  of  the  noblest  imagination  with  the  most  just  and  temperate  judg 
ment.  It  is  the  loftiness  of  the  poetical  spirit  which  has  enabled  Shakspere 
alone  to  write  this  history  with  impartiality.  Open  the  chroniclers,  and  we 

"  Richard  II.,  Act  n.,  Scene  in. 
162 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

find  the  prejudices  of  the  Yorkist  or  the  Lancastrian  manifesting  the  intensity 
of  the  old  factious  hatred.  Who  can  say  to  which  faction  Shakspere  belongs  ? 
He  has  comprehended  the  whole,  whilst  others  knew  only  a  part. 

After  the  first  two  or  three  pages  of  Hall's  '  Chronicle/  we  are  plunged  into 
the  midst  of  a  scene,  gorgeous  in  all  the  pomp  of  chivalry  •  a  combat  for  life  or 
death,  made  the  occasion  of  a  display  of  regal  magnificence  such  as  had  been 
seldom  presented  in  England.  The  old  chronicler  of  the  two  Houses  puts  forth 
all  his  strength  in  the  description  of  such  scenes.  He  slightly  passes  over  the 
original  quarrel  between  Hereford  and  Norfolk  :  the  pride,  and  the  passion,  and 
the  kingly  craft,  are  left  for  others  to  delineate  ;  but  the  "  sumptuous  theatre 
and  lists  royal "  at  The  city  of  Coventry  are  set  forth  with  wondrous  exactness. 
We  behold  the  High  Constable  and  the  High  Marshal  of  England  enter  the 
lists  with  a  great  company  of  men  in  silk  sendall,  embroidered  with  silver,  to 
keep  the  field.  The  Duke  of  Hereford  appears  at  the  barriers,  on  his  white 
courser  barbed  with  blue  and  green  velvet,  embroidered  with  swans  and  ante 
lopes  of  goldsmith's  work  ;  and  there  he  swears  upon  the  Holy  Evangelists  that 
his  quarrel  is  true  and  just ;  and  he  enters  the  lists,  and  sits  down  in  a  chair  of 
green  velvet.  Then  comes  the  King,  with  ten  thousand  men  in  harness  ;  and 
he  takes  his  seat  upon  a  stage,  richly  hanged  and  pleasantly  adorned.  The 
Duke  of  Norfolk  hovers  at  the  entry  of  the  lists,  his  horse  being  barbed  with 
crimson  velvet,  embroidered  with  lions  of  silver  and  mulberry-trees ;  and  he, 
having  also  made  oath,  enters  the  field  manfully,  and  sits  down  in  his  chair  of 
crimson  velvet.  One  reader  of  Hall's  pompous  description  of  the  lists  at  Coventry 
will  invest  that  scene  with  something  richer  than  velvet  and  goldsmith's  work. 
He  will  make  the  champions  speak  something  more  than  the  formal  words  of 
the  chivalric  defiance ;  and  yet  the  scene  shall  still  be  painted  with  the  minutest 
ceremonial  observance.  We  in  vain  look,  at  the  present  day,  within  the  streets 
once  enclosed  by  the  walls  of  Coventry,  for  the  lists  where,  if  Richard  had  not 
thrown  down  his  warder,  the  story  of  the  wars  of  the  Roses  might  not  have  been 
written.  Probably  in  the  days  of  the  young  Shakspere  the  precise  scene  of 
that  event  might  have  been  pointed  out.  The  manor  of  Cheylesmore,  which 
was  granted  by  Edward  III.  to  the  Black  Prince  for  the  better  support  of  his 
honour  as  Duke  of  Cornwall,  descended  to  his  son  Richard ;  and  in  the  eighth 
year  of  his  reign,  "  the  walls  on  the  south  part  of  this  city  being  not  built,  the 
mayor,  bailiffs,  and  commonalty  thereof  humbly  besought  the  King  to  give  them 
leave  that  they  might  go  forward  with  that  work,  who  thereupon  granted 
licence  to  them  so  to  do,  on  condition  that  they  should  include  within  their 
walls  his  said  manor-place  standing  within  the  park  of  Cheylesmore,  as  the 
record  expresseth,  which  park  was  a  woody  ground  in  those  times.""  En 
croached  upon,  no  doubt,  was  this  park  in  the  age  of  Elizabeth.  But  Coventry 
would  then  have  abundant  memorials  of  its  ancient  magnificence  which  have 
now  perished.  He  who  wrote  the  glorious  scene  of  the  lists  upon  St.  Lambert's 
day  in  all  probability  derived  some  inspiration  from  the  genius  loci. 

The   challenger   and   the  challenged  are  each  banished.     John   of  Gaunt   dies, 

*  Dugdale. 
M  2  163 


WILLIAM   SIIAKSPKKK  . 

and  the  King  seizes  upon  the  possessions  of  his  dangerous  son.  Then  begins 
that  vengeance  which  is  to  harass  England  with  a  century  of  blood.  Hal!  and 
Froissart  make  the  Duke  of  Lancaster,  after  his  landing,  march  direct  to  Lon 
don,  and  afterwards  proceed  to  the  west  of  England.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that  they  were  wrong ;  that  the  Duke,  having  brought  with  him  a  very  small 
force,  marched  as  quickly  as  possible  into  the  midland  counties,  where  he  had 
many  castles  and  possessions,  and  in  which  he  might  raise  a  numerous  army 
among  his  own  friends  and  retainers.  The  local  knowledge  of  the  poet,  founded 
upon  traditionary  information,  would  have  enabled  him  to  decide  upon  the 
correctness  of  the  statement  which  shows  Bolingbroke  marching  direct  from 
Ravenspurg  to  Berkeley  Castle.  The  natural  and  easy  dialogue  between 
Bolingbroke  and  Northumberland  exhibits  as  much  local  accuracy  in  a  single 
line  as  if  the  poet  had  given  us  a  laboured  description  of  the  Cotswolds : — 

"  I  am  a  stranger  here  in  Glostershire. 
Theoe  high  wild  hills,  and  rough  uneven  ways, 
Draw  out  our  miles,  and  make  them  wearisome."  * 

In  a  few  weeks  England  sustains  a  revolution.  The  King  is  deposed ;  the 
great  Duke  is  on  the  throne.  Two  or  three  years  of  discontent  and  intrigue, 
and  then  insurrection.  Shrewsbury  can  scarcely  be  called  one  of  Shakspere's 
native  localities,  yet  it  is  clear  that  he  was  familiar  with  the  place.  In 
Falstaff's  march  from  London  to  Shrewsbury  the  poet  glances,  lovingly  as  it 
were,  at  the  old  well-known  scenes.  "  The  red-nosed  innkeeper  at  Daventry " 
had  assuredly  filled  a  glass  of  sack  for  him.  The  distance  from  Coventry  to 
Sutton-Coldfield  was  accurately  known  by  him,  when  he  makes  the  burly 
commander  say — "  Bardolph,  get  thee  before  to  Coventry ;  fill  me  a  bottle  of 
sack :  our  soldiers  shall  march  through :  we  '11  to  Sutton  Cophill  to-night."f 
Shakspere,  it  seems  to  us,  could  scarcely  resist  the  temptation  of  showing  the 
Prince  in  Warwickshire: — "What,  Hal?  How  now,  mad  wag?  What  a  devil 
dost  thou  in  Warwickshire?"  A  word  or  two  tells  us  that  the  poet  had  seen 
the  field  of  Shrewsbury  : — 

"  How  bloodily  the  sun  begins  to  peer 
Above  yon  busky  hill ! " 

The  Chronicle  informs  us  that  Henry  had  marched  with  a  great  army  towards 
Wales  to  encounter  Percy  and  Douglas,  who  were  coming  from  the  north  to 
join  with  Glendower ;  and  then,  "  The  King,  hearing  of  the  Earls'  approaching, 
thought  it  policy  to  encounter  with  them  before  that  the  Welshman  should 
join  with  their  army,  and  so  include  him  on  both  parts,  and  therefore  returned 
suddenly  to  the  town  of  Shrewsbury.  He  was  scantly  entered  into  the  town, 

•  Richard  II.,  Act  ii.,  Scene  m. 

+  All    the   old  copies  of  The  First  Part  of  Henry  IV.  have  Cop-hill.     There  is  no  doubt  that 
Sutton  Coldjuld,  as  it  is  now  spelt,  was  meant  by  Cop-hill;  but  the  old  printers,  we  believe,  im 
properly  introduced  the  hyphen ;  for  Dugdale,  in  his  map,  spells  the  word  Cofeild;  and  it  is  easy  to 
see  how  the  common  pronunciation  would  be  Cophill,  or  Cofill. 
164 


> 


[Shrewsbury.] 

but  he  was  by  his  posts  advertised  that  the  Earls,  with  banners  displayed  and 
battles  ranged,  were  coming  toward  him,  and  were  so  hot  and  so  courageous 
that  they  with  light  horses  began  to  skirmish  with  his  host.  The  King,  per 
ceiving  their  doings,  issued  out,  and  encamped  himself  without  the  east  gate 
of  the  town.  The  Earls,  nothing  abashed  although  their  succours  them  deceived, 
embattled  themselves  not  far  from  the  King's  army."  There  was  a  night  of 
watchfulness  ;  and  then,  "  the  next  day  in  the  morning  early,  which  was  the 
vigil  of  Mary  Magdalen,  the  King,  perceiving  that  the  battle  was  nearer  than 
he  either  thought  or  looked  for,  lest  that  long  tarrying  might  be  a  minishing 
of  his  strength,  set  his  battles  in  good  order."  The  scene  of  this  great  contest 
is  well  defined ;  the  King  has  encamped  himself  without  the  east  gate  of 
Shrewsbury.  The  poet,  by  one  of  his  magical  touches,  shows  us  the  sun  rising 
upon  the  hostile  armies ;  but  he  is  more  minute  than  the  chronicler.  The 
King  is  looking  eastward,  and  he  sees  the  sun  rising  over  a  wooded  hill.  This 
is  not  only  poetical,  but  it  is  true.  He  who  stands  upon  the  plain  on  the  east 
side  of  Shrewsbury,  the  Battle  Field  as  it  is  now  called,  waiting,  not  "  a  long 
hour  by  Shrewsbury  clock,"  but  waiting  till  the  minute 

"  when  the  morning  sun  shall  raise  his  car 
Above  the  border  of  this  horizon," 

will  see    that    sun    rise    over   a  "  busky   hill,"    Haughmond   Hill.     We  may  well 


-  Henry  VI.,  Part  III.;  Act  IV.,  Scene  VIL 


1C5 


WILLIAM    sn  \KSI-I:  1:1: : 

believe  therefore,  from  this  accuracy,  that  Shrewsbury  had  lent  a  local  interest 
in  the  mind  of  Shakspere  to  the  dramatic  conception  of  the  death-scene  of  the 
gallant  Percy.  Insurrection  was  not  crushed  at  Shrewsbury ;  but  the  course 
of  its  action  does  not  lie  in  the  native  district  of  the  poet.  Yet  his  Falstart 
has  an  especial  affection  for  these  familiar  scenes,  and  perhaps  through  him 
the  poet  described  some  of  the  "  old  familiar  faces."  Shallow  and  Silence 
assuredly  they  were  his  good  neighbours.  We  think  there  was  a  tear  in  his 
eye  when  he  wrote,  "  And  is  old  Double  dead  ? "  Mouldy,  and  Shadow,  and 
Wart,  and  Feeble — were  they  not  the  representatives  of  the  valiant  men  of 
Stratford,  upon  whom  the  Corporation  annually  expended  large  sums  for 
harness?  After  the  treacherous  putting  down  of  rebellion  at  Gualtree  Forest, 
Falstaff  casts  a  longing  look  towards  the  fair  seat  of  "  Master  Robert  Shallow, 
Esquire."  "  My  lord,  I  beseech  you  give  me  leave  to  go  through  Gloucester 
shire."  We  are  not  now  far  out  of  the  range  of  Shakspere's  youthful  journeys 
around  Stratford.  Shallow  will  make  the  poor  carter  answer  it  in  his  wages 
"  about  the  sack  he  lost  the  other  day  at  Hinckley  Fair."  "  William  Visor  of 
Wincot,"  that  arrant  knave  who,  according  to  honest  and  charitable  Davy 
"  should  have  some  countenance  at  his  friend's  request,"  was  he  a  neighbour 
of  Christopher  Sly's  "  fat  ale-wife  of  Wincot ;  "  and  did  they  dwell  together  in 
the  Wincot  of  the  parish  of  Aston-Clifford,  or  the  Wilmecote  of  the  parish  of 
Aston-Cantlow  ?  The  chroniclers  are  silent  upon  this  point ;  and  they  tell  us 
nothing  of  the  history  of  "  Clement  Perkes  of  the  Hill."  The  chroniclers  deal 
with  less  happy  and  less  useful  sojourners  on  the  earth.  Even  "  gooaman 
Puff  of  Barson,"  one  of  "  the  greatest  men  in  the  realm,"  has  no  fame  beyond 
the  immortality  which  Master  Silence  has  bestowed  upon  him. 

The  four  great  historical  dramas  which  exhibit  the  fall  of  Richard  II.,  the 
triumph  of  Bolingbroke,  the  inquietudes  of  Henry  IV.,  the  wild  career  of  his 
son  ending  in  a  reign  of  chivalrous  daring  and'  victory,  were  undoubtedly 
written  after  the  four  other  plays  of  which  the  great  theme  was  the  war  of  the 
Roses.  The  local  associations  which  might  have  influenced  the  young  poet  in 
the  choice  of  the  latter  subject  would  be  concentrated,  in  a  great  degree,  upon 
Warwick  Castle.  The  hero  of  these  wars  was  unquestionably  Richard  Neville. 
It  was  a  Beauchamp  who  fought  at  Agincourt  in  that  goodly  company  who 
were  to  be  remembered  "  to  the  ending  of  the  world," — 

"  Harry  the  king,  Bedford  and  Exeter, 

Warwick  and  Talbot,  Salisbury  and  Gloucester." 

He  ordained  in  his  will  that  in  his  chapel  at  Warwick  "  three  masses  every  day 
should  be  sung  as  long  as  the  world  might  endure."  The  masses  have  long 
since  ceased  ;  but  his  tomb  still  stands,  and  he  has  a  memorial  that  will  last 
longer  than  his  tomb.  The  chronicler  passes  over  his  fame  at  Agincourt,  but 
the  dramatist  records  it.  Did  the  poet's  familiarity  with  those  noble  towers  in 
which  the  Beauchamp  had  lived  suggest  this  honour  to  his  memory  ?  But 
here,  at  any  rate,  was  the  stronghold  of  the  Neville.  Here,  when  the  land  was 
at  peace  in  the  dead  sleep  of  weak  government,  which  was  to  be  succeeded  by 
1C6 


[Entrance  to  Warwick  Castle.] 


fearful  action,  the  great  Earl  dwelt  with  more  than  a  monarch's  pomp,  having 
his  own  officer-at-arms  called  Warwick  herald,  with  hundreds  of  friends  and 
dependants  bearing  about  his  badge  of  the  ragged  staff;  for  whose  boundless 
hospitality  there  was  daily  provision  made  as  for  the  wants  of  an  army  ;  whose 
manors  and  castles  and  houses  were  to  be  numbered  in  almost  every  county ; 
and  who  not  only  had  pre-eminence  over  every  Earl  in  the  land,  but,  as  Great 
Captain  of  the  Sea,  received  to  his  own  use  the  King's  tonnage  and  poundage. 
When  William  Shakspere  looked  upon  this  castle  in  his  youth,  a  peaceful  Earl 
dwelt  within  it,  the  brother  of  the  proud  Leicester — the  son  of  the  ambitious 
Northumberland  who  had  suffered  death  in  the  attempt  to  make  Lady  Jane 
Grey  queen,  but  whose  heir  had  been  restored  in  blood  by  Mary.  Warwick 
Castle,  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  was  peaceful  as  the  river  which  glided  by  it, 
the  most  beautiful  of  fortress  palaces.  No  prisoners  lingered  in  its  donjon 
keep ;  the  beacon  blazed  not  upon  its  battlements,  the  warder  looked  not 
anxiously  out  to  see  if  all  was  quiet  on  the  road  from  Kenilworth ;  the  draw 
bridge  was  let  down  for  the  curious  stranger,  and  he  might  refresh  himself  in  the 
buttery  without  suspicion.  .  Here,  then,  might  the  young  poet  gather  from  the 
old  servants  of  the  house  some  of  the  traditions  of  a  century  previous,  when  the 
followers  of  the  great  Earl  were  ever  in  fortress  or  in  camp,  and  for  a  while  there 
seemed  to  be  no  king  in  England,  but  the  name  of  Warwick  was  greater  than 
that  of  kin"  Here,  in  the  quiet  woods  and  launds  of  this  castle,  or  stretched 

167 


WILLIAM    SHAKSI'I 

on  the  bank  of  his  own  Avon  beneath  its  high  walls,  might  he  have  imagined, 
without  the  authority  of  any  chronicler,  that  scene  in  the  Temple  Gardens 
which  was  to  connect  the  story  of  the  wars  in  France  with  the  coming  events 
in  England.  In  this  scene  the  Earl  of  Warwick  first  plucks  the  "  white  rose 
with  Plantagenet ;  "  and  it  is  Warwick  who  prophesies  what  is  to  come : — 

"  This  brawl  to-day 

Grown  to  this  faction,  in  the  Temple  garden, 
Shall  send,  between  the  red  rose  and  the  white, 
A  thousand  souls  to  death  and  deadly  night."  * 

In  the  connected  plays  which  form  the  Three  Parts  of  Henry  VI.,  the  Earl 
of  Warwick,  with  some  violation  of  chronological  accuracy,  is  constantly  brought 
forward  in  a  prominent  situation.  When  the  "  brave  peers  of  England "  unite 
in  denouncing  the  marriage  of  Henry  with  Margaret  of  Anjou,  the  Earl  of 
Salisbury  says  to  his  bold  heir : — 

"  Warwick,  my  son,  the  comfort  of  my  age, 

Thy  deeds,  thy  plainness,  and  thy  housekeeping, 
Hath  won  the  greatest  favour  of  the  Commons."t 

In  a  subsequent  scene,  Beaufort  calls  him  "  ambitious  Warwick."  A  scene  or 
two  onward,  and  Warwick,  after  privately  acknowledging  the  title  of  Richard 
Duke  of  York,  exclaims — 

"  My  heart  assures  me  that  the  earl  of  Warwick 
Shall  one  day  make  the  duke  of  York  a  king." 


«  Henry  VI.,  Part  I.,  Act  ir.,  Scene  iv. 


t  Henry  VI.,  Part  II.,  Act  n.,  Scene 


[Warwick,  from  Lodge  Hill.1 


1G8 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

It  is  he,  the  "  blunt-witted  lord,"  that  defies  Suffolk,  and  sets  the  men  of  Bury 
upon  him  to  demand  his  banishment.  It  is  he  who  stands  by  the  bed  of  the 
dying  Beaufort,  judging  that 

"  So  bad  a  death  argues  a  monstrous  life." 

All  this  is  skilfully  managed  by  the  dramatist,  to  keep  Warwick  constantly 
before  the  eyes  of  his  audience,  before  he  is  embarked  in  the  great  contest  for 
the  crown.  The  poet  has  given  Warwick  an  early  importance,  which  the 
chroniclers  of  the  age  do  not  assign  to  him.  He  is  dramatically  correct  in  so 
doing ;  but,  at  the  same  time",  his  judgment  might  in  some  degree  have  been 
governed  by  the  strength  of  local  associations.  Once  embarked  in  the  great 
quarrel,  Warwick  is  the  presiding  genius  of  the  scene  : — 

"  Now,  by  my  father's  badge,  old  Neva's  crest, 
The  rampant  bear  chain'd  to  the  ragged  staif, 
This  day  I  '11  wear  aloft  my  burgonet, 
As  on  a  mountain-top  the  cedar  shows 
That  keeps  his  leaves  in  spite  of  any  storm."  * 

The  sword  is  first  unsheathed  in  that  battle-field  of  St.  Albans.  After  three  or 
four  years  of  forced  quiet  it  is 'again  drawn.  The  "  she-wolf  of  France  "  plunges 
her  fangs  into  the  blood  of  York  at  Wakefield,  after  Warwick  has  won  the  great 
battle  of  Northampton.  The  crown  is  achieved  by  the  son  of  York  at  the  field 
of  Towton,  where 

"  Warwick  rages  like  a  chafed  bull." 

The   poet   necessarily   hurries    over   events   which  occupy  a   large   space   in    the 
narratives  of  the  historian.      The  rash  marriage  of  Edward  provokes  the  resent 
ment  of  Warwick,  and  his  power  is  now  devoted  to  set  up  the  fallen  house  of 
Lancaster.      Shakspere  is  then   again   in   his   native   localities.     After   the  battle 
of   Banbury,  according   to  the   chronicler,   "the   northern   men   resorted    toward 
Warwick,  where  the  Earl  had  gathered  a  great  multitude  of  people.   ...... 

The   King  likewise,  sore  thirsting  to  recover  his  loss  late  sustained,  and  desirous 
to   be   revenged    of   the   death   and   murders    of  his  lords  and   friends,  marched 
toward  Warwick  with  a  great  army.  .   .'..  All  the  King's  doings  were  by  espials 
declared  to  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  which,  like  a  wise  and  politic  captain,  intend 
ing  not  to  lose  so  great  an  advantage  to  him  given,  but  trusting  to  bring  all  his 
purposes  to    a  final   end    and  determination,    by   only   obtaining   this   enterprise, 
in  the  dead  of  the  night,  with  an  elect  company  of  men  of  war,  as  secretly  a 
was  possible  set  on  the   King's  field,  killing  them  that  kept  the  watch,  and 
the    King  was  ware    (for  he  thought  of  nothing  less  than   of  that   chance   that 
happened),  at   a  place  called  Wolney   (Wolvey),  four  mile  from  Warwick,  he  was 
taken  prisoner,  and   brought   to  the  Castle  of  Warwick."t     The  statement  that 
Wolvey  is  four  miles  from   Warwick  is  one  of  many  examples  of  the  mace 
of  the   old  annalists   in  matters  of  distance.     It  is  upon  the  borders  o: 

*  Henry  VI.,  Part  II.,  Act  v.,  Scene  HI.  t  Hall. 


WILLIAM  SII.\KS!'I:I;K: 

shire,  Coventry  lying  equidistant  between  Wolvey  and  Warwick.  Shakspore 
has  dramatized  the  scene  of  Edward's  capture.  Edward  escapes  from  Middle- 
ham  Castle,  and,  after  a  short  banishment,  lands  again  with  a  few  followers  in 
England,  to  place  himself  again  upon  the  throne,  by  a  movement  which  has  only 
one  parallel  in  history.*  Shakspere  describes  his  countrymen,  in  the  speech 
which  the  great  Earl  delivers  for  the  encouragement  of  Henry  : — 

"  In  Warwickshire  I  have  true-hearted  friends, 
Xot  mutinous  in  peace,  yet  bold  in  war; 
Those  will  I  muster  up." 

Henry  is  again  seized  by  the  Yorkists.  Warwick,  "  the  great-grown  traitor,'-' 
is  at  the  head  of  his  native  forces.  The  local  knowledge  of  the  poet  is  now 
rapidly  put  forth  in  the  scene  upon  the  walls  of  Coventry  : — 

"  War.  Where  is  the  post  that  comes  from  valiant  Oxford  ? 
How  far  hence  is  thy  lord,  mine  honest  fellow  ? 

1  Mess.  By  this  at  Dunsmore,  marching  thitherward. 
War.  How  far  off  is  our  brother  Montague  ? 

Where  is  the  post  that  came  from  Montague  ? 

2  Mess.  By  this  at  Daintry,  with  a  puissant  troop. 

Enter  Sir  JOHN  SOMERVILLE. 

War.  Say,  Somerville,  what  says  my  loving  son  ? 
And,  by  thy  guess,  how  nigh  is  Clarence  now  ? 

Som.  At  Southam.  I  did  leave  him  with  his  forces, 
And  do  expect  him  here  some  two  hours  hence. 

[Drum  heard. 

War.  Then  Clarence  is  at  hand,  I  hear  his  drum. 

Som.  It  is  not  his,  my  lord  ;  here  Soutkam  lies ; 
The  drum  your  honour  hears  marcheth  from  Warwick."  f 

The  chronicler  tells  the  great  event  of  the  encounter  of  the  two  leaders  at 
Coventry,  which  the  poet  has  so  spiritedly  dramatized  : — "  In  the  mean  season 
King  Edward  came  to  Warwick,  where  he  found  all  the  people  departed,  and 
from  thence  with  all  diligence  advanced  his  power  toward  Coventry,  and  in  a 
plain  by  the  city  he  pitched  his  field.  And  the  next  day  after  that  he  came 
thither  his  men  were  set  forward  and  marshalled  in  array,  and  he  valiantly 
bade  the  Earl  battle  :  which,  mistrusting  that  he  should  be  deceived  by  the  Duke 
of  Clarence,  as  he  was  indeed,  kept  himself  close  within  the  walls.  And  yet 
he  had  perfect  word  that  the  Duke  of  Clarence  came  forward  toward  him  with 
a  great  army.  King  Edward,  being  also  thereof  informed,  raised  his  camp,  and 
made  toward  the  Duke.  And  lest  that  there  might  be  thought  some  fraud  to 
be  cloaked  between  them,  the  King  set  his  battles  in  an  order,  as  though  he 
would  fight  without  any  longer  delay ;  the  Duke  did  likewise."  J  Then  "  a 

•  The  landing  of  Bonaparte  from  Elba,  and  Edward  at  Ravenspurg,  are  remarkably  similar  in 
their  rapidity  and  their  boldness,  though  very  different  in  their  final  consequences. 
+  Henry  VI.,  Part  III,  Act  v.,  Scene  i. 
J  Hall. 

170 


[St.  Mary's  Hall— Street  Front.] 


fraternal  amity  was  concluded  and  proclaimed,"  which  was  the  ruin  of  War 
wick,  and  of  the  House  of  Lancaster.  Ten  years  before  these  events,  in  the 
Parliament  held  in  this  same  city  of  Coventry — a  city  which  had  received 
great  benefits  from  Henry  VI. — York,  and  Salisbury,  and  Warwick  had  been 
attainted.  And  now  Warwick  held  the  city  for  him  who  had  in  that  same  city 
denounced  him  as  a  traitor.  With  store  of  ordnance,  and  warlike  equipments, 
had  the  great  Captain  lain  in  this  city  for  a  few  weeks ;  and  he  was  honoured 
as  one  greater  than  either  of  the  rival  Kings — one  who  could  bestow  a  crown 
and  who  could  take  a  crown  away ;  and  he  sate  in  state  in  the  old  halls  of 
Coventry,  and  prayers  went  up  for^his  cause  in  its  many  churches,  and  the 
proud  city's  municipal  officers  were  as  his  servants.  He  marched  out  of  the 
city  with  his  forces,  after  Palm  Sunday;  and  on  Easter-day  the  quarrel  between 
him  and  the  perjured  Clarence  and  the  luxurious  Edward  was  settled  for  ever 
upon  Barnet  Field  : — 

"  Thus  yields  the  cedar  to  the  axe's  edge, 

Whose  £rms  gave  shelter  to  the  princely  eagle ; 
Under  v/hose  shade  the  raui{  iDg  lion  slept  ; 

17! 


\vn.i.i  \M 

Whose  top-braucli  overjR'er'd  Jove's  spreading  f.ret1, 
Aud  kept  low  shrubs  from  winter's  powerful  wind."  ' 

The  Battle  of  Barnet  was  fought  on  the  14th  of  April,  1471.  Sir  John 
Paston,  a  stout  Lancastrian,  writes  to  his  mother  from  London  on  the  18th  of 
April : — "  As  for  other  tidings,  it  is  understood  here  that  the  Queen  Margaret 
is  verily  landed,  and  her  son,  in  the  west  country,  and  I  trow  that  as  to-morrow, 
or  else  the  next  day,  the  King  Edward  will  depart  from  hence  to  her  ward  to 
drive  her  out  again. "f  .Sir  John  Paston,  himself  in  danger  of  his  head,  seems 
to  hint  that  the  landing  of  Queen  Margaret  will  again  change  the  aspect  of 
things.  Tn  sixteen  days  the  Battle  of  Tewksbury  was  fought.  This  is  the 
great  crowning  event  of  the  terrible  struggle  of  sixteen  years ;  and  the  scenes 
at  Tewksbury  are  amongst  the  most  spirited  of  these  dramatic  pictures.  We 
may  readily  believe  that  Shakspere  had  looked  upon  the  "  fair  park  adjoining 
to  the  town,"  where  the  Duke  of  Somerset  "  pitched  his  field,  against  the  will 
and  consent  of  many  other  captains  which  would  that  he  should  have  drawn 
aside;"  and  that  he  had  also  thought  of  the  unhappy  end  of  the  gallant  Prince 
Edward,  as  he  stood  in  "  the  church  of  the  Monastery  of  Black  Monks  in 
Tewksbury,"  where  "  his  body  was  homely  interred  with  the  other  simple 


corses. 


«  Henry  VI.,  Part  III.,  Act  V.,  Scene  n. 
f  '  Paston  Letters,'  edited  by  A.  Ramsay,  vol.  ii.,  p.  60. 


I  Hall. 


ITewksl.uiy. , 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

There  were  twelve  years  of  peace  between  the  Battle  of  Tewksbury  and  the 
death  of  Edward  IV.  Then  came  the  history  which  Hall  entitles,  '  The 
Pitiful  Life  of  King  Edward  the  Fifth,'  and  '  The  Tragical  Doings  of  King 
Richard  the  Third.'  The  last  play  of  the  series  which  belongs  to  the  wars  of 
the  Roses  is  unquestionably  written  altogether  with  a  more  matured  power 
than  those  which  preceded  it ;  yet  the  links  which  connect  it  with  the  other 
three  plays  of  the  series  are  so  unbroken,  the  treatment  of  character  is  so  con 
sistent,  and  the  poetical  conception  of  the  whole  so  uniform,  that,  whatever 
amount  of  criticism  may  be  yet  in  store  to  show  that  our  view  is  incorrect,  we 
now  confidently  speak  of  them  all  as  the  plays  of  Shakspere,  and  of  Shakspere 
alone.*  Matured,  especially  in  its  wonderful  exhibition  of  character,  as  the 
Richard  III.  is,  we  cannot  doubt  that  the  subject  was  very  early  familiar  to 
the  young  poet's  mind.  The  Battle  of  Bosworth  Field  was  the  great  event  of 
his  own  locality,  which  for  a  century  had  fixed  the  government  of  England. 
The  course  of  the  Reformation,  and  especially  the  dissolution  of  the  Monasteries, 
had  produced  great  social  changes,  which  were  in  operation  at  the  time  in 
which  William  Shakspere  was  born ;  whose  effects,  for  good  and  for  evil,  he 
must  have  seen  working  around  him,  as  he  grew  from  year  to  year  in  know 
ledge  and  experience.  But  those  events  were  too  recent,  and  indeed  of  too 
delicate  a  nature,  to  assume  the  poetical  aspect  in  his  mind.  They  abided  still 
in  the  region  of  prejudice  and  controversy.  It  was  dangerous  to  speak  of  the 
great  religious  divisions  of  the  kingdom  with  a  tolerant  impartiality.  History 
could  scarcely  deal  with  these  opinions  in  a  spirit  of  justice.  Poetry,  thus, 
which  has  regard  to  what  is  permanent  and  universal,  has  passed  by  these 
matters,  important  as  they  are.  But  the  great  event  which  placed  the  Tudor 
family  on  the  throne,  and  gave  England  a  stable  government,  however  occa 
sionally  distracted  by  civil  and  religious  division,  was  an  event  which  would 
seize  fast  upon  such  a  mind  as  that  of  William  Shakspere.  His  ancestor,  there 
can  be  little  doubt,  had  been  an  adherent  of  the  Earl  of  Richmond.  For  his 
faithful  services  to  the  conqueror  at  Bosworth  he  was  rewarded,  as  we  are 
assured,  by  lands  in  Warwickshire.  That  field  of  Bosworth  would  therefore 
have  to  him  a  family  as  well  as  a  local  interest.  Burton,  the  historian  of 
Leicestershire,  who  was  born  about  ten  years  after  William  Shakspere,  tells 
us  "  that  his  great-great-grandfather,  John  Hardwick,  of  Lindley,  near  Bos 
worth,  a  man  of  very  short  stature,  but  active  and  courageous,  tendered  his 
service  to  Henry,  with  some  troops  of  horse,  the  night  he  lay  at  Atherston, 
became  his  guide  to  the  field,  advised  him  in  the  attack,  and  how  to  profit  by 
the  sun  and  by  the  wind."f  Burton  further  says,  writing  in  1622,  that  the  in 
habitants  living  around  the  plain  called  Bosworth  Field,  more  properly  the  plain 
of  Sutton,  "  have  many  occurrences  and  passages  yet  fresh  in  memory,  by 
reason  that  some  persons  thereabout,  which  saw  the  battle  fought,  were  living 
within  less  than  forty  years,  of  which  persons  myself  have  seen  some,  and  have 

*  See  our  '  Essay  on  the  Three  Parts  of  King  Henry  VI.,  and  King  Richard  III.' 
f  Button's  '  Bosworth  Field.' 

173 


WILLIAM   SIIAK>IT.I;I:  . 

heard  of  their  disclosures,  though  related  by  the  second  hand."  This  "  living 
within  less  than  forty  years  "  would  take  us  back  to  about  the  period  which  we 
are  now  viewing  in  relation  to  the  life  of  Shakspere.  But  certainly  there  is 
something  over- marvellous  in  Burton's  story,  to  enable  us  to  think  that  William 
Shakspere,  even  as  a  very  young  boy,  could  have  conversed  with  "  some  persons 
thereabout "  who  had  seen  a  battle  fought  in  1485.  That,  as  Burton  more 
reasonably  of  himself  says,  he  might  have  "  heard  their  discourses  at  second 
hand  "  is  probable  enough.  Bosworth  Field  is  about  thirty  miles  from  Strat 
ford.  Burton  says  that  the  plain  derives  its  name  from  Bosworth,  "  not  that 
this  battle  was  fought  at  this  place  (it  being  fought  in  a  large,  flat  plain,  and 
spacious  ground,  three  miles  distant  from  this  town,  between  the  towns  of 
Shenton,  Sutton,  Dadlington,  and  Stoke) ;  but  for  that  this  town  was  the  most 
worthy  town  of  note  near  adjacent,  and  was  therefore  called  Bosworth  Field. 
That  this  battle  was  fought  in  this  plain  appeareth  by  many  remarkable 
places  :  By  a  little  mount  cast  up,  where  the  common  report  is,  that  at  the 
first  beginning  of  the  battle  Henry  Earl  of  Richmond  made  his  parsenetical 
oration  to  his  army ;  by  divers  pieces  of  armour,  weapons,  and  other  warlike 
accoutrements,  and  by  many  arrowheads  here  found,  whereof,  about  twenty 
years  since,  at  the  enclosure  of  the  lordship  of  Stoke,  great  store  were  digged 
up,  of  which  some  I  have  now  (1622)  in  my  custody,  being  of  a  long,  large, 
and  big  proportion,  far  greater  than  any  now  in  use  ;  as  also  by  relation  of  the 
inhabitants,  who  have  many  occurrences  and  passages  yet  fresh  in  memory."* 
Burton  goes  on  to  tell  two  stories  connected  with  the  eventful  battle.  The 
one  was  the  vision  of  King  Richard,  of  "  divers  fearful  ghosts  running  about 
him,  not  suffering  him  to  take  any  rest,  still  crying  '  Revenge.'  "  Hall  relates 
the  tradition  thus  : — "  The  fame  went  that  he  had  the  same  night  a  dreadful 
and  a  terrible  dream,  for  it  seemed  to  him,  being  asleep,  that  he  saw  divers 
images  like  terrible  devils,  not  suffering  him  to  take  any  quiet  or  rest."  Burton 
says,  previous  to  his  description  of  the  dream,  "  The  vision  is  reported  to  be  in 
this  manner."  And  certainly  his  account  of  the  fearful  ghosts  "still  crying 
Revenge "  is  essentially  different  from  that  of  the  chronicler.  Shakspere  has 
followed  the  more  poetical  account  of  the  old  local  historian  ;  which,  however, 
could  not  have  been  known  to  him  : — 

"  Methought  the  souls  of  all  that  I  have  murther'd 
Came  to  my  teut :  and  every  one  did  threat 
To-morrow's  vengeance  on  the  head  of  Richard." 

Did  Shakspere  obtain  his  notion  from  the  same  source  as  Burton — from  "  rela 
tion  of  the  inhabitants  who  have  many  occurrences  and  passages  yet  fresh  in 
memory  ? "  The  topographer  has  another  story,  not  quite  so  poetical,  which 
the  dramatist  does  not  touch :  "  It  was  foretold,  that  if  ever  King  Richard  did 
come  to  meet  his  adversary  in  a  place  that  was  compassed  with  towns  whose 
termination  was  in  ton  (what  number  is  adjacent  may,  by  the  map,  be  per 

*  From  Burton's  Manuscripts,  quoted  by  Mr.  Nicholls. 
174 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

ceived),  that  there  he  should  come  to  great  distress  ;  or  else,  upon  the  same 
occasion,  did  happen  to  lodge  at  a  place  beginning  and  ending  with  the  same 
syllable  of  An  (as  this  of  Anbiari),  that  there  he  should  lose  his  life,  to  expiate 
that  wicked  murder  of  his  late  wife  Anne,  daughter  and  coheir  of  Richard 
Neville  Earl  of  Salisbury  and  Warwick."  This  is  essentially  a  local  tradition. 
The  prediction  and  the  vision  were  in  all  likelihood  rife  in  Sutton,  and  Shenton, 
and  Sibson,  and  Coton,  and  Dadlington,  and  Stapleton,  and  Atherston,  in  the 
days  of  Shakspere's  boyhood.  Anbian,  or  Ambiam,  a  small  wood,  is  in  the  centre 
of  the  plain  called  Bosworth  Field.  Tradition  has  pointed  out  a  hillock  where 
Richard  harangued  his  army ;  and  also  a  little  spring,  called  King  Richard's 
Well.  Dr.  Parr,  about  forty  years  ago,  found  out  a  well  "  in  dirty,  mossy  ground," 
in  the  midst  of  this  plain  ;  and  then  a  Latin  inscription  was  to  be  set  up  to 
enlighten  the  peasantry  of  the  district,  and  to  preserve  the  memory  of  the  spot 
for  all  time.  Two  words  about  the  well  in  Shakspere  would  have  given  it  a 
better  immortality. 

King  Henry  is  crowned  upon  the  Field  of  Bosworth.  According  to  the  Chro 
nicler,  Lord  Stanley  "  took  the  crown  of  King  Richard,  which  was  found  amongst 
the  spoil  in  the  field,  and  set  it  on  the  Earl's  head,  as  though  he  had  been 
elected  king  by  the  voice  of  the  people,  as  in  ancient  times  past  in  divers  realms 
it  hath  been  accustomed."  Then,  "  the  same  night  in  the  evening  King  Henry 
with  great  pomp  came  to  the  town  of  Leicester,"  where  he  rested  two  days.  "  In 
the  mean  season  the  dead  corpse  of  King  Richard  was  as  shamefully  carried  to 
the  town  of  Leicester,  as  he  gorgeously  the  day  before  with  pomp  and  pride 
departed  out  of  the  said  town." 

Years  roll  on.  There  was  another  conqueror,  not  by  arms  but  by  peaceful 
intellect,  who  had  once  moved  through  the  land  in  "  pomp  and  pride,"  but  who 
came  to  Leicester  in  humility  and  heaviness  of  heart.  The  victim  of  a  shifting 
policy  and  of  his  own  ambition,  Wolsey,  found  a  grave  at  Leicester  scarcely 
more  honourable  than  that  of  Richard  : — 

"  At  last,  with  easy  roads,  he  came  to  Leicester, 
Lodg'd  in  the  abbey ;  where  the  reverend  abbot, 
With  all  his  convent,  honourably  receiv'd  him ; 
To  whom  he  gave  these  words  : — '  0,  father  abbot, 
An  old  man,  broken  with  the  storms  of  state, 
Is  come  to  lay  his  weary  bones  among  ye ; 
Give  him  a  little  earth  for  charity  ! ' 
So  went  to  bed ;  where  eagerly  his  sickness 
Pursued  him  still ;  and  three  nights  after  this, 
About  the  hour  of  eight,  (which  he  himself 
Foretold  should  be  his  last,)  full  of  repentance, 
Continual  meditations,  tears,  and  sorrows, 
He  gave  his  honours  to  the  world  again, 
His  blessed  part  to  heaven,  and  slept  in  peace."  * 


*  Henry  VIII.,  Act  IV.,  Scene  II. 

175 


WILLIAM    SIIAUSIT.I.'i: 


Wolsey  is  the  hero  of  Shakspere's  last  liistorical  play ;  and  evi-u  in  this  history, 
large  as  it  is,  and  belonging  to  the  philosophical  period  of  the  poet's  life,  we  may 
trace  something  of  the  influence  of  the  principle  of  Local  Association. 


[Leicester. ; 


Eveshara.    The  Bell  Tower. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


BUINS,  NOT  OF  TIME, 


"  High  towers,  fair  temples,  goodly  theatres, 
Strong  walla,  rich  porches,  princely  palaces, 
Large  streets,  brave  houses,  sacred  sepulchres, 
Sure  gates,  sweet  gardens,  stately  galleries, 
Wrought  with  fair  pillars  and  fine  imageries ; 
All  these,  O  pity  J  now  are  turn'd  to  dust, 
And  overgrown  with  black  oblivion's  rust." 

SUCH  is  Spenser's  noble  description  of  what  was  once  the  "  goodly  Verlam." 
These  were  "  The  Ruins  of  Time."  But  within  sixteen  miles  of  Stratford 
would  the  young  Shakspcre  gaze  in  awe  and  wonder  upon  ruins  more  solemn 
than  any  produced  by  "  time's  decay."  The  ruins  of  Evesham  were  the  fearful 
LIFE.  N  177 


WILLIAM    >IIAKSI'Ll;l.  : 

monuments  of  a  political  revolution  which  William  Shakspere  himself  had  not 
seen ;  but  which,  in  the  boyhood  of  his  father,  had  shaken  the  land  like  an 
earthquake,  and,  toppling  down  its  "  high  steeples,"  had  made  many 

"  An  heap  of  lime  and  sand, 
For  the  screech-owl  to  build  her  baleful  bower." 

Such  were  the  ruins  he  looked  upon,  cumbering  the  ground  where,  forty  years 
before,  stood  the  magnificent  abbey  whose  charters  reached  back  to  the  days  of 
the  Kings  of  Mercia. 

The  last  great  building  of  the  Abbey  of  Evesham  is  the  only  one  properly 
belonging  to  the  monastery  which  has  escaped  destruction.  The  campanile 
which  formed  an  entrance  to  the  conventual  cemetery  was  commenced  by  Abbot 
Lichfield  in  1533.  In  1539  the  good  abbot  resigned  the  office  which  he  had 
held  for  twenty-six  years.  His  successor  was  placed  in  authority  for  a  few 
months  to  carry  on  the  farce  which  was  enacting  through  the  kingdom,  of  a 
voluntary  grant  and  surrender  of  all  the  remaining  possessions  of  the  religious 
houses,  which  preceded  the  Act  of  1539  "for  dissolution  of  abbeys."  Leland, 
who  visited  the  place  within  a  year  or  two  after  the  suppression,  "  rambling  to 
and  fro  in  this  nation,  and  in  making  researches  into  the  bowels  of  antiquity,"* 
says,  "  In  the  town  is  no  hospital,  or  other  famous  foundation,  but  t/ie  late 
abbey."  The  destruction  must  indeed  have  been  rapid.  The  house  and  site 
of  the  monastery  were  granted  to  Philip  Hobby,  with  a  remarkable  exception  ; 
namely,  "  all  the  bells  and  lead  of  the  church  and  belfry."  The  roof  of  this 
magnificent  fabric  thus  went  first ;  and  in  a  few  years  the  walls  became  a  stone- 
quarry.  Fuller,  writing  about  a  century  afterwards,  says  of  the  abbey,  "  By  a 
long  lease  it  was  in  the  possession  of  one  Mr.  Andrewes,  father  and  son  ;  whose 
grandchild,  living  now  at  Berkhampstead  in  Hertfordshire,  hath  better  thriven, 
by  God's  blessing  on  his  own  industry,  than  his  father  and  grandfather  did  with 
Evesham  Abbey ;  the  sale  of  the  stones  whereof  he  imputeth  a  cause  of  their 
ill  success. "f  All  was  swept  away.  The  abbey-church,  with  its  sixteen  altars, 
and  its  hundred  and  sixty-four  gilded  pillars,  J  its  chapter-house,  its  cloisters, 
its  library,  refectory,  dormitory,  buttery,  and  treasury ;  its  almery,  granary, 
and  storehouse  ;  all  the  various  buildings  for  the  service  of  the  church,  and  for 
the  accommodation  of  eighty-nine  religious  inmates  and  sixty-five  servants, 
were,  with  a  few  exceptions,  ruins  in  the  time  of  William  Shakspere.  Habing- 
don,  who  has  left  a  manuscript  '  Survey  of  Worcestershire,'  written  about  two 
centuries  ago,  says,  "  Let  us  but  guess  what  this  monastery  now  dissolved  was 
in  former  days  by  the  gate-house  yet  remaining  ;  which,  though  deformed  with 
age,  is  as  large  and  stately  as  any  at  this  time  in  the  kingdom."  That  gateway 
has  since  perished.  Of  the  great  mass  of  the  conventual  buildings  Habingdon 
states  that  nothing  was  left  beyond  "  a  huge  deal  of  rubbish  overgrown  with 
grass."  One  beautiful  gateway,  however,  formerly  the  entrance  to  the  chapter 
house,  yet  remains  even  to  our  day.  .It  admits  us  to  a  large  garden,  now  let 

•  Wood,  'Athenae  Oxon.'  +  Church  History. 

+  Dugdale's  '  Monaaticou,"  ed.  1819,  vol.  ii.,  p.  12. 
178 


out  in  small  allotments  to  poor  and  industrious  inhabitants  of  Evesham.  The 
change  is  very  striking.  The  independent  possession  of  a  few  roods  of  land 
may  perhaps  bestow  as  much  comfort  upon  the  labourers  of  Evesham  as  their 
former  dependence  upon  the  conventual  buttery.  But  we  cannot  doubt  that, 
for  a  long  course  of  years,  the  sudden  and  violent  dissolution  of  that  great 
abbey  must  have  produced  incalculable  poverty  and  wretchedness.  Its 
princely  revenues  were  seized  upon  by  the  heartless  despot,  to  be  applied  to 
his  unbridled  luxury  and  his  absurd  wars.  The  same  process  of  destruction 
and  appropriation  was  carried  on  throughout  the  country.  The  Church, 
always  a  gentle  landlord,  was  succeeded  in  its  possessions  by  the  grasping 
creatures  of  the  Crown ;  the  almsgiving  of  the  religious  houses  was  at  an 
end  ;  and  then  came  the  age  of  vagabondage  and  of  poor-laws.  The  general 
effects  of  the  dissolution  of  the  abbeys  have  been  well  described  by  Edmund 
Howes  : — 

"  In  the  time  of  Henry  VIII.  the  clergy  was  exceeding  rich  and  power 
ful,  and  were  endowed  with  wondrous  stately  palaces  and  great  possessions,  so 
as  in  every  city,  and  county,  and  towns  corporate,  and  in  very  many  remote 
places,  then  were  very  strong  and  sumptuous  houses  for  religious  persons  :  as 
abbeys',  priories,  friaries,  monks  regular,  minories,  chantries,  nunneries,  and 
such-like ;  at  which  time  the  clergy  grew  proud,  negligent,  and  secure,  presum 
ing,  like  the  Knights  Templars,  upon  their  proper  greatness,  as  well  in  regard 
of  the  reasons  aforesaid,  as  that  every  Lord  Abbot  and  Lord  Prior  that  wore 
mitre  sat  in  the  upper  Parliament  and  had  free  voices,  as  Barons,  subsistent 
with  the  Bishops.  The  Lords,  and  Ladies  Abbesses,  of  which  houses  were 
usually  of  noble  birth,  and  sometime  of  the  blood  royal,  as  well  women  as  men  ; 
for  by  this  time,  through  the  charitable  devotion  and  special  affection  of  former 
kings,  princes,  peers,  and  common  people,  the  monasteries  were  so  much 
increased,  gloriously  builded  and  adorned,  and  plenteously  endowed  with  large 
privileges,  possessions,  and  all  things  necessary.  Albeit  they  relieved  the  poor, 
and  raised  no  rents,  nor  took  excessive  fines,  yet  they  many  ways  neglected 
N  2  !7ft 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

their  duty  to  God  and  man,  being  verily  persuaded  their  estate  and  safety  to 
be  more  safe  and  secure  than  ever  was  any  condition  of  people,  becauss  their 
houses  were  repaired,  their  rents  increased,  their  churches  new  builded  and 
beautified,  even  to  the  very  day  of  their  general  dissolution,  which  came  sud 
denly  upon  them,  like  the  universal  deluge.  For,  whilst  the  religious  persons 
thus  flattered  and  secured  themselves,  the  King  obtained  the  ecclesiastical 
supremacy  into  his  particular  possession,  and  therewithal  had  power  given  him 
by  Parliament,  to  survey  and  reform  the  abuses  of  all  those  houses  and  persons 
above  said  :  but  the  King,  because  he  would  go  the  next  way  to  work,  over 
threw  them,  razed  them  ;  many  ruins  of  them  remain  a  testimony  thereof  to  this 
day :  whereat  many  of  the  peers  and  common  people  murmured,  because  they 
expected  that  the  abuses  should  have  been  only  reformed,  and  the  rest  have 
still  remained.  The  general  plausible  project  which  caused  the  Parliament 
consent  unto  the  reformation  or  alteration  of  the  monasteries  was  that  the 
King's  exchequer  should  for  ever  be  enriched,  the  kingdom  and  nobility 
strengthened  and  increased,  and  the  common  subjects  acquainted  [acquitted] 
and  freed  from  all  former  services  and  taxes,  to  wit,  that  the  abbots,  monks, 
friars,  and  ntms,  being  suppressed,  that  then  in  their  places  should  be  created 
forty  earls,  threescore  barons,  and  three  thousand  knights,  and  forty  thousand 
soldiers,  with  skilful  captains,  and  competent  maintenance  for  them  all,  ever 
out  of  the  ancient  churches'  revenues,  so  as,  in  so  doing,  the  King  and  succes 
sors  should  never  want  of  treasure  of  their  own,  nor  have  cause  to  be  beholding 
to  the  common  subjects,  neither  should  the  people  be  any  more  charged  with 
loans,  subsidies,  and  fifteens.  Since  which  time,  there  have  been  more  statute- 
laws,  subsidies,  and  fifteens  than  five  hundred  years  before.  And  not  long 
after  that  the  King  had  subsidies  granted,  and  borrowed  great  sums  of  money, 
and  died  in  debt,  and  the  forenamed  religious  houses  were  utterly  ruinated, 
whereat  the  clergy,  peers,  and  common  people  were  all  sore  grieved,  but  could 
not  help  it."* 

The  sense  which  we  justly  entertain  of  the  advantages  of  the  Reformation  has 
accustomed  us  to  shut  our  eyes  to  the  tremendous  evils  which  must  have  been 
produced  by  the  iniquitous  spoliations  of  the  days  of  Henry  VIII.  and  Edward 
VI.  The  religious  houses,  whatever  might  have  been  their  abuses,  were  centres 
of  civilization.  Leland  says,  "  There  was  no  town  at  Evesham  before  the  found 
ation  of  the  abbey."  Wherever  there  was  a  well-endowed  religious  house, 
there  was  a  large  and  a  regular  expenditure,  employing  the  local  industry  in 
the  way  best  calculated  to  promote  the  happiness  of  the  population.  Under 
this  expenditure,  not  only  did  handicrafts  flourish,  but  the  arts  were  encouraged 
in  no  inconsiderable  degree.  The  commissioners  employed  to  take  surrender 
of  the  monasteries  in  Warwickshire  reported  of  the  nunnery  of  Polsworth, 
"  that  in  this  town  were  then  forty-four  tenements,  and  but  one  plough,  the 
residue  of  the  inhabitants  being  artificers,  who  had  their  livelihood  by  this 
house."f  In  another  place  Dugdale  says,  "  Nor  is  it  a  little  observable  that, 
whilst  the  monasteries  stood,  there  was  no  act  for  relief  of  the  poor,  so  amply 

•  Continuation  of  Stow'a  '  Chronicle.'  f  Dugdale's  '  Warwickshire,'  p.  800. 

ISO 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

did  those  houses  give  succour  to  them  that  were  in  want ;  whereas  in  the  next 
age,  namely  39th  of  Elizabeth,  no  less  than  eleven  bills  were  brought  into  the 
House  of  Commons  for  that  purpose."*  We  have  little  doubt  that  the  judi 
cious  encouragement  of  industry  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  each 
monastery  did  a  great  deal  more  to  render  a  state  provision  for  the  poor  unne 
cessary  than  the  accustomed  "  succour  to  those  who  were  in  want."  The  bene 
volence  of  the  religious  houses  was  systematic  and  uniform.  It  was  not  the 
ostentatious  and  improvident  almsgiving  which  would  raise  up  an  idle  pauper 
population  upon  their  own  lands.  The  poor,  as  far  as  we  can  judge  from  the 
acts  of  law-makers,  did  not  become  a  curse  to  the  country,  and  were  not  dealt 
with  in  the  spirit  of  a  detestable  severity,  until  the  law-makers  had  dried  up 
the  sources  of  their  profitable  industry.  Leland,  writing  immediately  after 
the  dissolution  of  the  Abbey  of  Evesham,  says  of  the  town  that  it  is  "  meetly 
large  and  well  builded  with  timber ;  the  market-sted  is  fair  and  large ;  there 
be  divers  pretty  streets  in  the  town."  While  the  abbey  stood  there  was  an 
annual  disbursement  there  going  forward  which  has  been  computed  to  be  equal 
to  eighty  thousand  pounds  of  our  present  money. f  The  revenues,  principally 

*  Dugdale's  '  Warwickshire/  p.  803. 
t  '  History  of  Evesham,'  by  George  May.    A  remarkably  intelligent  local  guide. 


[The  Parish  Churches,  Evesham-l 


131 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPKIU:  : 

derived  from  manors  and  tenements  in  eight  different  counties,  are  seized  upon 
by  the  Crown.  The  site  of  the  abbey  is  sold  or  granted  to  a  private  person, 
who  will  derive  his  immediate  advantage  by  the  rapid  destruction  of  a  pile  of 
buildings  which  the  piety  and  magnificence  of  five  or  six  centuries  had  been 
rearing.  More  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  inmates  of  this  monastery  are  turned 
loose  upon  the  world,  a  few  with  miserable  pensions,  but  the  greater  number 
reduced  to  absolute  indigence.  Half  the  population  at  least  of  the  town  of 
Evesham  must  have  derived  a  subsistence  from  the  expenditure  of  these  in 
mates,  and  this  fountain  is  now  almost  wholly  dried  up.  In  the  youth  of 
William  Shakspere  it  is  impossible  that  Evesham  could  have  been  other  than  a 
ruined  and  desolate  place.  Not  only  would  its  monastic  buildings  be  destroyed, 
but  its  houses  would  be  untenanted  and  dilapidated  ;  its  reduced  population 
idle  and  dispirited.  Its  two  beautiful  parish  churches,  situated  close  to  the 
precincts  of  the  abbey,  escaped  the  common  destruction  of  1539 ;  but  till 
within  the  last  seven  years  that  of  St.  Lawrence  had  been  long  disused,  and 
had  fallen  into  ruin.  It  is  now  restored  ;  for  after  three  centuries  of  destruc 
tion  and  neglect  we  have  begun  to  cherish  some  respect  for  what  remains  of  our 
noble  ecclesiastical  edifices. 

The  act  for  the  suppression  of  the  smaller  religious  houses  (27th  Henry 
VIII.)  recites  that  "manifest  sin,  vicious,  carnal,  and  abominable  living,  is 
daily  used  and  committed  amongst  the  little  and  small  abbeys,  priories,  and 
other  religious  houses."  But  in  suppressing  and  confiscating  all  such  small 
houses,  whose  annual  expenditure  is  not  two  hundred  pounds,  the  same  statute 
affirms  that,  in  the  "great  solemn  monasteries  of  this  realm,  thanks  be  to  God, 
religion  is  right  well  kept  and  observed."  The  smaller  houses  were  destroyed, 
according  to  the  statute,  through  the  ardent  desire  of  the  King's  most  royal 
majesty  for  "  the  increase,  advancement,  and  exaltation  of  true  doctrine  and 
virtue  in  the  said  church."  And  yet,  in  four  years,  the  "  great  solemn 
monasteries  of  this  realm,  wherein,  thanks  be  to  God,  religion  is  right  well  kept 
and  observed,"  were  also  utterly  suppressed  and  annihilated,  under  the  pre 
tence  that  they  had  been  voluntarily  surrendered  to  the  King.  It  was  the 
policy  of  the  unscrupulous  reformers — who,  whatever  service  they  may  ulti 
mately  have  worked  in  the  destruction  of  superstitious  observances,  were,  as 
politicians,  the  most  dishonest  and  rapacious — it  was  their  policy,  when  (to 
use  their  own  heartless  cant)  they  had  driven  away  the  crows  and  destroyed 
their  nests,  to  heap  every  opprobrium  upon  the  heads  of  the  starving  and 
houseless  brethren,  of  whom  it  has  been  computed  that  fifty  thousand  were 
wandering  through  the  land.  The  young  Shakspere  was  in  all  probability 
brought  into  contact  with  some  of  the  aged  men  who  had  been  driven  from 
the  peaceful  homes  of  their  youth,  where  they  had  been  brought  up  in  scholastic 
exercises,  and  had  looked  forward  to  advance  in  honourable  office,  each  in  his 
little  world.  Some  one  of  the  Grey  Friars  of  Coventry,  or  the  Benedictines  of 
Evesham,  must  he  have  encountered,  hovering  round  the  scenes  of  their  ancient 
prosperity ;  sheltered  perhaps  in  the  cottage  of  some  old  servant  who  could 
labour  with  his  hands,  and  upon  whom  the  common  misfortune  therefore  had 
183 


[Old  Houses,  Evesham.] 

fallen  lightly.  The  friars  of  the  future  great  dramatist  would,  of  necessity,  be 
characters  formed  either  out  of  his  early  observation,  or  moulded  according  to 
the  general  impressions  of  his  early  associates.  In  his  mature  life  the  race 
would  be  extinct.  These  his  dramatic  representations  are  wonderfully  consist 
ent  ;  and  it  is  manifest  that  he  looked  upon  the  persecuted  order  with  pity  and 
with  respect.  It  was  for  Chaucer  to  satirize  the  monastic  life  in  the  days  of  its 
greatness  and  abundance.  It  was  for  this  rare  painter  of  manners  to  show  the 
grasping,  dissimulating  friar,  sitting  down  upon  the  churl's  bench,  and  endea 
vouring  to  frighten  or  wheedle  the  bed-ridden  man  out  of  his  money  : — 

"  Thomas,  nought  of  your  tresor  I  desire 
As  for  myself,  but  that  all  our  covent 
To  pray  for  you  is  aye  so  diligent." 

The  ridicule  in  those  times  of  the  Church's  pride  might  be  salutary ;  but  other 
days  had  come.  The  most  just  and  tolerant  moralist  that  ever  helped  to  dis 
encumber  men  of  their  hatreds  and  prejudices  has  consistently  endeavoured  to 
represent  the  monastic  character  as  that  of  virtue  and  benevolence.  One  of 
Shakspere's  earliest  plays  is  Romeo  and  Juliet ;  and  many  of  the  rhymed  por 
tions  of  that  delicious  tragedy  might  have  been  the  desultory  compositions  of  a 
very  young  poet,  to  be  hereafter  moulded  into  the  dramatic  form.  Such  is  the, 
graceful  soliloquy  which  first  introduces  Friar  Lawrence.  The  kind  old  man 
going  forth  from  his  cell  in  the  morning  twilight  to  fill  his  osier  basket  with 
weeds  and  flowers,  and  moralizing  on  the  properties  of  plants  which  at  once 
yield  poison  and  medicine,  has  all  the  truth  of  individual  portraiture.  But 
Friar  Lawrence  is  also  the  representative  *of  a  class.  The  Infirmarist  of  a  mo 
nastic  house,  who  had  charge  of  the  sick  brethren,  was  often  in  the  early  days 
of  medical  science  their  sole  physician.  The  book-knowledge  and  the  expe- 

183 


WILLIAM    SHAKRPERE  : 

rience  of  such  a  valuable  member  of  a  conventual  body  would  still  allow  him 
to  exercise  useful  functions  when  thrust  into  the  world  ;  and  the  young  Sliak- 
spere  may  have  known  some  kindly  old  man,  full  of  axiomatic  wisdom,  and 
sufficiently  confident  in  his  own  management,  like  the  well-meaning  Friar  Law 
rence.  In  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  it  is  the  friar  who,  when  Hero  is  unjustly 
accused  by  him  who  should  have  been  hor  husband,  vindicates  her  reputation 
with  as  much  sagacity  as  charitable  zeal : — 

"  I  have  mnrk'd 

A  thousand  blushing  apparitions  start 
Into  her  face ;  a  thousand  innocent  shames 
In  angel  whiteness  bear  away  those  blushes  ; 
And  in  her  eye  there  hath  appear'd  a  fire, 
To  burn  the  errors  that  these  princes  hold 
Against  her  maiden  truth  : — Call  me  a  fool ; 
Trust  not  my  reading,  nor  my  observations, 
Which  with  experimental  seal  doth  warrant 
Th,e  tenor  of  my  book ;  trust  not  my  age, 
My  reverence,  calling,  nor  divinity, 
If  this  sweet  lady  lie  not  guiltless  here 
Under  some  biting  error." 

In  Measure  for  Measure  the  whole  plot  is  carried  on  by  the  Duke  assuming  the 
reverend  manners,  ami  professing  the  active  benevolence,  of  a  friar  ;  and  his 
agents  and  confidants  are  Friar  Thomas  and  Friar  Peter.  In  an  age  when  the 
prejudices  of  the  multitude  were  flattered  and  stimulated  by  abuse  and  ridicule 
of  the  ancient  ecclesiastical  character,  Shakspere  always  exhibits  it  so  as  to 
command  respect  and  affection.  The  poisoning  of  King  John  by  a  monk,  "  a 
resolved  villain,"  is  despatched  by  him  with  little  more  than  an  allusion.  The 
Germans  believe  that  Shakspere  wrote  the  Old  King  John,  in  two  Parts.  The 
vulgar  exaggeration  of  the  basest  calumnies  against  the  monastic  character 
satisfies  us  that  the  play  was  written  by  one  who  formed  a  much  lower  estimate 
than  Shakspere  did  of  the  dignity  of  the  poet's  office,  as  an  instructor  of  the 
people. 

A  deep  reverence  for  antiquity  is  one  of  the  clearest  indications  of  the  inti 
mate  union  of  the  poetical  and  the  philosophical  temperament.  An  able  writer 
of  our  own  day  has  indeed  said,  "  In  some,  the  love  of  antiquity  produces  a  sort 
of  fanciful  illusion :  and  the  very  sight  of  those  buildings,  so  magnificent  in 
their  prosperous  hour,  so  beautiful  even  in  their  present  ruin,  begets  a  sympathy 
for  those  who  founded  and  inhabited  them."*  But,  rightly  considered,  the  fanci 
ful  illusion  becomes  a  reasonable  principle.  Those  who  founded  and  inhabited 
these  monastic  buildings  were  for  ages  the  chief  directors  of  the  national  mind. 
Their  possessions  were,  in  truth,  the  possessions  of  all  classes  of  the  people.  The 
highest  offices  in  those  establishments  were  in  some  cases  bestowed  upon  the 
noble  and  the  wealthy,  but  they  were  open  to  the  very  humblest.  The  studious 
and  the  devout  here  found  a  shelter  and  a  solace.  The  learning  of  the  monastic 
bodies  has  been  underrated  ;  the  ages  in  which  they  flourished  have  been 

•  Hallam's  '  Constitutional  History  of  England.' 
184 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

called  dark  ages ;  but  they  were  almost  the   sole  depositaries  of  the  knowledge 
of  the   land.      They   were   the   historians,    the   grammarians,    the   poets.      They 
accumulated    magnificent   libraries.      They   were   the    barriers    that   checked   the 
universal  empire  of  brute  force.     They  cherished  an  ambition  higher  and  more 
permanent  than  could  belong  to  the  mere  martial  spirit.     They  stood  between 
the  strong  and  the  weak.     They  held  the  oppressor  in  subjection  to  that  power 
which  results  from  the  cultivation,  however  misdirected,  of  the  spiritual  part  of 
our  nature.     Whilst  the  proud  baron  continued  to  live  in  the  same  dismal  castle 
that  his  predatory  fathers  had  built  or  won,   the  churchmen  went  on  from  age 
to  age  adding  to  their  splendid  edifices,  and  demanding  a  succession  of  ingeni 
ous  artists  to  carry  out  their  lofty  ideas.     The  devotional  exercises  of  their  life 
touched  the  deepest  feelings  of  the  human  heart.     Their  solemn  services,  handed 
down   from   a   remote  antiquity,  gave  to  music  its  most   ennobling  cultivation ; 
and  the  most  beautiful  of  arts  thus  became  the  vehicle  of  the  loftiest  enthusiasm. 
Individuals    amongst   them,    bringing    odium    upon   the   class,    might   be   sordid, 
luxurious,  idle,  in   some   instances   profligate.     It   is   the   nature   of  great   pros 
perity   and   apparent   security   to    produce    these   results.      But   it   was    not  the 
mandate    of  a   pampered   tyrant,    nor   the   edicts   of   a   corrupt   parliament,    that 
could   destroy   the    reverence   which    had   been    produced    by    an   intercourse   of 
eight   hundred   years    with   the   great  body   of  the   people.     The  form   of  vene 
rable    institutions    may    be    changed,    but    their    spirit    is    indestructible.      The 
holy  places    and   mansions   of  the   Church   were  swept   away;    but  the    memory 
of    them    could    not    be    destroyed.      Their   ruins,   recent   as    they   were,    were 
still   antiquities,    full    of    instruction.      The   lightning    had   blasted   the   old   oak, 
and    its   green   leaves   were   no   longer   put  forth  ;  but  the  gnarled  trunk  was  a 
thing   not  to  be   despised.     The  convulsion  which  had  torn  the  land  was  of  a 
nature   to   make   deep   thinkers.     After   the   wonder   and   the   disappointment  of 
great    revolutions     have    subsided,    there     must    always    be    an    outgushing    of 
earnest  thought.     The  form  which  that  thought  may  assume  may  be  the  resuk 
of  accident;    it  may  be  poetical  or  metaphysical,  historical  or  scientific.     By  a 
combination  of  circumstances, — perhaps  by  the  circumstance  of  one  man  being 
born  who  had  the  most  marvellous  insight  into  human  nature,  and  whose  mind 
could   penetrate   all   the    disguises    of  the   social   state,— the   drama  became   the 
great  exponent  of  the  thought  of  the  age  of  Elizabeth.     It  was  altogether  a  new 
form  for  English  poetry  to  put  on.     The  drama,  as  we  have  seen,  had  been  the. 
humblest  vehicle   for  popular  excitement.     When  the   Church  ceased  to  use  it 
as  an  instrument  of  instruction,  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  illiterate^  mimics.^    The 
courtly   writers    were    too   busy   with    their    affectations    and    their    flatteries   to 
recognise   its   power,  and  its   especial    applicability  to  the   new   state  of  society. 
Those  who  were  of  the  people ;  who  watched  the  manifestations  of  the  popular 
feeling  and   understanding;    whose   minds   had    been   stirred   up  by  the   political 
storms,   the  violence  of  which   had   indeed   passed   away,  but   under  whose   in 
fluence  the  whole  social  state  still  heaved  like  a  disturbed  sea;— those  were  to 
build  up  our  great  national  drama.     But,  at  the  period  of  which  we  are  speak 
ing,  they  were  for  the  most  part  boys,  or  very  young  men.     It  is  perhaps 

185 


\V1U.IAM    SIIAKSI'I  I.I 

tunate  for  us  that  the  most  eminent  of  these  was  introduced  to  the  knowledge 
of  life  under  no  particular  advantages ;  was  not  dedicated  to  any  one  of  the 
learned  professions ;  was  cloistered  not  in  an  university ;  was  an  adherent  of 
no  party ;  was  obliged  to  look  forward  to  the  necessity  of  earning  his  own  main 
tenance,  and  yet  not  humiliated  by  poverty  and  meanness.  William  Shakspere 
looked  upon  the  very  remarkable  state  of  society  with  which  he  was  surrounded, 
with  a  free  spirit.  But  he  saw  at  one  and  the  same  time  the  present  and  the 
past.  He  knew  that  the  entire  social  state  is  a  thing  of  progress ;  that  the 
characters  of  men  are  as  much  dependent  upon  remote  influences  as  upon  the 
matters  with  which  they  come  in  daily  contact ;  that  the  individual  essentially 
belongs  to  the  general,  and  the  temporary  to  the  universal.  His  drama  can 
never  be  antiquated,  because  he  primarily  deals  with  whatever  is  permanent 
and  indestructible  in  the  aspects  of  external  nature,  and  in  the  constitution  of 
the  human  mind.  But  at  the  same  time  it  is  no  less  a  faithful  transcript  of  the 
prevailing  modes  of  thought  even  of  his  own  day.  Individual  peculiarities,  in 
liis  time  called  humours,  he  left  to  others. 

This  principle  of  looking  at  life  with  an  utter  disregard  of  all  party  and 
sectarian  feelings,  of  massing  all  his  observations  upon  individual  character, 
could  have  proceeded  only  from  a  profound  knowledge  of  the  past,  and  a 
more  than  common  apprehension  of  the  future.  As  we  have  endeavoured  to 
show,  the  localities  amidst  which  he  lived  were  highly  favourable  to  his  culti 
vation  of  a  poetical  reverence  for  antiquity.  But  his  unerring  observation  of 
the  present  prevented  the  past  becoming  to  him  an  illusion.  He  had  always 
an  earnest  patriotism ;  he  had  a  strong  sense  of  the  blessings  which  had  been 
conferred  upon  his  own  day  through  the  security  won  out  of  peril  and  suffering 
by  the  middle  classes.  The  destruction  of  the  old  institutions,  after  the  first 
evil  effects  had  been  mitigated  by  the  energy  of  the  people,  had  diffused 
capital,  and  had  caused  it  to  be  employed  with  more  activity.  But  he,  who 
scarcely  ever  stops  to  notice  the  political  aspects  of  his  own  day,  cannot  forbear 
an  indignant  comment  upon  the  sufferings  of  the  very  poorest,  which,  if  not 
caused  by,  were  at  least  coincident  with,  the  great  spoliation  of  the  property  of 
the  Church.  Poor  Tom,  "  who  is  whipped  from  tithing  to  tithing,  and  stocked, 
punished,  and  imprisoned,"*  was  no  fanciful  portrait;  he  is  the  creature  of  the 
pauper  legislation  of  half  a  century.  Exhortations  in  the  churches,  "  for  the 
furtherance  of  the  relief  of  such  as  were  in  unfeigned  misery,"  were  prescribed 
by  the  statute  of  the  1st  of  Edward  VI.;  but  the  same  statute  directs  that  the 
unhappy  wanderer,  after  certain  forms  of  proving  that  he  has  not  offered  him 
self  for  work,  shall  be  marked  V  with  a  hot  iron  upon  his  breast,  and  adjudged 
to  be  "a  slave"  for  two  years  to  him  who  brings  him  before  justices  of  the 
peace ;  and  the  statute  goes  on  to  direct  the  slave-owner  "  to  cause  the  said 
slave  to  work  by  beating,  chaining,  or  otherwise."  Three  years  afterwards  the 
statute  is  repealed,  seeing  that  it  could  not  be  carried  into  effect  by  reason  of 
the  multitude  of  vagabonds  and  the  extremity  of  their  wants.  The  whipping 
and  the  stocking  were  applied  by  successive  enactments  of  Elizabeth.  The 

*  King  Lear,  Act  IIL,  Scene  iv. 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

gallows,  too,  was  always  at  hand  to  make  an^  end  of  the  wanderers  when, 
hunted  from  tithing  to  tithing,  they  inevitaoly  became  thieves.  Nothing  but 
a  compulsory  provision  for  the  maintenance  of  the  poor  could  then  have  saved 
England  from  a  fearful  Jacquerie.  It  cannot  reasonably  be  doubted  that  the 
vast  destruction  of  capital  by  the  dissolution  of  the  monasteries  threw  for  many 
years  a  quantity  of  superfluous  labour  upon  the  yet  unsettled  capital  of  the 
ordinary  industry  of  the  country.  That  Shakspere  had  witnessed  much  of  this 
misery  is  evident  from  his  constant  disposition  to  descry  "  a  soul  of  goodness 
in  things  evil,"  and  from  his  indignant  hatred  of  the  heartlessness  of  petty 
authority : — • 

"  Thou  rascal  beadle,  hold  thy  bloody  hand."  * 

And  yet,  with  many  social  evils  about  him,  the  age  of  Shakspere's  youth  was 
one  in  which  the  people  were  making  a  great  intellectual  progress.  The  poor 
were  ill  provided  for.  The  Church  was  in  an  unsettled  state,  attacked  by  the 
natural  restlessness  of  those  who  looked  upon  the  Reformation  with  regret  and 
hatred,  and  by  the  rigid  enemies  of  its  traditionary  ceremonies  and  ancient 
observances,  who  had  sprung  up  in  its  bosom.  The  promises  which  had  been 
made  that  education  should  be  fostered  by  the  State  had  utterly  failed ;  for 
even  the  preservation  of  the  universities,  and  the  protection  and  establishment 
of  a  few  grammar-schools,  had  been  unwillingly  conceded  by  the  avarice  of 
those  daring  statesmen  who  had  swallowed  up  the  riches  of  the  ancient  esta 
blishment.  The  genial  spirit  of  the  English  yeomanry  had  received  a  check 
from  the  intolerance  of  the  powerful  sect  who  frowned  upon  all  sports  and 
recreations — who  despised  the  arts — who  held  poets  and  pipers  to  be  "  cater 
pillars  of  a  commonwealth."  But  yet  the  wonderful  stirring  up  of  the  intellect 
of  the  nation  had  made  it  an  age  favourable  for  the  cultivation  of  the  highest 
literature  ;  and  most  favourable  to  those  who  looked  upon  society,  as  the  young 
Shakspere  must  have  looked,  in  the  spirit  of  cordial  enjoyment  and  practical 
wisdom. 

*  Lea/,  Act  TV.,  Scene  vi. 


1  Hengewcrth  Church,  seen  through  the  Arch  of  the  Bell-Tower  ] 


137 


fWelford      The  Wake.) 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

SOCIAL    HOURS. 


I. — THE  WAKE. 

DECAY,  followed  by  reproduction,  is  the  order  of  nature ;  and  so,  if  the  vital 
power  of  society  be  not  extinct,  the  men  of  one  generation  attempt  to  repair 
what  the  folly  or  the  wickedness  of  their  predecessors  has  destroyed.  Sump 
tuous  abbeys  were  pulled  down  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.;  but  humble  parish  - 
churches  rose  up  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  Within  four  miles  of  Stratford,  on 
the  opposite  bank  of  the  Avon,  is  the  pretty  village  of  Welford ;  and  here 
is  a  church  which  bears  the  date  of  1568  carved  upon  its  wall.  Although  the 
church  was  new,  the  people  would  cling,  and  perhaps  more  pertinaciously  than 
ever,  to  the  old  usages  connected  with  their  church.  They  certainly  would 
188 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

not  forego  their  Wake,—"  an  ancient  custom  among  the  Christians  of  this  island 
to  keep  a  feast  every  year  upon  a  certain  week  or  day  in  remembrance  of  the 
finishing  of  the  building  of  their  parish-church,  and  of  the  first  solemn  dedi 
cating  of  it  to  the  service  of  God."*  For  fifty  years  after  the  period  of  which 
we  are  writing,  the  wakes  prevailed,  more  or  less,  throughout  England.  The 
Puritans  had  striven  to  put  them  down ;  but  the  opposite  party  in  the  Church 
as  zealously  encouraged  them.  Charles  I.  spoke  the  voice  of  this  party  in  one 
of  his  celebrated  declarations  for  sports,  which  gave  such  deep,  and  in  some 
respects  just,  offence.  In  1633  the  King's  declaration  in  favour  of  wakes  was 
as  follows  : — "  In  some  counties  of  this  kingdom,  his  Majesty  finds  that,  under 
pretence  of  taking  away  abuses,  there  hath  been  a  general  forbidding,  not  only 
of  ordinary  meetings,  but  of  the  feasts  of  the  dedication  of  the  churches,  com 
monly  called  Wakes.  Now,  his  Majesty's  express  will  and  pleasure  is,  that 
these  feasts,  with  others,  shall  be  observed;  and  that  his  justices  of  the  peace, 
in  their  several  divisions,  shall  look  to  it,  both  that  all  disorders  there  may  be 
prevented  or  punished,  and  that  all  neighbourhood  and  freedom,  with  manlike 
and  lawful  exercises,  be  used."f  Neighbourhood  and  freedom,  and  manlike 
exercises,  were  the  old  English  characteristics  of  the  wakes.  At  the  period 
when  William  Shakspere  was  just  entering  upon  life,  with  the  natural  disposi 
tion  of  youth,  strongest  perhaps  in  the  more  imaginative,  to  mingle  in  the 
recreations  and  sports  of  his  neighbours  with  the  most  cordial  spirit  of  enjoy 
ment,  the  Puritans  were  beginning  to  denounce  every  assembly  of  the  people 
that  strove  to  keep  up  the  character  of  merry  England.  Stubbes,  writing  at 
this  exact  epoch,  says,  describing  "  The  manner  of  keeping  of  Wakesses,"  that 
"  every  town,  parish,  and  village,  some  at  one  time  of  the  year,  some  at  an 
other,  but  so  that  every  one  keep  his  proper  day  assigned  and  appropriate  to 
itself  (which  they  call  their  wake-day),  useth  to  make  great  preparation  and 
provision  for  good  cheer  ;  to  the  which  all  their  friends  and  kinsfolks,  far  and 
near,  are  invited."  Such  were  the  friendly  meetings  in  all  mirth  and  freedom 
which  the  proclamation  of  Charles  calls  "  neighbourhood."  The  Puritans  de 
nounced  them  as  occasions  of  gluttony  and  drunkenness.  Excess,  no  doubt, 
was  occasionally  there.  The  old  hospitality  could  scarcely  exist  without  excess. 
But  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that,  whatever  might  be  the  distinction  of  ranks 
amongst  our  ancestors  in  all  matters  in  which  "  coat-armour "  was  concerned, 
there  was  a  hearty  spirit  of  social  intercourse,  constituting  a  practical  equality 
between  man  and  man,  which  enabled  all  ranks  to  mingle  without  offence  and 
without  suspicion  in  these  public  ceremonials  ;  and  thus  the  civilization  of  the 
educated  classes  told  upon  the  manners  of  the  uneducated.  There  is  no  writer 
who  furnishes  us  a  more  complete  picture  of  this  ancient  freedom  of  intercourse 
than  Chaucer.  The  company  who  meet  at  the  Tabard,  and  eat  the  victual  of 
the  best,  and  drink  the  strong  wine,  and  submit  themselves  to  the  merry  host, 
and  tell  their  tales  upon  the  pilgrimage  without  the  slightest  restraint,  are  not 
only  the  very  high  and  the  very  humble,  but  the  men  of  professions  and  the 

*  Brand's  'Popular  Antiquities,'  by  Ellis,  1841,  vol.  ii.,  p.  1. 
t  Rushworth's  '  Collections,'  quoted  in  Harris's  '  Life  of  Charles  I.' 

189 


w 1 1. i.i AM  SHAKSPERE: 

men  of  trade,  who  in  these  later  days  too  often  jostle  and  look  big  upon  the  de 
bateable  land  of  gentility.  And  so,  no  doubt,  this  freedom  existed  to  a  consi 
derable  extent  even  in  the  days  of  Shakspere.  In  the  next  generation  Herrick, 
a  parish  priest,  writes, — 

"  Come,  Antbca,  let  us  two 
Go  to  feast,  as  others  do. 
Tarts  and  custards,  creams  and  cakes, 
Are  the  junkets  still  at  wakes  : 
Unto  which  the  tribes  resort, 
Where  the  business  is  the  sport." 

With  "  the  tribes  "  were  mingled  the  stately  squire,  the  reverend  parson,  and 
the  well-fed  yeoman ;  and,  what  was  of  more  importance,  their  wives  and 
daughters  there  exchanged  smiles  and  courtesies.  The  more  these  meetings 
were  frowned  upon  by  the  severe,  the  more  would  they  be  cherished  by  those 
who  thought  not  that  the  proper  destiny  of  man  was  unceasing  labour  and 
mortification.  Some  even  of  the  most  pure  would  exclaim,  as  Burton  ex 
claimed  after  there  had  been  a  contest  for  fifty  years  upon  the  matter,  "  Let 
them  freely  feast,  sing,  and  dance,  have  their  puppet-plays,  hobby-horses, 
tabors,  crowds,  bagpipes,  &c.,  play  at  ball  and  barley-breaks,  and  what  sports 
and  recreations  they  like  best !  "  * 

From  sunrise,  then,  upon  a  bright  summer  morning,  are  the  country  people 
in  their  holiday  dresses  hastening  to  Welford.  It  is  the  Baptist's  day.  There 
were  some  amongst  them  who  had  lighted  the  accustomed  bonfires  upon  the 
hills  on  the  vigil  of  the  saint ;  and  perhaps  a  maiden  or  two,  clinging  to  the 
ancient  superstitions,  had  tremblingly  sat  in  the  church-porch  in  the  solemn 
twilight,  or  more  daringly  had  attempted  at  midnight  to  gather  the  fern-seed 
which  should  make  mortals  "walk  invisible."  Over  the  bridges  at  Binton 
come  the  hill  people  from  Temple  Grafton  and  Billesley.  Arden  pours  out  its 
scanty  population  from  the  woodland  hamlets.  Bidford  and  Barton  send  in 
their  tribes  through  the  flat  pastures  on  either  bank  of  the  river.  From  Strat 
ford  there  is  a  pleasant  and  not  circuitous  walk  by  the  Avon's  side,  now  leading 
through  low  meadows,  now  ascending  some  gentle  knoll,  where  a  long  reach  of 
the  stream  may  be  traced,  and  now  close  upon  the  sedges  and  alders,  with  a 
glimpse  of  the  river  sparkling  through  the  green.  It  is  a  merry  company  who 
follow  along  this  narrow  road  ;  and  there  is  a  clear  voice  carolling 

"  Jog  on,  jog  on,  the  foot-path  way, 

And  merrily  bent  the  stile-a  : 

A  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day, 

Your  sad  tires  in  a  mile-a."  f 

They  soon  cross  the  ferry  at  Ludington,  and,  passing  through  the  village  oi 
Weston,  they  hear  the  church-bells  of  Welford  sending  forth  a  merry  peal.  At 

•  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  Part  II.,  Sec.  2. 

t  Winter's  Tale,  Act  iv.,  Scene  11.     The  music  of  this  song  is  given  in  the  Pictorial  Shakspere, 
and  in  Mr.  Chappell's  admirable  collection  of  '  English  National  Airs.'      We  are  indebted  to  Mr. 
Chappell  for  many  of  the  facts  connected  with  our  ancient  music  noticed  in  the  present  chapter. 
190 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 


length  they  reach  the  village.  There  is  cordial  welcome  in  every  house.  The 
tables  of  the  Manor  Hall  are  set  out  with  a  substantial  English  breakfast ;  and 
the  farmer's  kitchen  emulates  the  same  bounteous  hospitality.  In  a  little  'while 
the  church-tower  sends  forth  another  note.  A  single  bell  tolls  for  matins.  The 
church  soon  fills  with  a  zealous  congregation  ;  not  a  seat  is  empty.  The  service 
for  this  particular  feast  is  attended  to  with  pious  reverence;  and  when  the 
people  are  invited  to  assist  in  its  choral  parts,  they  still  show  that,  however  the 
national  taste  for  music  may  have  been  injured  by  the  suppression  of  the 
chauntries,  they  are  familiar  with  the  fine  old  chaunts  of  their  fathers,  and  can 
perform  them  with  spirit  and  exactness,  each  according  to  his  ability,  but  the 
most  with  some  knowledge  of  musical  science.  The  homily  is  ended.  The 
sun  shines  glaringly  through  the  white  glass  of  this  new  church ;  and  some  of 
the  Stratford  people  may  think  it  fortunate  that  their  old  painted  windows  are 
not  yet  all  removed.*  The  dew  is  off  the  green  that  skirts  the  churchyard  ; 
the  pipers  and  crowders  are  ready;  the  first  dance  is  to  be  chosen.  Thomas 
Heywood,  one  of  Shakspere's  pleasant  contemporaries,  has  left  us  a  dialogue 
which  shows  how  embarrassing  was  such  a  choice  : — 


"  Jack.     Come,  what  shall  it  be  ?  '  Rogero  ? ' 

Jenkin.     '  Rogero  ? '  no ;  we  will  dance  '  The  beginning  of  the  world.' 
Sisly.     I  love  no  dance  so  well  as  •'  John,  come  kiss  me  now.' 
Nicholas.     I  have  ere  now  deserv'd  a  cushion ;  call  for  the  '  Cushion-dance.' 
Roger.     For  my  part,  I  like  nothing  so  well  as  '  Tom  Tyler.' 
Jenkin.     No  ;  we'll  have  '  The  hunting  of  the  fox.' 
Jack.    '  The  hay,  The  hay ; '  there 's  nothing  like  '  The  hay.' 
Jenkin.  Let  me  speak  for  all,  and  we'll  have  '  Sellenger's  round.'  "t 

Jenkin,  who  rejects  '  Rogero,'  is  strenuous  for  '  The  Beginning  of  the  World,' 
and  he  carries  his  proposal  by  giving  it  the  more  modern  name  of  '  Sellenger's 
Round.'  The  tune  was  as  old  as  Henry  VIII.  ;  for  it  is  mentioned  in  'The 
History  of  Jack  of  Newbury,'  by  Thomas  Deloney,  whom  Kemp  called  the 
great  ballad-maker  :  — "  In  comes  a  noise  of  musicians  in  tawny  coats,  who, 
taking  off  their  caps,  asked  if  they  would  have  any  music  ?  The  widow 
answered,  '  No  ;  they  were  merry  enough.'  '  Tut ! '  said  the  old  man ;  '  let  us 
hear,  good  fellows,  what  you  can  do ;  and  play  me  The  Beginning  of  the 
World.' "  A  quaint  tune  is  this,  by  whatever  name  it  be  known — an  air  not 
boisterous  in  its  character,  but  calm  and  graceful ; — a  round  dance  "  for  as 
many  as  will ;  "  who  "  take  hands  and  go  round  twice,  and  back  again,"  with  a 
succession  of  figures  varying  the  circular  movement,  and  allowing  the  display 
of  individual  grace  and  nimbleness  : — 


*  "All  images,  shrines,  tabernacles,  roodlofts,  and  monuments  of  idolatry  are  removed,  taken 
down,  and  defaced ;  only  the  stories  in  glass  windows  excepted,  which,  for  want  of  sufficient  store 
of  new  stuff,  and  by  reason  of  extreme  charge  that  should  grow  by  the  alteration  of  the  same  into 
white  panes  throughout  the  realm,  are  not  altogether  abolished  in  most  places  at  once,  but  by  little 
and  little  suffered  to  decay,  that  white  glass  may  be  provided  and  set  up  in  their  rooms."— Harri 
son's  'Description  of  England:'  1586. 

t  A  Woman  Killed  with  Kindness.      1600. 

191 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE  r 

"  Each  one,  tripping  on  his  toe, 
Will  be  here  with  mop  and  mowe."  * 

The  countryfolks  of  Shakspere  s  time  put  their  hearts  into  the  dance  ;  and,  as 
their  ears  were  musical  by  education,  their  energy  was  at  once  joyous  and 
elegant.  Glad  hearts  are  there  even  amongst  those  who  are  merely  lookers-on 
upon  this  scene.  The  sight  of  happiness  is  in  itself  happiness ;  and  there  was 
real  happiness  in  the  "  unreproved  pleasures"  of  the  youths  and  maidens 

"  Tripping  the  comely  country-round 
With  daffodils  and  daisies  crown'd."  t 

If  Jenkin  carried  the  voices  for  '  Sellenger's  Round,'  Sisly  must  next  be  gratified 
with  '  John,  come  kiss  me  now.'  Let  it  not  be  thought  that  Sisly  called  for  a 
vulgar  tune.  This  was  one  of  the  most  favourite  airs  of  Queen  Elizabeth's 
'  Virginal  Book,'  and  after  being  long  popular  in  England  it  transmigrated  into 
a  "  godly  song "  of  Scotland.  The  tune  is  in  two  parts,  of  which  the  first  part 
only  is  in  the  '  Virginal  Book,'  and  this  is  a  sweet  little  melody  full  of  grace  and 
tenderness.  The  more  joyous  revellers  may  now  desire  something  more  stir 
ring,  and  call  for  '  Packington's  Pound,'  as  old  perhaps  as  the  days  of  Henry  VIII., 
and  which  survived  for  a  couple  of  centuries  in  the  songs  of  Ben  Jonson  and 
Gay.J  The  controversy  about  players,  pipers,  and  dancers  has  fixed  the  date 
of  some  of  these  old  tunes,  showing  us  to  what  melodies  the  young  Shakspere 
might  have  moved  joyously  in  a  round  or  a  galliard.  Stephen  Gosson,  for 
example,  sneers  at  '  Trenchmore.'  But  we  know  that  '  Trenchmore '  was  of  an 
earlier  date  than  Gosson's  book.  A  writer  who  came  twenty  years  after  Gos 
son  shows  us  that  the  '  Trenchmore '  was  scarcely  to  be  reckoned  amongst  the 
graceful  dances  :  "  In  this  case,  like  one  dancing  the  '  Trenchmore,'  he  stamped 
up  and  down  the  yard,  holding  his  hips  in  his  hands."||  It  was  the  leaping, 
romping  dance,  in  which  the  exuberance  of  animal  spirits  delights.  Burton 
says — "  We  must  dance  '  Trenchmore '  over  tables,  chairs,  and  stools."  Selden 
has  a  capital  passage  upon  '  Trenchmore,'  showing  us  how  the  sports  of  the 
country  were  adopted  by  the  Court,  until  the  most  boisterous  of  the  dancing 
delights  of  the  people  fairly  drove  out  "  state  and  ancientry."  He  says,  in  his 
'  Table  Talk,' — "  The  Court  of  England  is  much  altered.  At  a  solemn  dancing, 
first  you  had  the  grave  measures,  then  the  corantoes  and  the  galliards,  and  this 
kept  up  with  ceremony ;  and  at  length  to  '  Trenchmore '  and  the  '  Cushion- 
dance  : '  then  all  the  company  dances,  lord  and  groom,  lady  and  kitchen-maid, 
no  distinction.  So  in  our  Court  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  time,  gravity  and  state 
were  kept  up ;  in  King  James's  time  things  were  pretty  well ;  but  in  King 
Charles's  time  there  has  been  nothing  but  '  Trenchmore '  and  the  '  Cushion- 
dance,'  omnium  gatherum,  tolly  polly,  hoite  come  toite."  It  was  in  this  spirit 
that  Charles  II.  at  a  court  ball  called  for  '  Cuckolds  all  arow,'  which  he  said 

•  Tempest,  Act  iv.,  Scene  n.  f  Herrick's  '  Hesperides.' 

I  See  Ben  Jouson's  song  in  '  Bartholomew  Fair/  beginning — 

"  My  masters,  and  friends,  and  good  people,  draw  near." 
§  See  p.  56.  ||  Deloney's  '  Gentle  Craft : '  1598. 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

was  "  the  old  dance  of  England."*  From  its  name,  and  its  jerking  melody,  this 
would  seem  to  be  one  of  the  country  dances  of  parallel  lines.  They  were  each 
danced  by  the  people  ;  but  the  round  dance  must  unquestionably  have  been  the 

most  graceful.      Old   Burton  writes   of  it   with  a  fine  enthusiasm  : "  It  was  a 

pleasant  sight,  to  see  those  pretty  knots  and  swimming  figures.  The  sun  and 
moon  (some  say)  dance  about  the  earth,  the  three  upper  planets  about  the  sun 
as  their  centre, — now  stationary,  now  direct,  now  retrograde  ;  now  in  apogseo, 
then  in  perigseo  ;  now  swift,  then  slow  ;  occidental,  oriental  ;  they  turn  round, 
jump  and  trace,  ?  and  5  about  the  sun  with  those  thirty-three  Maculae  or 
Burbonian  planets,  circa  solem  saltantes  Cytharedum,  saith  Fromundus.  Four 
Medicean  stars  dance  about  Jupiter,  two  Austrian  about  Saturn,  &c.,  and  all 
(belike)  to  the  music  of  the  spheres."  f  '  Joan's  Placket,'  the  delightful  old 
tune  that  we  yet  beat  time  to,  when  the  inspiriting  song  of  '  When  I  followed 
a  lass '  comes  across  our  memories,  J  would  be  a  favourite  upon  the  green  at 
Welford ;  and  surely  he  who  in  after-times  said,  "I  did  think  by  the  excellent 
constitution  of  thy  leg  it  was  formed  under  the  star  of  a  galliard,"§  might 
strive  not  to  resist  the  attraction  of  the  air  of  '  Sweet  Margaret,'  and  willingly 
surrender  himself  to  the  inspiration  of  its  gentle  and  its  buoyant  movements. 
One  dance  he  must  take  part  in ;  for  even  the  squire  and  the  squire's  lady  can 
not  resist  its  charms, — the  dance  which  has  been  in  and  out  of  fashion  for  two 


*  Pepys's  'Memoirs,'  8vo.,  vol.,  i.  p.  359. 

t  '  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,'  Part  III.,  Sec.  2.  Burton,  the  universal  reader,  might  have 
caught  the  idea  from  Sir  John  Davie$'s  '  Orchestra ;  or,  a  Poem  expressing  the  Antiquity  and  Ex 
cellency  of  Dancing:' — 

"  Dancing,  bright  lady,  then  began  to  be, 
When  the  first  seeds  whereof  the  world  did  spring, 
The  fire,  air,  earth,  and  water,  did  agree, 
By  Love's  persuasion,  Nature's  mighty  king, 
To  leave  their  first  disorder'd  combating  ; 
And  in  a  dance  such  measure  to  observe, 
As  all  the  world  their  motion  should  preserve. 

Since  when  they  still  are  carried  in  a  round, 
And,  changing,  come  one  in  another's  place  ; 
Yet  do  they  neither  mingle  nor  confound, 
But  every  one  doth  keep  the  bounded  space 
Wherein  the  dance  doth  bid  it  turn  or  trace 
This  wondrous  miracle  did  Love  devise, 
For  dancing  is  Love's  proper  exercise. 

Like  this,  he  fram'd  the  gods'  eternal  bower, 

And  of  a  shapeless  and  confused  mass, 

By  his  through-piercing  and  digesting  power, 

The  turned  vault  of  heaven  formed  was  : 

Whose  starry  wheels  he  hath  so  made  to  pass, 

As  that  their  movings  do  a  music  frame, 

And  they  themselves  still  dance  unto  the  same." 

J  Love  in  a  Village.  §  Twelfth  Night,  Act  i.,  Scene  in. 

LIFE.  O  l«* 


WILLIAM  SIIAKSPERE: 

centuries  and  a  half,  and  has  again  asserted  its  rights  in  England,  in  despite  of 
waltz  and  quadrille.  We  all  know,  upon  the  most  undoubted  testimony,  that 
the  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  who  to  the  lasting  regret  of  all  mankind  caught  a 
cold  at  the  County  Sessions,  and  died,  in  1712,  was  the  great-grandson  of  the 
Worthy  knight  of  Coverley,  or  Cowley,  who  "  was  inventor  of  that  famous 
country-dance  which  is  called  after  him.""  Who  can  doubt,  then,  that  William 
Shakspere  might  have  danced  this  famous  dance,  in  hall  or  on  greensward,  with 
its  graceful  advancings  arjd  retirings,  its  bows  and  curtsies,  its  chain  figures,  its 
pretty  knots  unravelled  in  simultaneous  movement?  In  vain  for  the  young  blood  of 
1580  might  Stubbes  denounce  peril  to  body  and  mind  in  his  outcry  against  the 
"  horrible  vice  of  pestiferous  dancing."  The  manner  in  which  the  first  Puritans  set 
about  making  people  better,  after  the  fashion  of  a  harsh  nurse  to  a  froward  child, 
was  very  remarkable.  Stubbes  threatens  the  dancers  with  lameness  and  broken 
legs,  as  well  as  with  severer  penalties ;  but,  being  constrained  to  acknowledge 
that  dancing  "  is  both  ancient  and  general,  having  been  used  ever  in  all  ages  as 
well  of  the  godly  as  of  the  wicked,"  he  reconciles  the  matter  upon  the  following 
principle  : — "  If  it  be  used  for  man's  comfort,  recreation,  and  godly  pleasure, 
privately  (every  sex  distinct  by  themselves),  whether  with  music  or  otherwise, 
it  cannot  be  but  a  very  tolerable  exercise."  We  doubt  if  this  arrangement 
would  have  been  altogether  satisfactory  to  the  young  men  and  maidens  at  the 
Welford  Wake,  even  if  Philip  Stubbes  had  himself  appeared  amongst  them, 
with  his  unpublished  manuscript  in  his  pocket,  to  take  the  place  of  the  pipers, 
crying  out  to  them — "  Give  over,  therefore,  your  occupations,  you  pipers,  you 
fiddlers,  you  minstrels,  and  you  musicians,  you  drummers,  you  tabretters,  you 
fluters,  and  all  other  of  that  wicked  brood. "f  Neither,  when  the  flowing  cup 
was  going  round  amongst  the  elders  to  song  and  story,  would  he  have  been 
much  heeded,  had  he  himself  lifted  up  his  voice,  exclaiming,  "  Wherefore  should 
the  whole  town,  parish,  village,  and  country,  keep  one  and  the  same  day,  and 
make  such  gluttonous  feasts  as  they  do?"J  One  young  man  might  have  an 
swered,  "  Dost  thou  think  because  thou  art  virtuous  there  shall  be  no  more 
cakes  and  ale  ?  "§ 

Crossing  the  Avon  by  the  ancient  mill  of  Welford,  we  descend  the  stream  for 
about  a  mile,  till  we  reach  the  rising  ground  upon  which  stands  the  hamlet  of 
Hillborough.  This  is  the  "  haunted  Hillborough  "  of  the  lines  which  tradition 
ascribes  to  Shakspere.  ||  Assuredly  the  inhabitants  of  that  fine  old  farm-house, 
still  venerable  in  its  massive  walls  and  its  mullioned  windows,  would  be  at  the 
wake  at  Welford.  They  press  the  neighbours  from  Stratford  to  go  a  little  out 
of  their  way  homewards  to  accept  their  own  hospitality.  There  is  dance  and 
merriment  within  the  house,  and  shovel-board  and  tric-trac  for  the  sedentary. 
But  the  evening  is  brilliant ;  for  the  sun  is  not  yet  setting  behind  Bardon  Hill, 
and  there  is  an  early  moon.  There  will  be  a  game  at  Barley- Break  in  the  field 
before  the  old  House.  The  lots  are  cast ;  three  damsels  and  three  youths  are 

•  Spectator,  New.  2  ami  517.  f  Anatomy  of  Abuses. 

§  Twelfth  Night,  Act  n.,  Scene  HI.  II  Sec  p.  68. 

194 


[Great  Hillborough.    Barley-break.] 

chosen  for  the  sport ;  a  plot  of  ground  is  marked  out  into  three  compartments, 
in  each  of  which  a  couple  is  placed, — the  middle  division  bearing  the  name  of 
hell.  In  that  age  the  word  was  not  used  profanely  nor  vulgarly.  Sidney  and 
Browne  and  Massinger  describe  the  sport.  The  couple  who  are  in  this  con 
demned  place  try  to  catch  those  who  advance  from  the  other  divisions,  and  we 
may  imagine  the  noise  and  the  laughter  of  the  vigorous  resistance  and  the  coy 
yieldings  that  sounded  on  Hillborough,  and  scared  the  pigeons  from  their  old 
dovecote.  The  difficulty  of  the  game  consisted  in  this — that  the  couple  in  the 
middle  place  were  not  to  separate,  whilst  the  others  might  loose  hands  when 
ever  they  pleased.  Sidney  alludes  to  this  peculiarity  of  the  game  : — 

"  There  you  may  see,  soon  as  the  middle  two 
Do,  coupled,  towards  either  couple  make, 
They,  false  and  fearful,  do  their  hands  undo." 

But  half  a  century  after  Sidney,  the  sprightliest  of  poets,  Sir  John  Suckling, 
described  the  game  of  Barley-break  with  unequalled  vivacity  : — 

"  Love,  Reason,  Hate,  did  once  bespeak 
Three  mates  to  play  at  barley-break ; 
Love,  Folly  took ;  and  Reason,  Fancy  ; 
And  Hate  consorts  with  Pride  ;  so  dance  they : 
Love  coupled  last,  and  so  it  fell 
That  Love  and  Folly  were  in  hell. 

They  break,  and  Love  would  Reason  meet, 
But  Hate  was  nimbler  on  her  feet ; 
Fancy  looks  for  Pride,  and  thither 
Hies,  and  they  two  hug  together  : 
0  2  1&6 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPKRE: 

Yet  this  new  coupling  utill  doth  tell 
That  Love  and  Folly  were  in  hell. 

The  rest  do  break  again,  and  Pride 
Hath  now  got  Reason  on  her  side  ; 
Hate  and  Fancy  meet,  and  stand 
Untouch'd  by  Love  in  Folly's  hand  ; 
Folly  was  dull,  but  Love  ran  well, 
So  Love  and  Folly  were  in  hell." 

The  young  Shakspere,  whose  mature  writings  touch  lightly  upon  country 
sports,  but  who  mentions  them  always  as  familiar  thiYigs,  would  be  the  foremost 
in  these  diversions.  He  would  "  ride  the  wild  mare  with  the  boys."  *  and 
"  play  at  quoits  well,"t  and  "change  places"  at  "  handy-dandy,"  J  and  put  out 
all  his  strength  in  a  jump,  though  he  might  not  expect  to  "win  a  lady  at  leap 
frog,'^  and  run  the  country-base"  with  "  striplings, "||  and  be  a  "very  good 
bowler."  ^[  It  was  not  in  solitude  only  that  he  acquired  his  wisdom.  He 
knew 

"  All  qualities,  with  a  learned  spirit, 
Of  human  dealings,"  *• 

through  his  intercourse  with  his  fellows,  and  not  by  meditating  upon  abstrac 
tions.  The  meditation  was  to  apply  the  experience  and  raise  it  into  philo 
sophy. 

There  is  a  temptation  for  the  young  men  to  make  another  day's  holiday, 
resting  at  Hillborough  through  the  night.  No  sprites  are  there  to  disturb  the 
rest  which  has  been  earned  by  exercise.  Before  the  sun  is  up  they  are  in  the 
dewy  fields,  for  there  is  to  be  an  otter-hunt  below  Bidford.  The  owner  of  the 
Grange,  who  has  succeeded  to  the  monks  of  Evesham,  has  his  pack  of  otter 
dogs.  They  are  already  under  the  marl-cliffs,  busily  seeking  for  the  enemy  of 
all  anglers.  "  Look !  down  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill  there,  in  that  meadow, 
checkered  with  water-lilies  and  lady-smocks  ;  there  you  may-  see  what  work 
they  make  ;  look !  look !  you  may  see  all  busy ;  men  and  dogs ;  dogs  and  men ; 
all  busy."  Thus  does  honest  Izaak  Walton  describe  such  an  animated  scene 
The  otter-hunt  is.  now  rare  in  England ;  but  in  those  days,  when  field-sports 
had  the  double  justification  of  their  exercise  and  of  their  usefulness,  the  otter- 
hunt  was  the  delight  of  the  dwellers  near  rivers.  Spear  in  hand,  every  root 
and  hole  in  the  bank  is  tried  by  watermen  and  landsmen.  The  water-dog,  as 
the  otter  was  called,  is  at  length  found  in  her  fishy  hole,  near  her  whelps.  She 
takes  to  the  stream,  amidst  the  barking  of  dogs  and  the  shouts  of  men  ;  horse 
men  dash  into  the  fordable  places ;  boatmen  push  hither  and  thither  ;  the  dogs 
have  lost  her,  and  there  is  a  short  silence ;  for  one  instant  she  comes  up  to  the 
surface  to  breathe,  and  the  dogs  are  after  her.  One  dog  has  just  seized  her, 
but  she  bites  him,  and  he  swims  away  howling  ;  she  is  under  again,  and  they 

•  Henry  IV.,  Act  IL,  Scene  iv.  f  Ibid.  £  Lear,  Act  iv.,  Scene  VL 

§  Henry  V.,  Act  v.,  Scene  n.  ||  Cymbeline,  Act  v.,  Scene  iv. 

U  Love's  Labour's  Lost,  Act  v.,  Scene  n.  **  OtbftUn.  Act  m.,  Soene  HI. 

1M 


[Marl  Cliffs,  near  Bidford.] 


are  at  fault.  Again  she  rises,  or,  in  the  technical  language,  vents.  "  Now 
Sweetlips  has  her ;  hold  her,  Sweetlips !  Now  all  the  dogs  have  her ;  some 
above,  and  some  under  water :  but  now,  now  she  is  tired,  and  past  losing."  This 
is  the  catastrophe  of  the  otter-hunt  according  to  Walton.  Somerville,  in  his 
grandiloquent  blank  verse,  makes  her  die  by  the  spears  of  the  huntsmen. 

When  Izaak  Walton  and  his  friends  have  killed  the  otter,  they  go  to  their 
sport  of  angling.  Shakspere  in  three  lines  describes  "the  contemplative  man's 
recreation  "  as  if  he  had  enjoyed  it : — 

"  The  pleasantest  angling  ia  to  see  the  fish 
Cut  with  her  golden  oars  the  silver  stream, 
And  greedily  devour  the  treacherous  bait."  * 

The  oldest  books  upon  angling  have  something  of  that  half  poetical,  half  devout 
enthusiasm  about  the  art  which  Walton  made  so  delightful.  Even  the  author 
of  the  '  Treatise  of  Fishing  with  an  Angle,'  in  the  '  Book  of  St.  Albans/  talks  of 
"  the  sweet  air  of  the  sweet  savour  of  the  mead-flowers,"  and  the  "  melodious 
harmony  of  fowls  ;  "  and  concludes  the  '  Treatise  '  thus  : — "  Ye  shall  not  use  this 
foresaid  crafty  disport  for  no  covetyseness  to  the  increasing  and  sparing  of  your 
money  only,  but  principally  for  your  solace,  and  to  cause  the  health  of  your 
body,  and  specially  of  your  soul ;  for  when  ye  purpose  to  go  on  your  disports 
in  fishing  ye  will  not  desire  greatly  many  persons  with  you,  which  might  let 


*  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  Act  nr.,  Scene  i. 


197 


WILLIAM  8HAKSPERE: 

you  of  your  game.  And  then  ye  may  serve  God  devoutly  in  saying  affec- 
tuously  your  customable  prayer,  and  thus  doing  ye  shall  eschew  and  void 
many  vices."  *  According  to  this  good  advice,  with  which  he  was  doubtless 
familiar,  would  the  young  poet  go  alone  to  fish  in  the  quiet  nooks  of  his  Avon. 
With  his  merry  companions  about  him  he  would  not  try  the  water  at  Bidford 
on  this  day  of  the  otter-hunt. 

About  a  mile  from  the  town  of  Bidford  on  the  road  to  Stratford  was,  some  twenty 
years  ago,  an  ancient  crab-tree  well  known  to  the  country  round  as  Shakspere's 
Crab-tree.  The  tradition  which  associates  it  with  the  name  of  Shakspere  is, 
like  many  other  traditions  regarding  the  poet,  an  attempt  to  embody  the 
general  notion  that  his  social  qualities  were  as  remarkable  as  his  genius.  la 
an  age  when  excess  of  joviality  was  by  some  considered  almost  a  virtue,  the 
genial  fancy  of  the  dwellers  at  Stratford  may  have  been  pleased  to  confer  upon 
this  crab-tree  the  honour  of  sheltering  Shakspere  from  the  dews  of  night,  on 
an  occasion  when  his  merrymakings  had  disqualified  him  from  returning  home 
ward,  and  he  had  laid  down  to  sleep  under  its  spreading  branches.  It  is 
scarcely  necessary  to  enter  into  an  examination  of  this  apocryphal  story.  But 
as  the  crab-tree  is  associated  with  Shakspere,  it  may  fitly  be  made  the  scene  of 
some  of  his  youthful  exercises.  He  may  "  cleave  the  pin "  and  strike  the 
quintain  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  crab-tree,  as  well  as  sleep  heavily  beneath 
its  shade.  We  shall  dimmish  no  honest  enthusiasm  by  changing  the  associa- 

*  'The  Treaty.*pa  perteynyng  to  Ilawkynge,  Huntynge,  and  Fiushynge  with  an  Angle.'     1496 


[fildford.] 


A   BJOGRAl'HY. 

tion.  Indeed,  although  the  crab-tree  was  long  ago  known  by  the  name  of 
Shakspere's  Crab-tree,  the  tradition  that  he  was  amongst  a  party  who  haa 
accepted  a  challenge  from  the  Bidford  topers  to  try  which  could  drink  hardest, 
and  there  bivouacked  after  the  debauch,  is  difficult  to  be  traced  further  than 
the  hearsay  evidence  of  Mr.  Samuel  Ireland.  In  the  same  way,  the  merry 
folks  of  Stratford  will  tell  you  to  this  day  that  the  Falcon  inn  in  that  town  was 
the  scene  of  Shakspere's  nightly  potations,  after  he  had  retired  from  London 
to  his  native  home ;  and  they  will  show  you  the  shovel-board  at  which  he 
delighted  to  play.  Harmless  traditions,  ye  are  yet  baseless!  The  Falcon  was 
not  an  inn  at  all  in  Shakspere's  time,  but  a  goodly  private  dwelling. 

About  the  year  1580  the  ancient  practice  of  archery  had  revived  in  England. 
The  use  of  the  famous  English  long-bow  had  been  superseded  in  war  by  the 
arquebuss  ;  but  their  old  diversion  of  butt-shooting  would  not  readily  be  aban 
doned  by  the  bold  yeomanry,  delighting  as  they  still  did  in  stories  of  their 
countrymen's  prowess,  familiar  to  them  in  chronicle  and  ballad.  The  'Toxo- 
philus  '  of  Roger  Ascham  was  a  book  well  fitted  to  be  amongst  the  favourites  of 
our  Shakspere ;  and  he  would  think  with  that  fine  old  schoolmaster  that  the 
book  and  the  bow  might  well  go  together.*  He  might  have  heard  that  a 
wealthy  yeoman  of  Middlesex,  John  Lyon,  who  had  founded  the  grammar- 
school  at  Harrow,  had.  instituted  a  prize  for  archery  amongst  the  scholars. 
Had  not  the  fame,  too,  gone  forth  through  the  country  of  the  worthy  '  Show  and 
Shooting  by  the  Duke  of  Shoreditch,  and  his  Associates  the  Worshipful- Citizens 
of  London,'  f  and  of  '  The  Friendly  and  Frank  Fellowship  of  Prince  Arthur's 
Knights  in  and  about  the  City  of  London  ?  '  J  There  were  men  of  Stratford 
who  within  a  year  or  two  had  seen  the  solemn  processions  of  these  companies  of 
archers,  and  their  feats  in  Hogsden  Fields ;  where  the  wealthy  citizens  and  their 
ladies  sat  in  their  tents  most  gorgeously  dressed,  and  the  winners  of  the  prizes 
were  brought  out  of  the  field  by  torchlight,  with  drum  and  trumpet,  and  volleys 
of  shot,  mounted  upon  great  geldings  sumptuously  trapped  with  cloths  of  silver 
and  gold.  Had  he  not  himself  talked  with  an  ancient  squire,  who,  in  the  elder 
days,  at  "Mile  End  Green"  had  played  "Sir  Dagonet  at  Arthur's  Show?"§ 
And  did  he  not  know  "  old  Double,"  who  was  now  dead  ? — "  He  drew  a  good 
bow ;  and  dead  ! — he  shot  a  fine  shoot :  *  *  *  Dead ! — he  would  have  clapped 
i'  the  clout  at  twelve  score  ;  and  carried  you  a  forehand  shaft  a  fourteen  and 
fourteen  and  a  half,  that  it  would  have  done  a  man's  heart  good  to  see."  || 
Welcome  to  him,  then,  would  be  the  invitation  of  the  young  men  of  Bidford 
for  a  day  of  archery  ;  for  they  received  as  a  truth  the  maxim  of  Ascham,— 
"  That  still,  according  to  the  old.  wont  of  England,  youth  should  use  it  for  the 


«  "  Would  to  God  that  all  men  did  bring  up  their    sons,  like  my  worshipful  master  Sir  Henry 
Wingefield,  in  the  book  and  the  bow." — ASCHAM. 

t  This  is  the  title  of  a  tract  published  in  1583 ;  but  the  author  says  that  these  mock  solemniti. 
had  been  "  greatly  revived,  and  within  these  five  years  set  forward ,  at  the  great  cost  and  charges 
of  sundry  chief  citizens." 

.4:  The  title  of  a  tract  by  Richard  Mulcaeter :  1581. 

§  Henry  IV.,  Part  II.,  Act  in.,  Scene  n.  II  Ibid. 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

most  nonest  pastime  in  peace."  The  butts  are  erected  in  the  open  fields  after 
we  cross  the  Ichnield  way  on  the  Stratford  road.  It  is  an  elevated  spot,  which 
looks  down  upon  the  long  pastures  which  skirt  the  Avon.  These  are  not  the 
ancient  butts  of  the  town,  made  and  kept  up  according  to  the  statute  of 
Henry  VIII.  ;  nor  do  the  young  men  compel  their  fathers,  according  to  the 
same  statute,  to  provide  each  of  them  with  "a  bow  and  two  shafts,"  until  they 
are  of  the  age  of  seventeen  ;  but  each  is  willing  to  obey  the  statute,  having  "  a 
bow  and  four  arrows  continually  for  himself."  Their  butts  are  mounds  of  turf, 
on  which  is  fixed  a  small  piece  of  circular  paper  with  a  pin  in  the  centre.  The 
young  poet  probably  thought  of  Robin  Hood's  more  picturesque  mark  : — 

"  '  On  every  syde  a  rose  garlonde, 
They  shot  under  the  lyne. 

Whoso  fayleth  of  the  rose  garlonde,'  sayd  Robiu, 
'  His  takyll  he  shall  tyne.'  " 

At  the  crab-tree  are  the  young  archers  to  meet  at  the  hour  of  eight  : — 
"  Hold,  or  cut  bowstrings."  * 

The  costume  of  Chaucer's  squire's  yeoman  would  be  emulated  by  some  of  the 
assembly  : — 

"  He  was  cladde  in  cote  and  hode  of  grene  ; 
A  shefe  of  peacock  arwes  bright  and  kene 
Under  his  belt  he  bare  ful  thriftily. 
Wei  coude  he  dresse  his  takel  yeinanly  : 
His  arwes  drouped  not  with  fetheres  lowe. 
And  in  his  hond  he  bare  a  mighty  bowe. 

Upon  his  arme  he  bare  a  gaie  bracer." 

The  lots  are  cast ;  three  archers  on  either  side.  The  marker  takes  his  place,  to 
"  cry  aim."  Away  flies  the  first  arrow — "  gone  " — it  is  over  the  butt ;  a  second 
— "  short ;  "  a  third — "  wide  ;  "  a  fourth  "  hits  the  white/' — "  Let  him  be  clapped 
on  the  shoulder  and  called  Adam  ; "  f  a  fifth  "  handles  his  bow  like  a  crow- 
keeper."  J  Lastly  comes  a  youth  from  Stratford,  and  he  is  within  an  inch  of 
"  cleaving  the  pin."  There  is  a  maiden  gazing  on  the  sport ;  she  whispers  a 
word  in  his  ear,  and  "then  the  very  pin  of  his  heart  "is  "cleft  with  the  blind 
bow-boy's  butt-shaft."§  He  recovers  his  self-possession,  whilst  he  receives  his 
arrow  from  the  marker,  humming  the  while — 

"  The  blinded  boy,  that  shoots  so  trim, 

From  heaven  down  did  hie  ; 

He  drew  a  dart  and  shot  at  him, 

In  place  where  he  did  lie."  || 


Midsummer-Night's  Dream,  Act  i.,  Scene  n.  f  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  Act  ; 

I  Lear.  §  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Act  n.,  Scene  iv. 

||  Ballad  of  '  King  Cophetua  and  the  Beggar-Maid.' 
20C 


•     [The  Crab-tree.] 

After  repeated  contests  the  match  is  decided.  But  there  is  now  to  be  a  trial 
of  greater  skill,  requiring  the  strong  arm  and  the  accurate  eye — the  old  English 
practice  which  won  the  day  at  Agincourt.  The  archers  go  up  into  the  hills : 
he  who  has  drawn  the  first  lot  suddenly  stops ;  there  is  a  bush  upon  the  rising 
ground  before  him,  from  which  hangs  some  rag,  or  weasel-skin,  or  dead  crow ; 
away  flies  the  arrow,  and  the  fellows  of  the  archer  each  shoot  from  the  same 
spot.  This  was  the  roving  of  the  more  ancient  archery,  where  the  mark  was 
sometimes  on  high,  and  sometimes  on  the  ground,  and  always  at  variable  dis 
tances.  Over  hill  and  dale  go  the  young  men  onward  in  the  excitement  of 
their  exercise,  so  lauded  by  Richard  Mulcaster,  first  Master  of  Merchant  Tai 
lors'  School  : — "  And  whereas  hunting  on  foot  is  much  praised,  what  moving  ot 
the  body  hath  the  foot-hunter  in  hills  and  dales  which  the  roving  archer  hath 
not  in  variety  of  grounds  ?  Is  his  natural  heat  more  stirred  than  the  archer's 
is  ?  Is  his  appetite  better  than  the  archer's  ?  "  *  This  natural  premonition  sends 
the  party  homeward  to  their  noon-tide  dinner  at  the  Grange.  But  as  they  pass 
along  the  low  meadows  they  send  up  many  a  "  flight,"  with  shout  and  laughter. 
An  arrow  is  sometimes  lost.  But  there  is  one  who  in  after-years  recollected  his 
boyish  practice  under  such  mishaps  : — 

"  In  my  school-days,  when  I  had  lost  one  shaft 
I  shot  his  fellow  of  the  self-same  flight 
The  self-same  way,  with  more  advised  watch 
To  find  the  other  forth;  and,  by  adventuring  both, 
I  oft  found  both  :  I  urge  this  childhood  proof, 
Because  what  follows  is  pure  innocence. 


Positions:  1581. 


201 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPEKE: 

I  owe  you  much ;  and,  like  a  wilful  youth, 
That  which  I  owe  is  lost :  but,  if  you  please 
To  shoot  another  arrow  that  self  way 
Which  you  did  shoot  the  first,  I  do  not  doubt, 
As  I  will  watch  the  aim,  or  to  find  both, 
Or  bring  your  latter  hazard  back  again, 
And  thankfully  rest  debtor  for  the  first."  * 

There  are  other  sports  to  be  played,  and  other  triumphs  to  be  achieved, 
before  the  day  closes.  In  the  meadow,  at  some  little  distance  from  the  butts,  is 
fixed  a  machine  of  singular  construction.  It  is  the  Quintain.  Horsemen  are 
beginning  to  assemble  around  it,  and  are  waiting  the  arrival  of  the  guests  from 
the  Grange,  who  are  merry  in  "  an  arbour  "  of  mine  host's  "  orchard."  But  the 
youths  are  for  more  stirring  matters ;  and  their  horses  are  ready.  To  the  in 
experienced  eye  the  machine  which  has  been  erected  in  the  field — 

"  That  which  here  stands  up, 
Is  but  a  quintain,  a  mere  lifeless  block."  f 

It  is  the  wooden  figure  of  a  Saracen,  sword  in  hand,  grinning  hideously  upon 
the  assailants  who  confront  him.  The  horsemen  form  a  lane  on  either  side, 
whilst  one,  the  boldest  of  challengers,  couches  his  spear  and  rides  violently  at 
the  enemy,  who  appears  to  stand  firm  upon  his  wooden  post.  The  spear  strikes 
the  Saracen  just  on  the  left  shoulder;  but  the  wooden  man  receives  not  his 
wound  with  patience,  for  by  the  action  of  the  blow  he  swings  round  upon  his 
pivot,  and  hits  the  horseman  a  formidable  thump  with  his  extended  sword 
before  the  horse  has  cleared  the  range  of  the  misbeliever's  weapon.  Then  one 
chorus  of  laughter  greets  the  unfortunate  rider  as  he  comes  dolefully  back  to 
the  rear.  Another  and  another  fail.  At  last  the  quintain  is  struck  right  in 
the  centre,  and  the  victory  is  won.  The  Saracen  conquered,  a  flat  board  is  set 
up  upon  the  pivot,  with  a  sand-bag  at  one  end,  such  as  Stow  has  described : — 
"  I  have  seen  a  quintain  set  upon  Cornhill,  by  Leadenhall,  where  the  attendants 
of  the  lords  of  merry  disports  have  run  and  made  great  pastime ;  for  he  that  hit 
not  the  board  end  of  the  quintain  was  laughed  to  scorn;  and  he  that  hit  it  full, 
if  he  rode  not  the  faster,  had  a  sound  blow  upon  his  neck  with  a  bag  full  of  sand 
hanged  on  the  other  end."J  The  merry  guests  of  the  Grange  enjoy  the  sport 
as  heartily  as  Master  Laneham,  who  saw  the  quintain  at  Kenilworth : — "  The 
speciality  of  the  sport  was  to  see  how  some  of  his  slackness  had  a  good  bob  with 
the  bag ;  and  some  for  his  haste  to  topple  downright,  and  come  tumbling  to  the 
post ;  some  striving  so  much  at  the  first  setting  out,  that  it  seemed  a  question 
between  the  man  and  the  beast,  whether  the  course  should  be  made  a  horseback 
or  a  foot :  and,  put  forth  with  the  spurs,  then  would  run  his  race  by  us  among 
the  thickest  of  the  throng,  that  down  came  they  together  hand  over  head.  *  * 
By  my  troth,  Master  Martin,  't  was  a  goodly  pastime."  And  now  they  go  to 
supper, 

"  What  time  the  labour'd  ox 
In  his  loose  traces  from  the  furrow  came."  § 


*  The  Merchant  of  Venice,  Act  i.,  Scene  L  t  As  You  Like  It,  Act  i.,  Scone  in. 

t  Survey  of  London.  §  Milton  :  '  Comus.' 

202 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

The  moon  shines  brightly  upon  the  terraced  garden  of  the  Grange.  The 
mill-wheel  is  at  rest.  The  ripple  of  the  stream  over  the  dam  pleasantly  breaks 
the  silence  which  is  around.  There  is  merriment  within  the  house,  whose  open 
casements  welcome  the  gentle  night-breeze.  The  chorus  of  a  jovial  song  has 
just  ceased.  Suddenly  a  lute  is  struck  upon  the  terrace  of  the  garden,  and 
three  voices  beneath  the  window  command  a  mute  attention.  They  are  singing 
one  of  those  lovely  compositions  which  were  just  then  becoming  popular  in 
England — the  Madrigal,  which  the  Flemings  invented,  the  Italians  cultivated, 
and  which  a  few  years  after  reached  its  perfection  in  our  own  country.  The 
beautiful  interlacings  of  the  harmony,  its  "  fine  bindings  and  strange  closes/'  > 
its  points,  each  emulating  the  other,  but  each  in  its  due  place  and  proportion, 
required  scientific  skill  as  well  as  voice  and  ear.  But  the  young  men  who  sang 
the  madrigal  were  equal  to  their  task.  There  was  one  who  listened  till  his 
heart  throbbed  and  his  eyes  were  wet  with  tears  ;  for  he  was  lifted  above  the 
earth  by  thoughts  which  he  afterwards  expressed  in  lines  of  wondrous  loveli 
ness  : — 

"  How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank ! 

Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 

Creep  in  our  ears ;  soft  stillness,  and  the  night, 

Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony. 

Sit,  Jessica.     Look  how  the  floor  of  heaven 

Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  bright  gold. 

There  's  not  the  smallest  orb  which  thou  behold' st, 

But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings, 

Still  quiring  to  the  young-eyed  cherubins  : 

Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls ; 

But  whilst  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 

Doth  grossly  close  it  in,  we  cannot  hear  it."  t 

.  The   madrigal  ceased  ;    but  the  spirit  of  harmony  which  had  been  thus  evoked 
was  not  allowed  to  be  overlaid  by  ruder  merriment.     « Watkin's  Ale/  and  ' 
Carman's  Whistle/   '  Peg-a-Ramsay/  '  Three  merry  men  we  be/  and   '  Heartease/ 
were   reserved   for   another    occasion,  when   a   fresh    "  stoup  of  wine"   might  be 
loudly  called  for,  and  the  jolly  company  might  roar  out  their   "coziers'  catches 
without  any  mitigation  or  remorse  of  voice." J     But    there   was  many  an  "old 
and  antique  song,"  full  of  elegance  and  tenderness,  to  be  heard  that  night.     We 
were  a   musical  -people,  in   the   age   of   Elizabeth ;.  but  our   music  was  no   new 
fashion    of  the    "brisk    and   giddy-paced '  times."      There    was  abundant    mu 
with   which   the   people   were   familiar,  whether   sad   or   lively,  quaint   or  simple. 
There  was  many  an  air  not  to  be  despised  by  the  nicest  taste,  of  which  il 
be  said, 

"  It  is  old  and  plain  : 
The  spinsters  and  the  knitters  in  the  sun, 
And  the  free  maids  that  weave  their  thread  with  bones, 
Do  use  to  chant  it ;  it  is  silly  sooth, 
And  dallies  with  the  innocence  of  love, 
Like  the  old  age."  § 


Morley'o  «  Treatise  f  1597.  t  Merchant 

i  Twelfth  Night,  Act  IL,  Scene  in.  §  Ibid.,  Act  n.,  , 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPEKK  . 

Such  was  the  plaintive  air  of  '  Robin  Hood  is  to  the  Greenwood  gone.'  a  line  of 
which  has  been  snatched  from  oblivion  by  Ophelia : — 

"  For  bonny  sweet  Robin  is  all  my  joy."  * 

Such  was  the  '  Light  o'  Love.' — the  favourite  of  poets,  if  we  may  judge  from  its 
repeated  mention  in  the  old  dramas.  Such  was  the  graceful  tune  which  the 
young  Shakspere  heard  that  night  with  words  which  he  had  himself  written 

for  a  friend  : — 

"  0,  mistress  mine,  where  are  you  roaming  ? 
0,  stay  and  bear;  your  true  love's  coming, 

That  can  sing  both  high  and  low  : 
Trip  no  further,  pretty  sweeting ; 
Journeys  end  in  lovers'  meeting, 
Every  wise  man's  son  doth  know. 

What  is  love  ?  'tis  not  hereafter ; 
Present  mirth  hath  present  laughter ; 

What 's  to  come  in  still  unsure  : 
In  delay  there  lies  no  plenty ; 
Then  come  kiss  me,  sweet  and  twenty ; 

Youth 's  a  stuff  will  not  endure." 

And  the  challenge  was  received  in  all  kindness  ;  and  the  happy  lover  might 
say,  with  Sir  Thomas  Wyatt, 

"  She  me  caught  in  her  arms  long  and  small. 
Therewithal  sweetly  she  did  me  kiss, 
And  softly  said,  '  Dear  heart,  how  like  you  this  T '  " — 

for  he  was  her  accepted  "  servant," — such  a  "  servant "  as  Surrey  sued  to  Ger- 
aldine  to  be, — the  recognised  lover,  not  yet  betrothed,  but  devoted  to  his  mis. 
tress  with  all  the  ardour  of  the  old  chivalry.  In  a  few  days  they  would  be 
handfasted;  they  would  make  their  public  troth-plight. 

*  Hamlet,  Act  iv.,  Scene  v. 


204 


Hidfnrd  Grange.  | 


[Charlcote  Church.] 


II. — THE  WEDDING. 

CHARLCOTE  : — the  name  is  familiar  to  every  reader  of  Shakspere ;  but  it  is  not 
presented  to  the  world  under  the  influence  of  pleasant  associations  with  the 
world's  poet.  The  story,  which  was  first  told  by  Rowe,  must  be  here  repeated  : 
"An  extravagance  that  he  was  guilty  of  forced  him  both  out  of  his  country, 
and  that  way  of  living  which  he  had  taken  up  ;  and  though  it  seemed  at  first  to 
be  a  blemish  upon  his  good  manners,  and  a  misfortune  to  him,  yet  it  afterwards 
happily  proved  the  occasion  of  exerting  one  of  the  greatest  geniuses  that  ever 
was  known  in  dramatic  poetry.  -He  had,  by  a  misfortune  common  enough  to 
young  fellows,  fallen  into  ill  company,  and,  amongst  them,  some  that  made  a 
frequent  practice  of  deer-stealing  engaged  him  more  than  once  in  robbing  a 
park  that  belonged  to  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  of  Charlcote,  near  Stratford.  For  this 
he  was  prosecuted  by  that  gentleman,  as  he  thought,  somewhat  too  severely ; 
and,  in  order  to  revenge  that  ill  usage,  he  made  a  ballad  upon  him.  And 
though  this,  probably  the  first  essay  of  his  poetry,  be  lost,  yet  it  is  said  to  have 
been  so  very  bitter,  that  it  redoubled  the  prosecution  against  him  to  that  degree, 
that  he  was  obliged  to  leave  his  business  and  family  in  Warwickshire  for  some 
time,  and  shelter  himself  in  London."*  The  good  old  gossip  Aubrey  is  wholly 


*  Some  Account  of  the  Life  of  William  Shakespear,  written  by  Mr.  Rowe. 


205 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE  : 

silent  about  the  deer-stealing  and  the  flight  to  London,  merely  saying,  '  This 
William,  being  inclined  naturally  to  poetry  and  acting,  came  to  London,  I  guess 
about  eighteen."  But  there  were  other  antiquarian  gossips  of  Aubrey's  age, 
who  have  left  us  their  testimony  upon  this  subject.  The  Reverend  William 
Fulman,  a  fellow  of  Corpus  Christi  College,  Oxford,  who  died  in  1688,  be 
queathed  his  papers  to  the  Reverend  Richard  Davies  of  Sandford,  Oxfordshire  ; 
and  on  the  death  of  Mr.  Davies,  in  1708,  these  papers  were  deposited  in  the 
library  of  Corpus  Christi.  Fulman  appears  to  have  made  some  collections  for 
the  biography  of  our  English  poets,  and  under  the  name  Shakspere  he  gives  the 
dates  of  his  birth  and  death.  But  Davies,  who  added  notes  to  his  friend's 
manuscripts,  affords  us  the  following  piece  of  information :  "  He  was  much 
given  to  all  unluckiness,  in  stealing  venison  and  rabbits  ;  particularly  from  Sir 
Lucy,  who  had  him  oft  whipped,  and  sometimes  imprisoned,  and  at  last  made  him 
fly  his  native  country,  to  his  great  advancement.  But  his  revenge  was  so  great, 
that  he  is  his  Justice  Clodpate,  and  calls  him  a  great  man,  and  that,  in  allusion 
to  his  name,  bore  three  louses  rampant  for  his  arms."  The  accuracy  of  this 
chronicler,  as  to  events  supposed  to  have  happened  a  hundred  years  before  he 
wrote,  may  be  inferred  from  his  correctness  in  what  was  accessible  to  him. 
Justice  Clodpate  is  a  new  character  ;  and  the  three  louses  rampant  have 
diminished  strangely  from  the  "  dozen  white  luces "  of  Master  Slender.  In 
Mr.  Davies's  account  we  have  no  mention  of  the  ballad — through  which,  accord 
ing  to  Rowe,  the  young  poet  revenged  his  "  ill  usage."  But  Capell,  the  editor 
of  Shakspere,  found  a  new  testimony  to  that  fact :  "  The  writer  of  his  '  Life,' 
the  first  modern,  [Rowe]  speaks  of  a  '  lost  ballad,'  which  added  fuel,  he  says,  to 
the  knight's  before-conceived  anger,  and  '  redoubled  the  prosecution ; '  and 
calls  the  ballad  '  the  first  essay  of  Shakspere's  poetry  :  '  one  stanza  of  it,  which 
has  the  appearance  of  genuine,  was  put  into  the  editor's  hands  many  years  ago 
by  an  ingenious  gentleman  (grandson  of  its  preserver),  with  this  account  of  the 
way  in  which  it  descended  to  him  :  Mr.  Thomas  Jones,  who  dwelt  at  Tarbick, 
a  village  in  Worcestershire,  a  few  miles  from  Stratford-on-Avon,  and  died  in  the 
year  1703,  aged  upwards  of  ninety,  remembered  to  have  heard  from  several  old 
people  at  Stratford  the  story  of  Shakespeare's  robbing  Sir  Thomas  Lucy's  park  ; 
and  their  account  of  it  agreed  with  Mr.  Rowe's,  with  this  addition — that  the 
ballad  written  against  Sir  Thomas  by  Shakespeare  was  stuck  upon  his  park-gate, 
which  exasperated  the  knight  to  apply  to  a-  lawyer  at  Warwick  to  proceed 
against  him.  Mr.  Jones  had  put  down  in  writing  the  first  stanza  of  the  ballad, 
which  was  all  he  remembered  of  it,  and  Mr.  Thomas  Wilkes  (my  grandfather) 
transmitted  it  to  my  father  by  memory,  who  also  took  it  in  writing."  * 

The  first  stanza  of  the  ballad  which  Mr.  Jones  put  down  in  writing  as  all  he  re 
membered  of  it,  has  been  so  often  reprinted,  that  we  can  scarcely  be  justified  in 
omitting  it.  It  is  as  follows  : — 

"  A  parliaments  member,  a  justice  of  peace, 
At  home  a  poor  scare-crowe,  at  London  an  asse ; 


*  Notes  and  various  Readings  to  Shakespeare,  Part  III.,  p.  75.     See  Xote  to  this  Chapter 
206 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 

If  lowsie  is  Lacy,  as  some  volke  miscalle  it, 
Then  Lucy  is  lowsie,  whatever  befall  it. 

He  thiukes  himself  greate, 

Yet  an  aase  in  his  state 

We  allowe  by  his  eares  but  with  asses  to  mate. 
If  Lucy  is  lowsie,  as  some  volke  miscalle  it, 
Sing  lowsie  Lucy,  whatever  befalle  it." 

But  the  tradition  sprang  up  in  another  quarter.  Mr.  Oldys,  the  respectable  anti 
quarian,  has  also  preserved  this  stanza,  with  the  following  remarks  : — "  There  was  a 
very  aged  gentleman  living  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Stratford  (where  he  died  fifty 
years  since),  who  had  not  only  heard  from  several  old  people  in  that  town  of  Shak- 
speare's  transgression,  but  could  remember  the  first  stanza  of  that  bitter  ballad, 
which,  repeating  to  one  of  his  acquaintance,  he  preserved  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."  *  The  copy  preserved  by  Oldys 
corresponds  word  by  word  with  that  printed  by  Capell ;  and  it  is  therefore  pretty 
evident  that  each  was  derived  from  the  same  source, — the  person  who  wrote  down 
the  verses  from  the  memory  of  the  one  old  gentleman.  In  truth,  the  whole  matter 
looks  rather  more  like  an  exercise  of  invention  than  of  memory.  Mr.  De  Quincey 
has  expressed  a  very  strong  opinion  "  that  these  lines  were  a  production  of  Charles 
II.'s  reign,  and  applied  to  a  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  not  very  far  removed,  if  at  all,  from 
the  age  of  him  who  first  picked  up  the  precious  filth :  the  phrase  '  parliament 
member '  we  believe  to  be  quite  unknown  in  the  colloquial  use  of  Queen  Elizabeth." 
But  he  has  overlooked  a  stronger  point  against  the  authenticity  of  the  ballad.  He 
says  that  "  the  scurrilous  rondeau  has  been  imputed  to  Shakspeare  ever  since  the 
days  of  the  credulous  Howe."  This  is  a  mistake.  Rowe  expressly  says  the  ballad 
is  "  lost."  It  was  not  till  the  time  of  Oldys  and  Capell,  nearly  half  a  century  after 
Rowe,  that  the  single  stanza  was  found.  It  was  not  published  till  seventy  years 
after  Rowe's  "  Life  of  Shakspeare."  We  have  little  doubt  that  the  regret  of  Rowe 
that  the  ballad  was  lost  was  productive  not  only  of  the  discovery,  but  of  the 
creation,  of  the  delicious  fragment.  By-and-by  more  was  discovered,  and  the 
entire  song  "  was  found  in  a  chest  of  drawers  that  formerly  belonged  to  Mrs.  Dorothy 
Tyler,  of  Shottery,  near  Stratford,  who  died  in  1778,  at  the  age  of  80."  This  is 
Malone's  account,  who  inserts  the  entire  song  in  the  Appendix  to  his  posthumous 
"  Life  of  Shakspeare,"  with  the  expression  of  his  persuasion  "  that  one  part  of  this 
ballad  is  just  as  genuine  as  the  other ;  that  is,  that  the  whole  is  a  forgery."  We 
believe,  however,  that  the  first  stanza  is  an  old  forgery,  and  the  remaining  stanzas 
a  modern  one.  If  the  ballad  is  held  to  be  all  of  one  piece,  it  is  a  self-evident 
forgery.  But  in  the  "  entire  song "  the  new  stanzas  have  not  even  the  merit  of 
imitating  the  versification  of  the  first  attempt  to  degrade  Shakspere  to  the  character 
of  a  brutal  doggrel-monger. 

This,  then,  is  the  entire  evidence  as  to  the  deer-stealing  tradition.  According  to 
Rowe,  the  young  Shakspere  was  engaged  more  than  once  in  robbing  a  park,  for 
which  he  was  prosecuted  by  Sir  Thomas  Lucy ;  he  made  a  ballad  upon  his  pro 
secutor,  and  then,  being  more  severely  pursued,  fled  to  London.  According  to 

*  MS.  Notes  upon  LanL'baine,  from  which  Steevens  published  the  lines  in  1778. 

207 


W1L.L1AM    SHAKSPERE  : 

Davies,  he  was  much  given  to  all  unluckiness  in  stealing  venison  and  rabbits  ; 
for  which  he  was  often  whipped,  sometimes  imprisoned,  and  at  last  forced  to 
fly  the  country.  According  to  Jones,  the  tradition  of  Rowe  was  correct  as  to 
robbing  the  park  ;  and  the  obnoxious  ballad  being  stuck  upon  the  park-gate,  a 
lawyer  of  Warwick  was  authorised  to  prosecute  the  offender.  The  tradition  is  thus 
full  of  contradictions  upon  the  face  of  it.  It  necessarily  would  be  so,  for  each  ot 
the  witnesses  speaks  of  circumstances  that  must  have  happened  a  hundred  years 
before  his  time.  We  must  examine  the  credibility  of  the  tradition  therefore  by 
inquiring  what  was  the  state  of  the  law  as  to  the  offence  for  which  William  Shak- 
spere  is  said  to  have  been  prosecuted ;  what  was  the  state  of  public  opinion  as  to 
the  offence ;  and  what  was  the  position  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  as  regarded  his 
immediate  neighbours. 

The  law  in  operation  at  the  period  in  question  was  the  5th  of  Elizabeth, 
chapter  21.  The  ancient  forest-laws  had  regard  only  to  the  possessions  of  the 
Crown ;  and  therefore  in  the  32nd  of  Henry  VIII.  an  Act  was  passed  for  the  pro 
tection  of  "  every  inheritor  and  possessor  of  manors,  land,  and  tenements,"  which 
made  the  killing  of  deer,  and  the  taking  of  rabbits  and  hawks,  felony.  This  Act  was 
repealed  in  the  1st  of  Edward  VI.;  but  it  was  quickly  re-enacted  in  the  3rd  and 
4th  of  Edward  VI.  (1549  and  1550),  it  being  alleged  that  unlawful  hunting  pre 
vailed  to  such  an  extent  throughout  the  realm,  in  the  royal  and  private  parks,  that 
in  one  of  the  king's  parks  within  a  few  miles  of  London  five  hundred  deer  were 
slain  in  one  day.  For  the  due  punishment  of  such  offences  the  taking  of  deer  was 
again  made  felony.  But  the  Act  was  again -repealed  in  the  1st  of  Mary.  In  the 
5th  of  Elizabeth  it  was  attempted  in  Parliament  once  more  to  make  the  offence  a 
capital  felony.  But  this  was  successfully  resisted ;  and  it  was  enacted  that,  if  any 
person  by  night  or  by  day  "  wrongfully  or  unlawfully  break  or  enter  into  any  park 
empaled,  or  any  other  several  ground  closed  with  wall,  pale,  or  hedge,  and  used  for 
the  keeping,  breeding,  and  cherishing  of  deer,  and  so  wrongfully  hunt,  drive,  or 
chase  out,  or  take,  kill,  or  slay  any  deer  within  any  such  empaled  park,  or  closed 
ground  with  wall,  pale,  or  other  enclosure,  and  used  for  deer,  as  is  aforesaid,"  he 
shall  suffer  three  months'  imprisonment,  pay  treble  damages  to  the  party  offended, 
and  find  sureties  for  seven  years'  good  behaviour.  But  there  is  a  clause  in  this  Act 
(1562-3)  which  renders  it  doubtful  whether  the  penalties  for  taking  deer  could  be 
applied  twenty  years  after  the  passing  of  the  Act,  in  the  case  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy. 
"  Provided  always,  That  this  Act,  or  anything  contained  therein,  extend  not  to  any 
park  or  enclosed  ground  hereafter  to  be  made  and  used  for  deer,  without  the  grant 
or  licence  of  our  Sovereign  Lady  the  Queen,  her  heirs,  successors,  or  progenitors." 
At  the  date  of  this  statute  Charlcote,  it  is  said,  was  not  a  deer-park ;  was  not  an 
enclosed  ground  royally  licensed.  It  appears  to  us  that  Malone  puts  the  case 
against  the  tradition  too  strongly  when  he  maintains  that  Charlcote  was  not  a 
licensed  park  in  1562  ;  and  that,  therefore,  its  venison  continued  to  be  unprotected 
till  the  statute  of  the  3rd  of  James.  The  Act  of  Elizabeth  clearly  contemplates  any 
"several  ground"  "closed  with  wall,  pale,  or  hedge,  and  used  for  the  keeping  of 
deer;"  and  as  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  built  the  mansion  at  Charlcote  in  1558,  it  may 
reasonably  be  supposed  that  at  the  date  of  the  statute  the  domain  of  Charlcote  was 
closed  with  wall,  pale,  or  hedge.  The  Lucys,  however,  whatever  was  the  state  of 
208 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

the  law  as  to  their  park,  had  a  proprietorship  in  deer,  for  the  successor  of  the  Sir 
Thomas  of  the  ballad  sent  a  present  of  a  buck  to  the  Lord  Keeper  Egerton  in  1602 
The  deer-stealing  tradition  has  shifted  its  locality  as  it  has  advanced  in  age' 
Charlcote,  according  to  Mr.  Samuel  Ireland,  was  not  the  place  of  Shakspere's  un 
lucky  adventures.  The  Park  of  Fulbrooke,  he  says,  was  the  property  of  Sir  Thomas 
Lucy ;  and  he  gives  us  a  drawing  of  an  old  house  where  the  young  offender  was 
conveyed  after  his  detection.  Upon  the  Ordnance  Map  of  our  own  day  is  the  Deer 


[Deer  Barn,  Fulbiooke.] 

Barn,  where,  according  to  the  same  tradition,  the  venison  was  concealed.  The 
engraving  here  given  is  founded  upon  a  representation  of  the  Deer  Barn,  "  drawn 
by  W.  Jackson,  1798."  I  found  it  amongst  some  papers  belonging  to  Mr.  Waldron, 
that  came  into  my  possession,  arid  I  presented  it  to  the  author  of  a  tract,  published 
in  1862,  entitled  "  Shakespeare  no  Deer-Stealer."  The  rude  diawing  is  now  in  the 
Museum  at  Stratford. 

The  author  of  this  tract,  Mr.  C.  Holte  Bracebridge,  cannot  be  named  by  ourselves, 
nor,  indeed,  by  any  of  Kis  contemporaries,  without  a  feeling  of  deep  respect.  His 
generous  exertions  to  alleviate  the  miseries  accompanying  the  war  in  the  Crimea, 
originated  in  the  same  high  principle  as  those  of  Florence  Nightingale.  But  he 
must  excuse  us  if  we  hesitate  in  our  belief  that  the  shifting  of  the  scene  of  the  deer- 
stealing  from  Charlcote  to  Fulbrooke  adds  much  additional  value  to  the  credibility 
of  the  tradition.  The  argument  of  Mr.  Bracebridge  is  in  substance  as  follows : — 
"From  1553  to  1592,  Fulbrooke  Park  was  held  in  capite  of  the  Crown  by  Sir 
Francis  Englefield.  From  1558  to  the  time  of  his  death,  abroad,  in  1592,  Sir 
Francis  had  been  attainted,  and  his  property  sequestered,  although  the  proceeds 
were  not  appropriated  by  the  Queen.  It  follows,  then,  that  neither  Sir  Thomas 
Lucy  nor  his  family  had  a  proprietary  right  in  Fulbrooke  until  the  last  years  of 
Shakspere's  life,  when  the  estate,  having  been  re-granted  to  the  mother  of  the 
former  attainted  owner,  it  had  been  purchased  from  his  nephew.  But  as  Lucy's 
park  ran  along  the  bank  of  the  Avon  for  nearly  a  mile,  and  for  about  the  same 
distance  Fulbrooke  occupied  the  opposite  bank ;  as  the  river  was  shallow  and  had  a 
regular  ford  at  Hampton  Lucy,  situate  at  one  angle  of  Charlcote  Park,  the  deer  of 


WILLIAM  SHAKRPKIM:  : 

Fulbrooke  and  the  deer  of  Cliarlcote  were  only  kept  separate  by  the  fence  on  either 
side,  tliat  of  the  banished  man  being  probably  broken  down.  It  is  clear,  holds 
Mr.  Bracebridge,  that  if  Shakspere  had  broken  into  Charlcote,  and  had  there  taken 
a  buck  or  a  doe,  he  would  have  been  liable  to  the  penalties  of  the  5th  of  Elizabeth  ; 
and  that  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  would  not  have  abstained  from  taking  the  satisfaction  of 
the  law,  "  for  an  offence,  looked  upon  at  that  period,  by  the  gentry  at  least,  very 
much  as  housebreaking  is  with  us."  Because,  therefore,  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  was  a 
gentleman  of  ancient  lineage,  as  his  ancestor  once  held  Fulbrooke  Park  of  the 
Crown  ;  as  Englefield  was  abroad  as  a  proscript,  "  he,  Lucy,  no  doubt,  hunted 
there."  We  state  the  argument  of  Mr.  Bracebridge,  from  these  facts,  in  his  own 
words : — "  In  this  state  of  things,  Shakspeare  would  treat  very  lightly  the  warnings 
of  the  Charlcote  keepers,  knowing  as  a  young  lawyer  that  he  had  as  good  a  right  as 
Sir  Thomas  to  sport  over  Fulbrooke,  insomuch  as  there  was  no  legal  park  there." 
If  Mr.  Bracebridge's  arguments  may  be  admitted  to  prove  that  William  Shakspere, 
in  the  eye  of  the  law,  was  not  a  deer-stealer ;  if  he  himself  knew  that  he  had  as 
good  a  right  to  take  a  deer  in  Fulbrooke  as  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  himself,  what  becomes 
of  the  tradition,  first  reduced  to  shape  by  Rowe,  that  he  was  prosecuted  by  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy,  somewhat  too  severely  as  he  thought ;  that  in  order  to  revenge  the 
ill-usage  he  made  a  ballad  upon  the  knight ;  and  that  this  production  was  so  very 
bitter  that  he  was  obliged  to  leave  his  business  and  family,  and  shelter  himself  in 
London?  The  elaborate  and  ingenious  argument  of  the  author  of  "  Shakespeare  no 
Deer-Stealer,"  offers  the  best  support  to  our  opinion,  thus  noticed  by  him  :— 
"Mr.  Knight,  after  reviewing  the  evidence  as  to  the  tradition,  considers  it  unworthy 
of  belief."  All  the  accessories  of  the  story  confirm  us  in  this  opinion.  Under  the 
law,  as  it  existed  from  Henry  VIII.  to  James  I.,  our  unhappy  poet  could  not  be 
held  to  have  stolen  rabbits,  however  fond  he  might  be  of  hunting  them  ;  and  cer 
tainly  it  would  have  been  legally  unsafe  for  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  to  have  whipped  him 
for  such  a  disposition.  Pheasants  and  partridges  were  free  for  men  of  all  condition 
to  shoot  with  gun  or  cross-bow,  or  capture  with  hawk.  There  was  no  restriction 
against  taking  hares  except  a  statute  of  Henry  VIII.,  which,  for  the  protection  of 
hunting,  forbade  tracking  them  in  the  snow.  With  this 'general  right  of  sport — 
whatever  might  have  been  the  opinion  of  the  gentry  that  the  taking  of  a  deer  was  as 
grievous  an  offence  as  the  breaking  into  a  house — it  is  clear  that,  with  those  of 
Shakspere's  own  rank,  there  was  no  disgrace  attached  to  the  punishment  of  an 
offender  legally  convicted.  All  the  writers  of  the  Elizabethan  period  speak  of 
killing  a  deer  with  a  sort  of  jovial  sympathy,  worthy  the  descendants  of  Robin  Hood. 
"  I  '11  have  a  buck  till  I  die,  I'll  slay  a  doe  while  I  live,"  is  the  maxim  of  the  Host  in 
'  The  Merry  Devil  of  Edmonton ; '  and  even  Sir  John,  the  priest,  reproves  him  not : 
he  joins  in  the  fun.  With  this  loose  state  of  public  opinion,  then,  upon  the  subject  of 
venison,  is  it  likely  that  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  with  the  law  on  his  side,  would  have  pursued 
for  such  an  offence  the  eldest  son  of  an  alderman  of  Stratford  with  any  extraordinary 
severity  ?  If  the  law  were  not  on  his  side,  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  would  only  have  made 
himself  ridiculous  amongst  his  neighbours  by  threatening  to  make  a  Star  Chambei 
matter  of  it.  The  knight  was  nearly  the  most  important  person  residing  in  the  imme 
diate  neighbourhood  of  Stratford.  In  1578  he  had  been  High  Sheriff.  At  the  period 
when  the  deer-stealing  may  be  supposed  to  have  taken  place  he  was  seeking  to  be 
210 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 


member  for  the   county  of  Warwick,  for  which  he  was  returned  in  1584      He 
was  ,n  the  hab.t  of  fnendly  intercourse  with  the  residents  of  Stratford     for  "n 
583  he  was  chosen  as  an  arb.trator  in  a  matter  of  dispute  by  Hamnet  Sadler 
the  fnend  of  John   Shakspere  and  of  his  son.     All  these  considerations  tend 
we  thmk    to   show  that    the    .mprobable  deer-stealing   tradition   is   based  Ike 
many  other  stones  connected  with  Shakspere,  on  that  vulgar  love  of  the'  mar 
vellous  winch  „  not  sat.sfied  with  the  wonder  which  a  bein'g  eminently  endo^d 
h,mself  presents    w.thout  seekmg  a  contrast  of  profligacy,  or  meanness,  or  igno 
rance  ,n  h,s  early  condmon    amongst  the  tales  of  a  rude  generation  who  came 
after  l,,m   »nH    hearing  of  Ins  fame,  endeavoured  to  '   ' 


[Charleote  House.    From  Avenue.] 

Charlcote,  then,  shall  not,  at  least  by  us,  be  surrounded  by  unpleasant  asso 
ciations  in  connexion  with  the  name  of  Shakspere.  It  is,  perhaps,  the  most 
interesting-  locality  connected  with  that  name ;  for  in  its  great  features  it  is 
essentially  unchanged.  There  stands,  with  slight  alteration,  and  those  in  good 
taste,  the  old  mansion  as  it  was  reared  in  the  days  of  Elizabeth.  A  broad 
avenue  leads  to  its  fine  gateway,  which  opens  into  the  court  and  the  principal 
entrance.  We  would  desire  to  people  that  hall  with  kindly  inmates;  to  ima 
gine  the  fine  old  knight,  perhaps  a  little  too  puritanical,  indeed,  in  his  latter 
days,  living  there  in  peace  and  happiness  with  his  family ;  merry  as  he  ought 
to  have  been  with  his  first  wife,  Jocosa  (whose  English  name,  Joyce,  soundeth 
not  quite  so  pleasant),  and  whose  epitaph,  by  her  husband,  is  honourable  alike 
to  the  deceased  and  to  the  survivor.*  We  can  picture  him  planting  the  second 
P2  211 


[Chailcote  House.     From  tlie  Avon.] 

avenue,  which  leads  obliquely  across  the  park  from  the  great  gateway  to  the 
porch  of  the  parish-church.  It  is  an  avenue  too  narrow  for  carriages,  if  car 
riages  then  had  been  common;  and  the  knight  and  his  lady  walk  in  stately 
guise  along  that  grassy  pathway,  as  the  Sunday  bells  summon  them  to  meet 
their  humble  neighbours  in  a  place  where  all  are  equal.  Charlcote  is  full  of 
rich  woodland  scenery.  The  lime-tree  avenue,  may,  perhaps,  be  of  a  later  date 
than  the  age  of  Elizabeth ;  and  one  elm  has  evidently  succeeded  another  from 
century  to  century.  But  there  are  old  gnarled  oaks  and  beeches  dotted  about 
the  park.  Its  little  knolls  and  valleys  are  the  same  as  they  were  two  centuries 
ago.  The  same  Avon  flows  beneath  the  gentle  elevation  on  which  the  house 
stands,  sparkling  in  the  sunshine  as  brightly  as  when  that  house  was  first 
built.  There  may  we  still  lie 


•  "  All  the  time  of  her  life  a  true  and  faithful  servant  of  her  good  God ;  never  detected  of  any 
crime  or  vice ;  in  religion,  moat  sound ;  in  love  to  her  husband,  most  faithful  aud  true ;  in  friend 
ship,  most  constant ;  to  what  in  trust  was  committed  to  her,  most  secret:  in  wisdom,  excelling;  in 
governing  her  house,  and  bringing  up  of  youth  in  the  fear  of  Qod,  that  did  converse  with  her,  most 
rare  and  singular.  A  great  maiutainer  of  hospitality ;  greatly  esteemed  of  her  betters ;  misliked 
of  none  unless  of  the  envious.  When  all  is  spoken  that  can  be  said,  a  woman  so  furnished  aud 
garnished  with  virtue  as  not  to  be  bettered,  and  hardly  to  be  equalled  of  any.  As  she  lived  most 
virtuously,  so  she  died  most  godly. 

"  Set  down  by  him  that  best  did  know  what  hath  been  written  to  be  true,  Thomas  Lucy." 
212 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

"  Under  an  oak,  whose  antique  root  poeps  out 
Upon  the  brook  that  brawls  along  his  wood," 

and  doubt  not  that  there  was  the  place  to  which 

"  A  poor  sequestered  stag, 
That  from  the  hunter's  aim  had  ta'en  a  hurt, 
Did  come  to  languish."  * 

There  may  we  still  see 

"  A  careless  herd, 
Full  of  the  pasture," 

leaping  gaily  along,  or  crossing  the  river  at  their  own  will  in  search  of  fresh 
fields  and  low  branches  whereon  to  browse.  We  must  associate  Charlcote  with 
happy  circumstances.  Let  us  make  it  the  scene  of  a  troth-plight. 


[House  in  Charlcote  Village.] 


The  village  of  Charlcote  is  now  one  of  the  prettiest  of  objects.  Whatever  is 
new  about  it — and  most  of  the  cottages  are  new — looks  like  a  restoration  of  what 
was  old.  The  same  character  prevails  in  the  neighbouring  village  of  Hampton 
Lucy ;  and  it  may  not  be  too  much  to  assume  that  the  memory  of  him  who 
walked  in  these  pleasant  places  in  his  younger  days,  long  before  the  sound  of 
his  greatness  had  gone  forth  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  has  led  to  the  desire  to 
preserve  here  something  of  the  architectural  character  of  the  age  in  which  he 
lived.  There  are  a  few  old  houses  still  left  in  Charlcote ;  but  the  more  im- 


*  As  You  Like  It,  Act  n.,  Scene  I. 


213 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPKIM  : 

portant  have  probably  been  swept  away.  In  one  such  house,  then,  about  a  year  we 
will  say  before  William  Shakspere's  own  marriage,  we  may  picture  a  small  party 
assembled  to  be  present  at  a  solemn  rite.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  ancient 
ceremony  of  betrothing  had  not  fallen  into  disuse  at  that  period.  Shakspere 
himself,  who  always,  upon  his  great  principle  of  presenting  his  audiences  with 
matters  familiar  to  them,  introduces  the  manners  of  his  own  country  in  his 
own  times,  has  several  remarkable  passages  upon  the  subject  of  the  troth-plight. 
In  Measure  for  Measure  we  learn  that  the  misery  of  the  "poor  dejected  Ma 
riana"  was  caused  by  a  violation  of  the  troth-plight :  — 

"Duke.  She  should  this  Angelo  have  married;  was  affianced  to  her 
by  oath,  and  the  nuptial  appointed  :  between  which  time  of  the  coil- 
tract  and  limit  of  the  solemnity,  her  brother  Frederick  was  wracked  at 
sea,  having  in  that  perished  vessel  the  dowry  of  hi*  sister.  But 
mark,  how  heavily  this  befel  to  the  poor  gentlewoman :  there  she  lost  a 
noble  and  renowned  brother,  in  his  love  toward  her  ever  most  kind 
and  natural ;  with  him  the  portion  and  sinew  of  her  fortune,  her 
marriage -do  wry ;  with  both,  her  combiuate  husband,  this  well-seeming 
Angelo. 

Isabella.  Can  this  be  so  ?  Did  Angelo  so  leave  her  1 
Duke.  Left  her  in  tears,  and  dried  not  one  of  them  with  his  comfort ; 
swallowed  his  vows  whole,  pretending,  in  her,  discoveries  of  dishonour; 
in  few,  bestowed  her  on  her  own  lamentation,  which  she  yet  wears  for 
his  sake ;  and  he,  a  marble  to  her  tears,  is  washed  with  them,  but 
relents  not." 

Angelo  and  Mariana  were  bound  then  "by  oath;"  the  nuptial  was  appointed; 
there  was  a  prescribed  time  between  the  contract  and  the  performance  of  the 
solemnity  of  the  Church.  But,  the  lady  having  lost  her  dowry,  the  contract 
was  violated  by  her  "combinate"  or  affianced  husband.  The  oath  which  An 
gelo  violated  was  taken  before  witnesses ;  was  probably  tendered  by  a  minister 
of  the  Church.  In  Twelfth  Night  we  have  a  minute  description  of  such  a 
ceremonial.  When  Olivia  is  hastily  espoused  to  Sebastian,  she  says, — 

"  Now  go  with  me,  and  with  this  holy  man, 
Into  the  chantry  by :  there,  before  him, 
And  underneath  that  consecrated  roof, 
Plight  me  the  full  assurance  of  your  faith  ; 
That  my  most  jealous  and  too  doubtful  soul 
May  live  at  peace :  He  shall  conceal  it 
Whiles  you  are  willing  it  shall  come  to  note, 
What  time  we  will  our  celebration  keep 
According  to  my  birth." 

This  was  a  private  ceremony  before  a  single  witness,  who  would  conceal  it  till 
the  proper  period  of  the  public  ceremonial.  Olivia,  fancying  she  has  thus 
espoused  the  page,  repeatedly  calls  him  "  husband ; "  and,  being  rejected,  she 
summons  the  priest  to  declare 

"  What  thou  doat  know 

Hath  newly  paaa'd  between  this  youth  and  mo." 
211 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 

The  priest  answers,— 

"  A  contract  of  eternal  bond  of  love, 
Confirmed  by  mutual  joinder  of  your  hands, 
Attested  by  the  holy  close  of  lips, 
Strengthen'd  by  interchangement  of  your  rings ; 
And  all  the  ceremony  of  this  compact 
Seal'd  in  my  function,  by  my  testimony : 
Since  when,  my  watch  has  told  me,  toward  my  grave 
I  have  travell'd  but  two  hours." 

But  from  another  passage  in  Shakspere  it  is  evident  that  the  troth-plight  was 
exchanged  without  the  presence  of  a  priest,  but  that  witnesses  were  essential 
to  the  ceremony.*  The  scene  in  the  Winter's  Tale  where  this  occurs  is  altogether 
so  perfect  a  picture  of  rustic  life,  that  we  may  fairly  assume  that  Shakspere  had  in 
view  the  scenes  with  which  his  own  youth  was  familiar,  where  there  was  mirth 
without  grossness,  and  simplicity  without  ignorance : — 

«  Flo.  0,  hear  me  breathe  my  life 

Before  this  aucient  sir,  who,  it  should  seem, 
Hath  sometime  lov'd  :  /  take  thy  hand;  this  hand, 
As  soft  as  dove's  down,  and  as  white  as  it; 
Or  Ethiopian's  tooth,  or  the  fann'd  snow, 
That 's  bolted  by  the  northern  blasts  twice  o'er. 

Pol.  What  follows  this  ?— 
How  prettily  the  young  swain  seems  to  wash 
The  hand  was  fair  before  ! — I  have  put  you  out :  — 
But  to  your  protestation ;  let  me  hear 
What  you  profess. 

Flo.  Do,  and  be  witness  to 't. 

Pol.  And  this  my  neighbour  too  ? 

Flo.  And  he,  and  more 

Than  he,  and  men ;  the  earth,  the  heavens,  and  all : 
That,  were  I  crown'd  the  most  imperial  monarch, 
Thereof  most  worthy  j  were  I  the  fairest  youth 
That  ever  made  eye  swerve ;  had  force,  and  knowledge, 
More  than  was  ever  man's,  I  would  not  prize  them, 
Without  her  love  :  for  her,  employ  them  all ; 
Commend  them,  and  condemn  them,  to  her  service, 
Or  to  their  own  perdition. 

Pol.  Fairly  offer'd. 

Cam.  This  shows  a  sound  affection. 

Shep.      -  -  But,  my  daughter, 

Say  you  the  like  to  him  t 

per,  I  cannot  speak 

So  well,  nothing  so  well ;  no,  nor  mean  better : 
By  the  pattern  of  mine  own  thoughts  I  cut  out 
The  purity  of  his. 

Shep.  Take  hands,  a  bargain  ;— 

And,  friends  unknown,  you  shall  bear  witnets  to 't  : 


•  Holinshed  states  that  at  a  synod  held  at  Westminster,  in  the  reiga  of  Henry  L,  it  WM 
decreed  "that  contracts  mad*  between  man  and  woman,  without  witnesses,  concerning  mamag*, 
should  be  void  if  either  of  them  denied  it." 


215 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  : 

I  give  my  daughter  to  him,  and  will  make 

Her  portion  equal  his. 

Flo.  0,  that  must  be 

I'  the  virtue  of  your  daughter :  one  being  d«v1, 

I  shall  have  more  than  you  can  dream  of  yet ; 

Enough  then  for  your  wonder  :  But,  come  on, 

Contract  u»  'fore  these  vntnettet. 

Skep.  Come,  your  hand; 

And,  daughter,  yours." 

To  the  argument  of  Polixenes  that  the  father  of  Florizel  ought  to  know  of  his 
proceeding,  the  young  man  answers, — 

"Flo.  Come,  come,  he  must  not : — 

Mark  our  contract." 

And  then  the  father,  discovering  himself,  exclaims, — 
"  Mark  your  divorce,  young  sir." 

Here,  then,  in  the  publicity,  of  a  village  festival,  the  hand  of  the  loved  one  is 
solemnly  taken  by  her  "  servant  ; "  he  breathes  his  life  before  the  ancient 
stranger  who  is  accidentally  present.  The  stranger  is  called  to  be  witness  to 
ihe  protestation ;  and  so  is  the  neighbour  who  has  come  with  him.  The  maiden 
is  called  upon  by  her  father  to  speak,  and  then  the  old  man  adds, — 

"  Take  hands,  a  bargain." 
The  friends  are  to  bear  witness  to  it : — 

"  I  give  my  daughter  to  him,  and  will  make 
Her  portion  equal  his." 

The  impatient  lover  then  again  exclaims, — 

"  Contract  us  'fore  these  witnesses." 

The  shepherd  takes  the  hands  of  the  youth  and  the  maiden.  Again  the  lover 
exclaims, — 

"  Mark  our  contract." 

The  ceremony  is  left  incomplete,  for  the  princely  father  discovers  himself 
with, — 

"  Mark  your  divorce,  young  sir." 

We  have  thus  shown,  by  implication,  that  in  the  time  of  Shakspere  betroth 
ment  was  not  an  obsolete  rite.  Previous  to  the  Reformation  it  was  in  all  pro. 
bability  that  civil  contract  derived  from  the  Roman  law,  which  was  confirmed 
indeed  by  the  sacrament  of  marriage,  but  which  usually  preceded  it  for  a 
definite  period, — some  say  forty  days, — having  perhaps  too  frequently  the  effect 
of  the  marriage  of  the  Church  as  regarded  the  unrestrained  intercourse  of  those 
so  espoused.  In  a  work  published  in  1543.  'The  Christian  State  of  Matri 
mony/  we  find  this  passage :  "  Yet  in  this  thing  also  must  I  warn  every  rea- 
216 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

sonable  and  honest  person  to  beware  that  in  the  contracting  of  marriage  they 
dissemble  not,  nor  set  forth  any  lie.  Every  man  likewise  must  esteem  the 
person  to  whom  he  is  handfasted  none  otherwise  than  for  his  own  spouse ; 
though  as  yet  it  be  not  done  in  the  church,  nor  in  the  street.  After  the  hand- 
fasting  and  making  of  the  contract  the  church-going  and  wedding  should  not 
be  deferred  too  long."  The  author  then  goes  on  to  rebuke  a  custom,  "  that  at 
the  handfasting  there  is  made  a  great  feast  and  superfluous  banquet ;  "  and  he 
adds  words  which  imply  that  the  Epithalamium  was  at  this  feast  sung,  without 
a  doubt  of  its  propriety,  "  certain  weeks  afore  they  go  to  the  church,"  where 

"  All  sanctimonious  ceremonies  may 
With  full  and  holy  rite  be  minister  "d." 

The  passage  in  The  Tempest  from  which  we  quote  these  lines  has  been  held 
to  show  that  Shakspere  denounced,  with  peculiar  solemnity,  that  impatience 
which  waited  not  for  "  all  sanctimonious  ceremonies."  *  But  it  must  be  re 
membered  that  the  solitary  position  of  Ferdinand  and  Miranda  prevented  even 
the  solemnity  of  a  betrothment ;  there  could  be  no  witnesses  of  the  public 
contract ;  it  would  be  of  the  nature  of  those  privy  contracts  which  the  ministers 
of  religion,  early  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  were  commanded  to  exhort  young 
people  to  abstain  from.  The  proper  exercise  of  that  authority  during  half  a 
century  had  not  only  repressed  these  privy  contracts,  but  had  confined  the 
ancient  practice  of  espousals,  with  their  almost  inevitable  freedoms,  to  persons 
in  the  lower  ranks  of  life,  who  might  be  somewhat  indifferent  to  opinion.  A 
learned  writer  on  the  Common  Prayer,  Sparrow,  holds  that  the  Marriage  Ser 
vice  of  the  Church  of  England  was  both  a  betrothment  and  a  marriage.  It 
united  the  two  forms.  At  the  commencement  of  the  service  the  man  says, 
"  I  plight  thee  my  troth  ;  "  and  the  woman,  "  I  give  thee  my  troth."  This 
form  approaches  as  nearly  as  possible  to  that  of  a  civil  contract ;  but  then  comes 
the  religious  sanction  to  the  obligation, — the  sacrament  of  matrimony.  In  the 
form  of  espousals  so  minutely  recited  by  the  priest  in  Twelfth  Night,  he  is  only 
present  to  seal  the  compact  by  his  "  testimony."  The  marriage  customs  of 
Shakspere's  youth  and  the  opinions  regarding  them  might  be  very- different  from 
the  practice  and  opinions  of  thirty  years  later,  when  he  wrote  The  Tempest. 
But  in  no  case  does  he  attempt  to  show,  even  through  his  lovers  themselves, 
that  the  public  troth-plight  was  other  than  a  preliminary  to  a  more  solemn  and 
binding  ceremonial,  however  it  might  approach  to  the  character  of  a  marriage. 
It  is  remarkable  that  Webster,  on  the  contrary,  who  was  one  of  Shakspere's 
later  contemporaries,  has  made  the  heroine  of  one  of  his  noblest  tragedies,  '  The 
Duchess  of  Malfi,'  in  the  warmth  of  her  affection  for  her  steward,  exclaim — 

"  I  have  heard  lawyers  say,  a  contract  in  a  chamber 
Per  verba  prcesenti  is  absolute  marriage." 

This  is  an  allusion  to  the  distinctions  of  the  canon  law  between  betrothing  and 
marrying — the  betrothment  being  espousals  with  the  verba  de  futuro ;    the  mai  - 

*  Life  of  Shakspeare,  by  Mr.  cle  Quincey,  in  the  '  Encyclopaedia  Britannica.' 

217 


\\  II.  1.1AM    S 

riage,  espousals  with  the  cerba  Uc  iirameiiti.  The  Duchess  of  Malfi  had  mis 
interpreted  the  lawyers  when  she  believed  that  a  secret  "  contract  in  a  chamber  " 
was  "  absolute  marriage,"  whether  the  engagement  was  for  the  present  or  the 
future. 

Such  a  ceremonial,  then,  may  have  taken  place  in  the  presence  of  the  young 
Shakspere,  as  he  has  himself  described  with  inimitable  beauty  in  the  contract  of  his 
Florizel  and  Perdita.  But  under  the  happy  roof  at  Charlcote  there  is  no  for 
bidding  father ;  there  is  no  inequality  of  rank  in  the  parties  contracted.  They 
are  near  neighbours ;  a  walk  from  Hampton  Lucy  through  the  grounds  of 
Charlcote  House  brings  the  lover  to  the  door  of  his  mistress.  And  now,  the 
contract  performed,  they  merrily  go  forth  into  those  grounds,  to  sit,  with 
happiness  too  deep  for  utterance,  under  the  broad  beech  which  shades  them 
from  the  morning  sun ;  or  they  walk,  not  unwelcome  visitors,  upon  the  terrace 
of  the  new  pleasure-garden  which  the  good  knight  has  constructed  for  the 
special  solace  of  his  lady.  The  relations  between  one  in  the  social  position  of 
Sir  Thomas  Lucy  and  his  humbler  neighbours  could  not  have  been  otherwise 
than  kindly  ones.  The  epitaph  in  which  he  speaks  of  his  wife  as  "a  great 
maintainer  of  hospitality"  is  tolerable  evidence  of  his  own  disposition.  Hos 
pitality,  in  those  days,  consisted  not  alone  in  giving  mighty  entertainments  to 
the  rich  and  noble,  but  it  included  the  cherishing  of  the  poor,  and  the  welcome 
of  tenants  and  dependents.  The  Squire's  Hall  was  not,  like  the  Baron's  Castle, 
filled  with  a  crowd  of  prodigal  retainers,  who  devoured  his  substance,  and 
kept  him  as  a  stranger  amongst  those  who  naturally  looked  up  to  him  for 
protection.  Yet  was  the  Squire  a  man  of  great  worship  and  authority.  He 
was  a  Justice  of  the  Peace  ;  the  terror  of  all  depredators ;  the  first  to  be  ap 
pealed  to  in  all  matters  of  village  litigation.  "  The  halls  of  the  justice  of 
peace  vere  dreadful  to  behold ;  the  screen  was  garnished  with  corslets,  ana 
helmets  gaping  with  open  mouths,  with  coats  of  mail,  lances,  pikes,  halberds, 


( Charlcote  Home,  from 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

brown  bills,  bucklers."*  The  Justice  had  these  weapons  ready  to  arm  his 
followers  upon  any  sudden  emergency ;  but,  proud  of  his  ancestry,  his  fighting- 
gear  was  not  altogether  modern.  The  "old  worshipful  gentleman  who  had  a 
great  estate  "  is  described — 

"  With  an  old  hall,  hung  about  with  pikes,  guns,  and  bows, 
With  old  swords,  and  bucklers,  that  had  borne  many  shrewd  blows."  t 

There  was  the  broad  oak-table  in  the  hall,  and  the  arm-chair  large  enough  for 
a  throne.  The  shovel-board  was  once  there;  but  Sir  Thomas,  although  he 
would  play  a  quiet  game  with  the  chaplain  at  tric-trac,  thought  the  shovel- 
board  an  evil  example,  and  it  was  removed.  Upon  ordinary  occasions  the 
Justice  sat  in  his  library,  a  large  oaken  room  with  a  few  cumbrous  books,  of 
which  the  only  novelty  was  the  last  collection  of  the  Statutes.  The  book 
upon  which  the  knight  bestowed  much  of  his  attention  was  the  famous  book  of 
John  Fox,  'Acts  and  Monuments  of  these  latter  and  perillous  Dayes,  touching 
Matters  of  the  Church,  wherein  are  comprehended  and  described  the  great 
Persecutions,  and  horrible  Troubles,  that  have  been  wrought  and  practised  by 
the  Romishe  Prelates.'  This  book  was  next  to  his  Bible.  He  hated  Popery, 
as  he  was  bound  to  do  according  to  law ;  and  he  somewhat  dreaded  the  inroads 
of  Popery  in  the  shape  of  Church  ceremonials.  He  was  not  quite  clear  that 
the  good  man  to  whom  he  had  presented  the  living  of  Charlcote  was  perfectly 
right  in  maintaining  the  honour  and  propriety  of  the  surplice ;  but  he  did  not 
altogether  think  that  it  was  the  "mark  of  abomination. "J  He  reprobated  the 
persecution  of  certain  ministers  "  for  omitting  small  portions  or  some  cere 
mony  prescribed  in  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer."§  Those  ministers  were  of 
the  new  opinions  which  men  began  to  call  puritanical. 

The  good  knight's  visits  to  Stratford  may  be  occasionally  traced  in  the  Chamber 
lain's  accounts,  especially  upon  solemn  occasions,  when  he  went  thither  with  "  my 
Lady  and  Mr.  Sheriff,"  and  left  behind  him  such  pleasant  memorials  as  "  paid  at 
the  Swan  for  a  quart  of  sack  and  a  quartern  of  sugar,  burned  for  Sir  Thomas  Lucy."  || 
The  "  sack  and  sugar"  would,  we  think,  indispose  him  to  go  along  with  the  violent 
denouncers  of  old  festivals ;  and  those  who  deprecated  hunting  and  hawking  were  in 
his  mind  little  better  than  fools.  He  had  his  falconer  and  his  huntsman  ;  and  never 
was  he  happier  than  when  he  rode  out  of  his  gates  with  his  hounds  about  him,  and 
graciously  saluted  the  yeomen  who  rode  with  him  to  find  a  hare  in  Fulbrooke.  If, 
then,  on  the  day  of  the  troth-plight,  Sir  Thomas  met  the  merry  party  from  the  village, 
he  would  assuredly  have  his  blandest  smiles  in  store  for  them ;  and  as  the  affianced 
made  their  best  bow  and  curtsey  he  would  point  merrily  to  the  favour  in  the  hat,  the 
little  folded  handkerchief,  with  its  delicate  gold  lace  and  its  tassel  in  each  corner,  f 

*  Aubrey.         f  The  Old  and  Young  Courtier.         J  See  Hooker's  '  Ecclesiastical  Polity/  book  v. 

§  When  in  Parliament,  in  1584,  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  presented  a  petition  against  the  interference  of 
ecclesiastical  courts  in  such  matters,  whereip  these  words  are  used. 

||  Chamberlain's  Accounts. — Halliwell,  p.  101. 

II  "  And  it  was  then  the  custom  for  maids,  and  gentlewomen,  to  give  their  favourites,  as  tokens  of 
their  love,  little  handkerchiefs  of  about  three  or  four  inches  square,  wrought  round  about,  and  with 
a  button,  or  a  tassel  at  each  corner,  and  a  little  in  the  middle,  with  silk  or  thread.  The  best 
edged  with  a  little  small  gold  lace,  or  twist,  which  being  folded  up  in  four  cross  folds,  BO  as  the 
middle  might  be  seen,  gentlemen  and  others  did  usually  wear  them  in  their  hats,  as  favours  of  their 
loves  and  mistresses."—  Howes's  Continuation  of  Stow,  p.  1039. 

219 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPKRE  : 

There  is  an  early  and  a  frugal  dinner  in  the  yeoman's  house  at  Charlcote. 
Gervase  Markham,  in  his  excellent  'English  Housewife/  describes  "a  humble 
feast  or  an  ordinary  proportion  which  any  good  man  may  keep  in  his  family 
for  the  entertainment  of  his  true  and  worthy  friend."  We  doubt  if  so  luxurious 
a  provision  was  made  in  our  yeoman's  house ;  for  Markham's  "  humble  feast " 
consisted  of  three  courses,  the  first  of  which  comprised  sixteen  "dishes  of  meat 
that  are  of  substance."  Harrison,  writing  about  forty  years  earlier,  makes  the 
yeoman  contented  with  somewhat  less  abundance :  "  If  they  happen  to  stumble 
upon  a  piece  of  venison,  and  a  cup  of  wine  or  very  strong  beer  or  ale  (which 
latter  they  commonly  provide  against  their  appointed  days),  they  think  their 
cheer  so  great,  and  themselves  to  have  fared  so  well,  as  the  Lord  Mayor  or 
London."*  But,  whatever  was  the  plainness  or  the  delicacy  of  their  dishes, 
there  is  no  doubt  of  the  hearty  welcome  which  awaited  all  those  who  had 
claims  to  hospitality  :  "  If  the  friends  of  the  wealthier  sort  come  to  their  houses 
from  far,  they  are  commonly  so  welcome  till  they  depart  as  upon  the  first  day 
of  their  coming."f  Again:  "Both  the  artificer  and  the  husbandman  are  suffi 
ciently  liberal  and  very  friendly  at  their  tables ;  and  when  they  meet  they  are 
so  merry  without  malice,  and  plain  without  inward  Italian  or  French  craft  or 
subtility,  that  it  would  do  a  man  good  to  be  in  company  among  them."J 

Shakspere  has  himself  painted,  in  one  of  his  early  days,  the  friendly  inter 
course  between  the  yeomen  and  their  better  educated  neighbours.  To  the  table 
where  even  Goodman  Dull  was  welcome,  the  schoolmaster  gives  an  invitation 
to  the  parson :  "  I  do  dine  to-day  at  the  father's  of  a  certain  pupil  of  mine ; 
where  if,  before  repast,  it  shall  please  you  to  gratify  the  table  with  a  grace,  I 
will,  on  my  privilege  I  have  with  the  parents  of  the  aforesaid  child  or  pupil, 
undertake  your  ben  venuto."  §  And  it  was  at  this  table  that  the  schoolmaster 
won  for  himself  this  great  praise :  "  Your  reasons  at  dinner  have  been  sharp 
and  sententious,  pleasant  without  scurrility,  witty  without  affection,  audacious 
without  impudence,  learned  without  opinion,  and  strange  without  heresy."]) 
England  was  at  that  day  not  cursed  with  class  and  coterie  society.  The  dis 
tinctions  of  rank  were  sufficiently  well  defined  to  enable  men  to  mix  freely,  as 
long  as  they  conducted  themselves  decorously.  The  barriers  of  modern  society 
belong  to  an  age  of  pretension. 

The  early  dinner  at  Charlcote  finished,  the  young  visitors  from  Stratford 
take  a  circuitous  road  home  over  the  Fulbrooke  hills.  The  shooting  season  is 
approaching,  and  they  have  to  breathe  their  dogs.  But  after  they  have  crossed 
Black  Hill  they  hear  a  loud  shouting;  and  they  know  that  the  hurlers  are 
abroad.  Snitterfield  is  matched  against  Alveston ;  and  a  crowd  of  players  from 
each  parish  have,  with  vast  exertion,  been  driving  their  ball  "over  hills,  dales, 
hedges,  ditches, — yea,  and  thorough  bushes,  briars,  mires,  plashes,  and  rivers."  1 
The  cottage  at  the  entrance  of  Fulbrooke  is  the  goal.  The  Stratford  youths 
must  see  the  game  played  out,  and  curfew  has  rung  before  they  reach  home. 

•  Description  of  England,  1586,  p.  170  f  Ibid.,  p.  168.  £  Ibid. 

§  Love'«  Labour 'a  Lost,  Act  IT.,  Scene  11.  ||  Ibid.,  Act  v.,  Scene  I. 

\  Carew's  '  Survey  of  Cornwall." 
2*) 


[Fulbrooke.    Hurling.] 


A  few  weeks  roll  on,  and  the  bells  of  Hampton  Lucy  are  ringing  for  a  wed 
ding.  The  out-door  ceremonials  are  not  quite  so  rude  as  those  which  Ben 
Jonson  has  delineated ;  but  they  are  founded  on  the  same  primitive  customs. 
There  are  "  ribands,  rosemary,  and  bay  for  the  bridemen;"  and  some  one  of 
the  rustics  may  exclaim — 

"  Look  !    an  the  wenches  ha'  not  found  'un  out, 
And  do  parzent  'un  with  a  van  of  rosemary, 
And  bays,  to  vill  a  bow-pot,  trim  the  head 
Of  my  best  v  ore-horse  !  we  shall  all  ha'  bride  laces, 
Or  points,  I  zee."  * 

Like  the  father  in  Jonson's  play,  the  happy  yeoman  of  Charlcote  might  say  to 
his  dame — 


but  he  will  not  add- 


"  You  'd  have  your  daughters  and  maids 
Dance  o'er  the  fields  like  fays  to  church  :" 


I  '11  have  no  roundels." 


He  will  not  be  reproached  that  he  resolved 


*  Tale  of  a  Tub,  Act  I.,  Scene 


221 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPKM    : 

"  To  let  no  music  go  afore  hi*  child 
To  church,  to  cheer  her  heart  up."* 

On  the  other  hand,  there  are  no  court  ceremonials  here  to  be  seen, 

"  Aa  running  at  the  ring,  plays,  masks,  and  tilting."  f 

There  would  be  the  bride-cup  and  the  wheaten  garlands  ;  the  bride  led  by  fair- 
haired  boys,  arid  the  bridegroom  following  with  his  chosen  neighbours  :— 

'  Qlide  by  the  banks  of  virgins  then,  and  pass 
The  showers  of  roses,  lucky  four-leav'd  grass ; 
The  while  the  cloud  of  younglings  sing, 
And  drown  ye  with  a  flow'ry  spring ; 

While  some  repeat 
Your  praise,  and  bless  you,  sprinkling  you  with  wheat, 

While  that  others  do  divine 
'  Blest  is  the  bride  on  whom  the  sun  doth  shine.'  "  J 

The  procession  enters  the  body  of  the  church ;  for,  after  the  Reformation,  the 
knot  was  no  longer  tied,  as,  at  the  five  weddings  of  the  Wife  of  Bath,  at 
"  church-door."  The  blessing  is  pronounced,  the  bride-cup  is  called  for :  the 
accustomed  kiss  is  given  to  the  bride.  But  neither  custom  is  performed  after 
the  fashion  of  Petrucio  : — 


•'  He  calls  for  wine  : — '  A  health,'  quoth  ha ;  as  if 
He  had  been  aboard,  carousing  to  his  mates 
After  t.  storm  :— quaff  'd  off  the  muscadel, 
And  threw  the  sops  all  in  the  sexton's  face  ; 
Having  no  other  reason, — 
But  that  his  beard  grew  thin  and  hungerly, 
And  seem'd  to  ask  him  sops  as  he  was  drinking. 
This  done,  he  took  the  bride  about  the  neck, 
And  kiss'd  her  lips  with  such  a  clamorous  smack, 
That,  at  the  parting,  all  the  church  did  echo."  § 

They  drink  out  of  the  bride-cup  with  as  much  earnestness  (however  less  the 
formality)  as  the  great  folks  at  the  marriage  of  the  Elector  Palatine  to  the 
daughter  of  James  I. : — "  In  conclusion,  a  joy  pronounced  by  the  King  and 
Queen,  and  seconded  with  congratulation  of  the  lords  there  present,  which 
crowned  with  draughts  of  Ippocras  out  of  a  great  golden  bowl,  as  an  health  to 
the  prosperity  of  the  marriage,  began  by  the  Prince  Palatine,  and  answered  by 
the  Princess."| 

We  will  not  think  that  "  when  they  come  home  from  church  then  beginneth 

*  Tale  of  a  Tub,  Act  n.,  Scene  L 
+  A  New  Way  to  pay  Old  Debts,  Act  iv.,  Scene  in.  J  Herrick's  '  Hesperides.' 

§  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  Act  in..  Scene  n. 
||  Quoted  in  Reed's  Shakspeare,  from  Finet's  '  Philoxenis.' 
222 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 


excess  of  eating  and  drinking, — and  as  much  is  wasted  in  one  day  as  were  suf 
ficient  for  the  two  new-married  folks  half  a  year  to  live  upon."  *  The  dance 
follows  the  banquet : — 

"  Hark,  hark,  I  hear  the  minstrels  play."  f 


*  Christian  State  of  Matrimony. 


t  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  Act  in.,  Scene  it. 


[Hampton  Lucy.     The  Ol<?  Church.] 


[Daisy  Hi)!.] 


III. — FIELD  SPORTS. 

THERE  is  a  book  with  which  William  Shakspere  would  unquestionably  be 
familiar,  the  delightful  '  Scholemaster '  of  Roger  Ascham,  first  printed  in  1570, 
which  would  sufficiently  encourage  him,  if  encouragement  were  wanting,  in  the 
common  pursuit  of  serious  study  and  manly  exercises.  "  I  do  not  mean,"  says 
this  fine  genial  old  scholar,  "  by  all  this  my  talk,  that  young  gentlemen  should 
always  be  poring  on  a  book,  and,  by  using  good  studies,  should  lose  honest 
pleasure  and  haunt  no  good  pastime ;  I  mean  nothing  less  :  for  it  is  well  known 
that  I  both  like  and  love,  and  have  always  and  do  yet  still  use,  all  exercises 
and  pastimes  that  be  fit  for  my  nature  and  ability.  And  beside  natural  dis 
position,  in  judgment  also,  I  was  never  either  stoic  in  doctrine,  or  Anabaptist 
in  religion,  to  mislike  a  merry,  pleasant,  and  playful  nature,  if  no  outrage  be 

committed   against   law,   measure,  and  good  order Therefore   to 

ride  comely ;  to  run  fair  at  the  tilt  or  ring ;  to  play  at  all  weapons ;  to  shoot 
fair  in  bow  or  surely  in  gun ;  to  vault  lustily ;  to  run ;  to  leap ;  to  wrestle ;  to 
swim ;  to  dance  comely ;  to  sing,  and  play  of  instruments  cunningly ;  to  hawk ; 
to  hunt ;  to  play  at  tennis ;  and  all  pastimes  generally  which  be  joined  with 
.abour,  used  in  open  place,  and  in  the  daylight,  containing  either  some  fit 
exercise  for  war,  or  some  pleasant  pastime  for  peace,  be  not  only  comely  and 
deceot,  but  also  very  necessary  for  a  courtly  gentleman  to  use." 
224 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

To  "ride  comely,"  to  "shoot  fairly  in  bow,  or  surely  in  gun,"  "to  hawk,  to 
hunt,"  were  pastimes  in  which  William  Shakspere  would  heartily  engage. 
His  plays  abound  with  the  most  exact  descriptions  of  matters  connected  with 
field  sports.  In  these  exercises,  "  in  open  place  and  in  the  daylight,"  would  he 
meet  his  neighbours ;  and  we  may  assume  that  those  social  qualities  which 
won  for  him  the  love  of  the  wisest  and  the  wittiest  in  his  mature  years,  would 
be  prominent  in  the  frankness  and  fearlessness  of  youth.  Learned  men  had 
despised  hunting  and  hawking — had  railed  against  these  sports.  Surely  Sir 
Thomas  More,  he  would  think,  never  had  hawk  on  fist,  or  chased  the  destruc 
tive  vermin  whose  furs  he  wore,  when  he  wrote,  "  What  delight  can  there  be, 
and  not  rather  displeasure,  in  hearing  the  barking  and  howling  of  dogs?"* 
Erasmus,  too,  was  a  secluded  scholar.  Ascham  appreciated  these  things,  be 
cause  he  liked,  and  loved,  and  used  them.  With  his  "  stone-bow"  in  hand 
would  the  boy  go  forth  in  search  of  quail  or  partridge.  It  was  a  difficult 
weapon — a  random  shot  might  hit  a  man  "in  the  eye," f  but  it  was  not  so 
easy  when  the  small  bullet  flew  from  the  string  to  bring  down  the  blackbird 
from  the  bush.  There  is  abundant  game  in  Fulbrooke.  Ever  since  th« 
attainder  of  John  Dudley  it  had  been  disparked ;  granted  by  the  Crown  to  a 
favourite,  and  again  seized  upon.  A  lovely  woodland  scene  was  this  in  the 
days  when  Elizabeth  took  into  her  own  hands  the  property  which  her  sister 
had  granted  to  Sir  Henry  Englefield,  now  a  proscribed  wanderer.  The  boy- 
sportsman  is  on  Daisy  Hill  with  his  "  birding-bow ; "  but  the  birds  are  for 
a  while  unheeded.  He  stops  to  gaze  upon  that  glorious  view  of  Warwick 
which  here  is  unfolded.  There,  bright  in  the  sunshine,  at  the  distance  of  four 
or  five  miles,  are  the  noble  towers  of  the  Beauchamps ;  and  there  is  the  lofty 
church  beneath  whose  roof  their  pride  and  their  ambition  lie  low.  Behind 
him  is  his  own  Stratford,  with  its  humbler  spire.  All  around  is  laund  and 
bush, — a  spot  which  might  have  furnished  the  scene  of  the  Keepers  in 
Henry  VI.  :— 

"  1  Keep.  Under  this  thick-growu  brake  we'll  shroud  ourselves ; 
For  through  this  laund  anon  the  deer  will  come ; 
And  in  this  covert  will  we  make  our  stand, 
Culling  the  principal  of  all  the  deer. 

2  Keep.  I  'il  stay  above  the  hill,  so  both  may  shoot. 

1  Keep.  That  cannot  be ;  the  noise  of  thy  cross-bow 
Will  scare  the  herd,  and  so  my  shoot  is  lost. 
Here  stand  we  both,  and  aim  we  at  the  best ;" — J 

a  spot  to  which  many  a  fair  dame  had  been  led  by  gallant  forester,  with  bow 
bent,  and  "  quarrel"  fitted  : — 

"  Prin.  Then,  forester,  my  friend,  where  is  the  bush 
That  we  must  stand  and  play  the  murtherer  in  ? 

For.  Here  by,  upon  the  edge  of  yonder  coppice ; 
A  stand,  where  you  may  make  the  fairest  shoot."  § 


*  Utopia,  book  ii.  chap.  7. 

t  "  0,  for  a  stone-bow  !  to  hit  him  in  the  eye."— Twelfth  Night. 

I  Henry  VI.,  Part  III,,  Act  m.,  Scene  i.  §  Love's  Labour's  Lost,  Act  iv.,  Scene  i. 

LIFE.  '  Q  225 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPKi...  , 

With  the  timid  deer  even  the  cross-bow  scares  the  herd  with  its  noise.  But  it 
was  retained  in  "birding"  long  after  the  general  use  of  fire-arms,  that  the 
covey  might  not  be  scattered.  Its  silent  power  of  destruction  was  its  principal 
merit. 

But  as  boyhood  is  thrown  off  there  are  nobler  pastimes  for  William  Shak- 
spere  than  those  of  gun  and  cross-bow.  Like  Gaston  de  Foix  "he  loved 
hounds,  of  all  beasts,  winter  and  summer."*  He  was  skilled  in  the  qualities 
of  hounds :  he  delighted  in  those  of  the  noblest  breed, — 

"  So  flew'd,  so  sanded ;  and  their  heads  are  hung 
With  ears  that  sweep  away  the  morning  dew ; 
Crook-kneed  and  dew-lapp'd,  like  Thessalian  bulla ; 
Slow  in  pursuit,  but  match'd  in  mouth  like  bells, 
Each  under  each."  t 

The  chase  in  his  day  was  not  a  tremendous  burst  for  an  hour  or  two,  whose 
breathless  speed  shuts  out  all  sense  of  beauty  in  the  sport.  There  was  har 
mony  in  every  sound  of  the  ancient  hunt — there  was  poetry  in  all  its  associa 
tions.  Such  lines  as  those  which  Hippolita  utters  were  not  the  fancies  of  a 
cloistered  student  :— 

"  I  was  with  Hercules  and  Cadmus  once, 
When  in  a  wood  of  Crete  they  bay'd  the  bear 
With  hounds  of  Sparta :  never  did  I  hear 
Such  gallant  chiding ;  for,  besides  the  groves, 
The  skies,  the  fountains,  every  region  near 
Seem'd  all  one  mutual  cry  :  I  never  heard 
So  musical  a  discord,  such  sweet  thunder."  $ 

The  solemn  huntings  of  princes  and  great  lords,  where  large  assemblies  were 
convened  to  chase  the  deer  in  spaces  enclosed  by  nets,  but  where  the  cook  and 
the  butler  were  as  necessary  as  the  hunter,  were  described  in  stately  verse  by 
George  Gascoigne.  "The  noble  art  of  Venerie"  seems  to  have  been  an  admir 
able  excuse  for  ease  and  luxury  "  under  the  greenwood  tree."  But  the  open 
hunting  with  the  country  squire's  beagles  was  a  more  stirring  matter.  By  day 
break  was  the  bugle  sounded  ;  and  from  the  spacious  offices  of  the  Hall  came 
forth  the  keepers,  leading  their  slow-hounds  for  finding  the  game,  and  the 
foresters  with  their  greyhounds  in  leash.  Many  footmen  are  there  in  attend 
ance  with  their  quarter-staffs  and  hangers.  Slowly  rides  forth  the  master  and 
his  friends.  ^  Neighbours  join  them  on  their  way  to  the  wood.  There  is  merri 
ment  in  their  progress,  for,  as  they  pass  through  the  village,  they  stop  before 
the  door  of  the  sluggard  who  ought  to  have  been  on  foot,  singing  "Hunt's  up 
to  the  day  : "— § 

"  The  hunt  is  up,  the  hunt  is  up, 
Sing  merrily  we,  the  hunt  is  up ; 


*  Lord  Berners*  '  Froissart,'  book  iiu  chap.  26. 
t  Midmimmer  Night's  Dream,  Act  iv.,  Scene  L  J  Ibid. 

§  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Act  m.  Scene  v. 
226 


The  birds  they  sing, 
The  deer  they  fling  : 

Hey  nony,  nony-no . 
The  hounds  they  cry, 
The  hunters  they  fly  : 

Hey  troli  lo,  trololilo. 
The  hunt  is  up."  * 

It  is  a  cheering  and  inspiriting  tune  — the  reveillee  —  awakening  like  the 
"  singing "  of  the  lark,  or  the  "  lively  din "  of  the  cock.  Sounds  like  these 
were  heard,  half  a  century  after  the  youth  of  Shakspere,  by  the  student  whose 
poetry  scarcely  descended  to  the  common  things  which  surrounded  him  ;  for  it 
was  not  the  outgushing  of  the  heart  over  all  life  and  nature ;  it  was  the  reflec 
tion  of  his  own  individuality,  and  the  echo  of  books— beautiful  indeed,  but  not 
all-comprehensive  : — 

"  Oft  list'ning  how  the  hounds  and  horn 
Cheerly  arouse  the  slumb'ring  morn, 
From  the  side  of  some  hoar  hill, 
Through  the  high  wood  echoing  shrill."  f 

To  the  wood  leads  the  chief  huntsman.  He  has  tracked  the  hart  or  doe  to  the 
covert  on  the  previous  night ;  and  now  the  game  is  to  be  roused  by  man  and 
dog.  Some  of  the  company  may  sing  the  fine  old  song,  as  old  as  the  time  of 
Henry  VIII.  :— 

''  Blow  thy  horn,  hunter, 

Blow  thy  horn  on  high. 
In  yonder  wood  there  lieth  a  doe  : 
In  faith  she  woll  not  die. 

Then  blow  thy  horn,  hunter, 
Then  blow  thy  horn,  hunter, 
Then  blow  thy  horn,  jolly  hunter."  J 

The  hart  is  roused.  The  hounds  have  burst  out  in  "  musical  confusion."  Soho 
is  cried.  The  greyhounds  are  unleashed.  And  now  rush  horsemen  and  foot 
men  over  hill — through  dingle.  A  mile  or  two  of  sharp  running,  and  he  is 
again  in  cover.  Again  the  keepers  beat  the  thicket  with  their  staves.  He  is 
again  in  the  open  field,  crossing  Ingon  Hill.  And  so  it  is  long  before  the  treble- 
mort  is  sounded ;  and  the  great  mystery  of  "  wood-craft,"  the  anatomy  of  the 
venison,  is  gone  through  with  the  nicest  art,  even  to  the  cutting  off  a  bone  for 
the  raven. § 

It  is  in  his  first  poem — "  the  first  heir  of  my  invention  " — that  the  sportsman 
is  most  clearly  to  be  identified  with  the  youthful  Shakspere.  Who  ever  painted 
a  hare-hunt  with  such  united  spirit  and  exactness?  We  see  the  cranks,  and 
crosses,  and  doubles,  of  the  poor  wretch ;  the  cunning  with  which  he  causes  the 

*  Douce,  '  Illustrations  of  Shakspeare,'  vol.  ii.  p.  192.  t  Milton,  '  L' Allegro.' 

J  The  MS.  of  this  fine  song  is  in  the  British  Museum.     It  has  been  published  by  Mr.  Chappell. 

§  Ben  Jonson's  '  Sad  Shepherd,'  Act  I.,  Scene  vi. 
Q  2  227 


llngon  HIU.J 


hounds  to  mistake  the  smell ;  the  listening  upon  a  hill  for  his  pursuers  ;  the 
turning  and  returning  of  poor  Wat.  Who  ever  described  a  horse  with  such  a 
complete  mastery  of  all  the  points  of  excellence  ?  In  his  plays,  all  the  niceties 
of  falconry  are  touched  upon  ;  and  the  varieties  of  hawk — "  haggard,"  "  tassel- 
gentle,"  "eyas  musket," — spoken  of  with  a  master's  knowledge.  Hawking  was 
the  universal  passion  of  his  age,  especiallv  for  the  wealthy.  Coursing  was  for 
the  yeomen — such  as  Master  Page.*  The  love  of  all  field-sports  lasted  half  a 
century  longer ;  and  some  of  Shakspere's  great  dramatic  successors  have  put 
out  all  their  strength  in  their  description.  There  are  few  things  more  spirited 
than  the  following  passage  from  Massinger  : — 

"  Dwr.  I  must  have  you 

To  my  country  villa :  rise  before  the  sun, 
Then  make  a  breakfast  of  the  morning  dew, 
Serv'd  up  by  nature  on  some  grassy  hill. 

Cold.  You  talk  of  nothing. 

Dur.  This  ta'en  as  a  preparative,  to  strengthen 
Your  queasy  stomach,  vault  into  your  saddle  ; 
With  all  this  flesh  I  can  do  it  without  a  stirrup  :  — 
My  hounds  uncoupled,  and  my  huntsmen  ready, 
You  shall  hear  such  music  from  their  tunable  mouth*. 
That  you  shall  say  the  viol,  harp,  theorbo, 
Ne'er  made  such  ravishing  harmony ;  from  the  grove* 


2-28 


*  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  r.,  Scene  T. 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

And  neighbouring  woods  with  frequent  iteration, 
Enamour'd  of  the  cry,  a  thousand  echoes 
Repeating  it. 

•**»*» 

DU.J  In  the  afternoon, 

For  we  will  have  variety  of  delights, 

We  '11  to  the  field  again ;  no  game  shall  rise 

But  we'll  be  ready  for't :  if  a  hare,  my  greyhounds 

Shall  make  a  course ;  for  the  pie  or  jay,  a  sparhawk 

This  from  the  fist ;  the  crow  so  near  pursued, 

Shall  be  compell'd  to  seek  protection  under 

Our  horses'  bellies ;  a  hearn  put  from  her  siege, 

And  a  pistol  shot  off  in  her  breech,  shall  mount 

So  high,  that,  to  your  view,  she  '11  seem  to  soar 

Above  the  middle  region  of  the  air : 

A  cast  of  haggard  falcons,  by  me  mann'd, 

Eying  the  prey  at  first,  appear  as  if 

They  did  turn  tail;  but  with  their  labouring  wings 

Getting  above  her,  with  a  thought  their  pinions 

Cleaving  the  purer  element,  make  in, 

And  by  turns  bind  with  her ;  the  frighted  fowl, 

Lying  at  her  defence  upon  her  back, 

With  her  dreadful  beak  awhile  defers  her  death, 
But  by  degrees  forced  down,  we  part  the  fray, 
And  feast  upon  her. 

Cold.  This  cannot  be,  I  grant, 

But  pretty  pastime. 

Dur.  Pretty  pastime,  nephew  ! 

'Tis  royal  sport.     Then,  for  an  evening  flight, 
A  tiercel  gentle,  which  I  call,  my  masters, 
As  he  were  sent  a  messenger  to  the  moon, 
In  such  a  place  flies,  as  he  seems  to  say, 
See  me,  or  see  me  not !  the  partridge  sprung, 
He  makes  his  stoop ;  but,  wanting  breath,  is  forced 
To  canceller ;  then  with  such  speed,  as  if 
He  carried  lightning  in  his  wings,  he  strikes 
The  tumbling  bird,  who  even  in  death  appears 
Proud  to  be  made  his  quarry."  * 

The  passage  in  which  Massinger  thus  describes  what  had  been  presented  to 
his  observation  is  one  of  the  many  examples  of  the  rare  power  which  the  dra 
matists  of  Shakspere's  age  possessed, — the  power  of  seeing  nature  with  their 
own  eyes.  But  we  may  almost  venture  to  say  that  this  power  scarcely  existed 
in  dramatic  poetry  before  Shakspere  taught  his  contemporary  poets  that  there 
was  something  better  in  art  than  the  conventional  images  of  books — the 
shadows  of  shadows.  The  wonderful  superiority  of  Shakspere  over  all  others, 
in  stamping  the  minutest  objects  of  creation,  as  well  as  the  highest  mysteries 
of  the  soul  of  man,  with  the  impress  of  truth,  must  have  been  derived,  in  some 
degree,  from  his  education,  working  with  his  genius.  All  his  early  experience 
must  have  been  his  education;  and  we  therefore  are  not  attempting  mere  fan- 


*  The  Guardian,  Act  i.,  Scene  i.     The  speakers  are  Durazza  and  Caldoro. 

229 


WILLIAM  SIIAKSPERE: 

ciful  combinations  of  the  individual  with  the  circumstances  of  his  social  position, 
when  we  surround  him  with  the  scenes  which  belong  to  his  locality,  his  time, 
and  his  condition  of  life. 


[Snitterfield. 


230 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 


NOTE  ON  THE  SHAKSPERIAN  LOCALITIES. 


WE  have  endeavoured  to  render  the  local  descriptions  and  allusions  in  this  chapter,  and  in  preceding 
passages,  more  intelligible,  by  subjoining  a  map  of  the  neighbourhood  of  Stratford.  In  this 
neighbourhood  there  is  little  of  that  scenery  which  we  call  romantic ;  but  the  surpassing  fertility, 
the  undulating  surfaces,  the  rich  woodlands,  the  placid  river,  and  the  numerous  and  beautiful 
old  churches,  render  it  an  interesting  country  to  walk  over,  independent  of  its  associations.  Those 
associations  impart  to  this  neighbourhood  an  unequalled  charm ;  and  the  outline  map  here  given 
may  probably  assist  the  lover  of  Shakspere  in  a  ramble  through  hit 

"  Daily  walks,  and  ancient  neighbourhood." 

The  very  beautiful  sketches  of  Mr.  Harvey,  of  which  we  can  attest  the  fidelity,  as  far  as  regards 
their  local  accuracy,  may  also  lend  an  interest  to  such  a  visit.  The  map  has  been  constructed  with 
reference  to  the  insertion  of  places  only  which  are  either  named  in  Shakspere's  works,  or  with 
which  he  or  his  family  were  connected,  or  which  have  appeared  to  us  demanding  mention  or  allusion 
in  his  biography.  The  map  is,  of  course,  a  map  for  the  present  day,  but  there  are  very  few  names 
inserted  which  are  not  found  in  Dugdale's  Map  of  the  hundreds  which  contain  this  neighbourhood. 
Many,  of  course,  are  omitted  which  are  there  found. 


231 


WILLIAM    SII.\KSl'i:i:r. 


i 

§ 
§ 


o 

•—  < 

H 


W 


[Hampton  Lucy,  from  road  near  Alvesiou.J 

CHAPTER    XV. 

SOLITAEY    HOUES. 


THE  poet  who  has  described  a  man  of  savage  wildness,  cherishing  "  unshaped, 
Ualf-human  thoughts "  in  his  wanderings  among  vales  and  streams,  green  wood 
*nd  hollow  dell,  has  said  that  nature  ne'er  tould  find  the  way  into  his  heart : — 

"  A  primrose  by  a  river's  brim 
A  yellow  primrose  was  to  him, 
And  it  was  nothing  more." 

These  are  lines  at  which  some  of  the  worldly-wise  and  clever  have  been  wont 
to  laugh  ;  but  they  contain  a  deep  and  universal  truth.  Without  some  asso 
ciation,  the  most  beautiful  objects  in  nature  have  no  charm ;  with  association, 
the  commonest  acquire  a  value.  The  very  humblest  power  of  observation  is 

233 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE  • 

necessarily  dependent  upon  some  higher  power  of  the  mind.  Those  who  ob 
serve  differ  from  those  who  do  not  observe  in  the  possession  of  acquired  know 
ledge,  or  original  reflection,  which  is  to  guide  the  observation.  The  observer 
who  sees  accurately,  who  knows  what  others  have  observed,  and  who  applies 
this  knowledge  only  to  the  humble  purpose  of  adding  a  new  flower  or  insect  to 
his  collection,  we  call  a  naturalist.  But  there  are  naturalists,  worthy  of  the 
name,  who,  without  bringing  any  very  high  powers  of  mind  to  their  observation 
of  nature,  still  show,  not  only  by  the  minuteness  and  accuracy  of  their  eye,  but 
by  their  genial  love  and  admiration  of  the  works  of  the  Creator,  that  with  them 
nature  has  found  the  way  into  the  heart.  Such  was  White  of  Selborne.  We 
delight  to  hear  him  describe  the  mouse's  nest  which  he  found  suspended  in  the 
head  of  a  thistle ;  or  how  a  gentleman  had  two  milk-white  rooks  in  one  nest : 
we  partake  in  his  happiness  when  he  writes  of  what  was  to  him  an  event : 
"  This  morning  I  saw  the  golden-crowned  wren  whose  crown  glitters  like  bur 
nished  gold ; "  and  we  half  suspect  that  the  good  old  gentleman  had  the  spirit 
of  poetry  in  him  when  he  says  of  the  goat-sucker,  "  This  bird  is  most  punctual 
in  beginning  its  song  exactly  at  the  close  of  day ;  so  exactly  that  I  have  known 
it  strike  up  more  than  once  or  twice  just  at  the  report  of  the  Portsmouth  even 
ing  gun."  He  wrote  verses ;  but  they  are  not  so  poetical  as  his  prose.  A  na 
turalist  endowed  with  higher  powers  of  association  has  taught  us  how  philosophy 
looks  upon  the  common  aspects  of  the  outer  world.  Davy  was  a  scientific 
observer.  He  shows  us  the  reason  of  the  familiar  prognostications  of  the  wea 
ther — the  coppery  sunset,  the  halo  round  the  moon,  the  rainbow  at  night,  the 
flight  of  the  swallow.  Even  omens  have  a  touch  of  science  in  them ;  and  there 
is  a  philosophical  difference  in  the  luck  of  seeing  one  magpie  or  two.  But 
there  is  an  observer  of  nature  who  looks  upon  all  animate  and  inanimate  exist 
ence  with  a  higher  power  of  association  even  than  these.  It  is  the  poetical 
naturalist.  Of  this  rare  class  our  Shakspere  is  decidedly  the  head.  Let  us 
endeavour  to  understand  what  his  knowledge  of  external  nature  was,  how  it  was 
applied,  and  how  it  was  acquired. 

Some  one  is  reported  to  have  said  that  he  could  affirm  from  the  evidence  of 
his  '  Seasons '  that  Thomson  was  an  early  riser.  Thomson,  it  is  well  known, 
duly  slept  till  noon.  Bearing  in  mind  this  practical  rebuke  of  what  is  held  to 
be  internal  evidence,  we  still  shall  not  hesitate  to  affirm  our  strong  conviction 
that  the  Shakspere  of  the  country  was  an  early  riser.  Thomson,  professedly  a 
descriptive  poet,  assuredly  described  many  things  that  he  never  saw.  He 
looked  at  nature  very  often  with  the  eyes  of  others.  To  our  mind  his  cele 
brated  description  of  morning  offers  not  the  slightest  proof  that  he  ever  saw  the 
sun  rise.*  In  this  description  we  have  the  meek-eyed  morn,  the  dappled  east, 
brown  night,  young  day,  the  dripping  rock,  the  misty  mountain  :  the  hare 
limps  from  the  field  ;  the  wild  deer  trip  from  the  glade  ;  music  awakes  in 
woodland  hymns  ;  the  shepherd  drives  his  flock  from  the  fold ;  the  sluggard 
sleeps  :— 


•  Summer.     Line  43  to  96. 
234 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

"  But  yonder  cornea  the  powerful  king  of  day, 
Rejoicing  in  the  east !     The  lessening  cloud, 
The  kindling  azure,  and  the  mountain's  brow, 
Illum'd  with  fluid  gold,  his  near  approach 
Betoken  glad.     Lo,  now  apparent  all, 
Aslant  the  dew-bright  earth  and  colour'd  air, 
He  looks  in  boundless  majesty  abroad, 
And  sheds  the  shining  day,  that  burnish'd  plays 
On  rocks,  and  hills,  and  towers,  and  wandering  streams. 
High-gleaming  from  afar." 

This  is  conventional  poetry,  the  reflection  of  books ; — excellent  of  its  kind,  but. 
still  not  the  production  of  a  poet-naturalist.  Compare  it  with  Chaucer: — 

"  The  besy  larke,  the  messager  of  day, 
Saleweth  in  hire  song  the  morwe  gray  ; 
And  firy  Phebus  riseth  up  so  bright, 
That  all  the  orient  laugheth  of  the  sight, 
And  with  his  stremes  drieth  in  the  greves 
The  silver  dropes,  hanging  on  the  leves."  * 

The  sun  drying  the  dewdrops  on  the  leaves  is  not  a  book  image.  The  bril 
liancy,  the  freshness,  are  as  true  as  they  are  beautiful.  Of  such  stuff  are  the 
natural  descriptions  of  Shakspere  always  made.  He  is  as  minute  and  accurate 
as  White ;  he  is  more  philosophical  than  Davy.  The  carrier  in  the  inn-yard 
at  Rochester  exclaims,  "An't  be  not  four  by  the  day,  I'll  be  hanged:  Charles' 
wain  is  over  the  new  chimney."  f  Here  is  the  very  commonest  remark  of  a 
common  man ;  and  yet  the  principle  of  ascertaining  the  time  of  the  night  by 
the  positiorl  of  a  star  in  relation  to  a  fixed  object  must  have  been  the  result  of 
observation  in  him  who  dramatized  the  scene.  The  variation  of  the  quarter 
in  which  the  sun  rises  according  to  the  time  of  the  year  may  be  a  trite  problem 
to  scientific  readers ;  but  it  must  have  been  a  familiar  fact  to  him  who,  with 
marvellous  art,  threw  in  a  dialogue  upon  the  incident,  to  diversify  and  give 
repose  to  the  pause  in  a  scene  of  overwhelming  interest : — 

" Decius.  Here  lies  the  east:  Doth  not  the  day  break  here? 

Casca.  No. 

Cinna.  0,  pardon,  sir,  it  doth ;  and  yon  gray  lines, 
That  fret  the  clouds,  are  messengers  of  day. 

Casca.  You  shall  confess  that  you  are  both  deceiv'd. 
Here,  as  I  point  my  sword,  the  sun  arises ; 
Which  is  a  great  way  growing  on  the  south, 
Weighing  the  youthful  season  of  the  year. 
Some  two  months  hence,  up  higher  toward  the  north 
He  first  presents  his  fire ;  and  the  high  east 
Stands,  as  the  Capitol,  directly  here."  £ 

It  was  in  his  native  fields  that   Shakspere  had  seen  morning  under  every  aspect ; 

*  The  Knight's  Tale.     Line  1493.  t  Henry  IV.,  Part  I.,  Act  ir.,  Scene  I. 

I  Julius  Caesar,  Act  u..  Scene  i. 

235 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPKKK  : 

— now,  "in  russet  mantle  clad;"  now,  opening  her  "golden  gates."  A  mighty 
battle  is  compared  to  the  morning's  war  :— 

"  When  dying  clouds  contend  with  growing  light" 

Perhaps  this  might  have  been  copied,   or   imagined  ;    but  the  poet  throws  in 
reality,  which  leaves  no  doubt  that  it  had  been  seen :  — 

"  What  time  the  shepherd,  blowing  of  his  nails, 
Can  neither  call  it  perfect  day,  nor  night."  * 

What  but  actual  observation  could  have  told  the  poet  that  the  thin  flakes  of  ice 
which  he  calls  "flaws"  are  suddenly  produced  by  the  coldness  of  the  morning 
just  before  sunrise  ?  The  fact  abided  in  his  mind  till  it  shaped  it  itself  into  a 
comparison  with  the  peculiarities  in  the  character  of  his  Prince  Henry  : — 

"  As  humorous  as  winter,  and  as  sudden 
As  flaws  congealed  in  the  spring  of  day." 

He  has  painted  his  own  Romeo,  when  under  the  influence  of  a  fleeting  first 
love,  stealing  "  into  the  covert  of  the  wood," 

"  An  hour  before  the  worshipp'd  sun 
Peer'd  forth  the  golden  window  of  the  east."t 

A  melancholy  and  joyous  spirit  would  equally  have  tempted  the  young  poet 
to  court  the  solitudes  that  were  around  him.  Whether  his  "  affections "  were 
to  be  "  most  busied  when  most  alone  ;"  J  or,  objectless, 

"  Chewing  the  food  of  sweet  and  bitter  fancy ;"  § 

or  intent  upon  a  favourite  book ;  or  yielding  to  the  imagination  which  "  bodies 
forth  the  forms  of  things  unknown/' — many  of  the  vacant  hours  of  the  young 
man  would  be  solitary  hours  in  his  own  fields.  Yet,  whatever  was  the  pervading 
train  of  thought,  he  would  still  be  an  observer.  In  the  vast  storehouse  of  his 
mind  would  all  that  he  observed  be  laid  up,  not  labelled  and  classified  after  the 
fashion  of  some  poetical  manufacturers,  but  to  be  called  into  use  at  a  near  or  a 
distant  day,  by  that  wonderful  power  of  assimilation  which  perceives  all  the 
subtile  and  delicate  relations  between  the  moral  and  the  physical  worlds,  and 
thus  raises  the  objects  of  sense  into  a  companionship  with  the  loftiest  things 
that  belong  to  the  fancy  and  the  reason.  Who  ever  painted  with  such  marvel 
lous  power — we  use  the  word  advisedly — the  changing  forms  of  an  evening 
sky,  "  black  vesper's  pageants"? — 

"  Sometime  we  see  a  cloud  that 's  dragonish  ; 
A  vapour,  sometime,  like  a  bear,  or  lion, 
A  tower'd  citadel,  a  pendent  rock, 
A  forked  mountain,  or  blue  promontory 
With  trees  upon 't,  that  nod  unto  the  world, 
And  mock  our  eyes  with  air."  || 


•  Henry  VI.,  Part  III.,  Act  n.,  Scene  v.  t  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Act  I.,  Scene  L 

J  Ibid.  §  As  You  Like  It,  Act  rv.,  Scene  m. 

||  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  Act  iv.,  Scene  xn. 
236 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

This  is  noble  painting,  but  it  is  something  higher.  When  Antony  goes  on  to 
compare  himself  to  the  cloud  which  "  even  with  a  thought  the  rack  dislimns/' 
we  learn  how  the  great  poet  uses  his  observation  of  nature.  Not  only  do  such 
magnificent  objects  as  these  receive  an  elevation  from  the  poet's  moral  appli 
cation  of  them,  but  the  commonest  things,  even  the  vulgarest  things,  ludicrous 
but  for  their  management,  become  in  the  highest  degree  poetical.  Many  a  time 
in  the  low  meadows  of  the  Avon  would  Shakspere  have  seen  the  irritation  of  the 
herd  under  the  torments  of  the  gad-fly.  The  poet  takes  this  common  thing  to 
describe  an  event  which  changed  the  destinies  of  the  world : — • 

"  Yon  ribald  nag  of  Egypt, 

Whom  leprosy  o'ertake  !  i'  the  midst  o'  the  fight, — 
When  vantage  like  a  pair  of  twins  appear'd, 
Both  as  the  same,  or  rather  ours  the  elder, — 
The  brize  upon  her,  like  a  cow  in  June, 
Hoists  sails,  and  flies."  * 

When  Hector  is  in  the  field, 

"  The  strawy  Greeks,  ripe  for  his  edge, 
Fall  down  before  him,  like  the  mower's  swath."  t 

Brutus,  speculating  upon  the  probable  consequences  of  Csesar  becoming  king, 
exclaims  : — 

"  It  is  the  bright  day  that  brings  forth  the  adder, 
And  that  craves  wary  walking." J 


*  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  Act  m.,  Scene  vni. 
f  Troilus  and  Cressida,  Act  v.,  Scene  v.  t  Julius  Caesar,  Act  n..  Scene  i. 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  : 

The  same  object  had  been  seen  and  described  in  an  earlier  play,  without  its  grand 
association : — 

"  The  snake  lies  rolled  in  the  cheerful  BUD."  • 

The  snake  seems  a  liege  subject  of  the  domain  of  poetry.  Her  enamel  skin  is 
a  weed  for  a  fairy ;  f  the  green  and  gilded  snake  wreathed  around  the  sleeping 
man  J  is  a  picture.  But  what  ordinary  writer  would  not  shrink  from  the  poet 
ical  handling  of  a  snail?  It  is  the  surpassing  accuracy  of  the  naturalist  that 
has  introduced  the  snail  into  one  of  the  noblest  passages  of  the  poet,  in  juxta 
position  with  the  Hesperides  and  Apollo's  lute  : — 

"  Love's  feeling  is  more  soft  and  sensible 
Than  are  the  tender  horns  of  cockled  snails."  § 

One  of  the  grandest  scenes  of  a  tragedy  of  the  mature  poet  is  full  of  the  most 
familiar  images  derived  from  an  accurate  observation  of  the  natural  world.  The 
images  seem  to  rise  up  spontaneously  out  of  the  minute  recollections  of  a  life 
spent  in  watching  the  movements  of  the  lower  creation.  "  A  deed  of  dreadful 
note "  is  to  be  done  before  nightfall.  The  bat,  the  beetle,  and  the  crow  are  the 
common,  and  therefore  the  most  appronriate,  instruments  which  are  used  to 
mark  the  approach  of  night.  The  simplest  thing  of  life  is  thus  raised  into 
sublimity  at  a  touch  : — 

"  Ere  the  bat  hath  flown 
His  cloister'd  flight ;" 

ere 

"  The  shard-borne  beetle,  with  his  drowsy  hums, 
Hath  rung  night's  yawning  peal  j" 

the  murder  of  Banquo  is  to  be  done.     The  very  time  is  at  hand  : — 

"  Light  thickens ;  and  the  crow 
Makes  wing  to  the  rooky  wood."  || 

The  naturalist  has  not  only  heard  the  "  drowsy  hums  "  of  the  beetle  as  he  wan- 
dered  in  the  evening  twilight,  but  he  has  traced  the  insect  to  its  hiding-place. 
The  poet  associates  the  fact  with  a  great  lesson,  —  to  be  content  in  obscure 
safety : — 

"  Often,  to  our  comfort,  shall  we  find 
The  sharded  beetle  in  a  safer  hold 
Thau  is  the  full-wing'd  eagle."  ^ 

Let  it  not  be  forgotten  that  the  young  Shakspere  had  to  make  himself  a  na 
turalist.  Books  of  accurate  observation  there  were  none  to  guide  him ;  for  the 
popular  works  of  natural .  history,  of  which  there  were  very  few,  were  full  of 
extravagant  fables  and  vague  descriptions.  Mr.  Douce  has  told  us  that  Shak 
spere  was  extremely  well  acquainted  with  one  of  these  works—'  Batman  uppon 

•  Titus  Andronicus,  Act  n,  Scene  m. 

bummer-Night's  Dream,  Act  n.,  Scene  n.  j  As  You  Like  It,  Act  iv.,  Scene  m. 

|  Love's  Labour  'a  Lost,  Act  rv.,  Scene  t-  ||  Macbeth,  Act  m.,  Scene  n. 

U  Cymbeline,  Act  in.,  Scene  IIL 
238 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

Bartholome  his  booke  De  proprietatibus  rerum,  1582;'  and  he  has  ascertained 
that  the  original  price  of  this  volume  was  eight  shillings.  But  Shakspere  did 
not  go  to  Bartholomeus,  or  to  Batman  (who  made  large  additions  to  the  ori 
ginal  work  from  Gesner),  for  his  truths  in  natural  history.  Mr.  Douce  has  cited 
many  passages  in  his  '  Illustrations/  in  which  he  traces  Shakspere  to  Bartho 
lomeus.  We  have  gone  carefully  through  the  volumes  where  these  are  scat 
tered  up  and  down,  and  we  find  a  remarkable  circumstance  unnoticed  by  Mr. 
Douce,  that  these  passages,  with  scarcely  an  exception,  refer  to  the  vulgar 
errors  of  natural  history  which  Shakspere  has  transmuted  into  never-dying 
poetry.  It  is  here  that  we  find  the  origin  of  the  toad  which  wears  "  a  precious 
jewel  in  his  head;"*  of  the  phoenix  of  Arabia  ;f  of  the  basilisk  that  kills  the 
innocent  gazer  ;J  of  the  unlicked  bear-whelp.  §  But  the  truths  of  natural  his 
tory  which  we  constantly  light  upon  in  Shakspere  were  all  essentially  derived 
from  his  own  observation.  There  is  a  remarkable  instance  in  his  discri 
mination  between  the  popular  belief  and  the  scientific  truth  in  his  notice  of 
the  habits  of  the  cuckoo.  The  Fool  in  Lear  expresses  the  popular  belief  in 
a  proverbial  sentence  : — 

"  For  you  trow,  nuncle, 
The  hedge  sparrow  fed  the  cuckoo  so  long 
That  it  had  its  head  bit  off  by  its  young." 

Worcester  in  his  address  to  Henry  IV.,  expresses  the  scientific  fact  without 
the  vulgar  exaggeration, -^a  fact  unnoticed  till  the  time  of  Dr.  Jenner  by  any 

O  OO 

writer  but  the  naturalist  William  Shakspere  : — 

"  Being  fed  by  us,  you  used  us  so 
As  that  ungentle  gull  the  cuckoo's  bird 
Useth  the  sparrow  :  did  oppress  owr  nest  ; 
Grew  by  our  feeding  to  so  great  a-bulk, 
That  even  our  love  durst  not  come  near  your  sight."  H 

The  noble  description  of  the  commonwealth  of  bees  in  Henry  V.  was  sug 
gested,  in  all  probability,  by  a  similar  description  in  Lyly's  « Euphues.'  But 
Shakspere's  description  not  only  displays  the  wonderful  accuracy  of  his  obser 
vation,  in  subservience  to  the  poetical  art,  but  the  unerring  discrimination  of 
his  philosophy.  Lyly  makes  his  bees  exercise  the  reasoning  faculty— choose 
a  king,  call  a  parliament,  consult  for  laws,  elect  officers  ;  Shakspere  says  "  they 
have  a  king  and  officers  ; "  and  he  refers  their  operations  to  "  a  rule  in  nature.* 
The  same  accuracy  that  he  brought  to  the  observation  of  the  workings  of  nature 
in  the  fields,  he  bestows  upon  the  assistant  labours  of  art  in  the  garden, 
dialogue  between  the  old  gardener  at  Langley  and  the  servants,  is  full  of  tech 
nical  information.  The  great  principles  of  horticultural  economy,  pruning  and 
weeding,  are  there  as  clearly  displayed  as  in  the  most  anti-poetical  of  treatises. 
We  have  the  crab-tree  slip  grafted  upon  noble  stock  (the  reverse  of  the  gar 
dener's  practice)  in  one  play  :f  in  another  we  have  the  luxurious 

*  As  You  Like  It,  Act  n.,  Scene  i.  t  Tempest,  Act  m.,  Scene  n. 

J  Henry  VI.,  Part  II.,  Act  in.,  Scene  n.  §  Ibid.,  Part  III,  Act  in.,  Scene  n. 

||  See  our  Illustration  of  this  passage,  Henry  IV.,  Part  I.,  Act  v.,  Scene  I. 
•K  Henry  VI.,  Part  II.,  Act  ill.,  Scene  n.  . 

239 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPF-U:  : 

in  wild  and  savage  stock."*  A  writer  in  a  technical  periodical  work  seriously 
maintains  that  Shakspere  was  a  professional  gardener,  f  This  is  better  evi 
dence  of  the  poet's  horticultural  acquirements  than  Steevens's  pert  remark, 
"  Shakspeare  seems  to  have  had  little  knowledge  in  gardening.''^  Shak- 
spere's  philosophy  of  the  gardener's  art  is  true  of  all  art.  It  is  the  great 
Platonic  belief  which  raises  art  into  something  much  higher  than  a  thing  of 
mere  imitation,  showing  the  great  informing  spirit  of  the  universe  working 
through  man,  as  through  any  other  agency  of  his  will :  — 

"Per.  Sir,  the  year  growing  ancient,— 

Nor  yet  ou  summer's  death,  nor  on  the  birth 
Of  trembling  winter, — the  fairest  flowers  o'  the  season 
Are  our  carnations,  and  streak'cl  gilly  'vors, 
Which  some  call  nature's  bastards  :  of  that  kind 
Our  rustic  garden  'B  barren ;  and  I  care  not 
To  get  slips  of  them. 

Pot.  Wherefore,  gentle  maiden, 

Do  you  neglect  them  ? 

Per.  For  I  have  heard  it  said, 

There  is  an  art  which,  in  their  piedness,  shares 
With  great  creating  nature. 

Pol.  Say,  there  be ; 

Yet  nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean, 
But  nature  makes  that  mean  :  so,  over  that  art, 
Which,  you  say,  adds  to  nature,  is  an  art, 
That  nature  makes.     You  see,  sweet  maid,  we  marry 
A  gentler  scion  to  the  wildest  stock  ; 
And  make  conceive  a  bark  of  baser  kind 
By  bud  of  nobler  race  :  This  is  an  art 
Which  does  mend  nature, — change  it  rather  :  but 
The  art  itself  is  nature."  § 

Perdita's  flowers !  who  can  mention  them,  and  not  think  of  the  wonderful 
union  of  the  accuracy  of  the  naturalist  with  the  loveliest  images  of  the  poet? 
It  his  been  well  remarked  that  in  Milton's  '  Lycidas '  we  have  "among  vernal 
flowers  many  of  those  which  are  the  offspring  of  Midsummer;"  but  Shakspere 
distinguishes  his  groups,  assorting  those  of  the  several  seasons.  ||  Perhaps  in 
the  whole  compass  of  poetry  there  is  no  such  perfect  combination  of  elegance 
and  truth  as  the  passage  in  which  Perdita  bestows  her  gifts — parts  of  which 
are  of  such  surpassing  loveliness,  that  the  sense  aches  at  them  : — 

"  0,  Proserpina, 

For  the  flowers  now,  that,  frighted,  thou  lett'st  fall 
From  Dis's  waggon  !  daffodils, 
That  come  before  the  swallow  dares,  and  take 
The  winds  of  March  with  beauty ;  violets,  dim, 
But  sweeter  than  the  lids  of  Juno's  eyes, 
Or  Cytherea's  breath."  "I 


•  Henry  V.,  Act  in.,  Scene  v.  f  The  Gardener's  Chronicle,  May  29,  1841. 

*  Note  on  As  You  Like  It,  Act  in.,  Scene  n.  §  Winters  Tale,  Act  iv.,  Scene  in. 

II  Patterson's  '  Natural  History  of  the  Insects  mentioned  in  Shakspeare's  Plays.' 

^[  Winter's  Tale,  Act  iv.,  Scene  lit 

240 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

Of  all  the  objects  of  creation  it  is  in  flowers  that  Shakspere's  genius  appears 
most  to  revel  and  luxuriate  ;  but  the  precision  with  which  he  seizes  upon  their 
characteristics  distinguishes  him  from  all  other  poets.  A  word  is  a  description. 
The  "pale  primrose,"  the  "  azur'd  harebell,"  are  the  flowers  to  be 'strewn  upon 
Fidele's  grave ;  but  how  is  their  beauty  elevated  when  the  one  is  compared  to 
her  face,  and  the  other  to  her  veins  !  Shakspere  perhaps  caught  the  sweetest 
image  of  his  sweetest  song  from  the  lines  of  Chaucer  which  we  have  recently 
quoted  ;  where  we  have  the  lark,  and  the  fiery  Phoebus  drying  the  silver  drops 
on  the  leaves.  But  it  was  impossible  to  have  translated  this  fine  passage,  as 
Shakspere  has  done,  without  the  minute  observation  of  the  naturalist  working 
with  the  invention  of  the  poet : — 

"  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."  * 

The  rosebud  shrivels  and  dies,  and  the  cause  is  disregarded  by  a  common  ob 
server.  The  poetical  naturalist  points  out  "  the  bud  bit  by  an  envious  worm."f 
Again,  the  microscope  of  the  poet  sees  "  the  crimson  drops  i'  the  bottom  of  a 
cowslip,"  and  the  observation  lies  in  the  cells  of  his  memory  till  it  becomes  a 
comparison  of  exquisite  delicacy  in  reference  to  the  "  cinque-spotted  "  mark  of 
the  sleeping  Imogen.  But  the  eye  which  observes  everything  is  not  only  an  eye 
for  beauty,  as  it  looks  upon  the  produce  of  the  fields ;  it  has  the  sense  of  utility 
as  strong  as  that  which  exists  in  the  calculations  of  the  most  anti-poetical. 
The  mad  Lear's  garland  is  a  catalogue  of  the  husbandman's  too  luxuriant 
enemies  : — 

"  Crown'd  with  rank  fumiter,  and  furrow  weeds, 
With  harlocks,  hemlock,  nettles,  cuckoo-flowers, 
Darnel,  and  all  the  idle  weeds  that  grow 
In  our  sustaining  corn."  J 

Who  could  have  conceived  the  noble  picture  in  Henry  V.  of  a  country  wasted 
by  war,  but  one  who  from  his  youth  upward  had  been  familiar,  even  to  the 
minutest  practice,  with  all  that  is  achieved  by  cultivation,  and  all  that  is  lost 
by  neglect ; — who  had  seen  the  wild  powers  of  nature  held  in  subjection  to  the 
same  producing  power  under  the  guidance  of  art; — who  had  himself  assisted 
in  this  best  conquest  of  man  ? — 

"  Her  vine,  the  merry  cheerer  of  the  heart, 
Unpruned  dies :  her  hedges  even-pleach* d, 
Like  prisoners  wildly  overgrown  with  hair 
Put  forth  disorder'd  twigs :  her  fallow  leas 
The  darnel,  hemlock,  and  rank  fumitory, 
Doth  root  upon;  while  that  the  coulter  rusts, 
That  should  deracinate  such  savagery  : 
The  even  mead,  that  erct  brought  sweetly  forth 


*  Cymbeline,  Act  n.,  Scene  in.  t  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Act  i.,  Scene  I. 

J  King  Lear,  Act  iv.,  Scene  iv. 
LIFE.  li  2n 


WILLIAM  >IIAKSPKRK: 

The  freckled  cowslip,  burnet,  and  green  clover, 
Wonting  the  scythe,  all  uncorrccted,  rank, 
Conceives  by  idleness ;  and  nothing  teems 
But  hateful  docks,  rough  thistles,  keckaies,  burs, 
Losing  both  beauty  and  utility."  * 

Even  the  technical  words  of  agriculture  find  their  place  in  his  language  of 
poetry  : — 

"  Lake  to  the  Bummer's  corn  by  tempest  lodtfd."  f 

He  goes  into  the  woods  of  his  own  Arden,  and  he  associates  her  oaks  with  the 
sublimest  imagery ;  but  still  the  oak  loses  nothing  of  its  characteristics.  "  The 
thing  of  courage,  as  roused  with  rage,  with  rage  doth  sympathise," 

"  When  splitting  winds 
Make  flexible  the  knees  of  knotted  oaks." 

Again : — 

"  Merciful  Heaven ! 

Thou  rather  with  thy  sharp  and  sulphurous  bolt 
Splitt'st  the  unwcdyeable  and  gnarled  oak 
Than  the  soft  myrtle."  § 

Even  the  woodman's  economy,  who  is  careful  not  to  exhaust  the  tree  that 
furnishes  him  fuel,  becomes  an  image  to  show,  by  contrast,  the  impolicy  of 
excessive  taxation : — 

"  Why,  we  take 

From  every  tree,  lop,  bark,  and  part  o'  the  timber ; 

And,  though  we  leave  it  with  a  root,  thus  hack'd 

The  air  will  drink  the  sap."  || 

It  is  in  these  woods  that  he  has  studied  the  habits  of  the  "joiner  squirrel," 
who  makes  Mab's  chariot  out  of  an  "  empty  hazel-nut."^[  Here  the  active  boy 
was  no  doubt  the  "  venturous  fairy "  that  would  seek  the  "  squirrel's  hoard, 
and  fetch  new  nuts."**  Here  he  has  watched  the  stock-dove  sitting  upon  her 
nest,  and  has  stored  the  fact  in  his  mind  till  it  becomes  one  of  the  loveliest  of 
poetical  comparisons  : — 

"  Anon  as  patient  as  the  female  dove 
When  that  her  golden  couplets  are  disclos'd, 
His  silence  will  sit  drooping."  JJ 

What  book- fed  poet  could  have  chosen  a  homely  incident  of  country  life  as  the 
aptest  illustration  of  an  assembly  suddenly  scattered  by  their  fears  ? — 

"  Russet-painted  choughs,  many  in  sort, 
Rising  and  cawing  at  the  gun's  report^ 
Sever  themselves,  and  madly  sweep  the  sky."  ft 


I  Henry  V.,  Act  v.,  Scene  n.  t  Henry  VI.,  Part  II.,  Act  in.,  Scene  i. 

J  Troilus  and  Cressida,  Act  t,  Scene  in.  §  Measure  for  Measure,  Act  n.,  Scene  n. 

II  Henry  VIII.,  Act  i.,  Scene  n.  1  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Act  i.,  Scene  rv. 

•  A  Midsummer-Night's  Dream,  Act  rv.,  Scene  i.  ft  Hamlet,  Act  v.,  Scene  t 

A.  Midsummer-Night's  Droam,  Act  HI.,  Scene  II. 
242 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

The  poet  tells  us—and  we  believe  him  as  much  as  if  a  Pliny  or  a  Gesner  had 
written  it — that 

"  The  poor  wreu, 

The  most  diminutive  of  birds,  will  fight, 
Her  young  ones  in  her  nest,  against  the  owl."  * 

The  boy  has  climbed  to  the  kite's  nest,  and  there  perchance  has  found  some  of 
the  gear  that  "  maidens  bleach  ; "  the  discovery  becomes  a  saying  for  Autolycus  : 
'  When  the  kite  builds,  look  to  lesser  linen."  f  In  all  this  practical  part 
of  Shakspere's  education  it  is  emphatically  true  that  the  boy  "  is  father  of  the 
man."  j 

Shakspere,  in  an  early  play,  has  described  his  native  river : — 

"  The  current,  that  with  gentle  murmur  glides, 
Thou  know'st,  being  stopp'd,  impatiently  doth  rage ; 
But,  when  his  fair  course  is  not  hindered, 
He  makes  sweet  music  with  the  enamell'd  stones, 
Giving  a  gentle  kiss  to  every  sedge 
He  overtaketh  in  his  pilgrimage ; 
And  so  by  many  winding  nooks  he  strays, 
With  willing  sport,  to  the  wild  ocean."  § 


[Near  Alveston.j 


The  solitary  boat  of  the  young  poet  may  be  fancied  floating  down  this  "  current." 
There  is  not  a  sound  to  disturb  his  quiet,  but  the  gentle  murmur  when  "the 
waving  sedges  play  with  wind."||  As  the  boat  glides  unsteered  into  some 
winding  nook,  the  swan  ruffles  his  proud  crest;  and  the  quick  eye  of  the 
naturalist  sees  his  mate  deep  hidden  in  the  reeds  and  osiers  :— 


'  So  doth  the  swan  her  downy  cygnets  save, 
Keeping  them  prisoner  underneath  her  wings."  U 


*  Macbeth,  Act  IV.,  Scene  u.  t  Winter's  Tale,  Act  iv.,  Scene  n.  J  Wordsworth. 

§  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  Act  n.,  Scene  vii.  I]  Induction  to  Taming  of  the  Shrew 

IT  Henry  VI.,  Part  I.,  Act  v.,  Scene  m. 
R  2 


WILLIAM    SIIAKSI'KKE  : 

Very  lovely  is  this  Avon  for  some  miles  above  Stratford ;  a  poet's  river  in  its 
beauty  and  its  peacefulness.  It  is  disturbed  with  no  sound  of  traffic ;  it  holds 
its  course  unvexed  by  man  through  broad  meadows  and  wooded  acclivities, 
which  for  generations  seem  to  have  been  dedicated  to  solitude.  All  the  great 
natural  features  of  the  river  must  have  suffered  little  change  since  the  time  of 
Shakspere.  Inundations  in  some  places  may  have  widened  the  channel ;  osier 
islands  may  have  grown  up  where  there  was  once  a  broad  stream.  But  we 
here  look  upon  the  same  scenery  upon  which  he  looked,  as  truly  as  we  gaze 
upon  the  same  blue  sky,  and  see  its  image  in  the  same  glassy  water.  As  we 
unmoor  our  boat  from  the  fields  near  Bishop's  Hampton,*  we  look  back  upon 
the  church  embosomed  in  lofty  trees.  The  church  is  new ;  but  it  stands  upon 


told  Church  of  Hampton  Lucy.] 

the  same  spot  as  the  ancient  church  :  its  associations  are  the  same.     We  glide 

by  Charlcote.      The   house  has   been    enlarged;    its   antique   features   somewhat 

improved ;   but   it  is  essentially  the  same  as   the  Charlcote  of  Shakspere.     We 

pass  its  sunny  lawns,  and  are  soon  amidst  the  unchanging   features   of  nature. 

We  are  between  deep  wooded  banks.     Even  the  deer,  who  swim  from  shore  to 

$  where  the   river   is   wide   and   open,    are   prevented   invading  these   quiet 

The  old  turrets  rising  amidst  the  trees  alone  tell  us  that  human  habita- 

hand.     A  little  onward,  and  we  lose  all  trace  of  that  culture  which  is 

the   face   of  nature.      There   is   a   high   bank   called    Old   Town, 

2  perhaps   men   and  women,  with  their  joys  and  sorrows,  once  abided.     It 


214 


*  The  old  name  for  Hampton  Lucy. 


I.A  Peep  at  Charlcote.] 


is  colonized  by  rabbits.  The  elder-tree  drops  its  white  blossoms  luxuriantly 
over  their  brown  burrows.  The  golden  cups  of  the  yellow  water-lilies  lie 
brilliantly  beneath  on  their  green  couches.  The  reed-sparrow  and  the  willow- 
wren  sing  their  small  songs  around  us  :  a  stately  heron  flaps  his  heavy  wing 
above.  The  tranquillity  of  the  place  is  almost  solemn ;  and  a  broad  cloud 
deepens  the  solemnity,  by  throwing  for  a  while  the  whole  scene  into  shadow. 
We  have  a  book  with  us  that  Shakspere  might  have  looked  upon  in  the  same 
spot  two  hundred  and  sixty  years  ago  ;  a  new  book  then,  but  even  then  seeking 
to  go  back  into  the  past,  in  the  antique  phraseology  adopted  by  the  young 
author.  It  is  the  first  work  of  Spenser, — '  The  Shepherd's  Calendar,'  originally 


Town,  1 


245 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPEKE  : 

printed  in  1579.  Let  us  pause  a  little  upon  its  pages ;  and  thence  look  back  also 
with  a  brief  glance,  at  the  poetical  models  in  his  own  language  which  were  open 
to  the  study  of  one  who,  without  models,  was  destined  to  found  the  greatest  school 
of  poetry  which  the  world  had  seen. 

Spenser,  displeased  with  the  artificial  character  of  the  literature  of  his  own 
early  time,  its  mydiological  affectations,  its  mincing  and  foreign  phraseology, 
thought  to  infuse  into  it  a  more  healthy  tone  by  familiarizing  the  court  ot 
Elizabeth  with  the  diction  of  the  age  of  Edward  III.  The  attempt  was  not 
successful.  His  friend  and  editor,  E.  K.,  indeed  says, — "  In  my  opinion  it  is 
one  especial  praise,  of  many  which  are  due  to  this  poet,  that  he  hath  laboured 
to  restore,  as  to  their  rightful  heritage,  such  good  and  natural  English  words 
as  have  been  long  time  out  of  use,  and  almost  clean  disherited.  Which  is  the 
only  cause  that  our  mother  tongue,  which  truly  of  itself  is  both  full  enough  of 
prose,  and  stately  enough  for  verse,  hath  long  time  been  counted  most  bare  and 
barren  of  both."*  But  even  Sidney,  to  whom  the  work  was  dedicated,  will  not 
admit  the  principle  which  Spenser  was  endeavouring  to  establish :  — " '  The 


[Spenser.  J 

Shepherd's  Calendar'  hath  much  poetry  in  his  eclogues  worthy  the.  reading,  if 
I  be  not  deceived.  That  same  framing  of  his  style  to  an  old  rustic  language  i 
dare  not  allow ;  since  neither  Theocritus  in  Greek,  Virgil  in  Latin,  nor  Sanna- 
zarius  in  Italian,  did  affect  it."f  Yet  we  can  well  imagine  that  '  The  Shepherd's 
Calendar,'  dropping  in  the  way  of  the  young  recluse  of  Stratford,  must  have 
been  exceedingly  welcome.  "  Colin  Clout,  the  new  poet,"  as  his  editor  calls 
him,  had  the  stamp  of  originality  upon  him  ;  and  therefore  our  Shakspere  would 

•  Epistle  to  Master  Gabriel  Harvey,  prefixed  to  '  The  Shepherd's  Calendar,'  edition  1 579. 

t  Defence  of  Poesy. 
246 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 

agree  that  "  his  name  shall  come  into  the  knowledge  of  men,  and  his  worthiness 
be  sounded  in  the  trump  of  fame."*  The  images  and  the  music  of  the  despairing 
shepherd  would  rest  upon  his  ear  : — 

"  You  naked  trees,  whose  shadie  leaves  are  lost, 
Wherein  the  birds  were  wont  to  build  their  bowre, 
And  now  are  clothd  with  mosse  and  hoarie  frost, 
In  steede  of  blossomes,  wherewith  your  buds  did  floure ; 

I.  see  your  teares  that  from  your  boughes  do  raine, 

Whose  drops  in  drerie  ysicles  remaine. 

All  so  my  lustfull  leafe  is  drie  and  sere, 
My  timely  buds  with  wayling  all  are  wasted ; 
The  blossome  which  my  braunch  of  youth  did  beare, 
With  breathed  sighes  is  blowne  away  and  blasted ; 

And  from  mine  eyes  the  drizling  teares  descend, 

As  on  your  boughes  the  ysicles  depend."  f 

We  read  the  passage,  and  our  memory  involuntarily  turns  to  the  noble  commence 
ment  of  one  of  Shakspere's  own  Sonnets  : — 

^"  That  time  of  year  thou  mayst  in  me  behold 
When  yellow  leaves,  or  none,  or  few,  do  hang 
Upon  those  boughs  which  shake  against  the  cold, 
Bare  ruin'd  choirs,  where  late  the  sweet  birds  sang."  J 

But  here  we  also  see  the  difference  between  the  two  poets.  Shakspere's  com 
parison  of  his  declining  energies  with  the  "bare  ruin'd  choirs"  of  the  woods  of 
autumn  has  all  the  power  of  reality.  The  love-sick  shepherd  who  "compareth 
his  careful  case  to  the  sad  season  of  the  year,  to  the  frosty  ground,  to  the  frozen 
trees,  and  to  his  own  winterbeaten  flock," §  is  an  affectation.  The  pastoral  poetry 
of  all  ages  and  nations  is  open  in  some  degree  to  this  objection  ;  but  Spenser,  who 
makes  his  shepherds  bitter  controversialists  in  theology,  has  carried  the  falsetto 
style  a  degree  too  far  even  for  those  who  can  best  appreciate  the  real  poetical 
power  which  is  to  be  discovered  in  these  early  productions.  One  passage  in  these 
Eclogues  sounded,  as  we  think,  a  note  that  must  have  sunk  deeply  into  the 
ambition  of  him  who  must  very  early  have  looked  upon  the  thoughts  and  habits 
of  real  life  as  the  proper  staple  of  poetry : — 

"  Who  ever  castes  to  compasse  wightie  prise, 
And  thinkes  to  throwe  out  thundring  words  of  threat, 
Set  powre  in  lavish  cups  and  thriftie  bittes  of  meate, 
For  Bacchus  fruite  is  friend  to  Phoebus  wise ; 
And,  when  with  wine  the  braine  begins  to  sweat, 
The  numbers  flow  as  fast  as  spring  doth  rise. 

Thou  kenst  not,  Percie,  how  the  rime  should  rage ; 
O,  if  my  temples  were  distain'd  with  wine, 
And  girt  in  girlonds  of  wilde  yvie  twine, 
How  could  I  reare  the  muse  on  stately  stage, 
And  teach  her  tread  aloft  in  buskin  fine, 
With  queint  Bellona  in  her  equipage  ?"  [| 


*  Epistle,  &c.  +  Eclogue  1 . 

t  Sonnet  73.  §  Argument  to  the  Eclogue.  II  Eclogue  10. 

247 


WILLIAM    SHAXSI'F.I.T.  : 

These  verses  sound  to  us  exceedingly  like  a  sarcasm  upon  the  "  huft,  puft, 
braggart "  vein  of  the  drama  which  preceded  Shakspere  by  a  few  years,  and 
which  fixed  its  character  even  upon  the  first  efforts  of  the  great  masters  whose 
light  soon  gleamed  out  of  this  dun  smoke.  It  was  no  doubt  a  drunken  drama. 
But  there  was  one  in  whom  we  believe  the  desire  was  early  planted  to  raise 
dramatic  composition  into  a  high  art.  The  shepherd  who  speaks  these  lines  in 
the  '  Calendar '  is  represented  in  the  argument  as  "  the  perfect  pattern  of  a  poet, 
which,  finding  no  maintenance  of  his  state  and  studies,  complaineth  of  the  con 
tempt  of  poetry,  and  the  causes  thereof."  The  cause  of  the  contempt  was  the 
want  of  true  poets.  The  same  argument  says  of  poetry,  that  it  is  "  a  divine 
gift,  and  heavenly  instinct,  not  to  be  gotten  by  labour  and  learning,  but  adorned 
with  both,  and  poured  into  the  wit  by  a  certain  Enthousiasmos  and  celestial 
inspiration."  In  the  case  of  Shakspere  the  Enthousiasmos  must  have  come  early  ; 
-»or,  in  our  minds,  were  the  labour  and  learning  wanted  to  direct  it.  The 
great  model  of  Spenser,  in  his  early  efforts,  was  Chaucer.  Chaucer  too  was 
his  later  veneration  : — 

"  Dan  Cliaucer,  well  of  English  undefyled."  * 
In  '  The  Shepherd's  Calendar '  Chaucer  is  "  Tityrus,  god  of  shepherds  :" — 

"  Qoe,  little  Calender  !  them  hast  a  free  passeporte ; 
Goe  but  a  lowly  gate  amongst  the  meaner  sorte  : 
Dare  not  to  match  thy  pype  with  Tityrus  his  stile."  f 

The  greatest  minds  at  the  period  of  which  we  are  writing  reverenced  Chaucer. 
Sidney  says  of  him, — "  I  know  not  whether  to  marvel  more  either  that  he  in 
that  misty  time  could  see  so  clearly,  or  that  we  in  this  clear  age  go  so  stumblingly 
after  him."J  Passing  over  the  minor  poetry  with  which  Shakspere  must  have 
been  familiar, — the  elegance  of  Wyatt,  the  tenderness  of  Surrey,  the  dignity  of 
Sackville,  the  broad  humour  of  Skelton, — we  have  little  hesitation  in  believing 
that  the  poetical  master  of  Shakspere  was  Chaucer.  But  whilst  Spenser  imi 
tated  his  style,  Shakspere  penetrated  into  the  secret  of  that  excellence  which  is 
almost  independent  of  style.  The  natural  and  moral  world  was  displayed 
before  each ;  and  they  became  its  interpreters,  each  after  his  own  peculiar 
genius. 

And  yet.  whilst  we  believe  that  Shakspere  was  the  pupil  of  Chaucer;  whilst 
we  imagine  that  the  tine  bright  folio  of  1542,  whose  bold  black  letter  seems 
the  proper  dress  for  the  rich  antique  thought,  was  the  closet  companion  of  the 
young  poet ;  that  in  his  solitary  walks  unbidden  tears  came  into  his  eyes  when 
he  recollected  some  passage  of  matchless  pathos,  or  irrepressible  laughter  arose 
at  those  touches  of  genial  humour  which  glance  like  sunbeams  over  the  page — 
comparing,  too,  Chaucer's  fresh  descriptions  with  the  freshest  things  under  the 
sky,  and  seeing  how  the  true  painter  of  Nature  makes  even  her  loveliness  more 
lovely  ;  —  believing  all  this,  we  yet  reverentially  own  that  this  wondrous 

*  Fairy  Queen,  book  iv.,  canto  2.  f  Epilogue  to  the  '  Calender.' 

J  Defence  of  Poesy. 
248 


A   BIOGEAPHY. 


excellence  was  incommunicable,  was  not  to  be  imitated.  But  nevertheless  the 
early  familiarity  with  such  a  poet  as  Chaucer  must  have  been  a  loadstar  to  one 
like  Shakspere,  who  was  launched  into  the  great  ocean  of  thought  without  a 
chart.  The  narrow  seas  of  poetry  had  been  navigated  by  others,  and  their  track 
might  be  followed  by  the  common  adventurer.  Chaucer  would  disclose  to  him 
the  possibility  of  delineating  individual  character  with  the  minutest  accuracy, 
without  separating  the  individual  from  the  permanent  and  the  universal. 
Chaucer  would  show  him  how  a  high  morality  might  still  consist  with  freedom 
of  thought  and  even  laxity  of  expression,  and  how  all  that  is  holy  and  beau- 
tiful  might  be  loved  without  such  scorn  or  hatred  of  the  impure  and  the  evil 
as  would  exclude  them  from  human  sympathy.  Chaucer,  working  as  an  artist, 
would  inform  him  what  stores  lay  hidden  of  old  traditions  and  fables,  legends 
that  had  travelled  from  one  nation  to  another,  gathering  new  circumstances  as 
they  became  clothed  in  new  language,  the  property  of  every  people,  related 
in  the  peasant's  cabin,  studied  in  the  scholar's  cell;  and  he  would  teach  him 
that  these  were  the  best  materials  for  a  poet  to  work  upon,  for  their  universality 
proved  that  they  were  akin  to  man's  inmost  nature  and  feelings.  In  these, 
arid  in  many  more  things,  Chaucer  would  be  the  teacher  of  Shakspere.  The 
pupil  became  greater  than  the  master,  partly  through  the  greater  comprehen 
siveness  of  his  genius,  and  partly  through  its  dramatic  direction.  The  form  of 
their  art  was  essentially  different,  but  yet  the  spirit  was  very  much  the  same. 
These  two  poets,  England's  two  greatest  poets,  have  so  much  in  common,  that 
we  scarcely  regard  the  different  modes  in  which  they  worked  when  we  think 
of  their  mutual  characteristics.  Each  is  equally  unapproachable  in  his  humour 
as  in  his  pathos ;  each  is  so  masterly  a  delineator  of  character  that  we  converse 
with  the  beings  of  their  creation  as  if  they  had  moved  and  breathed  around 
us ;  each  is  the  closest  and  the  clearest  painter  of  external  nature ;  each  has 
the  profoundest  skill  in  the  management  of  language,  so  as  to  send  his  thoughts 
with  the  greatest  effect,  and  with  the  least  apparent  effort,  into  the  depths  of 
the  understanding ;  each,  according  to  his  own  theory,  is  a  perfect  master  of 
harmonious  numbers.  What  was  superadded  in  Shakspere  sets  him  above  all 
comparison  with  any  other  poet.  But  with  Chaucer  he  may  be  compared ; 
and  having  so  much  in  common  with  him,  it  is  impossible  not  to  feel  that  the 
writings  of  Chaucer  must  have  had  an  incalculable  influence  on  the  formation 
of  the  mind  of  Shakspere. 

Such  were  the  speculations  that  came  across  us  in  that  silent  reach  of  the 
Avon  below  Charlcote.  But  the  silence  is  broken.  The  old  fisherman  of 
Alveston  paddles  up  the  stream  to  look  for  his  eel-pots.  We  drop  down  the 
current.  Nothing  can  be  more  interesting  than  the  constant  variety  which 
this  beautiful  river  here  exhibits.  Now  it  passes  under  a  high  bank  clothed 
with  wood ;  now  a  hill  waving  with  corn  gently  rises  from  the  water's  edge. 
Sometimes  a  flat  meadow  presents  its  grassy  margin  to  the  current  which 
threatens  to  inundate  it  upon  the  slightest  rise ;  sometimes  long  lines  of  willow 
or  alder  shut  out  the  land,  and  throw  their  deep  shadows  over  the  placid  stream. 
Islands  of  sedge  here  and  there  render  the  channel  unnavigable,  except  to 

249 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPKl:n  : 

the  smallest  boat.  A  willow  thrusting  its  trunk  over  the  stream  reminds  us  of 
Ophelia : — 

"  There  ia  a  willow  grows  askaunt  the  brook 
That  shows  his  hoar  leaves  in  the  glassy  stream."  * 

A  gust  of  wind  raises  the  underside  of  the  leaves  to  view,  and  we  then  perceive 
the  exquisite  correctness  of  the  epithet  "  hoar."  Hawthorns,  here  and  there, 
grow  upon  the  water's  edge ;  and  the  dog-rose  spots  the  green  bank  with  its 
faint  red.  That  deformity,  the  pollard-willow,  is  not  so  frequent  as  in  most 
rivers ;  but  the  unlopped  trees  wear  their  feathery  branches,  as  graceful  as 
ostrich-plumes.  The  gust  which  sings  through  that  long  colonnade  of  willows 
is  blowing  up  a  rain-storm.  The  wood- pigeons,  who  have  been  feeding  on  the 
banks,  wing  their  way  homewards.  The  old  fisherman  is  hurrying  down  the 
current  to  the  shelter  of  his  cottage.  He  invites  us  to  partake  that  shelter. 
His  family  are  busy  at  their  trade  of  basket-making;  and  the  humble  roof, 
with  its  cheerful  fire,  is  a  welcome  retreat  out  of  the  driving  storm.  It  is  a  long 
as  well  as  furious  rain.  We  open  the  volume  of  Shakspere's  own  poems ;  and 
we  bethink  us  what  of  these  he  may  have  composed,  or  partly  shadowed  out, 
wandering  on  this  river-side,  or  drifting  under  its  green  banks,  when  his  happy 
and  genial  nature  instinctively  shaped  itself  into  song,  as  the  expression  of  his 
sympathy  with  the  beautiful  world  around  him. 

*  Hamlet,  Act  iv..  Scene  vir. 


f  Below  CharleooU.] 


250 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

"The  first  heir  of  my  invention." — This  may  be  literally  true  of  the  Venus 
and  Adonis,  but  it  does  not  imply  that  the  young  poet  had  not  been  a  diligent 
cultivator  of  fragmentary  verse  long  before  he  had  attempted  so  sustained  a 
composition  as  this  most  original  and  remarkable  poem.  We  must  carry  back 
our  minds  to  the  published  poetry  of  1593,  when  the  Venus  and  Adonis  ap 
peared,  fully  to  understand  the  originality  of  this  production.  Spenser  had 
indeed  then  arisen  to  claim  the  highest  rank  in  his  own  proper  walk.  Six 
books  of  'The  Fairy  Queen 'had  been  published  two  or  three  years.  But, 
rejoicing  as  Shakspere  must  have  done  in  '  The  Fairy  Queen,'  in  his  own  poems 
we  cannot  trace  the  slightest  imitation  of  that  wonderful  performance;  and  it 
is  especially  remarkable  how  steadily  he  resists  the  temptation  to  imitate  the 
archaisms  which  Spenser's  popularity  must  have  rendered  fashionable.  If  we 
•go  back  eight  or  ten  years,  and  suppose,  which  we  have  fairly  a  right  to  do, 
-that  Shakspere  was  a  writer  of  verse  before  he  was  twenty,  the  absence  of  any 
recent  models  upon  which  he  could  found  a  style  will  be  almost  as  remarkable, 
in  the  case  of  his  narrative  compositions,  as  in  that  of  his  dramas.  In  William 
Webbe's  'Discourse  of  English  Poetrie,'  published  in  1586,  Chaucer,  Gower, 
Lydgate,  and  Skelton  are  the  old  poets  whom  he  commends.  His  immediate 
predecessors,  or  contemporaries,  are — "  Master  George  Gascoigne,  a  witty 
gentleman,  and  the  very  chief  of  our  late  rhymers,"  Surrey,  Vaux,  Norton, 
Bristow,  Edwards,  Tusser,  Churchyard,  Hunnis,  Heywood,  Hill,  the  Earl  of 
Oxford  (who  "may  challenge  to  himself  the  title  of  the  most  excellent "  among 
"  noble  lords  and  gentlemen  in  her  Majesty's  court,  which  in  the  rare  devices 
of  poetry  have  been  and  yet  are  most  excellent  skilful ") ;  Phaer,  Twyne,  Gold- 
ing,  Googe,  and  Fleming  the  translators ;  Whetstone,  Munday.  The  eminence 
of  Spenser,  even  before  the  publication  of  '  The  Fairy  Queen,'  is  thus  acknow 
ledged  : — "  This  place  have  I  purposely  reserved  for  one,  who,  if  not  only,  yet 
in  my  judgment  principally,  deserveth  the  title  of  the  rightest  English  poet 
that  ever  I  read:  that  is,  the  author  of  'The  Shepherd's  Calendar.'"  George 
Puttenham,  whose  'Arte  of  English  Poesie'  was  published  in  1589,  though 
probably  written  somewhat  earlier,  mentions  with  commendation  among  the 
later  sort — "  For  eclogue  and  pastoral  poesy,  Sir  Philip  Sidney  and  Master 
Challenner,  and  that  "other  gentleman  who  wrate  the  late  '  Shepherd's  Calendar.' 
For  ditty  and  amorous  ode  I  find  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  vein  most  lofty,  insolent, 
and  passionate.  Master  Edward  Dyer  for  elegy  most  sweet,  solemn,  and  of 
high  conceit.  Gascoigne  for  a  good  metre  and  for  a  plentiful  vein."  The 
expression — "that  other  gentleman  who  wrate  the  late  'Shepherd's  Calendar"1 
— would  fix  the  date  of  this  passage  of  Puttenham  almost  immediately  subse 
quent  to  the  publication  of  Spenser's  poem  in  1579,  the  author  being  still 
unknown.  Shakspere,  then,  had  very  few  examples  amongst  his  contemporaries, 
even  of  the  first  and  most  obvious  excellence  of  the  Venus  and  Adonis — "  the 
perfect  sweetness  of  the  versification."*  To  continue  the.  thought  of  the  same 
critic,  this  power  of  versification  was  "  evidently  original,  and  not  the  result  of 


*  Coleridge     Biographia  Literaria.' 

251 


WILLIAM  BHAK8PEEE: 

an  easily  imitable  mechanism."  But,  at  the  same  time,  he  could  not  have 
attained  the  perfection  displayed  in  the  Venus  and  Adonis  without  a  long  and 
habitual  practice,  which  could  alone  have  bestowed  the  mechanical  facility.  It 
is  not  difficult  to  trace  in  that  poem  itself  portions  which  might  have  been 
written  as  the  desultory  exercises  of  a  young  poet,  and  afterwards  worked  up 
so  as  to  be  imbedded  in  the  narrative.  Such  is  the  description  of  the  steed ; 
such  of  the  hare-hunt.  Upon  the  principle  upon  which  we  have  regarded  the 
Sonnets,  that  they  are  fragmentary  compositions,  arbitrarily  strung  together, 
there  can  be  no  difficulty  in  assigning  several  of  these,  and  especially  those 
which  are  addressed  to  a  mistress,  to  that  period  of  the  poet's  life  of  which  his 
own  recollection  would  naturally  suggest  the  second  stage  in  his  Seven  Ages. 
"The  lover  sighing  like  furnace"  would  have  poured  himself  out  in  juvenile 
conceits,  such  as  characterize  the  Sonnets  numbered  135,  136,  143  ;  or  in  play 
ful  tokens  of  affection,  such  as  the  128th,  the  130th,  the  145th  ;  or  in  complain 
ing  stanzas,  "  a  woeful  ballad,"  such  as  the  131st  and  132nd.  The  little  poems 
of  The  Passionate  Pilgrim  which  can  properly  be  ascribed  to  Shakspere  have 
the  decided  character  of  early  fragments.  The  beautiful  elegiac  stanzas  01 
Love's  Labour's  Lost  have  the  same  stamp  upon  them;  as  well  as  similar  pas 
sages  in  The  Comedy  of  Errors.  The  noble  scene  of  the  death  of  Talbot  and  his 
son,  forming  the  5th.  6th,  and  7th  scenes  of  the  4th  act  of  Henry  VI.,  Part  I., 
are  so  different  in  the  structure  of  their  versification  from  the  other  portions  of 
the  play  that  we  may  fairly  regard  them  as  forming  a  considerable  part  of  some 
separate  poem,  and  that  perhaps  not  originally  dramatic.  "The  period,"  says 
Malone,  "at  which  Shakspeare  began  to  write  for  the  stage  will,  I  fear,  never 
be  precisely  ascertained."*  Probably  not.  But  in  the  absence  of  this  precise 
information  it  is  a  far  more  reasonable  theory  that  he  was  educating  himself  in 
dramatic  as  well  as  poetical  composition  generally  at  an  early  period  of  his  life, 
when  such  a  mind  could  not  have  existed  without  strong  poetical  aspirations, 
than  the  prevailing  belief  that  the  first  publication  of  the  Venus  and  Adonis, 
and  his  production  of  an  original  drama,  were  nearly  contemporaneous.  This 
theory  assumes  that  his  poetical  capacity  was  suddenly  developed,  very  nearly 
in  its  perfection,  at  the  mature  age  of  twenty-eight,  in  the  midst  of  the  laborious 
occupation  of  an  actor,  who  had  no  claim  for  reward  amongst  his  fellows  but  as 
an  actor.  We,  on  the  contrary,  consider  that  we  adopt  not  only  a  more  reason 
able  view,  but  one  which  is  supported  by  all  existing  evidence,  external  and 
internal,  when  we  regard  his  native  fields  as  Shakspere's  poetical  school. 
Believing  that,  in  the  necessary  leisure  of  a  country  life, — encumbered  as  we 
think  with  no  cares  of  wool-stapling  or  glove-making,  neither  educating  youth 
at  the  charge -house  like  his  own  Holofernes,  nor  even  collecting  his  knowledge 
of  legal  terms  at  an  attorney's  desk,  but  a  free  and  happy  agriculturist, — the 
young  Shakspere  not  exactly  "  lisped  in  numbers,"  but  cherished  and  cultivated 
the  faculty  when  "the  numbers  came;"  we  yield  ourselves  up  to  the  poetical 
notion,  because  it  is  at  the  same  time  the  more  rational  and  consistent  one. 


*  Posthumous  Life,  p.  1(37. 


A  BIOGRAPHY, 

that  the   genius   of  verse   cherished  her  young  favourite   on   these    "willow's 
banks :" — 

"  Here,  as  with  hoiiey  gather'a  from  the  rock, 

She  fed  the  little  prattler,  and  with  songs 

Oft  sooth'd  his  wondering  ears;  with  deep  deliglit 

On  her  soft  lap  he  sat,  and  caught  the  sounds."  • 


Joseph  Warton. 


Aiveston.] 


[Near  Ludington.] 


NOTE  ON  THE  SCENERY  OF  THE  AVON. 


THB  Avon  of  Warwickshire,  called  the  Upper  Avon,  necessarily  derives  its  chief  interest  from  ita 
associations  with  Shakspere.     His  contemporaries  connected  his  fame  with  his  native  river  : — 

"  Sweet  swan  of  Avon,  what  a  sight  it  were, 
To  see  thee  in  our  waters  yet  appear, 
And  make  those  flights  upon  the  banks  of  Thames 
That  so  did  take  Eliza  and  our  James  !" 


So  wrote  Jonson  in  his  manly  lines,  '  To  the  Memory  of  my  Beloved,  the  Author  Mr.  William 
Shakespeare,  and  what  he  hath  left  us.'  After  him  came  Davenant,  with  a  pretty  conceit  that 
the  river  had  lost  its  beauty  when  the  great  poet  no  longer  dwelt  upon  its  banks  : — 

"  Beware,  delighted  poets,  when  you  sing, 
To  welcome  nature  in  the  early  spring, 

Your  numerous  feet  not  tread 
The  banks  of  Avon  ;  for  each  flow'r, 
As  it  ne'er  knew  a  sun  or  show'r, 

Hangs  there  the  pensive  head. 
254 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

Each  tree,  whose  thick  and  spreading  growth  hath  made 
Rather  a  night  beneath  the  boughs  than  shade, 

Unwilling  now  to  grow, 
Looks  like  the  plume  a  captain  wears, 
Whose  rifled  falls  are  steep'd  i'  the  tears 

Which  from  his  last  rage  flow. 

The  piteous  river  wept  itself  away 
Long  since,  alas !  to  such  a  swift  decay, 

That,  reach  the  map,  and  look 
If  you  a  river  there  can  spy, 
And,  for  a  river,  your  mock'd  eye 

Will  find  a  shallow  brook."  * 

Joseph  Warton  describes  fair  Fancy  discovering  the  infant  Shakspere  "on  the  winding  Avon's 
willowed  banks."  Thomas  Warton  has  painted  the  scenery  of  the  Avon  and  its  associations  with  a 
bright  pencil : — 

"  Avon,  thy  rural  views,  thy  pastures  wild, 
The  willows  that  o'erhang  thy  twilight  edge, 
Their  boughs  entangling  with  the  embattled  sedge . 
Thy  brink  with  watery  foliage  quaintly  fringed, 
Thy  surface  with  reflected  verdure  tinged ; 
Soothe  me  with  many  a  pensive  pleasure  mild. 
But  while  I  muse,  that  here  the  Bard  Divine, 
Whose  sacred  dust  yon  high-arch'd  aisles  enclose, 
Where  the  tall  windows  rise  in  stately  rows, 
Above  th"  embowering  shade, 
Here  first,  at  Fancy's  fairy-circled  shrine, 
Of  daisies  pied  his  infant  offering  made ; 
Here  playful  yet,  in  stripling  years  unripe, 
Framed  of  thy  reeds  a  shrill  and  artless  pipe 
Sudden  thy  beauties,  Avon,  all  are  fled, 
As  at  the  waving  of  some  magic  wand ; 
An  holy  trance  my  charmed  spirit  wings, 
And  awful  shapes  of  leaders  and  of  kings, 
People  the  busy  mead, 
Like  spectres  swarming  to  the  wizard's  hall ; 
And  slowly  pace,  and  point  with  trembling  hand 
The  wounds  ill-cover'd  by  the  purple  pall. 
Before  me  Pity  seems  to  stand, 
A  weeping  mourner,  smote  with  anguish  sore 
To  see  Misfortune  rend  in  frantic  mood 
His  robe,  with  regal  woes  embroider'd  o'er. 
Pale  Terror  leads  the  visionary  band, 
And  sternly  shakes  his  sceptre,  dropping  blood."  t 

The  well-known  lines  of  Gray  are  amongst  his  happiest  efforts : — 

"  Far  from  the  sun  and  summer  gale, 
In  thy  green  lap  was  Nature's  Darling  laid, 
What  time,  where  lucid  Avon  stray'd, 
To  him  the  mighty  mother  did  unveil 
Her  awful  face :  the  dauntless  child 
Stretch'd  forth  his  little  arms,  and  smiled. 
'  This  pencil  take,'  she  said,  '  whose  colours  clear 
Richly  paint  the  vernal  year : 
Thine  too  these  golden  keys,  immortal  boy  I 
This  can  unlock  the  gates  of  joy ; 
Of  horror  that,  and  thrilling  fears, 
Or  ope  the  sacred  source  of  sympathetic  tears.'  '' J 

These  quotations  sufficiently  show  that  the  presiding  genius  of  the  Avon  is  Shakspere.  But  even 
without  this  paramount  association,  the  river,  although  little  visited,  abounds  with  picturesque 
scenery  and  interesting  objects.  A  big,  dull  book  has  been  written  upon  it,  by  one  who  could 

•  In  Remembrance  of  Master  William  Shakspeare.    Ode. 
t  Monody,  written  near  Stratford-upon-Avon.  J  The  Progress  of  Poesy. 


\VII.UAM  SIIAKSN.IM:  : 

neither  put  down  with  exactness  what  he  saw,  nor  impart  any  lifo  to  his  meagre  descriptions, 
i  From  the  first  section  of  his  book,  which  tells  us  that  "  The  river  Avon  derives  its  sourco  from  a 
spring  called  Avon  Well  in  the  village  of  Naseby,"  to  the  last,  in  which  lie  informs  us  that  "Avon's 
friendly  streams  with  Severn  join,"  the  'Picturesque  Views'  of  Mr.  Samuel  Ireland  appear  to  us 
the  production  of  the  moat  spiritless  of  delineators.  We  would  not  recommend  the  tourist  to  en 
cumber  himself  with  this  heavy  book.  The  associations  of  the  Avon  with  Shakspere  may  be  consi 
dered  to  begin  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Kenilworth.  The  river  is  not  navigable  above  Stratford, 
and  therefore  the  traveller  will  find  it  no  very  easy  matter  to  trace  its  course;  but  still  a  pedestrian 
can  overcome  many  difficulties.  The  beautiful  grounds  of  Guy's  Cliff  are  shown  to  visitors.  A 
little  below,  a  boat  will  convey  the  wayfarer  through  somewhat  tame  scenery  to  Warwick  Bridge. 
The  noble  castle  is  an  object  never  to  be  forgotten  ;  and  perhaps  there  is  no  pile  of  similar  interest 
in  England  which  in  so  high  a  degree  unites  the  beautiful  with  the  magnificent.  The  Avon  flows 
for  a  considerable  distance  through  the  domain  of  the  castle.  Below,  the  left  bank  is  bold  and 
well-wooded,  especially  near  Barford.  The  reader  may  now  trace  the  river  by  the  little  map  (p- 
232).  The  course  of  the  stream  is  generally  through  flat  meadows  from  Barford  to  Hampton  Lucy  ; 
but  the  high  ground  of  Fulbrooke  offers  a  great  variety  of  picturesque  scenery,  and  occasionally 
one  or  the  other  bank  is  lofty  and  precipitous,  as  at  Hampton  Wood.  The  reader  is  already  familiar 
with  the  characteristics  of  the  river  from  Hampton  Lucy  to  Stratford.  The  most  romantic  spot  is 
Hatton  Rock ;  a  bank  of  considerable  height,  where  the  current,  narrow  and  rapid,  washes  the 
base  of  the  cliff,  which  is  luxuriantly  wooded.  The  river  view  of  Stratford,  as  we  approach  the 
bridge,  is  exceedingly  picturesque.  When  we  have  passed  the  church  and  the  mill  we  may  follow 
the  river,  by  the  tow-path  on  .the  right  bank,  the  whole  way  to  Bidford.  The  views  are  not  very 
picturesque  till  we  have  passed  the  confluence  of  the  Stour.  Near  Ludington  we  meet  at  every  turn 
with  subjects  for  the  sketch-book.  Opposite  Welford,  on  the  pathway  to  Hilborough,  the  landscape 
5s  very  lovely.  A  mill  is  always  a  picturesque  object ;  and  here  is  one  that  seems  to  have  held  it* 
place  for  many  a  century.  Of  the  Grange  and  of  Bidford  we  have  often  spoken.  Below  the  little 


11  lie  Mill;    Welford.] 


A    IHOGRArilY. 

town  the  river  becomes  a  much  more  important  stream ;  and  the  left  bank  for  several  miles  will 
appear  bold  and  romantic  even  to  those  who  are  familiar  with  the  Wye.  This  is  especially  the 
case  under  the  Marl  Cliff  Hill.  Here  the  Arrow  contributes  its  rapid  waters  to  swell  the  stream. 
We  have  now  quitted  Warwickshire.  As  we  approach  Evesham  the  town  with  its  noble  tower  and 
ancient  spires  forms  a  most  interesting  termination  to  such  a  walk  of  three  days  as  we  have  now 
briefly  t>-aoed. 


257 


[\Vorcester.J 


CHAPTER     XVI. 


A  DAY   AT  WOECESTEll. 


THE  hospitality  of  our  ancestors  was  founded  upon  their  sympathies  with 
each  other's  joys  and  sorrows.  The  festivals  of  the  church,  the  celebrations  of 
sheep-shearing  and  harvest-home,  the  Mayings,  were  occasions  of  general  glad 
ness.  But  upon  the  marriage  of  a  son  or  of  a  daughter,  at  the  christening  of  a 
child,  the  humblest  assembled  their  neighbours  to  partake  of  their  particular 
rejoicing.  So  was  it  also  with  their  sorrows.  Death  visited  a  family,  and  its 
neighbours  came  to  mourn.  To  be  absent  from  the  house  of  mourning  would 
have  seemed  as  if  there  was  not  a  fellowship  in  sorrow  as  well  as  in  joy.  Chris 
tian  neighbours  in  those  times  looked  upon  each  other  as  members  of  the  same 
family.  Their  intimacy  was  much  more  constant  and  complete  than  in  days 
that  are  thought  more  refined.  Privacy  was  not  looked  upon  as  a  desirable 
thing.  The  latch  of  every  door  was  lifted  without  knocking,  and  the  dance  in 
258 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

the  hall  was  arranged  the  instant  some   young   taborer   struck   a   note ;    or   the 
gossip's  bowl  was  passed  around  the  winter  fire-side,  to  jest  and  song  : — 

"  And  then  the  whole  quire  hold  their  hips  and  loffe, 
And  waxen  in  their  mirth,  arid  neeze,  and  swear 
A  merrier  hour  was  never  wasted  there."  * 

Young  men  married  early.  In  the  middle  ranks  there  was  little  outfit  required 
to  begin  housekeeping.  A  few  articles  of  useful  furniture  satisfied  their  simple 
tastes ;  and  we  doubt  not  there  was  as  much  happiness  seated  on  the  wooden 
bench  as  now  on  the  silken  ottoman,  and  as  light  hearts  tripped  over  the  green 
rushes  as  upon  the  Persian  carpet.  A  silver  bowl  or  two,  a  few  spoons,  con 
stituted  the  display  of  the  more  ambitious ;  but  for  use  the  treen  platter  was 
at  once  clean  and  substantial,  though  the  pewter  dish  sometimes  graced  a 
solemn  merry-making.  Employment,  especially  agricultural,  was  easily  ob 
tained  by  the  industrious ;  and  the  sons  of  the  yeomen,  whose  ambition  did  not 
drive  them  into  the  towns  to  pursue  commerce,  or  to  the  universities  to  try  for 
the  prizes  of  professions,  walked  humbly  and  contentedly  in  the  same  road  as 
their  fathers  had  walked  before  them.  They  tilled  a  little  land  with  indiffer 
ent  skill,  and  their  herds  and  flocks  gave  food  and  raiment  to  their  household. 
Surrounded  by  the  cordial  intimacies  of  the  class  to  which  he  belonged,  it  is 
not  difficult  to  understand  how  William  Shakspere  married  early ;  and  the  very 
circumstance  of  his  so  marrying  is  tolerably  clear  evidence  of  the  course  of  life 
in  which  he  was  brought  up. 

It  has  been  a  sort  of  fashion  of  late  years  to  consider  that  Shakspere  was 
clerk  to  an  attorney.  Thomas  Nash  in  1589  published  this  sentence:  "It  is 
a  common  practice  now-a-days,  among  a  sort  of  shifting  companions,  that  run 
through  every  art  and  thrive  by  none,  to  leave  the  trade  of  Noverint,  whereto 
they  were  born,  and  busy  themselves  with  the  endeavours  of  art,  that  could 
scarcely  latinize  their  neck-verse  if  they  should  have  need ;  yet  English  Seneca, 
read  by  candlelight,  yields  many  good  sentences,  as  Bloud  is  a  Beggar,  and  so 
forth :  and,  if  you  entreat  him  fair  in  a  frosty  morning,  he  will  afford  you  whole 
Hamlets,  I  should  say  handfuls,  of  tragical  speeches.!  This  quotation  is  held 
to  furnish  the  external  evidence  that  Shakspere  had  been  an  attorney,  by  the 
connection  here  implied  of  "the  trade  of  Noverint"  and  "whole  Hamlets.' 
Noverint  was  the  technical  beginning  of  a  bond.J  It  is  imputed,  then,  by 
Nash,  to  a  sort  of  shifting  companions,  that,  running  through  every  art  and 
thriving  by  none,  they  attempt  dramatic  composition,  drawing  their  tragical 
speeches  from  English  Seneca.  Does  this  description  apply  to  Shakspere? 
Was  he  thriving  by  no  art?  In  1589  he  was  established  in  life  as  a  sharer  in 
the  Blackfriars  Theatre.  Does  the  use  of  the  term  "  whole  Hamlets "  fix  the 
allusion  upon  him?  It  appears  to  us  only  to  show  that  some  tragedy  called 
•  Hamlet/  it  may  be  Shakspere's  was  then  in  existence ;  and  that  it  was  a  play 

*  A  Midsummer-Night's  Dream,  Act  n.,  Scene  I. 

f  Epistle  prefixed  to  Greene's  'Arcadia,'  by  Thomas  Nash. 

t  See  Shakspere's  Marriage-Bond :  Note  to  this  Chapter. 

2S2  ™ 


WILMAM 

also  at  which  Nash  might  sneer  as  abounding  with  tragical  speeches.  But  it 
does  not  seem  to  us  that  there  is  any  absolute  connection  between  the  Noverint 
and  the  Hamlet.  Suppose,  for  example,  that  the  Hamlet  alluded  to  was 
written  by  Marlowe,  who  was  educated  at  Cambridge,  and  was  certainly  not  a 
lawyer's  clerk.  The  sentence  will  read  as  well ;  the  sarcasm  upon  the  tragical 
speeches  of  the  Hamlet  will  be  as  pointed  ;  the  shifting  companion  who  has 
thriven  by  no  art,  and  has  left  the  calling  to  which  he  was  born,  may  study 
English  Seneca  till  he  produces  "  whole  Hamlets,  I  should  say  handfuls,  oi 
tragical  speeches."  In  the  same  way  Nash  might  have  said  whole  Tamburlaines 
of  tragical  speeches,  without  attempting  to  infer  that  the  author  of  '  Tamburlaine 
had  left  the  trade  of  Noverint.  We  believe  that  the  allusion  was  to  Shak- 
spere's  Hamlet,  but  that  the  first  part  of  the  sentence  had  no  allusion  to  Shak- 
spere's  occupation.  The  context  of  the  passage  renders  the  matter  even 
clearer.  Nash  begins, — "  I  will  turn  back  to  my  first  text  of  studies  of  delight, 
and  talk  a  little  in  friendship  with  a  few  of  our  trivial  translators."  Nash 
aspired  to  the  reputation  of  a  scholar ;  and  he  directs  his  satire  against  those 
who  attempted  the  labours  of  scholarship  without  the  requisite  qualifications. 
The  trivial  translators  could  scarcely  latinize  their  neck-verse — they  could 
scarcely  repeat  the  verse  of  Scripture  which  was  the  ancient  form  of  praying 
the  benefit  of  clergy.  Seneca,  however,  might  be  read  in  English.  We  have 
then  to  ask  was  Hamlet  a  translation  or  an  adaptation  from  Seneca?  Did 
Shakspere  ever  attempt  to  found  a  play  upon  the  model  of  Seneca ;  to  be  a 
trivial  translator  of  him  ;  even  to  transfuse  his  sentences  into  a  dramatic  com 
position  ?  If  this  imputation  does  not  hold  good  against  Shakspere,  the  mention 
of  Hamlet  has  no  connection  with  the  shifting  companion  who  is  thus  talked  to 
as  a  trivial  translator.  Nash  does  not  impute  these  qualities  to  Hamlet,  but  to 
those  who  busy  themselves  with  the  endeavours  of  art  in  adapting  sentences 
from  Seneca  which  should  rival  whole  Hamlets  in  tragical  speeches.  And  theii 
he  immediately  says,  "But,  O  grief!  Tempus  edax  rerum; — what  is  it  that 
will  last  always  ?  The  sea  exhaled  by  drops  will  in  continuance  be  dry  ;  and 
Seneca,  let  blood  line  by  line,  and  page  by  page,  at  length  must  needs  die  to 
our  stage." 

The  external  evidence  of  this  passage  (and  it  is  the  only  evidence  of  such  a 
character  that  has  been  found)  wholly  fails,  we  think,  in  showing  that  Shakspere 
was  in  1589  reputed  to  have  been  an  attorney.  But  had  he  pursued  this  occu 
pation,  either  at  Stratford  or  in  London,  it  is  tolerably  clear  that  there  would 
have  been  ample  external  evidence  for  the  establishment  of  the  fact.  In  those 
times  an  attorney  was  employed  in  almost  every  transaction  between  man  and 
man  of  any  importance.  Deeds,  bonds,  indentures,  were  much  more  common 
when  legal  documents  were  untaxed,  and  legal  assistance  was  comparatively 
cheap.  To  every  document  attesting  witnesses  were  numerous  ;  and  the  attor 
ney's  clerk,  as  a  matter  of  course,  was  amongst  the  number.  Such  papers  and 
parchments  are  better  secured  against  the  ravages  of  time  than  any  other  ma 
nuscripts.  It  is  scarcely  possible  that,  if  Shakspere  had  been  an  attorney's  clerk, 
his  name  would  not  have  appeared  in  some  such  document,  as  a  subscribing 

2l50 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

witness.*     No   such  signature   has   ever  been   found.      This   fact  appears  to  us 
to  dispose  of  Malone's   confident  belief  that  upon  Shakspere  leaving   school   he 
was  placed  for  two  or  three  years  in  the  office  of  one  of  the  seven  attorneys  who 
practised  in  the  Court  of    Record  in    Stratford.      Malone   adds,   "  The   compre 
hensive  mind  of  our  poet,  it  must  be  owned,  embraced  almost  every    object   of 
nature,  every   trade,  and    every   art,  the  manners  of  every  description   of  men, 
and    the   general  language   of  almost   every   profession :    but  his  knowledge   and 
application   of  legal   terms   seem  to   me   not   merely  such    as   might  have  been 
acquired  by  the  casual  observation  of  his  all -comprehending  mind;    it   has   the 
appearance  of  technical  skill ;  and  he  is  so  fond  of  displaying  it  on  all  occasions, 
that  there    is,   I   think,    some  ground   for   supposing   that   he  was  early  initiated 
in  at  least  the  forms  of  la\v."f     Malone  then  cites  a  number  of  passages  exem 
plifying    Shakspere's   knowledge   and    application   of    legal    terms.      The    theory 
was   originally  propounded  by   Malone  in  his  edition   of  1790;  and  it  gave  rise 
to  many  subsequent  notes   of    the   commentators,  pointing    out   these   technical 
allusions.      The  frequency  of   their   occurrence,  and   the  accuracy   of  their   use, 
are,  however,  no  proof  to  us  that  Shaksypere  was  professionally  a  lawyer.     There 
is  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  principles  of  law,  especially  the  law  of  real 
property,   were   much   more   generally   understood   in   those    days    than    in    our 
own.     Educated  men,  especially  those  who  possessed  property,  looked    upon   law 
as  a  science  instead  of  a  mystery ;  and  its  terms  were  used  in  familiar  speech 
instead   of  being  regarded  as  a   technical  jargon.       When    Hamlet    says,   "  This 
fellow  might   be  in  his  time  a  great  buyer  of  land,  with  his  statutes,  his  recog- 
nizancies  his   fines,  his  double  vouchers,  his  recoveries,"  he    employs   terms   with 
which  every  gentleman   was    familiar,  because  the  owner  of  property  was  often 
engaged  in   a  practical  acquaintance   with   them.      This  is  one  of  the  examples 
given  by  Malone.      "  No  writer,"  again  says  Malone,  "  but  one   who   had   beer* 
conversant  with  the  technical  language  of  leases  and  other   conveyances,  would 
have  used  determination  as  synonymous  to  end."     He  refers  to  a  passage  in  the 
13th  Sonnet, — 

"  So  should  that  beauty  which  you  hold  in  lease 
Find  110  determination." 

We  may  add  that  Coriolanus  uses  the  verb  in  the  same  way  : — 

"  Shall  I  be  charg'd  no  further  than  this  present 
Must  all  determine  here  ?" 

The  word  is  used  as  a  term  of  law,  with  a  full  knowledge  of  its  primary  mean 
ing  ;  and  so  Shakspere  uses  it.  The  chroniclers  use  it  in  the  same  way.  Upon 
the  passage  in  the  Sonnets  to  which  we  have  just  referred,  Malone  has  a  note, 
with  a  parallel  passage  from  Daniel :  — 


*  Mr.  Wheler,  of  Stratford,  having  taken  up  the  opinion  many  years  ago,  upon  the  suggestion  of 
Malone,  that  Shakspere  might  have  been  in  an  attorney's  office,  has  availed  himself  of  his  opportu 
nities  as  a  solicitor  to  examine  hundreds  of  documents  of  Shakspere's  time,  in  the  hope  of  discover 
ing  his  signature.  The  examination  was  altogether  fruitless.  • 

•f-  Posthumous  '  Life.' 


2G1 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

"  In  beauty's  lease  expir'd  appears 
The  date  of  age,  the  caleada  of  our  death." 

Haniel  was  not  a  lawyer,  but  a  scholar  and  a  courtier.  Upon  the  passage  in 
Richard  III., — 

"  Tall  me,  what  state,  what  dignity,  what  honour, 
Canst  thou  demise  to  any  child  of  mine  ?" — 

Malone  asks  what  poet  but  Shakspere  has  used  the  word  demise  in  this  sense ; 
observing  that  "hath  demised,  granted,  and  to  farm  let"  is  the  constant 
language  of  leases.  Being  the  constant  language,  a  man  of  the  world  would  be 
familiar  with  it.  A  quotation  from  a  theologian  may  show  this  familiarity  as 
well  as  one  from  a  poet : — "  I  conceive  it  ridiculous  to  make  the  condition  of  an 
indenture  something  that  is  necessarily  annexed  to  the  possession .  of  the  demise." 
If  "Warburton  had  used  law-terms  in  this  logical  manner,  we  might  have  recol 
lected  his  early  career ;  but  we  do  not  learn  that  Hammond,  the  great  divine 
from  whom  we  quote,  had  any  other  than  a  theological  education.  We  are 
further  told,  when  Shallow  says  to  Davy,  in  Henry  IV.,  "  Are  those  precepts 
served?"  that  precepts,  in  this  sense,  is  a  word  only  known  in  the  office  of  a 
justice  of  peace.  Very  different  would  it  have  been  indeed  from  Shakspere's 
usual  precision,  had  he  put  any  word  in  the  mouth  of  a  justice  of  peace  that 
was  not  known  in  his  office.  When  the  Boatswain,  in  The  Tempest,  roars  out 
"Take  in  the  topsail,"  he  uses  a  phrase  that  is  known  only  on  shipboard.  In 
the  passage  of  Henry  IV.,  Part  II., — 

"  For  what  in  me  was  purchat'd, 
Palls  upon  thee  in  a  more  fairer  sort," — 

it  is  held  that  purchase,  being  used  in  its  strict  legal  sense,  could  be  known  only 
to  a  lawyer.  An  educated  man  could  scarcely  avoid  knowing  the  great  distinc 
tion  of  purchase  as  opposed  to  descent,  the  only  two  modes  of  acquiring  real 
estate.  This  general  knowledge,  which  it  would  be  very  remarkable  if  Shak- 
spere  had  not  acquired,  involves  the  use  of  the  familiar  law-terms  of  his  day, 
fee  simple,  fine  and  recovery,  entail,  remainder,  escheat,  mortgage.  The  com 
monest  practice  of  the  law,  such  as  a  sharp  boy  would  have  learnt  in  two  or 
three  casual  attendances  upon  the  Bailiff's  Court  at  Stratford,  would  have 
familiarized  Shakspere  very  early  with  the  words  which  are  held  to  imply  con 
siderable  technical  knowledge — action,  bond,  warrant,  bill,  suit,  plea,  arrest.  It 
must  not  be  forgotten  that  the  terms  of  law,  however  they  may  be  technically 
applied,  belong  to  the  habitual  commerce  of  mankind ;  they  are  no  abstract 
terms,  but  essentially  deal  with  human  acts,  and  interests,  and  thoughts :  and 
it  is  thus  that,  without  any  fanciful  analogies,  they  more  readily  express  the 
feelings  of  those  who  use  them  with  a  general  significancy,  than  any  other 
words  that  the  poet  could  apply.  A  writer  who  has  carried  the  theory  of 
Shakspere's  professional  occupation  farther  even  than  Malone,  holds  that  the 
Poems  are  especially  full  of  these  technical  terms ;  and  he  gives  many  instances 
from  the  Venus  and  Adonis,  the  Lucrece,  and  the  Sonnets,  saying,  "  they 

2(32 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

swarm  in  his  poems  even  to  deformity."*  Surely,  when  we  read  those  exquisite 
lines, — 

"  When  to  the  sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought 
I  summon  up  remembrance  of  things  past,"-— 

we  think  of  anything  else  than  the  judge  and  the  crier  of  the  court ;  and  yet 
this  is  one  of  the  examples  produced  in  proof  of  this  theory.  Dryden's 
noble  use  of  "the  last  assizes"  is  no  evidence  that  he  was  a  lawyer,  f  Many 
similar  instances  are'  given,  equally  founded,  we  think,  upon  the  mistake  of 
believing  that  the  technical  language  has  no  relation  to  the  general  language. 
Metaphorical,  no  doubt,  are  some  of  these  expressions,  such  as 

"  But  be  contented  when  that  fell  arrest 
Without  all  bail  shall  carry  me  away ;  " 

but  the  metaphors  are  as  familiar  to  the  reader  as  to  the  poet  himself.  They 
present  a  clear  and  forcible  image  to  the  mind;  and,  looking  at  the  habits  of 
society,  they  can  scarcely  be  called  technical.  Dekker  describes  the  conversa 
tion  at  the  third-rate  London  ordinary : — "  There  is  another  ordinary,  at  whfch 
your  London  usurer,  your  stale  bachelor,  and  your  thrifty  attorney  do  resort ; 
the  price  three-pence;  the  rooms  as  full  of  company  as  a  jail;  and  indeed 
divided  into  several  wards,  like  the  beds  of  an  hospital.  The  compliment 
between  these  is  not  much,  their  words  few ;  for  the  belly  hath  no  ears :  every 
man's  eye  here  is  upon  the  other  man's  trencher,  to  note  whether  his  fellow 
lurch  him,  or  no :  if  they  chance  to  discourse,  it  is  of  nothing  but  of  statutes, 
bonds,  recognizances,  fines,  recoveries,  audits,  rents,  subsidies,  sureties,  enclo 
sures,  liveries,  indictments,  outlawries,  feoffments,  judgments,  commissions, 
bankrupts,  amercements,  and  of  such  horrible  matter."  J  Here  is  pretty  good 
evidence  of  the  general  acquaintance  with  the  law's  jargon ;  and  Dekker,  who 
is  himself  a  dramatic  poet,  has  put  together  in  a  few  lines  as  many  technical 
terms  as  we  may  find  in  Shakspere.  It  has  been  maintained,  as  we  have  men 
tioned,  that  our  poet  was  brought  up  as  a  gardener,  as  proved  by  his  familiarity 
with  the  terms  and  practice  of  the  horticultural  art.  Malone,  after  citing  his 
legal  examples,  says, — "  Whenever  as  large  a  number  of  instances  of  his  eccle 
siastical  or  medicinal  knowledge  shall  be  produced,  what  has  now  been  statec- 
will  certainly  not  be  entitled  to  any  weight."  We  shall  not  argue  that  none 
but  an  apothecary  could  have  written  the  description  of  the  vendor  of  drugs, 
and  the  culler  of  simples,  in  whose 

"  needy  shop  a  tortoise  hung, 
An  alligator  stuff' d,  and  other  skins 
Of  ill-shap'd  fishes ;  and  about  his  shelves 
A  beggarly  account  of  empty  boxes, 
Green  earthen  pots,  bladders,  and  musty  seeds."  § 

Nor  do  we  hold,  because  he  has  mentioned  the  ague  about  a  dozen  times,  he 
was  familiar  with  the  remedies  for  that  disorder;  nor  that,  when  Falstaff 
describes  the  causes  of  apoplexy  to  the  Chief  Justice,  and  says  that  he  has  read 

•  Brown's  Autobiographical  Poems,  &c.  t  Ode  on  Mrs.  Killigrew. 

i  Dekker's  '  Gull's  Hornbook  : '  1609.  §  Homeo  and  Juliet,  Act  v.,  Scene  i. 

263 


WILLIAM  SIIAKSPERE: 

of  the  effects  in  Galen,  Shakspere  had  gone  through  a  course  of  study  in  that 
author  to  qualify  himself  for  a  diploma.  He  does  not  use  medical  terms  as 
frequently  as  legal,  because  they  are  not  as  apposite  to  the  thoughts  and  situations 
of  his  speakers.  It  is  the  same  with  the  terms  of  divinity,  which  Malone 
cannot  find  in  such  abundance  as  the  terms  of  law.  But  if  the  terms  be  not 
there,  assuredly  the  spirit  lives  in  his  pure  teaching;  and  his  philosophy  is 
lighted  up  with  something  much  higher  than  the  moral  irradiations  of  the 
unassisted  understanding.  Of  his  manifold  knowledge  it  may  be  truly  said,  as 
he  said  of  his  own  Henry  V., — 


"  Hear  him  but  reaspa  in  divinity, 
And,  all-admiring,  with  an  inward  wish 
You  would  desire  the  king  were  made  a  prelate  : 
Hear  him  debate  of  commonwealth  affairs, 
You  would  say, — it  hath  been  all-in-all,  his  study  : 
List  his  discourse  of  war,  and  you  shall  hear 
A  fearful  battle  reuder'd  you  in  music : 
Turn  him  to  any  cause  of  .policy, 
The  Gordiau  knot  of  it  he  will  unloose, 
Familiar  as  his  garter ;  that,  when  he  speaks, 
The  air,  a  charter' d  libertine,  is  still, 
And  the  mute  wonder  lurketh  in  meu's  ears, 
To  steal  his  sweet  and  houey'd  sentences ; 
So  that  the  art  and  practick  part  of  life 
Must  be  the  mistress  to  this  theoiic."  • 


We  should  have  thought  it  unnecessary  to  have  added  anything  to  the  viewt 
which  we  thus  entertained  in  1843  (when  the  original  edition  of  this  Biography  was 
published),  had  the  subject  not  been  invested  with  a  new  importance,  in  its  treat 
ment  by  the  late  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  the  Court  of  Queen's  Bench.  In  1859 
Lord  Campbell  published  a  volume,  entitled  '  Shakespeare's  Legal  Acquirements 
considered.'  The  subject  is  approached  by  the  learned  Judge  in  a  just  and  liberal 
spirit,  essentially  different  from  that  of  the  Shaksperian  critics  of  the  last  age.  He 
holds  "  that  there  has  been  a  great  deal  of  misrepresentation  and  delusion  as  to 
Shakespeare's  opportunities  when  a  youth  of  acquiring  knowledge,  and  as  to  the 
knowledge  he  had  acquired.  From  a  love  of  the  incredible,  and  a  wish  to  make 
what  he  afterwards  accomplished  actually  miraculous,  a  band  of  critics  have  con 
spired  to  lower  the  condition  of  his  father,  and  to  represent  the  son,  when  approach 
ing  man's  estate,  as  still  almost  wholly  illiterate."  We  are  gratified,  that  in  re 
capitulating  the  various  facts  which  militate  against  the  vague  traditions,  and  ignorant 
assumptions,  some  of  which  prevailed  only  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago,  Lord  Campbell 
refers  "  to  that  most  elaborate  and  entertaining  book,  Knight's  '  Life  of  Shakspere,' 
1st  edit.  p.  16."  But,  of  the  general  argument  comprised  in  our  preceding  five 
pages,  Lord  Campbell  does  not  take  the  slightest  notice.  He  no  doubt  weighed 
well  all  the  points  in  which,  with  my  own  imperfect  legal  knowledge,  I  ventured  to 

*  Henry  V.,  Act  i.  Scene  L 
264 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 

doubt  whether  Shakspere  was  bred  an  attorney.  He  does  not  overlook  the  words 
of  Nashe  about  "  the  trade  of  Noverint,"  and  "  whole  Hamlets,"  but  he  thus 
judicially  decides : — "  Now,  if  the  innuendo  which  would  have  been  introduced 

into  the  declaration  in  an  action,  '  Shakespeare  v.  Nash,'  for  this  libel  ( '  thereby 

then  and  there  meaning  the  said  William  Shakespeare ' — )  be  made  out,  there  can 
be  no  doubt  as  to  the  remaining  innuendo  '  thereby  then  and  there  meaning  that  the 
said  William  Shakespeare  had  been  an  attorney's  clerk,  or  bred  an  attorney."  With 
the  most  laudable  industry  Lord  Campbell  has  made  a  selection  from  the  Plays  and 
Poems,  occupying  more  than  two-thirds  of  his  book,  to  exhibit  "  expressions  and 
allusions,  that  must  be  supposed  to  come  from  one  that  has  been  a  professional 
lawyer."  He  also  holds  that  Shakspere's  will  was  in  all  probability  composed  by 
himself,  and  that  "a  testator  without  professional  experience,  could  hardly  have 
used  language  so  appropriate  as  we  find  in  this  will  to  express  his  meaning."  We 
should  have  thought  that  Lord  Campbell,  following  up  his  own  argument,  that  in 
this  will,  when  Shakspere  leaves  his  second  best  bed  to  his  wife,  he  showed  his 
technical  skill  by  omitting  the  word  devise,  which  he  had  used  in  disposing  of  his 
realty,  might  have  stated  that  in  this  bequest  Shakspere  was  aware  that  his  wife  was 
entitled  to  dower ;  and  yet  he  does  not  hesitate  to  repeat  the  '  misrepresentation 
and  delusion  "  which  had  been  attached  to  this  fact  before  we  had  the  good  fortune 
to  discover  that  Shakspere  on  his  death-bed  did  not  exhibit  a  contemptuous  neglect 
of  his  wife.  Our  argument  is,  we  venture  to  hope,  not  affected  by  Lord  Campbell's 
judicial  sneers  and  exaggerated  inferences  : — "  The  idolatrous  worshippers  of  Shake 
speare,  who  think  it  necessary  to  make  his  moral  qualities  as  exalted  as  his  poetical 
genius,  account  for  this  sorry  bequest,  and  for  no  other  notice  being  taken  of  poor 
Mrs.  Shakespeare  in  the  will,  by  saying  that  he  knew  she  was  sufficiently  provided 
for  by  her  right  of  dower  out  of  his  landed  property,  which  the  law  would  give  her ; 
and  they  add  that  he  must  have  been  tenderly  attached  to  her,  because  (they  take 
upon  themselves  to  say)  she  was  exquisitely  beautiful  as  well  as  strictly  virtuous. 
But  she  was  left  by  her  husband  without  house  or  furniture  (except  the  second  best 
bed),  or  a  kind  word,  or  any  other  token  of  his  love ;  and  I  sadly  fear  that  between 
William  Shakespeare  and  Anne  Hathaway  the  course  of  true  love  never  did  run 
smooth."  Lord  Campbell's  plural  "  idolatrous  worshippers  "  is  a  gentle  form  of 
referring  to  the  one  worshipper  who  originated  this  new  view  with  regard  to  dower. 
That  worshipper,  in  his  idolatry,  never  held  up  Ann  Hathaway  as  "exquisitely 
beautiful;"  "  strictly  virtuous  "  he  believed  her  to  have  been  according  to  the  custom 
of  betrothment  which  existed  in  Shakspere's  youth.  With  Lord  Campbell's  well-known 
habit  of  literary  appropriation — "  convey  the  wise  it  call " — did  he  forbear  to  adopt 
this  interpretation  because  it  was  not  discovered  by  a  lawyer  ?  The  Chief  Justice 
knew  perfectly  well  that  the  right  to  dower  totally  upset  all  the  inferences  about  the 
second  best  bed,  which  the  Commentators — lawyers  as  some  of  them  were — set 
forth,  and  which  were  currently  accepted  up  to  the  time  when  I  presumed  to  say 
that  lawyers  had  shut  their  eyes  to  the  fact 


WILLIAM    SHAK8PERE' 

We  hold,  then,  that  William  Shakspere,  the  son  of  a  possessor  and  cultivatoi 
of  land,  a  gentleman  by  descent,  married  to  the  heiress  of  a  good  family,  com 
fortable  in  his  worldly  circumstances,  married  the  daughter  of  one  in  a  similar 
rank  of  life,  and  in  all  probability  did  not  quit  his  native  place  when  he  so 
married.  The  marriage-bond,  which  was  discovered  a  few  years  since,  has  set 
at  rest  all  doubt  as  to  the  name  and  residence  of  his  wife.  She  is  there  described 
as  Anne  Hathwey,  of  Stratford,  in  the  diocese  of  Worcester,  maiden.  Rowe,  in 
his  '  Life,'  says, — "  Upon  his  leaving  school  he  seems  to  have  given  entirely 
into  that  way  of  living  which  his  father  proposed  to  him :  and  in  order  to  settle 
in  the  world,  after  a  family  manner,  he  thought  fit  to  marry  while  he  was  yet 
very  young.  His  wife  was  the  daughter  of  one  Hathaway,  said  to  have  been  a 
substantial  yeoman  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Stratford."  At  the  hamlet  of 
Shottery,  which  is  in  the  parish  of  Stratford,  the  Hathaways  had  been  settled 
forty  years  before  the  period  of  Shakspere's  marriage ;  for  in  the  Warwickshire 
Surveys,  in  the  time  of  Philip  and  Mary,  it  is  recited  that  John  Hathaway 
held  property  at  Shottery,  by  copy  of  court-roll,  dated  20th  of  April,  34th  of 
Henry  VIII.  (1543).*  The  Hathaway  of  Shakspere's  time  was  named  Richard; 
and  the  intimacy  between  him  and  John  Shakspere  is  shown  by  a  precept  in  an 
action  against  Richard  Hathaway,  dated  1576,  in  which  John  Shakspere  is  his 
oondman.  Before  the  discovery  of  the  marriage-bond  Malone  had  found  a  con 
firmation  of  the  traditional  account  that  the  maiden  name  of  JSaakspere's  wife 
was  Hathaway ;  for  Lady  Barnard,  the  grand-daughter  of  Shakspere,  makes 
bequests  in  her  will  to  the  children  of  Thomas  Hathaway,  "her  kinsman." 
But  Malone  doubts  whether  there  were  not  other  Hathaways  than  those  of 
Shottery,  residents  in  the  town  of  Stratford,  and  not  in  the  hamlet  included  in 
the  parish.  This  is  possible.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  description  in  the 
marriage-bond  of  Anne  Hathaway,  as  of  Stratford,  is  no  proof  that  she  was  not 
of  Shottery ;  for  such  a  document  would  necessarily  have  regard  only  to  the 
parish  of  the  person  described.  Tradition,  always  valuable  when  it  is  not 
opposed  to  evidence,  has  associated  for  many  years  the  cottage  of  the  Hathaways 
at  Shottery  with  the  wife  of  Shakspere.  Garrick  purchased  relics  out  of  it  at 
the  time  of  the  Stratford  Jubilee ;  Samuel  Ireland  afterwards  carried  off  what 
was  called  Shakspere's  courting-chair ;  and  there  is  still  in  the  house  a  very 
ancient  carved  bedstead,  which  has  been  handed  down  from  descendant  to 
descendant  as  an  heirloom.  The  house  was  no  doubt  once  adequate  to  form  a 
comfortable  residence  for  a  substantial  and  even  wealthy  yeornan.  It  is  still  a 
pretty  cottage,  embosomed  by  trees,  and  surrounded  by  pleasant  pastures ;  and 


*  The  Shottery  property,   which  was  called  Hewland,   remained  with  the  descendant*  of 
Hathaways  till  1838. 
2CG 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 

here  the  young  poet  might  have  surrendered  his  prudence  to  his  affections :  — 

"  As  in  the  sweetest  buds 
The  eating  canker  dwells,  so  eating  love 
Inhabits  in  the  finest  wits  of  all."  * 

The  very  early  marriage  of  the  young  man,  with  one  more  than  seven  years  his 
elder,  has  been  supposed  to  have  been  a  rash  and  passionate  proceeding.     Upon 


l-Sliottery  Cottage.] 


the  face  of  it,  it  appears  an  act  that  might  at  least  be  reproved  in  the  words 
which  follow  those  we  have  just  quoted  : — 

"As  the  most  forward  bud 
Is  eaten  by  the  canker  ere  it  blow, 
Even  so  by  love  the  young  and  tender  wit 
Is  turn'd  to  folly;  blasting  in  the  bud, 
Losing  his  verdure  even  in  the  prime, 
And  all  the  fair  effects  of  future  hopes." 

This  is  the  common  consequence  of  precocious  marriages;  but  we  are  not 
therefore  to  conclude  that  "the  young  and  tender. wit"  of  our  Shakspere  was 
"turned  to  folly"— that  his  "forward  bud"  was  "eaten  by  the  canker  • 


*  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  Act  r.,  Scene  L 


267 


WILLIAM   SHAKSI'Klii:  : 

•his  verdure"  was  lost,  "even  in  the  prime,"  by  his  marriage  with  Anne 
Hathaway  before  he  was  nineteen.  The  influence  which  this  marriage  must 
have  had  upon  his  destinies  was  no  doubt  considerable ;  but  it  is  too  much  to 
assume,  as  it  has  been  assumed,  that  it  was  an  unhappy  influence.  All  that 
we  really  know  of  Shakspere's  family  life  warrants  the  contrary  supposition. 
We  believe,  to  go  no  farther  at  present,  that  the  marriage  of  Shakspere  was 
one  of  affection ;  that  there  was  no  disparity  in  the  worldly  condition  of 
himself  and  the  object  of  his  choice  ;  that  it  was  with  the  consent  of  friends ; 
that  there  were  no  circumstances  connected  with  it  which  indicate  that  it  was 
either  forced  or  clandestine,  or  urged  on  by  an  artful  woman  to  cover  her 
apprehended  loss  of  character.  Taking  up,  as  little  as  possible,  a  controversial 
attitude  in  a  matter  of  such  a  nature,  we  shall  shape  our  course  according  to 
this  belief. 

In  the  last  week  of  November,  in  the  year  1582,  let  us  look  upon  a  cheerful 
family  scene  in  the  pretty  village  of  Clifford.  The  day  is  like  a  green  old  age, 
"frosty  but  kindly."  The  sun  shines  brightly  upon  the  hills,  over  which  a 
happy  party  have  tripped  from  Stratford.  It  is  a  short  walk  of  some  mile  and 
a  half.  The  village  stands  very  near  the  confluence  of  the  Stour  with  the 
Avon.  It  is  Sunday ;  and  after  the  service  there  is  to  be  a  christening.  The 
visitors  assemble  at  a  substantial  house,  and  proceed  reverently  to  church. 
The  age  is  not  yet  arrived  when  the  cold  formalities  of  a  listless  congregation 
have  usurped  the  place  of  real  devotion.  The  responses  are  made  with  the 
earnest  voice  which  indicates  the  full  heart ;  and  the  young,  especially,  join  in 
the  choral  parts  of  the  service,  so  as  to  preserve  one  of  the  best  characters  of 
adoration,  in  offering  a  tribute  of  gladness  to  Him  who  has  filled  the  world 
with  beauty  and  joy.  During  the  service  the  sacrament  of  baptism  is  admi 
nistered  with  a  reverential  solemnity.  William  Shakspere  had  often  been  so 
present  at  its  administration,  and  the  ceremonial  has  appeared  to  him  full  of 
truth  and  holiness.  But  the  opinions  which  were  earnestly  disseminated 
amongst  the  people,  by  teachers  pretending  to  superior  sanctity  and  wisdom, 
would  be  also  familiar  to  him ;  and  he  would  have  learnt,  from  those  who 
were  opposed  to  most  ancient  ceremonial  observances,  that  the  signing  with 
the  Cross  in  baptism  was  a  superstitious  relic  of  Rome — a  thing  rejected  by 
the  understanding,  and  only  preserved  as  a  delusion  of  the  imagination.  A 
book  with  which  he  was  familiar  in  after-life  was  not  then  written ;  but  on 
such  occasions  of  controversy  it  would  occur  to  him  that  "  the  holy  sign,' 
"  imprinted  on  the  gates  of  the  palace  of  man's  fancy,"  would  suggest  associa 
tions  which  to  Christian  men  would  be  "  a  most  effectual  though  a  silent 
teacher  to  avoid  whatsoever  may  deservedly  procure  shame."  Through  the 
imagination  would  this  holy  sign  work  ;  for  "  the  mind,  while  we  are  in  this 
present  life,  whether  it  contemplate,  meditate,  deliberate,  or  howsoever  exercise 
itself,  worketh  nothing  without  continual  recourse  unto  imagination,  the  only 
storehouse  of  wit,  and  peculiar  chair  of  memory.  On  this  anvil  it  ceaseth  not 
day  and  night  to  strike,  by  means  whereof,  as  the  pulse  declareth  how  the 
268 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

heart  doth  work,  so  the  very  thoughts  and  cogitations  of  man's  mind,  be  they 
good  or  bad,  do  nowhere  sooner  bewray  themselves  than  through  the  crevicea 
of  that  wall  wherewith  Nature  hath  compassed  the  cells  and  closets  of  fancy."* 
Such  was  the  way  in  which  the  young  Shakspere  would,  we  think,  religiously 
and  philosophically,  regard  this  ceremony  ;  it  would  be  so  impressed  upon  his 
"  imagination."  But  the  service  is  ended ;  the  gossips  are  assembled  in  the 
churchyard.  A  merry  peal  rings  out  from  the  old  tower.  Cordial  welcome  is 


there  within  the  yeoman's  house,  to  whose  family  such  an  occasion  as  this  is  a 
joyful    festival.     The   chief    sponsors    duly    present    the    apostle -spoons    to 
child  ;   but  one  old  lady,  who  looks  upon  this  practice  as  a  luxurious  mnovat.c 
of  modern  times,   is  content  to  offer  a  christening  shirt,  f     The  refection  c 
guests  aspires   to  daintiness   as   much   as   plenty  ;    and   the  comely  dames  upoi 
their  departure  do  not  hesitate  to  put  the  sweet  biscuits  and  comfit 


«  Hooker's  '  Ecclesiastical  Polity,'  book  v. 


Sec  Note  to  tins  Chapter. 
2C9 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  : 

pockets.  There  is  cordial  salutation,  at  this  meeting,  of  William  Shakspcre 
and  his  fair  companion.  He  and  Anne  Hathaway  are  bound  together  by  the 
trothplight.  There  is  no  secret  as  to  this  union  ;  there  is  no  affectation  in 
concealing  their  attachment.  He  speaks  of  her  as  his  wife ;  she  of  him  as  he: 
husband.  He  is  tall  and  finely  formed,  with  a  face  radiant  with  intellect,  and 
capable  of  expressing  the  most  cheerful  and  most  tender  emotions  ;  she  is  in 
the  full  beauty  of  womanhood,  glowing  with  health  and  conscious  happiness. 
Some  of  the  gossips  whisper  that  she  is  too  old  for  him  ;  but  his  frank  and 
manly  bearing,  and  her  beauty  "and  buoyant  spirits,  would  not  suggest  this,  if 
some  tattle  about  age  was  not  connected  with  the  whisper.  No  one  of  that 
company,  except  an  envious  rival,  would  hold  that  they  were  "  misgraffed  in 
respect  of  years."  The  Church  is  in  a  few  days  to  cement  the  union,  which, 
some  weeks  ago,  was  fixed  by  the  public  trothplight.  They  are  hand-fasted,  and 
they  are  happy. 

There  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  Shakspere  was  remarkable  for  manly 
beauty : — "  He  was  a  handsome,  well-shaped  man/'  says  Aubrey.  According  to 
tradition,  he  played  Adam  in  As  You  Like  It,  and  the  Ghost  in  Hamlet.  Adam 
says, — 

"  Though  I  look  old,  yet  I  am  strong  and  histy." 

Upon  his  personation  of  the  Ghost,  Mr.  Campbell  has  the  following  judicious 
remarks : — "  It  has  been  alleged,  in  proof  of  his  mediocrity,  that  he  enacted  the 
part  of  his  own  Ghost,  in  Hamlet.  But  is  the  Ghost  in  Hamlet  a  very  mean 
character  ?  No :  though  its  movements  are  few,  they  must  be  awfully  graceful ; 
and  the  spectral  voice,  though  subdued  and  half-monotonous,  must  be  solemn 
and  full  of  feeling.  It  gives  us  an  imposing  idea  of  Shakspere's  stature  and 
mien  to  conceive  him  in  this  part.  The  English  public,  accustomed  to  see  their 
lofty  nobles,  their  Essexes,  and  their  Raleighs,  clad  in  complete  armour,  and 
moving  under  it  with  a  majestic  air,  would  not  have  tolerated  the  actor  Shak- 
speare,  unless  he  had  presented  an  appearance  worthy  of  the  buried  majesty  of 
Denmark."*  That  he  performed  kingly  parts  is  indicated  by  these  lines,  writ 
ten,  in  1611,  by  John  Davics,  in  a  poem  inscribed  'To  our  English  Terence, 
Mr.  William  Shakspeare  :' — 

"  Some  say,  good  Will,  which  I  in  sport  do  sing, 

Hadst  thou  not  play'd  some  Tcingly  parts  in  sport, 
Thou  hadst  been  a  companion  for  a  king, 
And  been  a  king  among  the  meaner  sort." 

The  portrait  by  Martin  Droeshout,  prefixed  to  the  edition  of  1623,  when  Shak 
spere  would  be  well  remembered  by  his  friends,  gives  a  notion  of  a  man  of 
remarkably  fine  features,  independent  of  the  wonderful  development  of  fore 
head.  The  lines  accompanying  it,  which  bear  the  signature  B.  I.  (most  likely 
Ben,  Jonson),  attest  the  accuracy  of  the  likeness.  The  bust  at  Stratford  bears 
the  same  character.  The  sculptor  was  Gerard  Johnson.  It  was  probably  erected 
soon  after  the  poet's  death ;  for  it  is  mentioned  by  Leonard  Digges,  in  his 

*  Remarks  prefixed  to  Moxon'i  edition  of  the  Dramatic  Works. 
2-0 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

verses  upon  the  publication  of  Shakspere's  collected  works  by  his  "  pious  fellows.' 
All  the  circumstances  of  which  we  have  any  knowledge  imply  that  Shakspere, 
at  the  time  of  his  marriage,  was  such  a  person  as  might  well  have  won  the  heart 
of  a  mistress  whom  tradition  has  described  as  eminently  beautiful.  Anne 
Hathaway  at  this  time  was  of  mature  beauty.  The  inscription  over  her  grave 
in  the  church  of  Stratford-upon-Avon  states  that  she  died  on  "  the  6th  day  of 
August,  1623,  being  of  the  age  of  67  years."  In  November  1582,  therefore, 
she  would  be  of  the  age  of  twenty-six.  This  disparity  of  years  between  Shak 
spere  and  his  wife  has  been,  we  think,  somewhat  too  much  dwelt  upon,  Malone 
holds  that  "  such  a  disproportion  of  age  seldom  fails  at  a  subsequent  period  of 
life  to  be  productive  of  unhappiness."  Malone  had,  no  doubt,  in  his  mind  the 
belief  that  Shakspere  left  his  wife  wholly  dependent  upon  her  children,— a  belief 
of  which  we  have  intimated  the  utter  groundlessness,  and  to  which  we  shall  advert 
when  we  have  to  notice  his  Will.  He  suggests  that  in  the  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream  this  disproportion  is  alluded  to,  and  he  quotes  a  speech  of  Lysander  in  Act  i. 
Scene  I.,  of  that  play,  not  however  giving  the  comment  of  Hermia  upon  it.  The 
lines  in  the  original  stand  thus  : — 

"  Lys.  Ah  me  !  for  aught  that  ever  I  could  read, 
Could  ever  hear  by  tale  or  history, 
The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth : 
But  either  it  was  different  in  blood ; — 

Her.  0  cross  !  too  high  to  be  enthrall' d  to  low ! 

Lys.  Or  else  misgraffed,  in  respect  of  years  ; — 

Her.  0  spite  !  too  old  to  be  engag'd  to  young  ! 

Lys.  Or  else  it  stood  upon  the  choice  of  friends  j — 

Her.  0  hell !  to  choose  love  by  another's  eye  ! 

Lys.  Or,  if  there  were  a  sympathy  in  choice, 
War,  death,  or  sickness  did  lay  siege  to  it." 

Difference  in  blood,  disparity  of  years,  the  choosing  of  friends,  are  opposed 
to  sympathy  in  choice.  But  was  Shakspere's  own  case  such  as  he  would  bear 
in  mind  in  making  Hermia  exclaim,  "  O  spite  !  too  old  to  be  engag'd  to  young  !  "  ? 
The  passage  was  in  all  probability  written  about  ten  years  after  his  marriage, 
when  his  wife  would  still  be  in  the  prime  of  womanhood.  When  Mr.  de 
Quincey,  therefore,  connects  the  saying  of  Parson  Evans  with  Shakspere's  early 
love,—"  I  like  not  when  a  woman  has  a  great  peard," — he  scarcely  does  justice 
to  his  own  powers  of  observation  and  his  book-experience.  The  history  of  the 
most  imaginative  minds,  probably  of  most  men  of  great  ability,  would  show 
that  in  the  first  loves,  and  in  the  early  marriages,  of  this  class,  the  choice  has 
generally  fallen  upon  women  older  than  themselves,  and  this  without  any  refer 
ence  to  interested  motives.  But  Mr.  de  Quincey  holds  that  Shakspere,  "  looking 
back  on  this  part  of  his  youthful  history  from  his  maturest  years,  breathes  forth 
pathetic  counsels  against  the  errors  into  which  his  own  inexperience  had  been 
ensnared.  The  disparity  of  years  between  himself  and  his  wife  he  notices  in  a 
beautiful  scene  of  the  Twelfth  Night."*  In  this  scene  Viola,  disguised  as  a 
page,  a  very  boy,  one  of  whom  it  is  said — 

*  Life  of  Shakspeare  in  the  'Encyclopaedia  Britunnica." 


WII.I.IA.M  sii  \KSIT.KI: : 

r  they  shall  yet  belie  thy  happy  years 
That  say  thou  art  a  man," — 

is  pressed  by  the  Duke  to  own  that  his  eye  "hath  stay'd  upon  some  favour." 
Viola,  who  is  enamoured  of  the  Duke,  punningly  replies, — "  A  little,  by  your 
favour;"  and  being  still  pressed  to  describe  the  "kind  of  woman,"  she  says,  of 
the  Duke's  "  complexion  "  and  the  Duke's  "  years."  Any  one  who  in  the  stage 
representation  of  the  Duke  should  do  otherwise  than  make  him  a  grave  man  of 
thirty-five  or  fcrty,  a  staid  and  dignified  man,  would  not  present  Shakspere's 
whole  conception  of  the  character.  There  would  be  a  difference  of  twenty 
years  between  him  and  Viola.  No  wonder,  then,  that  the  poet  should  make 
the  Duke  dramatically  exclaim, — 

"  7*oo  old,  by  Heaven  !   Let  still  the  woman  take 
An  elder  than  herself;  so  wears  she  to  him, 
So  sways  she  level  in  her  husband's  heart." 

And  wherefore?  — 

"  For,  boy,  however  wo  do  praise  ourselves, 
Our  fancies  are  more  giddy  and  unfirm, 
More  longing,  wavering,  sooner  lost  and  worn, 
Than  women's  are." 

The  pathetic  counsels,  therefore,  which  Shakspere  is  here  supposed  to  breathe 
in  his  maturer  years,  have  reference  only  to  his  own  giddy  and  unfirm  fancies. 
We  are  of  opinion,  as  we  have  before  stated  with  regard  to  this  matter,  that, 
upon  the  general  principle  upon  which  Shakspere  subjects  his  conception  ot 
what  is  individually  true  to  what  is  universally  true,  he  would  have  rejected 
instead  of  adopted  whatever  was  peculiar  in  his  own  experience,  if  it  had  been 
emphatically  recommended  to  his  adoption  through  the  medium  of  his  self- 
consciousness.  Shakspere  wrote  these  lines  at  a  time  of  life  (about  1602)  when 
a  slight  disparity  of  years  between  himself  and  his  wife  would  have  been  a  very 
poor  apology  to  his  own  conscience  that  his  affection  could  not  hold  the  bent ; 
and  it  certainly  does  happen,  as  a  singular  contradiction  to  his  supposed  "  earnest 
ness  in  pressing  the  point  as  to  the  inverted  disparity  of  years,  which  indicates 
pretty  clearly  an  appeal  to  the  lessons  of  his  personal  experience,"*  that  at  this 
precise  period  he  should  have  retired  from  his  constant  attendance  upon  the 
stage,  purchasing  land  in  his  native  place,  and  thus  seeking  in  all  probability 
the  more  constant  companionship  of  that  object  of  his  early  choice  of  whom 
he  is  thus  supposed  to  have  expressed  his  distaste.  It  appears  to  us  that  this 
is  a  tolerably  convincing  proof  that  his  affections  could  hold  the  bent,  however 
he  might  .dramatically  and  poetically  have  said, 

"  Then  let  thy  love  be  younger  than  thyself, 
Or  thy  affection  cannot  hold  the  bent : 
For  women  are  as  roses  ;  whose  fair  flower, 
Being  once  display'd,  doth  fall  that  very  hour." 

The  season   is  nol   the  most  inviting  for  a  journey  on  horseback  of  more  iliac 

*  Life  in  '  Encyclopaedia  Britonnica.' 
272 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 

thirty  miles,  and  yet  William  Shakspere,  with  two  youthful  friends,  must  ride  to 
Worcester.  The  families  of  Shakspere  and  of  Hathaway  are  naturally  desirous 
that  the  sanction  of  the  Church  should  be  given  within  the  customary  period  to 
the  alliance  which  their  children  have  formed.  They  are  reverential  observers 
of  old  customs  ;  and  their  recollections  of  the  practice  of  all  who  went  before 
them  show  that  the  marriage,  commenced  by  the  trothplight,  ought  not  to  be 
postponed  too  long.  Convenience  ought  to  yield  to  propriety;  and  Christmas 
must  see  the  young  housekeepers  well  settled.  A  licence  must  be  procured 
from  the  Bishop's  Court  at  Worcester.  Fulk  Sandells  and  John  Rychardson, 
the  companions  of  young  Shakspere,  substantial  yeomen,  will  cheerfully  be  his 
bondsmen.  Though  he  is  a  minor,  and  cannot  join  in  the  bond,  they  know  that 
he  will  faithfully  perform  what  he  undertakes  ;  and  that  their  forty  pounds  are 
in  no  peril.  They  all  well  know  the  condition  of  such  a  bond.  There  is  no 
pre-contract ;  no  affinity  between  the  betrothed ;  William  has  the  consent  of 
Anne's  friends.  They  desire  to  be  married  with  once  asking  of  the  banns;  not 
an  uncommon  case,  or  the  court  would  not  grant  such  a  licence.  They  desire 
not  to  avoid  the  publicity  of  banns ;  but  they  seek  a  licence  for  one  publication, 
for  their  happiness  has  made  them  forget  the  lapse  of  time  :  the  betrothment  was 
binding  indeed  for  ever  upon  true  hearts,  but  the  marriage  will  bless  the  contract, 
and  make  it  irrevocable  in  its  sanctity.  And  thus  the  three  friends,  after  tender 
adieus,  and  many  lingerings  upon  the  threshold  of  the  cottage  at  Shottery,  mount 
their  horses,  and  take  the  way  to  Worcester. 

Fulk  Sandells  and  John  Rychardson  (as  the  marks  to  the  marriage-bond 
testify)  were  not  lettered  persons.  But,  nevertheless,  they  might  have  been 
very  welcome  companions  to  William  Shakspere.  The  non-ability  to  write 
did  not  necessarily  imply  that  their  minds  had  not  received  a  certain  degree 
of  cultivation.  To  him,  who  drew  his  wondrous  knowledge  out  of  every  source 
— books,  conversation,  observation  of  character — no  society  could  be  wholly 
uninteresting.  His  genial  nature  would  find  objects  of  sympathy  in  the  com 
monest  mind.  That  he  was  a  favourite  amongst  his  own  class  it  is  impossible 
to  doubt.  His  mental  superiority  would  be  too  great  to  be  displayed  in  any 
assumption";  his  kindliness  of  nature  would  knit  him  to  every  heart  that  was 
capable  of  affection  —  and  what  heart  is  not  ?  Unintelligible  would  he  be,  no 
doubt,  to  many ;  but,  as  far  as  it  is  possible  to  conceive  of  his  character,  he  would 
.be  wholly  remote  from  that  waywardness  which  has  been  considered  the  attribute 
of  genius — neither  moping,  nor  shy,  nor  petulant,  nor  proud  ;  affecting  no  mis 
anthropy,  no  indifference  to  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  those  around  him ;  and 
certainly  despising  the  fashion  through  which 

"  Young  gentlemen  would  be  as  sad  as  night, 
Only  for  wantonness."  * 

Assuredly  the  -intellect  of   Shakspere  was  the  most  healthful  ever  bestowed  upon 
man;    and   that  was  one  cause  of  its   unapproachable  greatness.      The  soundest 

*  King  John,  Act  IV.,  Scene  I. 
LIFE.         2  T  273 


WILLIAM  SIIAKSIT.IM:  : 

judgment  was  in  combination  with  the  highest  fancy.  With  such  friends,  then, 
as  Fulk  Sandells  and  John  Rychardson,  would  this  y<>un_'  man  be  as  free  and 
as  gladsome  as  if  they  were  as  equal  in  their  minds  as  in  tht-ir  worldly  circum 
stances.  To  a  certain  extent  he  would  doubtless  take  the  lead ;  he  must  of 
necessity  have  been  the  readiest  in  all  discourse  in  his  own  circle  ; — the  uncon 
scious  instructor  of  his  companions ;  one  that  even  age  would  listen  to  with 
reverence.  To  the  young  he  would  have  been  as  a  spirit  of  gladness  lighted 
upon  the  earth,  to  make  everything  more  bright  and  beautiful  amidst  which 
he  walked.  A  sharp  gallop  over  Bardon  Hill  shakes  off  the  cold  of  the  grey 
morning ;  and  as  the  sun  shoots  a  sudden  gleam  over  a  reach  of  the  Avon,  the 
young  poet  warms  up  into  a  burst  of  merriment  which  brings  his  friends  in  a 
moment  to  his  side.  He  is  full  of  animation.  All  the  natural  objects  around 
Burnish  him  with  a  theme.  The  lapwing  screams,  and  he  has  a  story  to  tell 
which  is  not  the  less  enjoyed  by  his  hearers  because  Ovid  had  told  it  before 
him  ;  a  hare  runs  towards  them  on  the  road,  and  he  has  a  laugh  for  the  super 
stition  that  ill-luck  is  boded — mingled  with  a  remark,  which  is  more  for  him 
self  than  his  listeners,  that  "  there  is  more  in  this  world  than  is  known  to  our 
philosophy."  They  hold  their  course  gallantly  on  through  Bidford  and  Sal- 
ford  ;  pausing  a  moment  to  look  upon  that  fine  old  monastic  house,  which  has 
become  deserted  since  the  dissolution  of  the  abbevs.  There  were  once  state  and 


I  Nunnery  at  Salford.l 


wealth  within  its  walls.  Its  tenants  are  scattered  or  perished :  and  if  some 
solitary  nun  shall  still  endure,  she  will  at  last  find  a  resting-place  amongst  the 
poorest — no  requiem  will  be  sung  for  her,  such  as  she  has  heard  sung  for  her 
sisters. 

274 


IPeraiiore.j 

They  rest  for  &n  hour  or  two  at   Evesham.     Well  known  h  that    interesting 
town   to   William    Shakspere ;    and   he   has   many   traditions   connected   with   its 
ruined    abbey,  which    have   a   deep    interest   even  for  those  who  look  not   upon 
such  matters  with  the    spirit   of  poetical    reverence.      Onwards   again   they   ride 
through    the    beautiful    vale,    unequalled   in    its   picturesque    fertility.       As    they 
catch  the  first  glimpse  of  the  bold  Malvern  hills  the  young  poet's  eye  is  lighted 
up  with  many  thoughts  of  the  vast  and  wonderful  of  nature  ;    for,  to  the  inhabit 
ants  of  a  level  and  cultivated  country  even  the  slightest  character  of  mountain 
ous   scenery  brings  a  sense  of  the   sublime.     Nearer  and  nearer   they   approach 
these  hills,  and  still  they  are  indistinct,   though  apparently  lifted   to  the  clouds ; 
and  he  watches  that  blue  haze  which  hangs  around  them,  as  if  in  their  solitudes 
there  was    something   to  be  found    more    satisfying  than    in  the  pent-up  plains. 
Pershore    is    reached;    a    magnificent   work,   like    Evesham,   made    desolate    by 
changes  of  opinion,  urged  on  by  violence  and   rapacity.     The  spires  and  towers 
of  Worcester  are  soon  in  view.-    An  hospitable  inn  there  receives   them.     They 
are  weary ;    and  their  business  is  deferred  to  the  morrow.     The  morning  comes ; 
and  the  young  men  are  "surprised  at  the  readiness  of  the  official  persons  to  pro 
mote    their    object.      The    requisite    formalities    are   soon    accomplished.      The 
morning  is  passed  in  looking  over  the  wonders  of  that  interesting  city — rich  in 
monuments  of  the  past  which  time  and  policy  have  spared.     The  evening  sees 
the    travellers    on    their   way   homeward.       Sunday   comes;    and    the    banns   are 
once  asked.     On  Monday  is  the  wedding. 
2  T2 


275 


WILLIAM  BBAEBPERB  : 

ft  is  scarcely  necessary  to  point  out  to  our  readers  that  the  view  we  have 
taken  presupposes  that  the  licence  for  matrimony,  obtained  from  the  Consis- 
torial  Court  at  Worcester,  was  a  permission  sought  for  under  no  extraordinary 
circumstances ; — still  less  that  the  young  man  who  was  about  to  marry  was 
compelled  to  urge  on  the  marriage  as  a  consequence  of  previous  imprudence. 
We  believe,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  course  pursued  was  strictly  in  accordance 
with  the  customs  of  the  time,  and  of  the  class,  to  which  Shakspere  belonged. 
The  espousals  before  witnesses,  we  have  no  doubt,  were  then  considered  as  con 
stituting  a  valid  marriage,  if  followed  up  within  a  limited  time  by  the  marriage 
of  the  Church.  However  the  Reformed  Church  might  have  endeavoured  to 
abrogate  this  practice,  it  was  unquestionably  the  ancient  habit  of  the  people. 
It  was  derived  from  the  Roman  law,  the  foundation  of  many  of  our  institutions. 
It  prevailed  for  a  long  period  without  offence.  It  still  prevails  in  the  Lutheran 
Church.  We  are  not  to  judge  of  the  customs  of  those  days  by  our  own,  espe 
cially  if  our  inferences  have  the  effect  of  imputing  criminality  where  the  most 
perfect  innocence  existed.* 

*  See  Note  on  tbe  Marriage-Licence. 


[Worcener  Cathedral.) 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 


NOTE  ON  CHRISTENING  CUSTOMS. 


HOWES,  in  his  '  Continuation  of  Stow'a  Chronicle,'  has  this  passage :  <(  At  this  time  (the  first 
year  of  Queen  Elizabeth),  and  for  many  years  before,  it  was  not  the  use  and  custom,  as  now  it  is 
(1631),  for  godfathers  and  godmothers  generally  to  give  plate  at  the  baptism  of  children  (as  spoons, 
cups,  and  such  like),  but  only  to  give  christening  shirts,  with  little  bands  and  cuffs  wrought  either 
with  silk  or  blue  thread ;  the  best  of  them  for  chief  persons  were  edged  with  a  small  lace  of  black 
silk  and  gold,  the  highest  price  of  which  for  great  men's  children  was  seldom  above  a  noble,  and 
the  common  sort  two,  three,  or  four  and  five  shillings  a-piece."  Most  of  our  readers  are  probably 
familiar  with  the  story  of  Shakspere's  own  present  as  a  godfather  to  the  son  of  Ben  Jonson.  It  is 
found  in  a  manuscript  in  the  British  Museum,  bearing  the  title  of  '  Merry  Passages  and  Jests,' 
compiled  by  Sir  Nicholas  Lestrange.  Such  parts  of  this  manuscript  as  are  fit  for  publication,  with 
other  selections,  have  been  published  by  the  Camden  Society  in  a  little  volume  entitled  '  Anecdotes 
and  Traditions.'  We  would  give  this  story  if  it  were  only  to  show  our  respect  to  Mr.  Thorns,  the 
editor  of  the  volume,  who  has  our  sympathy  when  in  his  I' envoy  he  pleasantly  says,  "  Go  forth,  my 
little  book.  Thou  wilt,  I  know,  find  some  friendly  hands  ovitstretched  to  give  thee  welcome.  Yet, 
peradventure  thou  mayest  meet  also  with  unfriendly  frowns — kindly  meant,  but  hard  to  bear  withal 
—signs  of  disapproval  from  good  men  and  true,  amongst  whom  it  is  the  orthodox  opinion  that,  as 
antiquarian  matters  are  as  old  as  the  desert,  they  should  be  made  as  dry."  The  anecdote,  in  the 
orthography  of  the  original,  is  as  follows :  "  Shake-speare  was  god-father  to  one  of  Ben  Jonson's 
children,  and  after  the  christ'ning,  being  in  a  deepe  study,  Jonson  came  to  cheere  him  up,  and  ask't 
him  why  he  was  so  melancholy  ?  '  No,  faith,  Ben '  (says  he),  '  not  I,  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  resolv'd 
at  last.'  '  I  pr'y  the,  what  ? '  sayes  he.  '  I'  faith,  Ben,  I'le  e'en  give  him  a  douzen  good  Lattin 
Spoones,  and  thou  shalt  translate  them.' " 


NOTE  ON  SHAKSPERE'S  MARRIAGE-LICENCE. 


THE  following  is  a  copy  of  the  document  in  the  Consistorial  Court  of  Worcester,  which  was  first 
published  by  Mr.  Wheler  in  1836,  having  been  previously  discovered  by  Sir  R.  Phillips.     : 
sists  of  a  bond  to  the  officers  of  the  Ecclesiastical  Court,  in  which  Fulk  Sandells,  of  the  county  oi 
Warwick,  farmer,  and  John  Rychardson,  of  the  same  place,  farmer,  are  bound  in  the  sum  of  forty 
pounds,  &c.     It  is  dated  the  28th  day  of  November,  in  the  25th  year  of  Elizabeth  (15 

"No^int  univsi  p   psentes  nos  Fulcone    Sandells   de  Stratford  in   Comit  Warwic_agricolam  et 
Johem  Rychardson  Tbm  agricola  teneri  et  firmiter  obligari  Rico  Cosin  gnoso   e^  Rob  to  Warmstry 
notario  p"uo  in  quadraginta  libris  bone  et  legalis  monete  Anglic  solvend  eisdem  Rico^et  Robto  hered 
execut  vel  assignat  suis  ad  quam  quidem  soluconem  bene  et  fidelr  faciend  obligam  nos  < 
nrm  p  se  pro  toto  et  in  solid  hrcred  executor  et  administrator  nros  firmiter  p  pntes_sig- 
sigillat.     Dat  28  die  No~ve  Anno  Regni  Dn^  nre  Eliz  Dei  gratia  Anglirc  Franc  et  Hibni* 

Fidei  Dcfensor  &c.  25". 

"The  condi'on  of  this  obliga^on  ys  suche,  that  if  hereafter  there  shall  not  appere  any  lawfu, 
lett  or  impediment  by  reason  of  any  p"  contract  or  affinitie,  or  by  any  other  lawful  meanes  what- 
BO,;  but  that  Willm  Shagspere  on  tlione  ptie,  and  Anne  Hathwey,  of  Stratford,  in  the  Du 


WILLIAM    SlIAKSI-l 

Worcester,  maiden,  may  lawfully  solemnize  mriony,  and  in  the  sune  afterwards  reiuaine  and 
eontinew  like  man  and  wife,  according  unto  the  laws  in  that  case  provided ;  and  moreov,  if  there  be 
not  at  this  psent  time  any  action,  suit,  quarrel,  or  demand,  moved  or  depending  before  any  iudge 
ecclesiastical  or  temporall  for  and  concerning  any  suche  lawfull  lett  or  impediment.  And  moreov, 
if  the  said  Willm  Shagspere  do  not  pceed  to  solemnizncon  of  marriadg  with  the  said  Ann  Hathwey 
without  the  consent  of  hir  frinds.  And  also  if  the  said  Willm  do  upon  his  own  pper  costs  and  ex- 
pences  defend  and  save  harmles  the  Right  Revend  Father  in  God  Lord  John  Bushop  of  Worcester 
and  his  offycers,  for  licensing  them,  the  said  Willm  and  Anne,  to  be  maried  together  wth  once 
asking  of  the  bannes  of  mriony  betwene  them  and  for  alle  other  causes  wch  may  ensue  by  reason 
or  occasion  thereof,  that  then  the  said  obligacon  to  be  voyd  and  of  none  effect,  or  else  to  stand  and 
abide  in  fulle  force  and  vertue." 


In  the  '  Life  of  Shakspeara '  by  Mr.  de  Quiucey  the  following  observations  are  appended  to  an 
abridgment  of  the  Marriage-Licence.  The  view  thus  taken  is  entirely  opposed  to  our  own,  prin 
cipally  because  it  goes  on  to  assume  that  the  marriage  of  the  young  poet  was  uuhappy — that  his 
wife  had  not  his  respect — and  this  unhappiness  drove  him  from  Stratford.  All  this  appears  to 
us  to  be  gratuitous  assumption,  and  altogether  inconsistent  with  this  undeniable  fact,  that  Shak- 
spere  is  especially  the  poet  who  has  done  justice  to  the  purity  and  innocence  of  the  female  cha 
racter.  It  is  not,  we  think,  to  be  lightly  inferred  that  his  own  peculiar  experience  would  have 
offered  him  an  example  throughout  his  life  of  the  opposite  qualities.  It  would  be  unfair,  however, 
not  to  give  the  opinion  which  is  thus  opposed  to  our  own  : — 

"What  are  we  to  think  of  this  document?  Trepidation  and  anxiety  are  written  upon  its  face. 
The  parties  are  not  to  be  married  by  a  special  licence,  not  even  by  an  ordinary  licence ;  in  that  case 
no  proclamation  of  banns,  no  public  asking  at  all,  would  have  been  requisite.  Economical  scruples 
are  consulted,  and  yet  the  regular  movement  of  the  marriage  'through  the  bell-ropes'  is  disturbed. 
Economy,  which  retards  the  marriage,  is  heie  evidently  in  collision  with  some  opposite  principle 
which  precipitates  it.  How  is  all  this  to  be  explained  ?  Much  light  is  afforded  by  the  date  when 
illustrated  by  another  document.  The  bond  bears  date  on  the  28th  day  of  November,  in  the  25th 
year  of  our  lady  the  queen,  that  is,  in  1582.  Now,  the  baptism  of  Shakspeare's  eldest  child,  Su 
sanna,  is  registered  on  the  26th  of  May  in  the  year  following.  *  *  *  *  Strange  it  is,  that,  whilst 
all  biographers  have  worked  with  so  much  zeal  upon  the  most  barren  dates  or  most  baseless  tra 
ditions  in  the  great  poet's  life,  realising  in  a  manner  the  chimeras  of  Laputa,  and  endeavouring  '  to 
extract  sunbeams  from  cucumbers,"  such  a  story  with  regard  to  such  an  event,  no  fiction  of  Tillage 
scandal,  but  involved  in  legal  documents, — a  story  so  significant  and  so  eloquent  to  the  intelligent, — 
should  formerly  have  been  dismissed  without  notice  of  any  kind ;  and  even  now,  after  the  discovery 
of  1836,  with  nothing  beyond  a  slight  conjectural  insinuation.  For  our  parts,  we  should  have 
been  the  last  among  the  biographers  to  unearth  any  forgotten  scandal.  *  *  *  *  But  in  this  case 
there  seems  to  have  been  something  more  in  motion  than  passion  or  the  ardour  of  youth.  '  I  like 
not,'  says  Parson  Evans  (alluding  to  Falstaff  in  masquerade),  '  I  like  not  when  a  woman  has  a 
great  peard  ;  I  spy  a  great  peard  under  her  muffler.'  Neither  do  we  like  the  spectacle  of  a  mature 
young  woman,  five  years  past  her  majority,  wearing  the  semblance  of  having  been  led  astray  by  a 
boy  who  had  still  two  years  and  a  half  to  run  of  his  minority." 


278 


[Palace  of  Woodstock.] 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE    EIEST    EIDE    TO    LONDON. 


"  THIS  William,  being  inclined  naturally  to  poetry  and  acting,  came  to  London, 
I  guess  about  eighteen,  and  was  an  actor  at  one  of  the  playhouses,  and  did  act 
exceedingly  well.  Now  Ben  Jonson  was  never  a  good  actor,  but  an  excellent 
instructor.  He  began  early  to  make  Essays  at  Dramatic  Poetry,  which  at  that 
time  was  very  low,  and  his  plays  took  well."  So  writes  honest  Aubrey,  in  the 
year  1680,  in  his  'Minutes  of  Lives'  addressed  to  his  "worthy  friend,  Mr. 
Anthony  a  Wood,  Antiquary  of  Oxford."  Of  the  value  of  Aubrey's  evidence 
we  may  form  some  opinion  from  his  own  statement  to  his  friend  : — "  T  is  a 
task  that  I  never  thought  to  have  undertaken  till  you  imposed  it  upon  me, 
saying  that  I  was  fit  for  it  by  reason  of  my  general  acquaintance,  having  now 
not  only  lived  above  half  a  century  of  years  in  the  world,  but  have  also  been 
much  tumbled  up  and  down  in  it ;  which  hath  made  me  so  well  known.  Besides 
the  modern  advantage  of  coffeehouses  in  this  great  city,  before  which  men 
knew  not  how  to  be  acquainted  but  with  their  own  relations  or  societies,  J[ 

279 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

might  add  that  1  come  of  a  longaevous  race,  by  which  means  I  have  wiped  some 
feathers  off  the  wings  of  time  for  several  generations,  which  does  reach  high."* 
It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  Aubrey's  account  of  Shakspere,  brief  and  imperfect 
as  it  is,  is  the  earliest  known  to  -exist.  Rowe's  '  Life '  was  not  published  till 
1707  ;  and  although  he  states  that  he  must  own  a  particular  obligation  to  Better- 
ton,  the  actor,  for  the  most  considerable  part  of  the  passages  relating  to  this  life 
— "his  veneration  for  the  memory  of  Shakspeare  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" — we  have  no  assistance  in 
fixing  the  date  of  Betterton's  inquiries.  Betterton  was  born  in  1635.  From 
the  Restoration,  until  his  retirement  from  the  stage,  about  1700,  he  was  the 
most  deservedly  popular  actor  of  his  time ;  "  such  an  actor,"  says  '  The  Tatler,' 
"  as  ought  to  be  recorded  with  the  same  respect  as  Roscius  among  the 
Romans."  He  died  in  1710;  and,  looking  at  his  busy  life,  it  is  probable  that 
he  did  not  make  this  journey  into  Warwickshire  until  after  his  retirement 
from  the  theatre.  Had  he  set  about  these  inquiries  earlier,  there  can  be 
little  doubt  that  the  '  Life '  by  Rowe  would  have  contained  more  precise  and 
satisfactory  information,  if  not  fewer  idle  tales.  Shakspere's  sister  was  alive  in 
1646  ;  his  eldest  daughter,  Mrs.  Hall,  in  1649  ;  his  second  daughter,  Mrs. 
Quiney,  in  1662  ;  and  his  grand -daughter,  Lady  Barnard,  in  1670.  The 
information  which  might  be  collected  in  Warwickshire,  after  the  death  of 
Shakspere's  lineal  descendants,  would  necessarily  be  mixed  up  with  traditions, 
having  for  the  most  part  some  foundation,  but  coloured  and  distorted  by  that 
general  love  of  the  marvellous  which  too  often  hides  the  fact  itself  in  the  in 
ference  from  it.  Thus,  Shakspere's  father  might  have  sold  his  own  meat,  as  the 
landowners  of  his  time  are  reproached  by  Harrison  for  doing,  and  yet  in  no 
proper  sense  of  the  word  have  been  a  butcher.  Thus,  the  supposition  that  the 
poet  had  intended  to  satirize  the  Lucy  family,  in  an  allusion  to  their  arms, 
might  have  suggested  that  there  was  a  grudge  between  him  and  the  knight ; 
and  what  so  likely  a  subject  of  dispute  as  the  killing  of  venison  ?  the  tradition 
raight  have  been  exact  as  to  the  dispute ;  but  the  laws  of  another  century  could 
alone  have  suggested  that  the  quarrel  would  compel  the  poet  to  fly  the  country. 
Aubrey's  story  of  Shakspere's  coming  to  London  is  a  simple  and  natural  one, 
without  a  single  marvellous  circumstance  about  it  :-—  "This  William,  being 
inclined  naturally  to  poetry  and  acting,  came  to  London."  This,  the  elder 
story,  appears  to  us  to  have  much  greater  verisimilitude  than  the  later : — "  He 
was  obliged  to  leave  his  business  and  family  in  Warwickshire  for  some  time,  and 
shelter  himself  in  London."  Aubrey  who  has  picked  up  all  the  gossip  "  of 
coffeehouses  in  this  great  city,"  hears  no  word  of  Rowe's  story  which  would 
certainly  have  been  handed  down  amongst  the  traditions  of  the  theatre  to 
Davenant  and  Shadwell,  from  whom  he  does  hear  something  : — "  I  have  heard 
Sir  William  Davenant  and  Mr.  Thomas  Shadwell  (who  is  counted  the  best 
comedian  we  have  now)  say,  that  he  had  a  most  prodigious  wit."  Neither  doe? 
l^e  say,  nor  indeed  any  one  else  till  two  centuries  and  a  quarter  after  Shakspere  is 

•  This  letter,  \vhich.  f^cppmpanies  the  'Lives,'  is  dated  London,  June  15,  1680. 
280 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

dead,  that,  "after  four  years'  conjugal  discord,  he 
would  resolve  upon  that  plan  of  solitary  emigration  J:o 
the  metropolis,  which,  at  the  same  time  that  it  released 
him  from  the  humiliation  of  domestic  feuds,  succeeded 
so  splendidly  for  his  worldly  prosperity,  and  with  a 
train  of  circumstances  so  vast  for  all  future  ages."  *  It 
is  certainly  a  singular  vocation  for  a  writer  of  genius  to 
bury  the  legendary  scandals  of  the  days  of  Rowe,  for 
the  sake  of  exhuming  a  new  scandal,  which  cannot  be 
received  at  all  without  the  belief  that  the  circumstance 
must  have  had  a  permanent  and  most  evil  influence 
upon  the  mind  of  the  unhappy  man  who  thus  cowardly 
and  ignominiously  is  held  to  have  severed  himself  from 
his  duty  as  a  husband  and  a  father.  We  cannot  trace  the 
evil  influence,  and  therefore  we  reject  the  scandal.  It 
has  not  even  the  slightest  support  from  the  weakest  tra- 
ditton.  It  is  founded  upon  an  imperfect  comparison 
of  two  documents,- judging  of  the  habits  of  that  period 
by  those  of  our  own  day ;  supported  by  quotations  from 
a  dramatist  of  whom  it  would  be  difficult  to  affirm  that 
he  ever  wrote  a  line  which  had  strict  reference  to  his 
own  feelings  and  circumstances,  and  whose  intellect  in 
his  dramas  went  so  completely  out  of  itself  that  it 
almost  realizes  the  description  of  the  soul  in  its  first 
and  pure  nature — that  it  "hath  no  idiosyncrasies;  that 
is,  hath  no  proper  natural  inclinations  which  are  not 
competent  to  others  of  the  same  kind  and  condition. "f 

VQ  In  the  baptismal  register  of  the  parish  of   Stratford. 

N          for  the  year  1583  is  the  entry  of  the  birth  of  Susanna. 

*^».        This    record    necessarily    implies    the    residence   of    the 

«tJ         wife  of  William    Shakspere  in   the   parish    of   Stratford 

5  Did  he  himself  continue  to  reside  in  this  parish? 
There  is  no  evidence  of  his  residence.  His  name  ap 
pears  in  no  suit  in  the  Bailiff's  Court  at  this  period. 
He  fills  no  municipal  office  such  as  his  father  had  filled  before  him. 
But  his  wife  continues  to  reside  in  the  native  place  of  her  hus 
band,  surrounded  by  his  relations  and  her  own.  His  father  and 
his  mother  no  doubt  watch  with  anxious  solicitude  over  the  fortunes 
of  their  first  son.  He  has  a  brother,  Gilbert,  seventeen  years  of 
age,  and  a  sister  of  fourteen.  His  brother  Richard  is  nine  years  of 
age ;  but  Edmund  is  young  enough  to  be  the  playmate  of  his  little 
Susanna.  In  1585  there  is  another  entry  in  the  parochial  register,  the  birth  .of  a 
son  and  a  daughter  : — 

*  En  cyclopaedia  Britannica. 

t  Enquiry  into  the  Opinion  of  the  Eastern  Sages  concerning  the  Prae-exi 

Rev.  Joseph  Glanvil. 

^  i 


WILLIAM    SHAKSl'KU 

William  Shakspere  has  now  nearly  attained  his  majority.  While  he  is  yet 
a  minor  he  is  the  father  of  three  children.  The  circumstance  of  his  minority 
may  perhaps  account  for  the  absence  of  his  name  from  all  records  of  court-leet, 
or  bailiff's  court,  or  common-hall.  He  was'  neither  a  constable,  nor  an  ale-conner, 
nor  an  overseer,  nor  a  jury-man,  because  he  was  a  minor.  We  cannot  affirm  that 
he  did  not  leave  Stratford  before  his  minority  expired ;  but  it  is  to  be  inferred, 
that,  if  he  had  continued  to  reside  at  Stratford  after  he  was  legally  of  age,  we 
should  have  found  traces  of  his  residence  in  the  records  of  the  town.  If  his 
residence  were  out  of  the  borough,  as  we  have  supposed  his  father's  to  have  been 
at  this  period,  some  trace  would  yet  have  been  found  of  him,  in  all  likelihood, 
within  the  parish.  Just  before  the  termination  of  his  minority  we  have  an  undeniable 
record  that  he  was  a  second  time  a  father  within  the  parish.  It  is  at  this  period, 
then,  that  we  would  place  his  removal  from  Stratford  ;  his  flight,  according  to  the 
old  legend  ;  his  solitary  emigration,  his  unamiable  separation  from  his  family,  accord 
ing  to  the  new  discovery.  That  his  emigration  was  even  solitary  we  have  not  a 
tittle  of  evidence.  The  one  fact  we  know  with  reference  to  Shakspere's  domestic 
arrangements  in  London  is  this:  that  as  early  as  1596  he  was  the  occupier  of  a 
house  in  Southwark.  "  From  a  paper  now  before  nje,  which  formerly  belonged  to 
Edward  Alleyn,  the  player,  our  poet  appears  to  have  lived  in  Southwark  near  the 
Bear-garden,  in  1596."*  Malone  does  not  describe  this  paper;  but  Mr.  Collier 
found  it  at  Dulwich  College,  and  it  thence  appears  that  the  name  of  "Mr.  Shaksper" 
was  in  a  list  of  "  Inhabitants  of  Sowtherk  as  have  complaned,  this  —  of  Jully,  1596." 
It  is  immaterial  to  know  of  what  Shakspere  complained,  in  company  with  "  Wilson 
the  piper,"  and  sundry  others.  The  neighbourhood  does  not  seem  to  have  been  a 
very  select  one,  if  we  may  judge  from  another  name  in  this  list.  We  cannot  affirm 
that  Shakspere  was  the  solitary  occupier  of  this  house  in  Southwark.  Chalmers 
says,  "  it  can  admit  of  neither  controversy  nor  doubt,  that  Shakspere  in  very  early 
life  settled  in  a  family  way  where  he  was  bred.  Where  he  thus  settled,  he  probably 
resolved  that  his  wife  and  family  should  remain  through  life ;  although  he  himself 
made  frequent  excursions  to  London,  the  scene  of  his  profit,  and  the  theatre  of  his 
fame."  Mr.  Hunter  has  discovered  a  document  which  shews  that  "  William 
Shakespeare  was,  in  1598,  assessed  in  a  large  sum  to  a  subsidy  upon  the  parish  of 
St.  Helen's,  Bishopsgate.  He  was  assessed,  also,  in  the  Liberty  of  the  Clink, 
Southwark,  in  1609  ;  but  whether  for  a  dwelling-house,  or  for  his  property  in  the 
Globe,  is  not  evident.  His  occupation  as  an  actor  both  at  the  Blackfriars  and  the 
Globe,  the  one  a  winter,  the  other  a  summer  theatre,  continued  till  1603  or  1604. 
His  interest  as  a  proprietor  of  both  theatres  existed  in  all  probability  till  1612.  In 
1597  Shakspere  became  the  purchaser  of  the  largest  house  in  Stratford,  and  he 
resided  there  with  his  family  till  the  time  of  his  death  in  1616.  Many  circum 
stances  show  that  his  interests  and  affections  were  always  connected  with  the  place 
of  his  birth. 

William  Shakspere,  "  being  inclined  naturally  to  poetry  and  acting,"  natu 
rally  became  a  poet  and  an  actor.  He  would  become  a  poet,  without  any 


*  Maloue,  Inquiry.  &c.,  p.  215. 
282 


A   BIOGRAPIIV. 

impelling  circumstances  not  necessarily  arising  out  of  his  own  condition.  "  He 
began  early  to  make  essays  at  dramatic  poetry,  which  at  that  time  was  very 
low."  Aubrey's  account  of  his  early  poetical  efforts  is  an  intelligible  and  con 
sistent  account.  Shakspere  was  familiar  with  the  existing  state  of  dramatic 
poetry,  through  his  acquaintance  with  the  stage  in  the  visits  or  various  com 
panies  of  actors  to  Stratford.  We  have  shown  what  that  condition  was  in 
1580.  It  was  not  much  improved  in  1585.  In  the  previous  year  there  had 
been  three  sets  of  players  at  Stratford,  remunerated  for  their  performances  out 
of  the  public  purse  of  the  borough.  These  were  the  players  of  "my  Lord  of 
Oxford,"  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  and  the  Earl  of  Essex.  In  1585  we  have  no 
record  of  players  in  the  borough.  In  1586  there  is  only  one  performance  paid 
for  by  the  Corporation.  But  in  1587  the  Queen's  players,  for  the  first  time, 
make  their  appearance  in  that  town  ;  and  their  performances  are  rewarded  at 
a  much  higher  rate  than  those  of  any  previous  company.  Two  years  after 
this,  that  is  in  1589,  we  have  undeniable  evidence  that  Shakspere  had  not  only 
a  casual  engagement,  was  not  only  a  salaried  servant,  as  many  players  were, 
but  was  a  shareholder  in  this  very  Queen's  company,  with  other  shareholders 
below  him  in  the  list.  The  fair  inference  is,  that  he  did  not  at  once  jump 
into  his  position  ;  and  even  that  two  years  before,  when  the  Queen's  players 
visited  Stratford  for  the  first  time,  there  was  some  especial  cause  for  their 
visit ;  and  that  the  cause  is  easily  found  in  the  circumstance  that  one  of  their 
company  was  a  native  of  Stratford,  with  influential  friends  and  connexions 
there,  and  that  he  was  not  ashamed  to  exhibit  his  vocation  amongst  the  com 
panions  of  his  youth.  Rowe  says  that,  after  having  settled  in  the  world  in  a 
family  manner,  and  continued  in  this  kind  of  settlement  for  some  time,  the 
extravagance  of  which  he  was  guilty  in  robbing  Sir  Thomas  Lucy's  park 
obliged  him  to  leave  his  business  and  family.  He  could  not  have  so  left,  even 
according  to  the  circumstances  which  were  known  to  Rowe,  till  after  the  birth 
of  his  son  and  daughter  in  1585.  But  the  story  goes  on  :— "  It  is  at  this  time, 
and  upon  this  accident,  that  he  is  said  to  have  made  his  first  acquaintance  in 
the  playhouse.  He  was  received  into  the  company  then  in  being,  at  first  in  a 
very  mean  rank ;  but  his  admirable  wit,  and  the  natural  turn  of  it  to  the  stage, 
soon  distinguished  him,  if  not  as  an  extraordinary  actor,  yet  as  an  excellent 
writer."  Six  years  after  the  time  of  Rowe  the  story  assumed  a  more  cir 
cumstantial  shape,  as  far  as  regards  the  mean  rank  which  Shakspere  filled  in 
his  early  connexion  with  the  theatre.  Dr.  Johnson  adds  one  passage  to  the 
'Life,'  which  he  says  "Mr.  Pope  related,  as  communicated  to  him  by  Mr. 
Rowe."  It  is  so  remarkable  an  anecdote  that  it  is  somewhat  surprising  that 
Rowe  did  not  himself  add  it  to  his  own  meagre  account : — 

"In  the  time  of  Elizabeth,  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.  Many  came  on  horse 
back  to  the  play ;  and  when  Shakspere  fled  to  London  from  the  terror  of  a 
criminal  prosecution,  his  first  expedient  was  to  wait  at  the  door  of  the  play 
house,  and  hold  the  horses  of  those  that  had  no  servants,  that  they  might  be 

283 


ready  again  after  the  performance.  In  this  office  he  became  so  conspicuous  for 
his  care  and  readiness,  that  in  a  short  time  every  man  as  he  alighted  called  for 
Will  Shakspeare,  and  scarcely  any  other  waiter  was  trusted  with  a  horse  while 
Will  Shakspeare  could  be  had.  This  was  the  first  dawn  of  better  fortune. 
Shakspeare,  finding  more  horses  put  into  his  hand  than  he  could  hold,  hired 
boys  to  wait  under  his  inspection,  who,  when  Will  Shakspeare  was  summoned, 
were  immediately  to  present  themselves, — '  I  am  Shakspeare's  boy,  Sir.'  In 
time,  Shakspeare  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  Shakspeare's  boys." 

Steevens  has  attempted  to  impugn  the  credibility  of  this  anecdote  by  saying, 
— "  That  it  was  once  the  general  custom  to  ride  on  horseback  to  the  play  I  am 
yet  to  learn.  The  most  popular  of  the  theatres  were  on  the  Bankside  ;  and  we 
are  told  by  the  satirical  pamphleteers  of  that  time  that  the  usual  mode  of 
conveyance  to  these  places  of  amusement  was  by  water,  but  not  a  single  writer 
so  much  as  hints  at  the  custom  of  riding  to  them,  or  at  the  practice  of  having 
horses  held  during  the  hours  of  exhibition."  Steevens  is  here  in  error;  he 
has  a  vague  notion — which  is  still  persevered  in  with  singular  obstinacy,  even 
by  those  who  have  now  the  means  of  knowing  that  Shakspere  had  acquired 
property  in  the  chief  theatre  in  1589 — that  the  great  dramatic  poet  had  felt 
no  inspiration  till  he  was  about  eight-and-twenty,  and  that,  therefore,  his  con 
nexion  with  the  theatre  began  in  the  palmy  days  of  the  Globe  on  the  Bankside 
— a  theatre  not  built  till  1593.  To  the  earlier  theatres,  if  they  were  frequented 
by  the  gallants  of  the  Court,  they  would  have  gone  on  horses.  They  did  so 
go,  as  we  learn  from  Dekker,  long  after  the  Bankside  theatres  were  established. 
The  story  first  appeared  in  a  book  entitled  '  The  Lives  of  the  Poets,'  considered 
to  be  the  work  of  Theophilus  Gibber,  but  said  to  be  written  by  a  Scotchman 
of  the  name  of  Shiels,  who  was  an  amanuensis  of  Dr.  Johnson.  Shiels  had 
certainly  some  hand  in  the  book ;  and  there  we  find  that  Davenant  told  the 
anecdote  to  Betterton,  who  communicated  it  to  Rowe,  who  told  it  to  Pope,  who 
told  it  to  Dr.  Newton.  Improbable  as  the  story  is  as  it  now  stands,  there 
may  be  a  scintillation  of  truth  in  it,  as  in  most  traditions.  It  is  by  no  means 
impossible  that  the  Blackfriars  Theatre  might  have  had  Shakspere's  boys  to 
hold  horses,  but  not  Shakspere  himself.  As  a  proprietor  of  the  theatre,  Shakspere 
might  sagaciously  perceive  that  its  interest  would  be  promoted  by  the  readiest 
accommodation  being  offered  to  its  visitors ;  and  further,  with  that  worldly 
adroitness  which,  in  him,  was  not  incompatible  with  the  exercise  of  the  highest 
genius,  he  might  have  derived  an  individual  profit  by  employing  servants  to 
perform  this  office.  In  an  age  when  horse-stealing  wa?  one  of  the  commonest 
occurrences,  it  would  be  a  guarantee  for  the  safe  charge  of  the  horses  that  they 
were  committed  to  the  care  of  the  agents  of  one  then  well  known  in  the  world, 
— an  actor,  a  writer,  a  proprietor  of  the  theatre.  Such  an  association  with  the 
author  of  Hamlet  must  sound  most  anti-poetical ;  but  the  fact  is  scarcely 
less  prosaic  that  the  same  wondrous  man,  about  the  period  when  he  wrote 
184 


WILLIAM   SITAKSPERE  : 

Macbeth,  had    an   action  for  debt   in  the  Bailiffs  Court  at  Stratford,  to  recover 
thirty-five  shillings  and  tenpence  for  corn  by  him  sold  and  delivered. 

Familiar,  then,  with  theatrical  exhibitions,  such  as  they,  were,  from  his  ear- 
liest  youth,  and  with  a  genius  so  essentially  dramatic  that  all  other  writers  that 
the  world  has  seen  have  never  approached  him  in  his  power  of  going  out  of 
himself,  it  is  inconsistent  with  probability  that  he  should  not  have  attempted 
some  dramatic  composition  at  an  early  age.  The  theory  that  he  was  first  em 
ployed  in  repairing  the  plays  of  others  we  hold  to  be  altogether  untenable ; 
supported  only  by  a  very  narrow  view  of  the  great  essentials  to  a  dramatic 
work,  and  by  verbal  criticism,  which,  when  carefully  examined,  utterly  fails 
even  in  its  own  petty  assumptions.*  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  three 
Parts  of  Henry  VI.  belong  to  the  early  stage.  We  believe  them  to  be  wholly 
and  absolutely  the  early  work  of  Shakspere.  But  we  do  not  necessarily  hold  that 
they  were  his  earliest  work ;  for  the  proof  is  so  absolute  of  the  continual  im 
provements  and  elaborations  which  he  made  in  his  best  productions,  that  it 
would  be  difficult  to  say  that  some  of  the  plays  which  have  the  most  finished 
air,  but  of  which  there  were  no  early  editions,  may  not  be  founded  upon  very 
youthful  compositions.  Others  may  have  wholly  perished ;  thrown  aside  after 
a  season ;  never  printed  ;  and  neglected  by  their  author,  to  whom  new  inven 
tions  would  be  easier  than  remodellings  of  pieces  probably  composed  upon  a 
false  theory  of  art.  For  it  is  too  much  to  imagine  that  his  first  productions 
would  be  wholly  untainted  by  the  taste  of  the  period.  Some  might  have  been 
weak  delineations  of  life  and  character,  overloaded  with  mythological  conceits 
and  pastoral  affectations,  like  the  plays  of  Lyly,  which  were  the  Court  fashion 
before  1590.  Others  might  have  been  prompted  by  the  false  ambition  to  pro 
duce  effect,  which  is  the  characteristic  of  Locrine,  and  partially  so  of  Titus 
Andronicus.  But  of  one  thing  we  may  be  sure — that  there  would  be  no  want 
of  power  even  in  his  first  productions ;  that  real  poetry  would  have  gushed  out 
of  the  bombast,  and  true  wit  sparkled  amidst  the  conceits.  His  first  plays 
would,  we  think,  fall  in  with  the  prevailing  desire  of  the  people  to  learn  the 
history  of  their  country  through  the  stage.  If  so,  they  would  certainly  not 
exhibit  the  feebleness  of  some  of  these  performances  which  were  popular  about 
the  period  of  which  we  are  now  speaking,  and  which  continued  to  be  popular 
even  after  he  had  most  successfully  undertaken 

To  raise  our  ancient  sovereigns  from  their  hearse." 

The  door  of  the  theatre  was  not  a  difficult  one  for  him  to  enter.  It  is  a  sin 
gular  fact,  that  several  of  the  most  eminent  actors  of  this  very  period  are  held 
to  have  been  his  immediate  neighbours.  The  petition  to  the  Privy  Council, 
which  has  proved  that  Shakspere  was  a  sharer  in  the  Blackfriars  playhouse  in 
1 589,  contains  the  names  of  sixteen  shareholders,  he  being  the  twelfth  on  the 
list.  The  head  of  the  Company  was  James  Burbage ;  the  second,  Richard 
Barbage  his  son.  Malone  suspected  that  both  John  Heminge,  one  of  the 


•  See  our  Easay  on  the  Three  Parts  of  Itenry  VI.  and  Richnrd  III. 

285 


WII.UAM    SIIAKSI'KRK: 

editors  of  Shakspere's  Collected  Works,  and  Richard  Burbage,  "  were  Shak- 
spere's  countrymen,  and  that  Heminge  was  born  at  Shottery."  His  conjecture 
with  regard  to  Heminge  was  founded  upon  entries  in  the  baptismal  register  of 
Stratford,  which  show  that  there  was  a  John  Heminge  at  Shottery  in  15G7, 
and  a  Richard  Heminge  in  1570.  Mr.  Collier  has  shewn  that  a  John  Burbadge 
was  bailiff  of  Stratford  in  1555  ;  and  that  many  of  the  same  name  were  residents 
in  Warwickshire.  But  Mr.  Hunter  believes  that  Richard  Burbage  was  a  native  of 
London.  A  letter  addressed  by  Lord  Southampton  to  Lord  Ellesmere  in  1608, 
introducing  Burbage  and  Shakspere  to  ask  protection  of  that  nobleman,  then  Lord 
Chancellor,  against  some  threatened  molestation  from  the  Lord  Mayor  and  alder 
men  of  London,  says,  "  they  are  both  of  one  county,  and  indeed  almost  of  one 
town."  This  would  be  decisive,  had  some  doubts  not  been  thrown  upon  the  au 
thenticity  of  this  document.  We  do  not  therefore  rely  upon  the  assumption  that 
William  Shakspere  and  Richard  Burbage  were  originally  neighbours.  But  from  the 
visits  of  the  Queen's  players  to  Stratford,  Shakspere  might  have  made  friends  with 
Burbage  and  Heminge,  and  have  seen  that  the  profession  of  an  actor,  however  dis 
graced  by  some  men  of  vicious  manners,  performing  in  the  inn-yards  and  smaller 
theatres  of  London,  numbered  amongst  its  members  men  of  correct  lives  and 
honourable  character,  Even  the  enemy  of  plays  and  players,  Stephen  Gosson,  had 
been  compelled  to  acknowledge  this :  "  It  is  well  known  that  some  of  them  are 
sober,  discreet,  properly  learned,  honest  householders,  and  citizens  well  thought  on 
among  their  neighbours  at  home."  *  It  was  a  lucrative  profession,  too  ;  especially 
to  those  who  had  the  honour  of  being  the  Queen's  Servants.  Their  theatre  was 
frequented  by  persons  of  rank  and  fortune ;  the  prices  of  admission  were  high  ; 
they  were  called  upon  not  unfrequently  to  present  their  performances  before  the 
Queen  herself,  and  their  reward  was  a  royal  one.  The  object  thus  offered  to  the 
ambition  of  a  young  man,  conscious  of  his  own  powers,  would  be  glittering  enough 
to  induce  him,  not  very  unwillingly,  to  quit  the  tranquil  security  of  his  native  home. 
But  we  inverse  the  usual  belief  in  this  matter.  We  think  that  Shakspere  became 
an  actor  because  he  was  a  dramatic  writer,  and  not  a  dramatic  writer  because  he  was 
an  actor.  He  very  quickly  made  his  way  to  wealth  and  reputation,  not  so  much  by 
a  handsome  person  and  pleasing  manners,  as  by  that  genius  which  left  all  other 
competitors  far  behind  him  in  the  race  of  dramatic  composition  ;  and  by  that  pru 
dence  which  taught  him  to  combine  the  exercise  of  his  extraordinary  powers  with 
a  constant  reference  to  the  course  of  life  he  had  chosen,  not  lowering  his  srt  for 
the  advancement  of  his  fortune,  but  achieving  his  fortune  in  showing  what  mighty 
things  might  be  accomplished  by  his  art. 

There  is  a  subject,  however,  which  we  are  now  called  upon  to  examine,  which 
may  have  had  a  material  influence  upon  the  determination  of  Shakspere  to  throw 
himself  upon  the  wide  and  perilous  sea  of  London  dramatic  society.  We  have 
uniformly  contended  against  the  assertion  that  the  poverty  of  John  Shakspere  pre 
vented  him  giving  his  son  a  grammar-school  education.  We  believe  that  all  the 
supposed  evidences  of  that  poverty,  at  the  period  of  Shakspere's  boyhood,  are 

*  '  School  of  Abuse,'  1673. 


•A   BIOGRAPHY. 

extremely  vague  and  contradictory.*  But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  appears  to  us  more 
than  probable  that  after  William  Shakspere  had  the  expenses  of  a  family  to  meet, 
there  were  changes,  and  very  natural  ones,  in  the  worldly  position  of  his  father,  and 
consequently  of  his  own,  which  might  have  rendered  it  necessary  that  the  son 
should  abandon  the  tranquil  course  of  a  rural  life  which  he  probably  contemplated 
when  he  married,  and  make  a  strenuous  and  a  noble  exertion  for  independence,  in 
a  career  which  his  peculiar  genius  opened  to  him.  We  will  first  state  the  facts 
which  appear  to  bear  upon  the  supposed  difficulties  of  John  Shakspere,  about  the 
period  when  William  may  be  held  to  have  joined  Burbage's  company  in  London — 
facts  which  are  far  from  indicating  any  thing  like  ruin,  but  which  exhibit  some 
involvements  and  uneasiness. 

In  1578  John  Shakspere  mortgaged  his  property  of  Asbies,  acquired  by  marriage. 
Four  years  before  this  he  purchased  two  freehold  houses  in  Stratford,  which  he 
always  retained.  In  1578,  therefore,  he  wanted  capital.  In  1579  he  sold  an  in 
terest  in  some  property  at  Snitterfield.  But  then,  in  1580,  he  tendered  the  mort 
gage  money  to  the  mortgagee  of  the  Asbies'  estate,  which  was  illegally  refused,  on 
the  pretence  that  other  money  was  owing.  A  Chancery  suit  was  the  consequence, 
which  was  undetermined  in  1597.  In  an  action  for  debt  in  the  bailiff's  court  in 
1586,  the  return  of  the  serjeants-at-mace  upon  a  warrant  of  distress  against  John 
Shakspere  is,  that  he  had  nothing  to  distrain  upon.  It  is  held,  therefore,  that  all 
the  household  gear  was  then  gone.  Is  it  not  more  credible  that  the  family  lived  else 
where  ?  Mr.  Hunter  has  discovered  that  a  John  Shakspere  lived  at  Clifford,  a  pretty 
village  near  Stratford,  in  1579,  he  being  described  in  a  will  of  1583  as  indebted  to 
the  estate  of  John  Ashwell,  of  Stratford.  His  removal  from  Stratford  borough  as  a 
resident,  is  corroborated  by  the  fact  that  he  was  irregular  in  his  attendance  at  the 
halls  of  the  corporation,  after  1578;  and  was  finally,  in  1586,  removed  from  the 
body,  for  that  he  "  doth  not  come  to  the  halls  when  they  be  warned."  And  yet,  as 
there  were  fines  for  non-attendance,  as  pointed  out  by  Mr.  Halliwell,  there  is  some 
proof  that  he  clung  to  the  civic  honours,  even  at  a  personal  cost ;  though,  from 
some  cause,  and  that  probably  non-residence,  he  did  not  perform  the  civic  duties. 
Lastly,  he  is  returned  in  1592,  with  other  persons,  as  not  attending  church,  and 
this  remark  is  appended  to  a  list  of  nine  persons,  in  which  is  the  name  of  "  Mr. 
John  Shackespere," — "  It  is  said  that  these  last  nine  come  not  to  church  for  fear  of 
process  for  debt."  If  he  had  been  residing  in  the  borough  it  would  have  been  quite 
unnecessary  to  execute  the  process  in  the  sacred  precincts ;— he  evidently  lived  and 
was  occupied  out  of  the  borough.  It  is  tolerably  clear  that  the  traffic  of  Henley 
Street,  whether  of  wool,  or  skins,  or  carcases,  was  at  an  end.  John  Shakspere,  the 
yeoman,  was  farming;  and,  like  many  other  agriculturists,  in  all  districts,  and  all 
times,  was  a  sufferer  from  causes  over  which  he  had  no  control.  There  were  pecu 
liar  circumstances  at  that  period  which,  temporarily,  would  have  materially  affected 

his  property. 

In  1580  John  Shakspere  tendered  the  mortgage  money  for  his  wife  s  mhentanc 
at  Asbies.     The  property  was  rising  in  value ;— the  mortgagee  would  not  give  it  up. 

«  See  Book  II.  Chap.  I. 

887 


WILLIAM  SIIAKSH:I:I:  : 

He  had  taken  possession,  and  had  leased  it,  as  we  learn  from  the  Chancery  proceed 
ings.  He  alleges,  in  1597,  that  John  Shakspere  wanted  to  obtain  possession,  because 
the  lease  was  expiring,  "  whereby  a  greater  value  is  to  be  yearly  raised."  Other 
property  was  sold  to  obtain  the  means  of  making  this  tender.  John  Shaken  n- 
would  probably  have  occupied  his  estate  of  Asbies,  could  he  have  obtained  posses 
sion.  But  he  was  unlawfully  kept  out  :  and  he  became  a  tenant  of  some  other  land, 
in  addition  to  what  he  held  of  his  own.  There  was,  at  this  particular  period,  a 
remarkable  pressure  upon  proprietors  and  tenants  who  did  not  watchfully  mark  the 
effects  of  an  increased  abundance  of  money  —  a  prodigious  rise  in  the  value  of  'all 
commodities,  through  the  greater  supply  of  the  precious  metals.  In  "  A  Briefe 
Conceipte  touching  the  Commonweale,"  already  quoted,*  there  is,  in  the  dialogue 
between  the  landowner,  the  husbandman,  the  merchant,  the  manufacturer,  and  the 
doctor  of  divinity,  a  complaint  on  the  part  of  the  landowner,  which  appears  to  offer 
a  parallel  case  to  that  of  John  Shakspere  ;  —  "  All  of  my  sort  —  I  mean  all  gentlemen 
—  have  great  cause  to  complain,  now  that  the  prices  of  things  are  so  risen  of  all 
hands,  that  you  may  better  live  after  your  degree  than  we  ;  for  you  may  and  do 
raise  the  price  of  your  wares  as  the  prices  of  victuals  and  other  necessaries  do  rise, 
and  so  cannot  we  so  much  ;  for  though  it  be  true,  that  of  such  lands  as  come  to 
hands  either  by  purchase  or  by  determination  and  ending  of  such  terms  of  years 
that  I  or  my  ancestors  had  granted  them  in  time  past,  I  do  receive  a  better  fine 
than  of  old  was  used,  or  enhance  the  rent  thereof,  being  forced  thereto  for  the  charge 
of  my  household,  that  is  so  encreased  over  that  it  was  ;  yet  in  all  my  lifetime  I  look 
not  that  the  third  part  of  my  land  shall  come  to  my  disposition,  that  I  may  enhance 
the  rent  of  the  same,  but  it  shall  be  in  men's  holding  either  by  leases  or  by  copy 
granted  before  my  time,  and  still  continuing,  and  yet  like  to  continue  in  the  same 
state  for  the  most  part  during  my  life,  and  percase  my  sons.  ****** 
We  are  forced  therefore  to  ininish  the  third  part  of  our  household,  or  to  raise  the 
third  part  of  our  revenues,  and  for  that  we  cannot  so  do  of  our  own  lands  that 
is  already  in  the  hands  of  other  men,  many  of  us  are  enforced  to  keep  pieces  of 
our  own  lands  when  they  fall  in  our  own  possession,  or  to  purchase  some  farm  of 
other  men's  lands,  and  to  store  them  with  sheep  or  some  other  cattle,  to  help  make 
up  the  decay  of  our  revenues,  and  to  maintain  our  old  estate  withal,  and  yet  all  is 
little  enough." 

In  such  a  transition  state,  we  may  readily  imagine  John  Shakspere  to  have  been 
a  sufferer.  But  his  struggle  was  a  short  one.  He  may  have  owed  debts  he  was 
unable  to  pay»  and  have  gone  through  some  seasons  of  difficulty,  deriving  small  rents 
from  his  own  lands,  "in  the  hands  of  other  men,"  and  enforced  to  hold  "  some  farm 
of  other  men's  lands  "  at  an  advanced  rent.  Yet  this  is  not  ruin  and  degradation. 
He  maintained  his  social  position  ;  and  it  is  pleasant  to  imagine  that  his  illustrious 
son  devoted  some  portion  of  the  first  rewards  of  his  labour  to  make  the  condition 
of  his  father  easier  in  that  time  of  general  uneasiness  and  difficulty.  In  ten  years 
prosperity  brightened  the  homes  of  that  family.  The  poet  bought  the  best  house 
in  Stratford  ;  the  yeoman  applied  to  the  College  of  Arms  for  bearings  that  would 


283 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

exhibit  his  gentle  lineage,  and  asserted  that  he  was  a  man  of  landed  substance, 
sufficient  to  uphold  the  pretension.  But  in  the  period  of  rapid  changes  in  the  value 
of  property, — a  transition  which,  from  the  time  of  Latimer,  was  producing  the  most 
remarkable  effects  on  the  social  condition  of  all  the  people  of  England,  pressing 
severely  upon  many,  although  it  was  affording  the  sure  means  of  national  progress, 
--it  is  more  than  probable  that  Shakspere's  father  gradually  found  himself' in 
straitened  circumstances.  This  change  in  his  condition  might  have  directed  his  son 
to  a  new  course  of  life  which  might  be  entered  upon  without  any  large  pecuniary 
means,  and  which  offered  to  his  ambition  a  fair  field  for  the  exercise  of  his  peculiar 
genius.  There  was  probably  a  combination  of  necessity  and  of  choice  which  gave 
us  "  Hamlet "  and  "  Lear."  If  William  Shakspere  had  remained  at  Stratford  he 
would  have  been  a  poet — a  greater,  perhaps,  than  the  author  of  "  The  Faery  Queen  ;  " 
but  that  species  of  literature  which  it  was  for  him  to  build  up,  almost  out  of  chaos, 
and  to  carry  onward  to  a  perfection  beyond  the  excellence  of  any  other  age,  might 
have  been  for  him  an  "  unweeded  garden." 

The  two  young  men,  Richard  Burbage  and  William  Shakspere,  "  both  of  one 
county,  and  indeed  almost  of  one  town,"  may  be  assumed,  without  any  improba 
bility,  to  have  taken  their  way  together  towards  London,  on  the  occasion  when 
one  of  them  went  forth  for  the  first  time  from  his  native  home,  depressed  at 
parting,  but  looking  hopefully  towards  the  issue  of  his  adventure.  There  would 
be  little  said  till  long  after  the  friends  had  crossed  the  great  bridge  at  Stratford. 
The  eyes  of  one  would  be  frequently  turned  back  to  look  upon  the  old  spire. 
Thoughts  which  unquestionably  have  grown  out  of  some  such  separation  as  this 
would  involuntarily  possess  his  soul  :  — 

"  How  heavy  do  I  journey  on  the  way, 
When  what  I  seek, — my  weary  travel's  end, — 
Doth  teach  that  ease  and  that  repose  to  say, 
'  Thus  far  the  miles  are  nieasur'd  from  thy  friend  ! ' 
The  beast  that  bears  me,  tired  with  my  woe, 
Plods  dully  on  to  bear  that  weight  in  me, 
As  if  by  some  instinct  the  wretch  did  know 
His  rider  lov'd  not  speed,  being  made  from  thee."  * 

The  first  stages  of  this  journey  would  offer  little  interest  to  the  travellers. 
Having  passed  Long  Compton,  and  climbed  the  steep  range  of  hills  that  divide 
Warwickshire  from  Oxfordshire,  weary  stretches  of  barren  downs  would  pre 
sent  a  novel  contrast  to  the  fertility  of  Shakspere's  own  county.  But  after  a 
few  miles  the  scene  would  change.  A  noble  park  would  stretch  out  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach— rich  with  venerable  oaks  and  beeches,  planted  in  the  reign 
of  Henry  I  -the  famous  park  of  Woodstock.  The  poet  would  be  familiar  with 
all  the  interesting  associations  of  this  place.  Here  was  Rosamond  Clifford  secluded 
from  the  eyes  of  the  world  by  her  bold  and  accomplished  royal  lover, 
dwelt  Edward  III.  Here,  more  interesting  than  either  fact,  Chaucer  wro 
some  of  his  early  poems — 

*  Sonnet  50. 

289 
LIFE.  U 


WILLIAM    sil  LK8PEB1  : 

"  Within  a  lodge  out  of  the  way, 
Beside  a  well  in  a  forest."  * 

\nd  here,  when  he  retired  from  active  life,  he  composed  his  immortal  '  Canter 
bury  Tales.'  Here  was  the  Lady  Elizabeth  a  prisoner,  almost  dreading  death, 
only  a  year  or  two  before  she  ascended  the  throne.  Here,  "  hearing  upon  a  time 
out  of  her  garden  a  certain  milkmaid  singing  pleasantly,  she  wished  herself 
to  be  a  milkmaid,  as  she  was  ;  saying  that  her  case  was  better,  and  life  more 
merrier,  than  was  hers  in  that  state  as  she  was."f  The  travellers  assuredly 
visited  the  palace  which  a  few  years  after  Hentzner  described  as  abounding  in 
magnificence  ;  and  near  a  spring  of  the  brightest  water  they  would  have  viewed 
all  that  was  left  of  the  tomb  of  Rosamond,  with  her  rhyming  epitaph,  the  pro 
duction,  probably,  of  a  later  age  : — 

"  Hio  jacet  in  tumb.1  Rosamundi  non  Rosamunda, 
Non  redolet  sed  olet,  quae  redolere  solet." 

The  earliest  light  of  the  next  morning  would  see  the  companions  on  their 
way  to  Oxford ;  and  an  hour's  riding  would  lodge  them  in  the  famous  hostelry 
of  the  Corn  Market,  the  Crown.  Aubrey  tells  us  that  "  Mr.  William  Shake 
speare  was  wont  to  go  into  Warwickshire  once  a-year,  and  did  commonly  in 
his  journey  lie  at  this  house  in  Oxon,  where  he  was  exceedingly  respected. "J 
The  poet's  first  journey  may  have  determined  his  subsequent  habit  of  resting 
at  this  house.  It  is  no  longer  an  inn.  But  one  who  possessed  a  true  enthu 
siasm,  Thomas  Warton,  described  it  in  the  last  century  in  the  belief  "  that 
Shakspeare's  old  hostelry  at  Oxford  deserves  no  less  respect  than  Chaucer's 
Tabard  in  Southwark."  He  says,  "  As  to  the  Crown  Inn,  it  still  remains  an 
inn,  and  is  an  old  decayed  house,  but  probably  was  once  a  principal  inn  in  Ox 
ford.  It  is  directly  in  the  road  from  Stratford  to  London.  In  a  large  upper 
room,  which  seems  to  have  been  a  sort  of  hall  for  entertaining  a  large  company, 
or  for  accommodating  (as  was  the  custom)  different  parties  at  once,  there  was 
a  bow-window,  with  three  pieces  of  excellent  painted  glass."  We  have  ample 
materials  for  ascertaining  what  aspect  Oxford  presented  for  the  first  time  to 
the  eye  of  Shakspere.  The  ancient  castle,  according  to  Hentzner,  was  in  ruins ; 
but  the  elegance  of  its  private  buildings,  and  the  magnificence  of  its  public 
ones,  filled  this  traveller  with  admiration.  So  noble  a  place,  raised  up  entirely 
for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  would  excite  in  the  young  poet  feelings  that 
were  strange  and  new.  He  had  wept  over  the  ruins  of  religious  houses  ;  but 
here  was  something  left  to  give  the  assurance  that  there  was  a  real  barrier 
against  the  desolations  of  force  and  ignorance.  A  deep  regret  might  pass 
through  his  mind  that  he  had  not  availed  himself  of  the  opening  which  was 
presented  to  the  humblest  in  the  land,  here  to  make  himself  a  ripe  and  good 
scholar.  Oxford  was  the  patrimony  of  the  people ;  and  he,  one  of  the  people, 
had  not  claimed  his  birthright.  He  was  set  out  upon  a  doubtful  adventure ; 
the  persons  with  whom  he  was  to  be  associated  had  no  rank  in  society;  they 

*  Chaucer's  '  Dream.  f  Holiushed.  J  Life  of  Davenant 

290 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 

were  to  a  certain  extent  despised  ;  they  were  the  servants  of  a  luxurious  court, 
and,  what  was  sometimes  worse,  of  a  tasteless  public.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
as  he  paused  before  Balliol  College,  he  must  have  recollected  what  a  fearful 
tragedy  was  there  acted  some  thirty  years  before.  Was  he  sure  that  the 
day  of  persecution  for  opinions  was  altogether  past?  Men  were  still  disputing 
everywhere  around  him ;  and  the  slighter  the  differences  between  them  the 
more  violent  their  zeal.  They  were  furious  for  or  against  certain  ceremonial 
observances ;  so  that  they  appeared  to  forget  that  the  object  of  all  devotional 
forms  was  to  make  the  soul  approach  nearer  to  the  Fountain  of  wisdom  and 


[Balliol  College,  in  the  sixteenth  century-] 

goodness,    and   that    He    could    not    be    approached    without    love   and    charity. 
The    spirit   of    love   dwelt    in   the    inmost    heart   of    this   young   man. 
in   after-time   to    diffuse   itself    over   writings   which   entered   the   minds   of 
loftiest    and    the    humblest,    as    an    auxiliary    to    that    higher    teaching    whicl 
is    too    often   forgotten    in   the   turmoil   of    the   world.     His    intellect   would 
any   rate    be   free   in  the  course  which  was   before   him.     Much   of  the   know 
ledge  that  he  had  acquired  up  to  this  period  was  self-taught;    but    it   was    not 
the   less   full   and   accurate.     He  had   ranged   at   his  will  over  a  multitude   of 
books-idle -reading,  no  doubt,  to  the  systematic  and  professional  student ;  I 
if  weeds,  weeds  out  of  which  he  could  extract  honey.     The  subtile  disputations 
U2  291 


I  Divinity  Schools,  in  the  sixteenth  century.  J 


of  the  schools,  as  they  were  then  conducted,  were  more  calculated,  as  he  haa 
heard,  to  call  forth  a  talent  for  sophistry  than  a  love  of  truth.  Falsehood 
might  rest  upon  logic,  for  the  perfect  soundness  of  the  conclusion  might  hide 
the  rottenness  of  the  premises.  He  entered  the  beautiful  Divinity  Schools ; 
and  there,  too,  he  found  that  the  understanding  was  more  trained  to  dispute, 
than  the  whole  intellectual  being  of  man  to  reverence.  He  would  pursue  his 
own  course  with  a  cheerful  spirit ;  nothing  doubting  that,  whilst  he  worked  out 
his  individual  happiness,  he  might  still  become  an  instrument  of  good  to  his 
fellow-men.  And  yet  did  the  young  man  reverence  Oxford ;  because  he  re 
verenced  letters  as  opposed  to  illiteracy.  He  gave  his  testimony  to  the  worth 
of  Oxford  at  a  distant  day,  when  he  held  that  the  great  glory  of  Wolsey  was  to 
have  founded  Christchurch  : — 

"  He  was  a  scholar,  and  a  ripe  and  good  one : 
Exceeding  wise,  fair  spoken,  and  persuading : 
Lofty  and  sour  to  them  that  lov'd  him  not ; 
But  to  those  men  that  sought  him,  sweet  HB  summer. 
And  though  he  were  unsatisfied  in  getting, 
(Which  was  a  sin),  yet  in  bestowing,  madam, 
He  was  most  princely :  Ever  witness  for  him 
Those  twins  of  learning  that  he  rais'd  in  you, 
Ipswich  and  Oxford  !  one  of  which  fell  with  hitn, 
Unwilling  to  outlive  the  good  he  did  it ; 
The  other,  though  uufinish'd,  yet  so  famous, 
292 


A   BIOGEAPHY. 

So  excellent  in  art,  and  still  so  rising, 

That  Christendom  shall  ever  speak  his  virtue."  * 

The  journey  from  Oxford  to  London  must  have  occupied  two  days,  in  that 
age  of  bad  roads  and  long  miles.  Harrison,  in  his  '  Chapter  on  Thoroughfares ' 
(1586),  gives  us  the  distances  from  town  to  town: — Oxford  to  Whatleie,  4 
miles  ;  "Whatleie  to  Thetisford,  6  ;  Thetisford  to  Stockingchurch,  5  ;  Stocking- 
church  to  East  Wickham,  5  ;  East  Wickham  to  Baccansfield,  5  ;  Baccansfield  to 
Oxbridge,  7  ;  Uxbridge  to  London,  15.  Total,  47  miles.  Our  modern  admea 
surements  give  54.  Over  this  road,  then,  in  many  parts  a  picturesque  one, 
would  the  two  friends  from  Stratford  take  their  course.  They  would  fare  well 
and  cheaply  on  the  road.  Harrison  tells  us,  "  Each  comer  is  sure  to  lie  in 
clean  sheets,  wherein  no  man  hath  been  lodged  since  they  came  from  the 
laundress,  or  out  of  the  water  wherein  they  were  last  washed.  If  the  traveller 
have  a  horse  his  bed  doth  cost  him  nothing,  but  if  he  go  on  foot  he  is  sure  to 
pay  a  penny  for  the  same.  But  whether  he  be  horseman  or  footman,  if  his 
chamber  be  once  appointed  he  may  carry  the  key  with  him,  as  of  his  own  house, 
so  long  as  he  lodgeth  there.  If  he  lose  aught  whilst  he  abideth  in  the  inn,  the 
host  is  bound  by  a  general  custom  to  restore  the  damage,  so  that  there  is  no 
greater  security  anywhere  for  travellers  than  in  the  greatest  inns  of  England." 

*  Henry  VITI.,  Act  iv.,  Scene  u. 


tCUristcliurcn,  m  tUe  sixteenth  century.] 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE  : 

On  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day  after  their  departure  from  home  would  the 
young  wayfarers,  accustomed  to  fatigue,  reach  London.  They  would  see  only 
fields  and  hedge-rows,  leading  to  the  hills  of  Hampstead  and  Highgate  on  the 
north  of  the  road,  and  to  Westminster  on  the  south.  They  would  be  wholly  in 
the  country  ;  with  a  long  line  of  road  before  them,  without  a  house,  at  the  spot 
which  now,  although  bearing  the  name  of  a  lane — Park  Lane — is  one  of  the 
chosen  seats  of  fashion.  Here  Burbage  would  point  out  to  his  companion  the 
distant  roofs  of  the  Abbey  and  the  Hall  of  Westminster ;  and  nearer  would 
stand  St.  James's  Palace,  a  solitary  and  somewhat  gloomy  building.  They 


[Ancient  View  of  St.  James's  and  Westminster.] 


would  ride  on  through  fields,  till  they  came  very  near  the  village  of  St.  Giles's. 
Here,  turning  from  their  easterly  direction  to  the  south,  they  would  pass  through 
meadows  ;  with  the  herd  quietly  grazing  under  the  evening  sun  in  one  enclosure, 
and  the  laundress  collecting  her  bleached  linen  in  another.  They  are  now  in 
St.  Martin's  Lane ;  and  the  hum  of  population  begins  to  be  heard.  The  inn  in 
the  Strand  receives  their  horses,  and  they  take  a  boat  at  Somerset  Place.  Then 
bursts  upon  the  young  stranger  a  full  conception  of  the  wealth  and  greatness  of 
that  city  of  which  he  has  heard  so  much,  and  imagined  so  much  more.  Hundreds 
of  boats  are  upon  the  river.  Here  and  there  a  stately  barge  is  rowed  along, 
gay  with  streamers  and  rich  liveries ;  and  the  sound  of  music  is  heard  from  its 
decks,  and  the  sound  is  repeated  from  many  a  beauteous  garden  that  skirts  the 
water's  edge.  He  looks  back  upon  the  cluster  of  noble  buildings  that  form  the 

294 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

Palace  of  Westminster.  York  Place,  and  the  spacious  Savoy,  bring  their 
historical  recollections  to  his  mind.  He  looks  eastward,  and  there  is  the  famous 
Temple,  and  the  Palace  of  Bridewell,  and  Baynard's  Castle.  Above  all  these 
rises  up  the  majestic  spire  of  Paul's.  London  Bridge,  that  wonder  of  the 
world,  now  shows  its  picturesque  turrets  and  multitudinous  arches ;  and  in  the 
distance  is  seen  the  Tower  of  London,  full  of  grand  and  solemn  associations. 
The  boat  rests  at  the  Blackfriars.  In  a  few  minutes  they  are  threading  the  narrow 
streets  of  the  precinct ;  and  a  comfortable  house  affords  the  weary  youths  a 
cheerful  welcome. 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPEliE  :     A    BIOGRAPHY. 


NOTE  ON  AUBREY'S  •  LIFE  OF  SHAKSPERE. 


AUBREY'S  '  Life,"  as  we  have  mentioned,  is  the  earliest  connected  account  of  Shakspere  Brief  an 
it  is,  it  is  full  of  curious  and  characteristic  matter;  made  up  of  gossip,  indeed,  and  evidently 
inaccurate  in  one  or  two  particulars,  but  still  valuable  as  reflecting  the  general  notion  of  Shak- 
spere's  career  entertained  by  his  immediate  successors,  with  whom  Aubrey  was  familiar.  Howe's 
'  Life '  comes  later ;  and  the  facts  are  so  mixed  up  with  the  critical  opinions  of  his  age,  which 
uniformly  desire  to  represent  Shakspere  as  an  uneducated  man,  that  we  cannot  regard  it  as  so 
genuine  a  production  as  Aubrey's  tattle,  in  which  he  told  what  he  had  heard  without  much  regard 
to  the  inferences  to  be  drawn  from  his  tale.  It  ought  to  be  read  entire,  properly  to  judge  of  its 
credibility ;  and  therefore  we  so  present  it  to  our  readers  : — 

"  Mr.  William  Shakespear  was  born  at  Stratford-upon-Avon,  in  the  county  of  Warwick ;  bis 
father  was  a  butcher,  and  I  have  been  told  heretofore  by  some  of  the  neighbours  that  when  he  was 
a  boy  he  exercised  his  father's  trade,  but  when  he  killed  a  calf  he  would  do  it  in  a  high  style,  and 
make  a  speech.  There  was  at  that  time  another  butcher's  son  in  this  town  that  was  held  not  at  all 
inferior  to  him  for  a  natural  wit,  his  acquaintance  and  coetanean,  but  died  young.  This  William, 
being  inclined  naturally  to  poetry  and  acting,  came  to  London,  I  guess,  about  18,  and  was  an  actor 
at  one  of  the  playhouses,  and  did  act  exceedingly  well.  Now  B.  Jonson  was  never  a  good  actor, 
but  an  excellent  instructor.  He  began  early  to  make  essays  at  dramatic  poetry,  which  at  that 
time  was  very  low,  and  his  plays  took  welL  He  was  a  handsome,  well-shaped  man,  very  good 

company,  and  of  a  very  ready  and  pleasant  smooth  wit.     The  humour  of the  constable,  in 

A  Midsummer-Night's  Dream,  he  happened  to  take  at  Qrendon,*  in  Bucks,  which  is  the  road  from 
London  to  Stratford,  and  there  was  living  that  constable  about  1642,  when  I  first  came  to  Oxon. 
Mr.  Jos.  Howe  is  of  that  parish,  and  knew  him.  Ben  Jonson  and  he  did  gather  humours  of  meu 
daily  wherever  they  came.  One  time  as  he  was  at  the  tavern  at  Stratford-upon-Avon,  one  Combes, 
an  old  rich  usurer,  was  to  be  buried ;  he  makes  there  this  extemporary  epitaph : — 

'  Ten  in  the  hundred  the  devil  allows, 
But  Combes  will  have  twelve,  he  swears  and  vows : 
If  any  one  asks  who  lies  in  this  tomb, 
"Hoi"  quoth  the  devil,  "  'tis  my  John  o'  Combe."' 

He  was  wont  to  go  to  his  native  country  once  a-year.  I  think  I  have  been  told  that  he  left  2  or 
300J.  per  annum  there  and  thereabout  to  a  sister.  I  have  heard  Sir  William  Davenant  and  Mr. 
Thomas  Shadwell  (who  is  counted  the  best  comedian  we  have  now)  say  that  he  had  a  most  prodi 
gious  wit,  and  did  admire  his  natural  parts  beyond  all  other  dramatical  writers.  He  was  wont  to 
say  that  he  never  blotted  out  a  line  in  his  life ;  said  Ben  Jonson,  '  I  wish  he  had  blotted  out  a 
thousand.'  His  comedies  will  remain  wit  as  long  as  the  English  tongue  is  understood,  for  that  he 
handles  mores  homitvum ;  now  our  present  writers  reflect  so  much  upon  particular  persons  and  cox  - 
combities,  that  twenty  years  hence  they  will  not  be  understood. 

"  Though,  as  Ben  Jonson  says  of  him,  that  he  had  but  little  Latin  and  less  Greek,  he  understood 
Latin  pretty  well,  for  he  had  been  in  his  younger  years  a  schoolmaster  in  the  country."  t 

•  "  I  think  it  wa»  Midsummer  night  that  he  happened  to  lie  there," 
t  From  Mr.  Beeston. 


KND  OF  BOOK   I. 


290 


A  BIOGRAPHY 


^ 


D 


[A  Play  at  the  Blackfrlars.] 


BOOK  II. 


CHAPTER   I. 

A    NEW    PLAY. 


AMONGST  those  innumerable  by-ways  in  London  which  are  familiar  to  the 
hurried  pedestrian,  there  is  a  well-known  line  of  streets,  or  rather  lanes,  leading 
from  the  hill  on  which  St.  Paul's  stands  to  the  great  thoroughfare  of  Black- 
friars  Bridge.  The  pavement  is  narrow,  the  carriage-way  is  often  blocked  up 
by  contending  carmen,  the  houses  are  mean  ;  yet  the  whole  district  is  full  of 
interesting  associations.  We  have  scarcely  turned  out  of  Ludgate  Street,  under 
a  narrow  archway,  when  the  antiquary  may  descry  a  large  lump  of  the  ancient 

299 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE  : 

city  wall  embedded  in  the  lath  and  plaster  of  a  modern  dwelling.  A  littl^ 
farther,  and  we  pass  the  Hall  of  the  Apothecaries  who  have  here,  by  dint  of 
long  and  earnest  struggle,  raised  their  original  shopkeeping  vocation  into  a 
science.  A  little  onward,  and  the  name  Printing-house  Yard  indicates  another 
aspect  of  civilization.  Here  was  the  King's  printing-house  in  the  days  of  the 
Stuarts ;  and  here,  in  our  own  days,  is  the  office  of  the  '  Times '  Newspaper,  the 
organ  of  a  greater  power  than  that  of  prerogative.  Between  Apothecaries' 
Hall  and  Printing-house  Yard  is  a  short  lane,  leading  into  an  open  space  called 
Playhouse  Yard.  It  is  one  of  those  shabby  places  of  which  so  many  in  London 
lie  close  to  the  glittering  thoroughfares ;  but  which  are  known  only  to  their 
own  inhabitants,  and  have  at  all  times  an  air  of  quiet  which  seems  like  desola 
tion.  The  houses  of  this  little  square,  or  yard,  are  neither  ancient  nor  modern. 
Some  of  them  were  probably  built  soon  after  the  great  fire  of  London  ;  for  a 
few  present  their  gable  fronts  to  the  streets,  and  the  wide  casements  of  others 
have  evidently  been  filled  up  and  modern  sashes  inserted.  But  there  is  nothing 
here,  nor  indeed  in  the  whole  precinct,  with  the  exception  of  the  few  yards  of  the 
ancient  wall,  that  has  any  pretension  to  belong  to  what  may  be  called  the  anti 
quities  of  London.  Yet  here,  three  centuries  ago,  stood  the  great  religious 
house  of  the  Dominicans,  or  Black  Friars,  who  were  the  lords  of  the  precinct ; 
shutting  out  all  civic  authority,  and  enclosing  within  their  four  gates  a  busy 
community  of  shopkeepers  and  artificers.  Here,  in  the  hallowed  dust  of  the 
ancient  church,  were  the  royal  and  the  noble  buried  ;  and  their  gilded  tombs 
proclaimed  their  virtues  to  the  latest  posterity.  Where  shall  we  look  for  a 
fragment  of  these  records  now?  Here  parliaments  have  sat  and  pulled  down 
odious  favourites ;  here  kings  have  required  exorbitant  aids  from  their  com 
plaining  subjects ;  here  Wolsey  pronounced  the  sentence  of  divorce  on  the  per 
secuted  Katharine.  In  a  few  years  the  house  of  the  Black  Friars  ceased  to 
exist ;  their  halls  were  pulled  down ;  their  church  fell  into  ruin.  The  precinct 
of  the  Blackfriars  then  became  a  place  of  fashionable  residence.  Elizabeth,  at 
the  age  of  sixty,  here  danced  at  a  wedding  which  united  the  houses  of  Worcester 
and  Bedford.  In  the  heart  of  this  precinct,  close  by  the  church  of  the  sup 
pressed  monastery,  surrounded  by  the  new  houses  of  the  nobility,  in  the  very 
spot  which  is  now  known  as  Playhouse  Yard,  was  built,  in  1575,  the  Blackfriars 
Theatre. 

The  history  of  the  early  stage,  as  it  is  to  be  deduced  from  statutes,  and  pro. 
clamations,  and  orders  of  council,  exhibits  a  constant  succession  of  conflicts 
between  the  civic  authorities  and  the  performers  of  plays.  The  act  of  the 
14th  of  Elizabeth,  "for  the  punishment  of  vagabonds,  and  for  relief  of  the  poor 
and  impotent,"  was  essentially  an  act  of  protection  for  the  established  companies 
of  players.  We  have  here,  for  the  first  time,  a  definition  of  rogues  and  vaga 
bonds  ;  and  it  includes  not  only  those  who  can  "  give  no  reckoning  how  he  or 
she  doth  lawfully  get  his  or  her  living,"  but  "  all  fencers,  bearwards,  common 
players  in  interludes,  and  minstrels,  not  belonging  to  any  baron  of  this  realm  or 
towards  any  other  honourable  personage  of  greater  degree  ;  all  jugglers,  pedlers 
tinkers,  and  petty  chapmen ;  which  said  fencers,  bearwards,  common  players 

800 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

in  interludes,  minstrels,  jugglers,  pedlers,  tinkers,  and  petty  chapmen,  shall 
wander  abroad,  and  have  not  licence  of  two  justices  of  the  peace  at  the  least* 
whereof  one  to  be  of  the  quorum,  where  and  in  what  shire  they  shall  happen 
to  wander."  The  circumstance  of  belonging  to  any  baron,  or  person  of  greater 
degree,  was  in  itself  a  pretty  large  exception  ;  and  if  in  those  times  of  rising 
puritanism  the  licence  of  two  justices  of  the  peace  was  not  always  to  be  procured, 
the  large  number  of  companies  enrolled  as  the  servants  of  the  nobility  offers 
sufficient  evidence  that  the  profession  of  a  player  was  not  a  persecuted  one,  but 
one  expressly  sanctioned  by  the  ruling  powers.  The  very  same  statute  throws 
by  implication  as  much  odium  upon  scholars  as  upon  players  ;  for  amongst  its 
vagabonds  are  included  "  all  scholars  of  the  Universities  of  Oxford  or  Cambridge 
that  go  about  begging,  not  being  authorised  under  the  seal  of  the  said  Uni 
versities."*  There  was  one  company  of  players,  the  Earl  of  Leicester's,  which 
within  two  years  after  the  legislative  protection  of  this  act  received  a  more 
important  privilege  from  the  Queen  herself.  In  1574  a  writ  of  privy  zeal  was 
issued  to  the  keeper  of  the  great  seal,  commanding  him  to  set  forth  letters 
patent  addressed  to  all  justices,  &c.,  licensing  and  authorizing  James  Burbage, 
and  four  other  persons,  servants  to  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  "  to  use,  exercise,  and 
occupy  the  art  and  faculty  of  playing  comedies,  tragedies,  interludes,  stage- 
plays,  and  such  other  like  as  they  have  already  used  and  studied,  or  hereafter 
shall  use  and  study,  as  well  for  the  recreation  of  our  loving  subjects,  as  for  our 
solace  and  pleasure,  when  we  shall  think  good  to  see  them."  And  they  were  to 
exhibit  their  performances  "  as  well  within  our  city  of  London  and  liberties  of 
the  same,"  as  "  throughout  our  realm  of  England."  Without  knowing  how 
far  tLe  servants  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester  might  have  been  molested  by  the 
authorities  of  the  city  of  London,  in  defiance  of  this  patent,  it  is  clear  that  the 
patent  was  of  itself  insufficient  to  insure  their  kind  reception  within  the  city; 
for  it  appears  that,  within  three  months  after  the  date  of  the  patent,  a  letter 
was  written  from  the  Privy  Council  to  the  Lord  Mayor,  directing  him  "  to 
admit  the  comedy-players  within  the  city  of  London,  and  to  be  otherwise 
favourably  used."  This  mandate  was  probably  obeyed;  but  in  1575  the  Court 
of  Common  Council,  without  any  exception  for  the  objects  of  the  patent  of 
1574,  made  certain  orders,  in  the  city  language  termed  an  act,  which  assumed 
that  the  whole  authority  for  the  regulation  of  plays  was  in  the  Lord  Mayor  and 
Court  of  Aldermen  ;  that  they  only  could  license  theatrical  exhibitions  within 
the  city;  and  that  the  players  whom  they  did  license  should  contribute  half 
their  receipts  to  charitable  purposes.  The  civic  authorities  appear  to  have 
stretched  their  power  somewhat  too  far  ;  for  in  that  very  year  James  Burbage, 
and  the  other  servants  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  erected  their  theatre  amidst  the 
houses  of  the  great  in  the  Blackfriars,  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  city  walls, 
but  absolutely  out  of  the  control  of  the  city  officers.  The  immediate  neighbours 

•  It  is  curious  that  the  act  against  vagabonds  of  the  39th  of  Elizabeth  somewhat  softens  this 
matter;  for  in  its  definition  of  vagabonds  it  includes  "all  persons  catting  themselves  scholars,  going 
about  begging."  It  says  nothing,  with  regard  to  players,  about  the  licence  of  two  justices ;  and 
requires  that  the  nobleman's  licence  shall  be  under  his  hand  and  seal. 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

of  the  players  were  the  Lord  Chamberlain  and  Lord  Hunsdon,  as  we  learn  from 
a  petition  against  the  players  from  the  inhabitants  of  the  precinct.*  The  peti 
tion  was  unavailing.  The  rooms  which  it  states  "  one  Burbadge  hath  lately 
bought "  were  converted  "  into  a  common  playhouse ; "  and  within  fourteen 
years  from  the  period  of  its  erection  William  Shakspere  was  one  of  its  pro 
prietors. 

The  royal  patent  of  1574  authorised  in  the  exercise  of  their  art  and  faculty 
"  James  Burbadge,  John  Perkyn,  John  Lanham,  William  Johnson,  and  Robert 
Wylson,"  who  are  described  as  the  servants  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester.  Although 
on  the  early  stage  the  characters  were  frequently  doubled,  we  can  scarcely 
imagine  that  these  five  persons  were  of  themselves  sufficient  to  form  a  company 
of  comedians.  They  had,  no  doubt,  subordinate  actors  in  their  pay  ;  they  being 
the  proprietors  or  shareholders  in  the  general  adventure.  Of  these  five  original 
patentees  four  remained  as  the  "sharers  in  the  Blackfriars  Playhouse  "in  1589, 
the  name  only  of  John  Perkyn  being  absent  from  the  subscribers  to  a  certificate 
to  the  Privy  Council  that  the  company  acting  at  the  Blackfriars  "have  never 
given  cause  of  displeasure  in  that  they  have  brought  into  their  plays  matters  of 
state  and  religion."  This  certificate — which  bears  the  date  of  November,  1589 — 
exhibits  to  us  the  list  of  the  professional  companions  of  Shakspere  in  an  early  stage 
of  his  career,  though  certainly  not  in  the  very  earliest.  The  subject-matter  of 
this  document  will  require  to  be  noticed  in  another  chapter.  The  certificate 
describes  the  persons  subscribing  it  as  "  her  Majesty's  poor  players,"  and  sets  forth 
that  they  are  "  all  of  them  sharers  in  the  Blackfriars  Playhouse."  Their  names 
are  presented  in  the  following  order  : — 

1.  James  Burbadge. 

2.  Richard  Burbadge. 

3.  John  Laneham. 

4.  Thomas  Greene. 

5.  Robert  Wilson. 

6.  John  Taylor. 

7.  Anth.  Wadeson. 

8.  Thomas  Pope. 

9.  George  Peele. 

10.  Augustine  Phillipps. 

1 1 .  Nicholas  Towley. 

12.  William  Shakespeare. 

13.  William  Kempe. 

14.  William  Johnson. 

15.  Baptiste  Goodale. 

16.  Robert  Armyn. 

The  position  of  James  Burbage  at  the  head  of  the  list  is  a  natural  one.  He 
was  no  doubt  the  founder  of  this  theatrical  company.  The  petition  of  1576 


•  Lord  Hunsdon's  name  appears  to  this  petition,  but  the  Lord  Chauaberlaiu's  does  not  appear. 
302 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

against   the    Blackfriars    Theatre    mentions    "  one    Burbadge"    as    having    lately 
bought  certain   rooms  in    the   precinct.     This  distinction  was   long   preserved   to 
his   more  celebrated  son   Richard,  the  second  in  the  list.     He  died  in  1619;  and 
he  probably  continued  at  the  head  of  the  sharers  until  his  decease  gave  occasion 
to    the    briefest    epitaph    ever  written — "Exit    Burbidge."*     It   would    appear, 
from  Jonson's  masque  of  'Christmas,'  presented    at    Court  in   1616,  that   Bur- 
bage  and    Heminge  were  joint  managers;    for  Venus,  who   appears  as   "a   deaf 
tire -woman,"  says   she   could   have   let   out    Cupid   by   the  week   to   the   King's 
players :    "  Master    Burbage  has  been  about  and  about  with  me,  and  so  has  old 
Master   Heminge  too ;    they  have   need  of  him."      The  early  companionship   of 
Shakspere   with    Richard    Burbage    became    unquestionably   a    friendship   which 
lasted  through  life ;    for  he  was  one  of  the  three  professional  friends — "  fellows " 
— mentioned   in  the  poet's  will.      Richard    Burbage,  by   universal   consent,    was 
the  greatest  actor  of  his  time.      Sir  Richard    Baker  calls  him   "such   an   actor 
as   no    age    must   ever   look  to  see  the  like."     William  Shakspere  and    Richard 
Burbage  were,   in  all  probability,  nearly  of   the   same  age.     At  the  date  of  the 
certificate  before  us  Shakspere  was  twenty-five.      The  third  and  fifth   shares  in 
this  list  were  of  the  original  patentees  in   1574.     But  the  fourth  amongst  those 
patentees  stands  the  fourteenth  in  the  list.     If  the  order  in  the  list  be  evidence 
of  the  rank  which  each  person  held  in  the   company — and  such  a  deduction  is 
reasonable   from   the   fact  of  the  Burbages  being  at  the  head  of  the  list — it  is 
clear  that   the    order  was  determined  upon  another  principle  than  that  of  seni 
ority.     Of  John  Laneham,  whose  name  follows  that  of  the  Burbages,  we   know 
nothing. 

Thomas  Greene,  the  fourth  name  attached  to  this  certificate,  is  the  person  who 
has  been  conjectured  to  have  been  a  native  of  Stratford-upon-Avon,  and  to  have  ^ 
introduced  Shakspere  to  the  theatre.  He  was  a  comic  actor,  of  great  and 
original  powers ;  and  so  celebrated  was  he  as  the  representative  of  a  particular 
part  in  one  comedy,  that  the  play  was  called  after  his  name,  '  Greene's  Tu 
Quoque,'  and  bears  his  portrait  in  the  title-page.  This  comedy,  which  long 
continued  to  be  popular,  was  written  by  John  Cook.  Although  the  title-page 
of  this  play  states  that  it  "  hath  been  divers  times  acted  by  the  Queen's  Majesty's 
servants,"  it  is  probable  that  Greene  did  not  long  continue  a  member  of  the 
company  to  which  Shakspere  belonged.  He  is  mentioned  by  name  in  the 
'  Tu  Quoque '  as  the  clown  at  the  Red  Bull.  His  name  does  not  appear  in  a 
petition  to  the  Privy  Council  from  the  Blackfriars  company  in  1596;  and  he  is 
not  included  in  the"  list  of  the  "  names  of  the  principal  actors "  of  all  Shak- 
spere's  plays,  which  is  prefixed  to  the  folio  of  1623.  Greene,  as  well  as  others 
of  higher  eminence,  was  a  poet  as  well  as  an  actor.  In  the  lines  which  have 
been  ascribed  to  him  upon  somewhat  doubtful  anthority,  he  is  made  to  say — 

"  I  prattled  poesy  in  my  nurse's  arms." 
But  his  ambition  was  not  powerful  enough  to  induce  him  to  claim  the  honours 

*  Philipot's  additions  to  Camden's  '  Remains  concerning  Britain.' 

303 


['i'hcmaa  Greene.] 


of  a  poet  till  a  very  ripened  age ;  for  upon  the  accession  of  James  I.  he  ad 
dressed  to  the  king  '  A  Poet's  Vision,  and  a  Prince's  Glory,'  in  which  he  is 
thus  spoken  to  in  the  vision  : — 

"  What  though  the  world  saw  never  line  of  thine, 
Ne'er  can  the  muse  ha"vo  a  birth  more  divine." 

Robert  Wilson,  the  fifth  on  the  list,  was  a  person  of  great  celebrity.  He 
was  amongst  the  first  of  the  Queen's  sworn  servants  in  1583.  His  reputation 
was  long  enduring  as  an  actor  in  a  very  peculiar  vein.  Howes  describes  him  as 
of  "a  quick,  delicate,  refined,  extemporal  wit."  This  was  a  traditional  reputa 
tion.  But  Meres,  writing  in  1598,  after  mentioning  Antipater  Sidonius  as 
"  famous  for  extemporal  verse  in  Greek,"  and  alluding  to  a  similar  power  in 
Tarleton,  adds — "And  so  is  now  our  witty  Wilson,  who  for  learning  and  ex- 
temporal  wit,  in  this  faculty  is  without  compare  or  compeer,  as  to  his  great  and 
eternal  commendations  he  manifested  in  his  challenge  at  the  Swan  on  the  Bank- 
side."  Wilson,  as  we  have  seen,  belonged  to  the  very  earliest  period  of  our 
regular  drama ;  and  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  originally  a  great  deal  of  the 
comedy  was  improvised  by  men  of  real  talent,  such  as  Tarleton  and  himself. 
But  Wilson  was  also  a  dramatic  writer.  Prior  to  1580  he  had  written  a  play 
304 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

on  the  subject  of  Catiline,  which  is  mentioned  in  Lodge's  '  Reply  to  Gosson.'* 
Of  his  poetical  capacity  we  may  form  some  judgment  from  one  of  his  plays 
•The  Cobbler's  Prophecy,'  printed  as  early  as  1594.  It  probably  belongs  to  an 
earlier  period;  for  allegorical  characters  are  introduced  in  company  with  the 
Heathen  gods,  and  with  a  cobbler,  by  name  Ralph,  upon  whom  rests  the  burthen 
of  the  merriment,  the  character  being  probably  sustained  by  Wilson  himself.  He 
was  one  of  the  authors  also  of  '  Sir  John  Oldcastle,  Part  I.'f  It  appears  from 
Henslowe's  papers  that  Wilson  was  not  only  associated  with  three  dramatic 
friends  in  writing  this  play,  but  that  he,  in  the  production  of  other  pieces  for 
Henslowe's  theatre,  repeatedly  co-operated  with  Drayton,  Chettle,  Dekker, 
Anthony  Munday,  and  others.  We  find  entries  of  his  name  amongst  Henslowe's 
authors  from  1597  to  1600.  His  name  is  not  amongst  the  petitioners  of  the 
Blackfriars  company  in  1596.  We  may  therefore  conclude  that  he  had  then 
quitted  the  company,  and  had  become  permanently  associated  with  that  of  Hen- 
slowe,  as  a  dramatic  writer,  and  probably  as  a  performer. 

The  sixth  on  the  list,  John  Taylor,  was  probably  an  old  actor ;  and  might  be 
the  father  of  the  famous  Joseph  Taylor,  of  whom  tradition  says  that  Shakspere 
taught  him  to  play  Hamlet.  Anthony  Wadeson,  the  seventh  on  the  list,  was  a 
dramatic  writer  as  well  as  a  player.  He  probably  had  left  the  Blackfriars 
company  early,  for  his  name  does  not  appear  to  the  petition  of  1596;  and  in 
1601  we  find  him  a  writer  for  Henslowe's  theatre.  The  diary  of  that  manager 
contains  the  following  entry  amongst  his  catalogue  of  plays  and  their  authors  : 
'  The  Honourable  Life  of  the  Humorous  Earl  of  Gloster,  with  his  Conquest  of 
Portugal,  by  Anthony  Wadeson/  His  name  is  not  amongst  the  list  of  actors 
of  Shakspere's  plays.  Thomas  Pope,  the  eighth  name  of  the  certificate,  as 
well  as  Augustine  Phillipps,  the  tenth  name,  are  mentioned  by  Heywood,  in 
his  '  Apology  for  Actors,'  1612,  amongst  famous  performers:  "Though  they  be 
dead,  their  deserts  yet  live  in  the  remembrance  of  many."  Pope,  Phillipps, 
Towley,  Kempe,  Richard  Burbage,  and  Shakspere  himself,  are  the  only  names 
in  the  list  of  1589  which  appear  to  the  petition  of  1596  ;  and  it  is  also  to  be 
noticed,  that,  out  of  the  same  sixteen  persons,  these  six,  with  the  addition  of 
Robert  Arm  in,  are  the  only  ones  amongst  the  original  fellows  of  Shakspere  who 
are  mentioned  in  the  list  of  the  names  of  the  principal  actors  in  Shakspere's 
plays.  William  Kempe,  the  thirteenth  name  in  the  certificate,  was  the  famous 
successor  of  Tarleton,  the  extemporising  clown,  who  died  in  1588.  Of  this  pair 
Heywood  says,  "  Here  I  must  needs  remember  Tarleton,  in  his  time  gracious 
with  the  Queen,  his  sovereign,  and  in  the  people's  general  applause,  whom  suc 
ceeded  Will.  Kempe,  as  well  in  the  favour  of  her  Majesty,  as  in  the  opinion  and 
good  thoughts  of  the  general  audience."  Kempe  was  a  person  of  overflowing 
animal  spirits,  as  we  may  judge  from  his  own  extraordinary  account  of  his 
morris-dance  from  London  to  Norwich.  But  it  was  for  Shakspere  to  give  his 
vivacity  a  right  direction ;  and  to  associate  his  powers  with  such  enduring  de 
lineations  of  human  nature  as  Dogberry  and  Bottom.  William  Johnson,  the  four 
teenth  name,  has  been  already  mentioned  as  one  of  the  first  patentees.  Of  Baptist 

*  See  p.  137.  t  See  Analysis  of  Doubtful  Plays,  p.  210. 

LIFE.  2  X  305 


WILLIAM   SHAKSl'ERE  : 

Goodall,  the  fifteenth  in  the  list,  we  know  nothing.  Robert  Armin,  the  last  name 
in  the  document,  was  a  comic  actor,  said  to  have  been  taught  by  Tarleton.  He  ap 
pears  to  have  been  a  writer  of  ballads  and  other  ephemeral  publications,  as  well  as 
an  actor ;  for  he  is  mentioned  in  this  capacity  by  Thomas  Nash,  in  a  pamphlet 
of  1592.*  Armin  wrote  several  plays  of  no  great  merit  or  reputation  ;  and  he 
published  a  translation  of  a  little  Italian  novel.  His  '  Nest  of  Ninnies '  has 
been  reprinted  by  the  Shakespeare  Society.  This  tract,  which  contains  very 
little  that  can  interest  us  as  a  picture  of  the  times,  and  which  displays  a  brisk 
sort  of  buffoonery,  on  the  part  of  its  author,  rather  than  any  real  wit  or  humour, 
is  a  collection  of  queer  anecdotes  of  domestic  fools,  most  of  which,  the  editor  of 
the  reprint  very  justly  observes,  "will  strike  all  readers  as  merely  puerile  and 
absurd."  Armin's  stories,  however,  are  told  with  an  absence  of  offensive  ribaldry 
which  was  scarcely  to  be  expected  from  his  peculiar  talent.  He  desires  to  make 
his  readers  laugh  ;  but  he  does  not  seek  to  do  so  by  obtruding  the  grossnesses 
by  which  his  subject  was  necessarily  surrounded. 

We  have  thus  run  through  the  list  of  Shakspere's  fellows  in  1589,  to  point 
to  the  characters  of  the  men  with  whom  he  was  thrown  into  daily  companion 
ship.  Some  were  of  the  first  eminence  as  actors,  and  their  names  have  survived 
the  transitory  reputation  which  belongs  to  their  profession.  Several  had  pre 
tensions  to  the  literary  character,  and  probably  were  more  actively  engaged  in 
preparing  novelties  for  the  early  stage  than  we  find  recorded  in  its  perishable 
annals.  But  there  is  one  name,  the  ninth  on  the  list,  which  we  have  purposely 
reserved  for  a  more  extended  mention  :  it  is  that  of  George  Peele. 

In  the  '  Account  of  George  Peele  and  his  Writings,'  prefixed  to  Mr.  Dyce's 
valuable  edition  of  his  works  (1829),  the  editor  says,  "  I  think  it  very  probable 
that  Peele  occasionally  tried  his  histrionic  talents,  particularly  at  the  com 
mencement  of  his  career,  but  that  he  was  ever  engaged  as  a  regular  actor  I 
altogether  disbelieve."  But  the  publication,  in  1835,  by  Mr.  Collier,  of  the 
certificate  of  the  good  conduct  in  1589  of  the  Blackfriars  company,  which  he 
discovered  amongst  the  Bridgewater  Papers,  would  appear  to  determine  the 
question  contrary  to  the  belief  of  Mr.  Dyce.  Mr.  Collier,  in  the  tract  in  which 
he  first  published  this  important  document,  f  says,  with  reference  to  the  enu 
meration  of  Peele  in  the  certificate,  "  George  Peele  was  unquestionably  the 
dramatic  poet,  who,  I  conjectured  some  years  ago,  was  upon  the  stage  early  in 
life."  The  name  of  George  Peele  stands  the  ninth  on  this  list ;  that  of  William 
Shakspere  the  twelfth.  The  name  of  William  Kempe  immediately  follows 
that  of  Shakspere.  Kempe  must  have  become  of  importance  to  the  company  at 
least  a  year  before  the  date  of  this  certificate ;  for  he  was  the  successor  of 
Tarleton  in  the  most  attractive  line  of  characters,  and  Tarleton  died  in  1588. 
We  hold  that  Shakspere  had  won  his  position  in  this  company  at  the  age  ol 
twenty-five  by  his  success  as  a  dramatic  writer  ;  and  we  consider  that  in  the 
same  manner  George  Peele  had  preceded  him,  and  had  acquired  rank  and  pro 
perty  amongst  the  shareholders,  chiefly  by  the  exercise  of  his  talents  as  a  dra- 

•  Collier's  Introduction  to  Armiu's  '  Nest  of  Ninnies,'  p.  xiii. 
f  New  Facta  regarding  the  Life  of  Shakespeare. 

MM 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

matic  poet.  Those  of  his  dramatic  works  which  have  come  down  to  us  afford 
evidence  that  he  possessed  great  flexibility  and  rhetorical  power,  without 
much  invention,  with  very  little  discrimination  of  character,  and  with  that 
tendency  to  extravagance  in  the  management  of  his  incidents  which  exhibits 
small  acquaintance  with  the  higher  principles  of  the  dramatic  art.  He  no  doubt 
became  a  writer  for  the  stage  earlier  than  Shakspere.  He  brought  to  the  task  a 
higher  poetical  feeling,  and  more  scholarship,  than  had  been  previously  employed 
in  the  rude  dialogue  which  varied  the  primitive  melodramatic  exhibitions, 
which  afforded  a  rare  delight  to  audiences  with  whom  the  novel  excitement 
of  the  entertainment  compensated  for  many  of  its  grossnesses  and  deficien 
cies.  Thomas  Nash,  in  his  address  'To  the  Gentlemen  Students  of  both  Uni 
versities,'  prefixed  to  Greene's  '  Menaphon/  mentions  Peele  amongst  the  most 
celebrated  poets  of  the  day :  "  Should  the  challenge  of  deep  conceit  be  intruded 
by  any  foreigner,  to  bring  our  English  wits  to  the  touchstone  of  art,  I  would 
prefer  divine  Master  Spenser,  the  miracle  of  wit,  to  bandy  line  by  line  for  my 
life,  in  the  honour  of  England,  against  Spain,  France,  Italy,  and  all  the  world. 
Neither  is  he  the  only  swallow  of  our  summer  (although  Apollo,  if  his  tripos 
were  up  again,  would  pronounce  him  his  Socrates);  but  he  being  forborne, 
there  are  extant  about  London  many  most  able  men  to  revive  poetry,  though 
it  were  executed  ten  thousand  times,  as  in  Plato's,  so  in  Puritans'  common 
wealth  ;  as,  namely,  for  example,  Matthew  Roydon,  Thomas  Achlow,  and 
George  Peele ;  the  first  of  whom,  as  he  hath  showed  himself  singular  in  the 
immortal  epitaph  of  his  beloved  Astrophell,  besides  many  other  most  absolute 
comic  inventions  (made  more  public  by  every  man's  praise  than  they  can  be  by 
my  speech);  so  the  second  hath  more  than  once  or  twice  manifested  his  deep- 
witted  scholarship  in  places  of  credit ;  and  for  the  last,  though  not  the  least  of 
them  all,  I  dare  commend  him  unto  all  that  know  him,  as  the  chief  supporter 
of  pleasance  now  living,  the  Atlas  of  poetry,  and  primus  verborum  artifex ; 
whose  first  increase,  the  'Arraignment  of  Paris/  might  plead  to  your  opinions 
his  pregnant  dexterity  of  wit,  and  manifold  variety  of  invention,  wherein  (me 
judice)  he  goeth  a  step  beyond  all  that  write."  'The  Arraignment  of  Paris,' 
which  Nash  describes  as  Peele's  first  increase,  or  first  production,  was  per 
formed  before  the  Queen  in  1584  by  the  children  of  her  chapel.  It  is  called  in 
the  title-page  "a  pastoral."  It  is  not  improbable  that  the  favour  with  which  this 
mythological  story  of  the  Judgment  of  Paris  was  received  at  the  Court  of  Eli 
zabeth  might  in  some  degree  have  given  Peele  his  rank  in  the  company  of  the 
Queen's  players,  who  appear  to  have  had  some  joint  interest  with  the  children 
of  the  chapel.  The  pastoral  possesses  little  of  the  dramatic  spirit;  but  we 
occasionally  meet  with  passages  of  great  descriptive  elegance,  rich  in  fancy, 
though  somewhat  overlaboured.  The  goddesses,  however,  talk  with  great 
freedom,  we  might  say  with  a  slight  touch  of  mortal  vulgarity.  This  would 
scarcely  displease  the  courtly  throng;  but  the  approbation  would  be  over 
powering  at  the  close,  when  Diana  bestows  the  golden  ball,  and  Venus,  Pallas, 
and  Juno  cheerfully  resign  their  pretensions  in  favour  of  the  superior  beauty, 
wisdom,  and  princely  state  of  the  great  Eliza.  Such  scenes  were  probably  not 
for  the  multitude  who  thronged  to  the  Blackfriars.  Peele  was  the  poet  of  the 
X2  307 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPKIM.  : 

City  as  well  as  of  the  Court.  He  produced  a  Lord  Mayor's  Pageant  in  1585, 
when  Sir  Wolstan  Dixie  was  chief  magistrate,  in  which  London,  Magnanimity, 
Loyalty,  the  Country,  the  Thames,  the  Soldier,  the  Sailor,  Science,  and  a 
quaternion  of  nymphs,  gratulate  the  City  in  melodious  verse.  Another  of  his 
pageants  before  "Mr.  William  Web,  Lord  Mayor,"  in  1591,  has  come  down  to 
us.  He  was  ready  with  his  verses  when  Sir  Henry  Lee  resigned  the  office  of 
Queen's  Champion  in  1590;  and  upon  the  occasion  also  of  an  Installation  at 
Windsor  in  1593.  When  Elizabeth  visited  Theobalds  in  1591,  Peele  produced 
the  speeches  with  which  the  Queen  was  received,  in  the  absence  of  Lord  Bur- 
leigh,  by  members  of  his  household,  in  the  characters  of  a  hermit,  a  gardener, 
and  a  mole-catcher.  In  all  these  productions  we  find  the  facility  which  distin 
guished  his  dramatic  writings,  but  nothing  of  that  real  power  which  was  to 
breathe  a  new  life  into  the  entertainments  for  the  people.  The  early  play  of 
'Sir  Clyomon  and  Sir  Clamydes'  is  considered  by  Dr.  Dyce  to  be  the  produc 
tion  of  Peele.  It  is  a  most  tedious  drama,  in  the  old  twelve-syllable  rhyming 
verse,  in  which  the  principle  of  alliteration  is  carried  into  the  most  ludicrous 
absurdity,  and  the  pathos  is  scarcely  more  moving  than  the  woes  of  Pyramus 
and  Thisbe  in  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream.  One  example  of  a  lady  in 
distress  may  suffice  : — 

"  The  sword  of  this  my  loving  knight,  behold,  I  here  do  take, 
Of  this  my  woeful  corpse,  alas,  a  final  end  to  make  t 
Yet,  ere  I  strike  that  deadly  stroke  that  shall  my  life  deprave, 
Ye  Muses,  aid  me  to  the  gods  for  mercy  first  to  crave  ! " 

In  a  few  years,  perhaps  by  the  aid  of  better  examples,  Peele  worked  himself 
out  of  many  of  the  absurdities  of  the  early  stage ;  but  he  had  not  strength 
wholly  to  cast  them  off.  We  have  noticed  at  some  length  his  historical  play 
of  '  Edward  I/  in  the  examination  of  the  theory  that  he  was  the  author  of  the 
three  Parts  of  Henry  VI.  in  their  original  state ;  and  it  is  scarcely  necessary  for 
us  here  to  enter  more  minutely  into  the  question  of  his  dramatic  ability.  It  is 
pretty  manifest  that  a  new  race  of  writers,  with  Shakspere  at  their  head,  was 
rising  up  to  push  Peele  from  the  position  which  he  held  in  the  Blackfriars 
company  in  1589.  We  think  it  is  probable  that  he  quitted  that  company  soon 
after  the  period  when  Shakspere  had  become  the  master-spirit  which  won  for 
the  shareholders  fame  and  fortune.  His  name  is  not  found  in  the  petition  to 
the  Privy  Council  in  1596.  He  is  one  of  the  three,  moreover,  to  whom  Robert 
Greene  in  1592  addressed  his  dying  warning.  He  was,  according  to  the  re 
pentant  profligate,  driven  like  himself  to  extreme  shifts.  He  was  in  danger, 
like  Greene,  of  being  forsaken  by  the  puppets  "  that  speak  from  our  mouths." 
The  reason  that  the  players  are  not  to  be  trusted  is  because  their  place  is  sup 
plied  by  another :  "  Yes,  trust  them  not ;  for  there  is  an  upstart  crow  beautified 
with  our  feathers,  that,  with  his  tiger's  heart  wrapped  in  a  player's  hide,  sup 
poses  he  is  as  well  able  to  bombast  out  a  blank  verse  as  the  best  of  you ;  and, 
being  an  absolute  Johannes  factotum,  is  in  his  own  conceit  the  only  Shake- 
scene  in  a  country."  The  insult  offered  to  Shakspere  was  atoned  for  by  the 
editor  of  the  unhappy  Greene's  posthumous  effusion  of  malignity.  We  mention 
it  here,  as  some  indication  of  the  difficulties  with  which  the  young  poet  had  to 
308 


A   BIOGRAPII1. 


struggle,  in  coming   amongst  the  monarchs  of  the  barbarian  stage  with  a  higher 
ambition  than  that  of  being  "primus  verborum  artifex." 

It  would  not  be  an  easy  matter,  without  some  knowledge  of  minute  facts  and 
a  considerable  effort  of  imagination,  to  form  an  accurate  notion  of  that  building 
in   the   Blackfriars — rooms   converted   into    a   common   playhouse — in   which   we 
may   conclude    that    the    first    plays   of   Shakspere   were   exhibited.      The    very 
expression   used   by   the   petitioners  against  Burbage's   project  would   imply  that 
the    building  was    not   very  nicely   adapted  to  the   purposes    of    dramatic    repre 
sentation.      They    say,   "which    rooms    the    said    Burbage    is   now   altering,    and 
meaneth  very  shortly  to  convert  and  turn  the  same  into  a  common  playhouse." 
And    yet   we    are   not   to    infer   that   the    rooms   were   hastily   adapted   to  their 
object  by  the  aid  of  a  few  boards  and  drapery,  like  the  barn  of  a  strolling  com 
pany.     In   1596   the    shareholders  say,  in  a  petition  to  the  Privy    Council,   that 
the  theatre,   "  by  reason  of  its  having  been  so  long  built,  hath  fallen  into  great 
decay,  and  that,  besides  the  reparation  thereof,  it  has  been  found  necessary  to 
make   the   same    more    convenient   for   the   entertainment    of    auditories   coming 
thereto."      The  structure  no  doubt  was  adapted  to  its  object  without  any  very 
great    regard    to    durability ;    and    the    accommodations,   both    for    actors    and 
audience,    were   of    a   somewhat    rude    nature.      The    Blackfriars   was   a   winter 
theatre ;  so  that,  differing  from  the   Globe,  which  belonged  to  the  same  company, 
it   was,  there    can   be  little  doubt,  roofed   in.      It   appears  surprising   that,  in   a 
climate  like  that  of  England,  even  a  summer  theatre  should  be  without  a  roof; 
but  the  surprise  is  lessened  when  we  consider  that,  when  the  Globe  was  built, 
in    1594,  not  twenty  years  had  elapsed   since  plays  were   commonly  represented 
in  the  open  yards  of  the  inns  of  London.     The  Belle  Savage  *  was  amongst  the 
most   famous    of   these    inn-yard    theatres ;    and  some  ten  years  ago  the  area  of 
that  inn  showed  how  readily  it  might  have  been  adapted  for  such  performances. 
We  turned  aside  from  the  crowds  of  Ludgate  Hill,  and  passed  down  a  gateway 
which  opened  into  a  considerable  space.     The  inn  occupied  the  east  and  north 
sides  of  the  area,  the  west  side  consisted  of  private  houses  of  business.     But  once 
the    inn    occupied  the  entire  of  the  three  sides,  with  open  galleries  running  all 
round,  and  communicating  with  the   chambers.     Raise  a  platform  with  its   back 
to    the   gateway  for  the  actors,  place  benches  in  the  galleries  which  run  round 
three  sides  of  the  area,  and  let-  those  who  pay  the  least  price  be  contented  with 
standing-room    in    the    yard,   and   a   theatre,   with    its   stage,  pit,    and   boxes,    is 
raised   as  quickly  as  the  palace  of  Aladdin.      The    Blackfriars  theatre  was   pro^ 
bably,  therefore,  little  more  than  a  large  space   arranged    pretty  much   like   the 
Belle   Savage    yard,   but  with  a  roof    over  it.     Indeed,   so  completely  were   the 
public   theatres  adapted  after  the  model  of  the  temporary  ones,   that  the  space 
for   the    "groundlings"    long   continued   to   be   called    the    yard.      One    of    the 
earliest   theatres,  built   probably   about   the    same    time    as    the    Blackfriars,    was 
called  the   Curtain,  from   which  we  may  infer  that  the  refinement  of  separating 
the  actors  from  the  audience  during  the  intervals  of  the  representation  was  at 
first  peculiar  to  that  theatre. 

*  The  old  writers  spell  the  word  less  learnedly  than  we  -Bel&avage. 

309 


\VII.MAM  SHAKSPKIM:  : 

In  the  petition  to  the  Privy  Council  in  1596,  it  is  stated  that  the  petitioners 
"  are  owners  and  players  of  the  private  house  or  theatre  in  the  precinct  or 
liberty  of  the  Blackfriars."  Yet  the  petition  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  precinct 
against  the  enterprise  of  Burbage,  in  1576,  states  the  intention  of  Burbage  to 
convert  the  rooms  which  he  has  bought  "  into  a  common  playhouse,"  and  it 
alleges  the  inconvenience  that  will  result  from  the  "gathering  together  of  all 
manner  of  vagrant  and  lewd  persons,  under  colour  of  resorting  to  the  plays." 
Here  then  is  an  apparent  contradiction, — the  Blackfriars  theatre  is  called  a  pri 
vate  house,  and  also  a  common  playhouse.  But  the  seeming  contradiction  is 
reconciled  when  we  learn  that  for  many  years  a  distinction  was  preserved 
between  public  and  private  theatres.  The  theatres  of  inn-yards  were  un 
doubtedly  public  theatres.  The  yard  was  hired  for  some  short  period,  the 
scaffold  hastily  run  up,  and  the  gates  closed,  except  to  those  who  came  with 
penny  in  hand.  Such  were  the  theatres  of  the  Belle  Savage  in  Ludgate  Hill, 
the  Cross  Keys  in  Gracechurch  Street,  and  the  Bull  in  Bishopsgate  Street. 
But,  as  we  learn  from  a  passage  in  an  old  topographer,  in  which  he  expressly 
mentions  the  Belle  Savage,  the  penny  at  the  theatre  gate  was  something  like 
the  penny  at  the  porch  of  our  cathedral  show-shops  of  the  present  day, — other 
pennies  were  demanded  for  a  peep  at  the  sights  within.  "  Those  who  go  to 
Paris  Garden,  the  Belsavage,  or  Theatre,  to  behold  bear-baiting,  interludes, 
or  fence-play,  must  not  account  of  any  pleasant  spectacle,  unless  first  they  pay 
one  penny  at  the  gate,  another  at  the  entry  of  the  scaffold,  and  a  third  for  quiet 
standing."*  The  Paris  Garden  here  mentioned  was  the  old  bear-baiting  place 
which  had  existed  from  the  time  of  Henry  VIII.,  and  perhaps  earlier.  The 
Belle  Savage,  rude  as  its  accommodations  doubtless  were,  had  yet  its  graces 
and  amenities,  if  Stephen  Gosson  be  not  a  partial  critic :  "  The  two  prose  books 
played  at  the  Bel-savage,  where  you  shall  find  never  a  word  without  wit, 
never  a  line  without  pith,  never  a  letter  placed  in  vain."f  The  Theatre  also 
mentioned  by  Lambarde  was  a  public  playhouse  so  called.  It  was  situated  in 
Shoreditch,  without  the  City  walls.  In  Aggas's  map  we  see  a  tolerably  con 
tinuous  street,  leading  from  Bishop's  Gate  to  Shoreditch  Church ;  but  on  each 
side  of  this  street  there  is  a  wide  extent  of  fields  and  gardens,  Spital  field  to  the 
east,  and  Finsbury  field  to  the  west,  with  rude  figures,  in  the  map,  of  cows  and 
horses,  archers,  laundresses,  and  water-carriers^  which  show  how  completely 
this  large  district,  now  so  crowded  with  human  life  in  all  its  phases  of  comfort 
and  misery,  was  in  the  days  of  Elizabeth  a  rural  suburb.  Stow,  in  the  first 
edition  of  his  '  Survey,'  1599,  mentions  the  old  Priory  of  St.  John  the  Baptist, 
called  Holy  well.  "  The  church  thereof  being  pulled  down,  many  houses  have 
been  there  builded  for  the  lodgings  of  noblemen,  of  strangers  born,  and  other. 
And  thereunto  are  builded  two  public  houses  for  the  acting  and  show  of 
comedies,  tragedies,  and  histories,  for  recreation.  Whereof  the  one  is  called 
the  Curtain,  the  other  the  Theatre,  both  standing  on  the  south-west  side 


*  Lnmbarde's  'Perambulation  of  Kent,'  1576. 

t  School  of  Abuse.  1 579. 
310 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 

toward  the  field."5  In  a  sermon  by  John  Stockwood,  in  1578,  the  Theatre  is 
called  a  "gorgeous  playing  place."  Stubbes,  in  1583,  rails  bitterly  against 
these  public  playhouses :  "  Mark  the  flocking  and  running  to  Theatres  and 
Curtains."  The  early  history  of  the  less  important  theatres  is  necessarily  in 
volved  in  great  obscurity.  There  were  playhouses  on  the  Bankside,  against  the 
immoralities  of  which,  particularly  as  to  playing  on  Sundays,  the  inhabitants 
of  Southwark  complained  to  the  authorities  in  1 587 ;  but  it  is  not  known  when 
Henslowe's  playhouse,  the  Rose,  which  was  in  that  neighbourhood,  was  erected. 
The  Swan  and  the  Hope,  also  theatres  of  the  Bankside,  were  probably,  as  well 
as  the  Rose,  mean  erections  in  the  infancy  of  the  stage,  which  afterwards  grew 
into  importance.  There  was  an  ancient  theatre  also  at  Newington,  which  offered 
its  attractions  to  the  holiday-makers  who  sallied  out  of  the  City  to  practise  at 
the  Butts. 

Tn  the  continuation  of  Stow's  '  Chronicle/  by  Edmund  Howes,  there  is  a  very 
curious  passage,  which  carries  us  back  from  the  period  in  which  he  was  writing 
(1631)  for  sixty  years.  He  describes  the  destruction  of  the  Globe  by  fire  in 
1613,  the  burning  of  the  Fortune  Playhouse  four  years  after,  the  rebuilding  of 
both  theatres,  and  the  erection  of  "  a  new  fair  playhouse  near  the  Whitefriars." 
He  then  adds, — "  And  this  is  the  seventeenth  stage,  or  common  playhouse, 
which  hath  been  new  made  within  the  space  of  threescore  years  within  London 
and  the  suburbs,  viz.  :  five  inns,  or  common  hostelries,  turned  to  playhouses, 
one  Cockpit,  St.  Paul's  singing-school,  one  in  the  Blackfriars,  and  one  in  the 
Whitefriars,  which  was  built  last  of  all,  in  the  year  one  thousand  six  hundred 
twenty-nine.  All  the  rest  not  named  were  erected  only  for  common  play 
houses,  besides  the  new-built  Bear-garden,  which  was  built  as  well  for  plays,  and 
fencers'  prizes,  as  bull-baiting ;  besides  one  in  former  time  at  Newington  Butts. 
Before  the  space  of  threescore  years  abovesaid  I  neither  knew,  heard,  nor  read 
of  any  such  theatres,  set  stages,  or  playhouses,  as  have  been  purposely  built 
within  man's  memory."  It  would  appear,  as  far  as  we  can  judge  from  the  very 
imperfect  materials  which  exist,  that  in  the  early  period  of  Shakspere's  connec 
tion  with  the  Blackfriars  it  was  the  only  private  theatre.  At  a  subsequent 
period  the  Cockpit,  or  Phoenix,  in  Drury  Lane,  was  a  private  theatre  ;  and  so 
was  the  theatre  in  Salisbury  Court, — the  "  new  fair  playhouse  near  the  White 
friars  "  of  Howes.  What  then  was  the  distinction  between  the  private  theatre 
of  the  Blackfriars,  of  which  Shakspere  was  a  shareholder  in  1589,  and  the 
permanent  and  temporary  public  theatres  with  which  it  entered  into  com 
petition?  It  is  natural  to  conclude  that  the  proprietors  of  this  theatre,  being 
the  Queen's  servants,  not  merely  nominally,  but  the  sworn  officers  of  her  house 
hold,  were  the  most  respectable  of  their  vocation  ;  conformed  to  the  ordinances 
of  the  state  with  the  utmost  scrupulousness ;  endeavoured  to  attract  a  select 
audience  rather  than  an  uncritical  multitude ;  and  received  higher  prices  for 

*  Mr.  Collier,  who  originally  pointed  out  this  passage,  by  comparing  the  printed  copy  with 
Stow's  manuscript  in  the  British  Museum,  found  that  "  activities "  (tumbling)  were  mentioned  as 
performed  at  thene  theatres,  as  well  as  playb. 

311 


WILLIAM   Ml  AKsn:i:i:  : 

admission  than  were  paid  at  the  public  theatres.  The  performances  at  the 
Blackfriars  were  for  the  most  part  in  the  winter.  Whether  the  performances 
were  in  the  day  or  evening,  artificial  lights  were  used.  The  audience  in  what 
we  now  call  the  pit  (then  also  so  called)  sat  upon  benches,  and  did  not  stand  as 
in  the  yard  open  to  the  sky  of  the  public  playhouses.  There  were  small  rooms 
corresponding  with  the  private  boxes  of  existing  theatres.  A  portion  of  the 
audience,  including  those  who  aspired  to  the  distinction  of  critics,  sat  upon  the 
stage.  "  Though  you  be  a  magistrate  of  wit,  and  sit  on  the  stage  at  Blackfriars 
to  arraign  plays  daily,"  says  the  preface  to  the  first  folio  of  Shakspere.  The 
passage  we  have  quoted  from  Lambarde  gives  us  a  notion  of  the  prices  of  admis 
sion  at  the  very  early  theatres.  Those  who  paid  a  penny  for  the  "  entry  of  the 
scaffold"  had,  of  course,  privileges  not  obtained  by  those  who  merely  paid  "the 
penny  at  the  gate;  "and  those  who,  when  they  had  reached  the  scaffold,  had  to 
pay  another  penny  "for  quiet  standing,"  had  no  doubt  the  advantage  of  some 
railed-off  space,  in  some  degree  similar  to  the  stalls  of  the  modern  pit.  But  the 
mass  of  the  audience  must  have  been  the  penny  payers.  The  passages  in  old 
plays  and  tracts  which  allude  to  the  prices  of  admission,  for  the  most  part 
belong  to  the  high  and  palmy  period  of  the  stage.  But  we  learn  from  one  of 
Lyly's  tracts,  in  1590,  that  the  admission  at  "The  Theatre"  was  twopence, 
and  at  St.  Paul's  fourpence ;  though  a  penny  still  seems  from  other  authorities 
to  have  been  the  common  price.  It  is  possible,  and  indeed  there  is  some  evi 
dence,  that  the  rate  of  admission  even  then  varied  according  to  the  attraction 
of  the  performance  ;  and  we  may  be  pretty  sure  that  a  company  like  that  of 
Shakspere's  generally  charged  at  a  higher  rate  than  the  larger  theatres,  which 
depended  more  upon  the  multitude.  At  a  much  later  period,  Ben  Jonson  and 
Fletcher  mention  a  price  as  high  as  half-a-crown  ;  and  the  lowest  price  which 
Jonson  mentions  is  sixpence.  At  a  later  period  still,  Jonson  speaks  of  the  six 
penny  mechanics  of  the  Blackfriars.  Those  who  sat  upon  the  stage,  it  would 
appear,  paid  sixpence  for  a  stool,  in  addition  to  their  payment  for  admission. 
It  is  scarcely  worth  while  to  enter  more  minutely  into  the  evidence  on  this 
point,  which  may  be  consulted  by  the  curious  in  Malone's  '  Historical  Account 
of  the  English  Stage,'  and  more  fully  in  Mr.  Collier's  '  Annals  of  the  Stage.' 
With  these  preliminary  notices  we  may  proceed  to  the  picture  of  a  new  play  at 
the  Blackfriars,  about  a  year  or  so  before  the  period  when  it  has  been  ascertained 
that  Shakspere  was  one  amongst  the  sixteen  shareholders  of  that  company, 
with  four  other  shareholders,  and  those  not  unimportant  persons,  below  him  on 
the  list. 

On  the  posts  of  the  principal  thoroughfares  of  the  City  a  little  bill  is  affixed, 
announcing  that  a  new  History  will  be  performed  at  the  private  theatre  of  the 
Blackfriars.  The  passengers  are  familiar  with  such  bills  ;  they  were  numerous 
enough  in  the  year  1587  to  make  it  of  sufficient  importance  that  one  printer 
should  be  licensed  by  the  Stationers'  Company  for  their  production.  At  an 
early  hour  in  the  afternoon  the  watermen  are  actively  landing  their  passengers 
at  the  Blackfriars  Stairs ;  and  there  are  hasty  steps  along  tue  narrow  thorough 
fares. to  the  south  of  Lud  Gate.  The  pit  of  the  Blackfriars  is  soon  filled.  The 

812 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

people  for  the  most  part  wait  for  the  performance  in  tolerable  quiet,   but   now 

and   then    a  disturbance  takes  place.     If   we   may  judge   from   sober   documents 

and   allusive   satires,  London   was   never   so   full  of  cheats   and  bullies  as  about 

this   period.      There   is    a   curious    passage    in    Henry    Chettle's    '  Kind-Harte's 

Dream,"  printed  in   1593,  in  which  tract  the   author,    "sitting   alone   not   long 

since,  not  far  from  Finsbury,  in  a  taphouse  of    antiquity,  attending  the   coming 

of  such    companions  as  might  wash  care  away  with  carousing,"  falls  asleep,  and 

has  a  vision  of    five  personages,  amongst  whom  is  Tarleton,  the  famous  clown 

In  the  discourse    which   Tarleton   makes   is   this   passage :  — "  And  let   Tarleton 

entreat  the  young  people  of  the  city,  either  to  abstain  altogether  from  plays,  or 

at  their  coming  thither  to   use  themselves  after  a  more  quiet  order.     In  a  place 

so   civil   as   this    city  is    esteemed,  it   is   more  than  barbarously  rude  to  see  the 

shameful   disorder  and   routs  that  sometimes  in  such  public  meetings  are   used. 

The  beginners  are  neither  gentlemen  nor  citizens,  nor  any  of  both  their  servants, 

but  some  lewd  mates    that  long  for  innovation ;    and   when   they  see   advantage 

that    either    servingmen   or   apprentices   are   most   in    number    they   will    be   of 

either  side.*     Though  indeed   they  are  of   no  side,  but  men  beside  all  honesty, 

willing  to  make  booty  of  cloaks,  hats,  purses,  or  whatever  they  can  lay  hold  on 

in  a  hurley-burley.     These  are  the  common  causers  of  discord  in  public  places. 

If  otherwise  it  happen,  as  it  seldom  doth,  that  any  quarrel  be  between  man  and 

man,  it  is  far  from  manhood  to  make  so  public  a  place  their  field  to  fight  in  : 

no  men  will  do  it  but  cowards  that  would  fain  be  parted,  or  have  hope  to  have 

many  partakers."     Amongst  the  quiet  audience  the  sellers  of   nuts  and  pippins 

are  gliding.     Ever  and  anon  a  cork  bounces  out  of  a  bottle  of  ale.     Tobacco  was 

not  as  yet.     While  the  audience  are  impatiently  waiting  for  the  three  soundings 

of  trumpet  that  precede  the  prologue,  a  noise  of  many  voices  is    heard    behind 

the  curtain   which   separates  them  from    the    stage.      The   noise   is    not    of  the 

actors ;    but    of  the    crowd  of  spectators   who   have   entered  by   the   tiring-room 

door,  and    are    struggling   for    places,  or    in    eager    groups    communicating   their 

expectations  of    the   performance,  and  their  opinions    of  the    author.      Amongst 

this  crowd  would  be  the  dramatic    writers    of  the    time,  who    in    all   probability 

then,  as  without    doubt    at   a   subsequent   period,    had   a   free   admission   to   the 

theatres   generally,    the   stage   being   their  prescriptive   place."f"   We   may    venture 

to    sketch   the   group    of  compeers  that    would  be  collected  on  this  occasion,  to 

witness  the  new  production  of  one  of  Burbage's  men,  who,  if  we  are  not  greatly 

mistaken,  was  not  even  then  wholly  unknown  to  fame  as  a  dramatic  writer. 

Robert  Greene  has  been  described  by  his  friend  Henry  Chettle  as  "  a  man  of 
indifferent  years,  of  face  amiable,  of  body  well-proportioned,  his  attire  after  the 
habit  of  a  scholarlike  gentleman,  only  his  hair  somewhat  long."  J  At  the 
period  of  which  we  are  now  writing  Greene  was  probably  under  thirty  years 
of  age,  for  he  took  his  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts  at  Cambridge  in  1578.  The 
"  somewhat  long  hair "  is  scarcely  incompatible  with  the  "  attire  after  the  habit 

*  This  indicates  a  state  of  quarrel  between  serving-nieu  and  apprentices, 
t  See  Ben  Jonson's  Induction  to  Cynthia's  Revols. 
t  Kind  H  irte's  Dream. 

313 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  : 

of  a  scholar."  Chettle's  description  of  the  outward  appearance  of  the  man 
would  scarcely  lead  us  to  imagine,  what  he  has  himself  told  us,  that  "his  com 
pany  were  lightly  the  lewdest  persons  in  the  land."  Greene  took  his  degree 
of  Master  of  Arts  in  1583.  In  one  of  his  posthumous  tracts:  'The  Repentance 
of  Robert  Greene,'  which  Mr.  Dyce,  the  editor  of  his  works,  holds  to  be  ge 
nuine,  he  says,  "  I  left  the  University  and  away  to  London,  where  (after  I  had 
continued  some  short  time,  and  driven  myself  out  of  credit  with  sundry  of  my 
friends)  I  became  an  author  of  plays,  and  a  penner  of  love  pamphlets,  so  that  I 
soon  grew  famous  in  that  quality,  that  who  for  that  trade  grown  so  ordinary 
about  London  as  Robin  Greene  ?  Young  yet  in  years,  though  old  in  wicked 
ness,  I  began  to  resolve  that  there  was  nothing  bad  that  was  profitable  :  where 
upon  I  grew  so  rooted  in  all  mischief,  that  I  had  as  great  a  delight  in  wicked 
ness  as  sundry  hath  in  godliness  ;  and  as  much  felicity  I  took  in  villainy  as 
others  had  in  honesty."  The  whole  story  of  Greene's  life  renders  it  too  pro 
bable  that  Gabriel  Harvey's  spiteful  caricature  of  him  had  much  of  that  real 
resemblance  which  renders  a  caricature  most  effective :  "  I  was  altogether 
unacquainted  with  the  man,  and  never  once  saluted  him  by  name  :  but  who  in 
London  hath  not  heard  of  his  dissolute  and  licentious  living ;  his  fond  dis 
guising  of  a  Master  of  Art  with  ruffianly  hair,  unseemly  apparel,  and  more 
unseemly  company ;  his  vainglorious  and  Thrasonical  braving ;  his  fripperly 
extemporizing  and  Tarletonizing ;  his  apish  counterfeiting  of  every  ridiculous 
and  absurd  toy ;  his  fine  cozening  of  jugglers,  and  finer  juggling  with  cozeners  ; 
his  villainous  cogging  and  foisting ;  his  monstrous  swearing  and  horrible  for 
swearing  ;  his  impious  profaning  of  sacred  texts ;  his  other  scandalous  and 
blasphemous  raving ;  his  riotous  and  outrageous  surfeiting  ;  his  continual  shift 
ing  of  lodgings ;  his  plausible  mustering  and  banqueting  of  roysterly  acquaint 
ance  at  his  first  coming ;  his  beggarly  departing  in  every  hostess's  debt ;  his 
infamous  resorting  to  the  Bankside,  Shoreditch,  Southwark,  and  other  filthy 
haunts ;  his  obscure  lurking  in  basest  corners  ;  his  pawning  of  his  sword,  cloak, 
and  what  not,  when  money  came  short ;  his  impudent  pamphleting,  fantastical 
interluding,  and  desperate  libelling,  when  other  cozening  shifts  failed  ?  "*  This 
is  the  bitterness  of  revenge,  not  softened  even  by  the  penalty  which  the 
wretched  man  had  paid  for  his  offence,  dying  prematurely  in  misery  and  soli 
tariness,  and  writing  from  his  lodging  at  a  poor  shoemaker's  these  last  touching 
lines  to  the  wife  whom  he  had  abandoned  :  "  Doll,  I  charge  thee  by  the  love 
of  our  youth,  and  by  my  soul's  rest,  that  thou  wilt  see  this  man  paid  :  for  if  he 
and  his  wife  had  not  succoured  me,  I  had  died  in  the  streets."  This  cata 
strophe  happened  some  four  years  after  the  time  of  which  we  are  writing. 
Robert  Greene  is  now  surrounded  by  a  group  who  are  listening  with  delight  to 
his  eloquence  and  wit.  Sometimes  he  extemporizes  in  a  vein  of  lofty  imagery  ; 
then  he  throws  around  him  his  sarcasms  and  invectives,  heedless  where  they 
fall ;  and  suddenly  he  breaks  off  into  a  licentious  anecdote,  which  makes  the 
better- minded,  who  had  gathered  round  him  to  wonder  at  his  facility,  turn 
aside  with  pity  or  contempt.  He  is  indifferent,  so  that  his  passionate  love  of 

•  Four  Letters,  &c.,  especially  touching  Robert  Greene  :  1592. , 
311 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

display  can  be  gratified ;  and,  as  he  tells  us,  provided  he  continued  to  be  "  be 
loved  of  the  more  vainer  sort  of  people."  As  a  writer  he  is  one  amongst  the 
most  popular  of  his  day.  His  little  romances  of  some  fifty  pages  each  were  the 
delight  of  readers  for  amusement  for  half  a  century.  They  were  the  compa 
nions  of  the  courtly  and  the  humble,— eagerly  perused  by  the  scholar  of  the 
University  and  the  apprentice  of  the  City.  They  reached  the  extreme  range 
of  popularity.  In  Anthony  Wood's  time  they  were  "mostly  sold  on  ballad- 
monger's  stalls;"  and  Sir  Thomas  Overbury  describes  his  Chambermaid  as 
reading  "Greene's  works  over  and  over."  Some  of  these  tales  are  full  of 
genius,  ill-regulated  no  doubt,  but  so  pregnant  with  invention,  that  Skakspere 
in  the  height  of  his  fame  did  not  disdain  to  avail  himself  of  the  stories  of  his 
early  contemporary.*  The  dramatic  works  of  Greene  were  probably  much 
more  numerous  than  the  few  which  have  come  down  to  us ;  and  the  personal 
character  of  the  man  is  not  unaptly  represented  in  these  productions.  They 
exhibit  great  pomp  and  force  of  language ;  passages  which  degenerate  into  pure 
bombast  from  their  ambitious  attempts  to  display  the  power  of  words ;  slight 
discrimination  of  character;  incoherence  of  incident;  and  an  entire  absence  of 
that  judgment  which  results  in  harmony  and  proportion.  His  extravagant 
pomp  of  language  was  the  characteristic  of  all  the  writers  of  the  early  stage 
except  Shakspere;  and  equally  so  were  those  attempts  to  be  humorous  which 
sank  into  the  lowest  buffoonery.  In  the  lyrical  pieces  which  are  scattered  up 
and  down  Greene's  novels,  there  is  occasionally  a  quiet  beauty  which  exhibits 
the  real  depths  of  the  man's  genius.  Amidst  all  his  imperfections  of  character, 
that  genius  is  fully  acknowledged  by  the  best  of  his  contemporaries. 

By  the  side  of  Greene  stands  Thomas  Lodge,  his  senior  in  age,  and  greatly 
his  superior  in  conduct.  He  has  been  a  graduate  of  Oxford ;  next  a  player, 
though  probably  for  a  short  time ;  and  is  now  a  member  of  Lincoln's  Inn.  He 
is  probably  hovering  in  the  choice  of  a  profession  between  physic  and  the  law ; 
for  a  successful  physician  of  the  name  of  Thomas  Lodge  is  held  to  be  identical 
with  Lodge  the  poet.  He  is  the  author  of  a  tragedy,  'The  Wounds  of  Civil 
War :  lively  set  forth  in  the  true  Tragedies  of  Marius  and  Sylla.'  He  had 
become  a  writer  for  the  stage  before  the  real  power  of  dramatic  blank  verse 
had  been  adequately  conceived.  His  lines  possess  not  the  slightest  approach  to 
flexibility;  they  invariably  consist  of  ten  syllables,  with  a  pause  at  the  end  of 
every  line — "each  alley  like  its  brother;"  the  occasional  use  of  the  triplet  is 
the  only  variety.  Lodge's  tragedy  has  the  appearance  of  a  most  correct  and 
laboured  performance;  and  the  result  is  that  of  insufferable  tediousness.  With 
Greene  he  is  an  intimate.  In  conjunction  with  him  he  wrote,  probably  about 
this  time,  'A  Looking  Glass  for  London/  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  pro 
ductions  of  that  period  of  the  stage,  the  character  of  which  is  evidently  de 
rived  not  from  any  desire  of  the  writers  to  accommodate  themselves  to  the  taste 
of  an  unrefined  audience,  but  from  an  utter  deficiency  of  that  common  sense 
which  could  alone  recommend  their  learning  and  their  satire  to  the  popular 
apprehension.  For  pedantry  and  absurdity  'The  Looking-Glass  for  London' 

*  See  Introductory  Notice  to  A  Winter's  Tale. 

315 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

is  unsurpassed.  Lodge,  as  well  as  Greene,  was  a  writer  of  little  romances ;  and 
here  he  does  not  disdain  the  powers  of  nature  and  simplicity.  The  early 
writers  for  the  stage,  indeed,  seem  one  and  all  to  have  considered  that  the  lan 
guage  of  the  drama  was  conventional ;  that  the  expressions  of  real  passion 
ought  never  there  to  find  a  place ;  that  grief  should  discharge  itself  in  long 
soliloquies,  and  anger  explode  in  orations  set  forth  upon  the  most  approved 
forms  of  logic  and  rhetoric.  There  is  some  of  this  certainly  in  the  prose  ro 
mances  of  Greene  and  Lodge.  Lovers  make  very  long  protestations,  which  are 
far  more  calculated  to  display  their  learning  than  their  affection.  This  is  the 
sin  of  most  pastorals.  But  nature  sometimes  prevails,  and  we  meet  with  a 
touching  simplicity,  which  is  the  best  evidence  of  real  power.  Lodge,  as  well 
as  Greene,  gave  a  fable  to  Shakspere.* 

Another  of  the  chosen  companions  of  Robert  Greene  stands  at  his  elbow.  It 
is  Thomas  Nash,  who  in  his  "  beardless  years "  has  thrown  himself  upon  the 
town,  having  forfeited  the  honours  which  his  talents  would  have  commanded 
in  the  due  course  of  his  University  studies.  He  is  looked  upon  with  some 
dread,  and  with  more  suspicion,  for  his  vein  is  satire.  In  an  age  before  that  of 
newspapers  and  reviews,  this  young  man  is  a  pamphleteering  critic ;  and  very 
sharp,  and  to  a  great  extent  very  just,  is  his  criticism.  The  drama,  even  at  this 
early  period,  is  the  bow  of  Apollo  for  all  ambitious  poets.  It  is  Nash  who,  in 
the  days  of  Locrine,  and  Tamburlaine,  and  perhaps  Andronicus,  is  the  first  to 
laugh  at  "  the  servile  imitation  of  vainglorious  tragedians,  who  contend  not  so 
seriously  to  excel  in  action,  as  to  embowel  the  clouds  in  a  speech  of  comparison ; 
thinking  themselves  more  than  initiated  in  poets'  immortality  if  they  but  once 
get  Boreas  by  the  beard,  and  the  heavenly  Bull  by  the  Dewlap. "f  It  is  he 
who  despises  the  "  idiot  art-masters  that  intrude  themselves  to  our  ears  as  the 
alchymists  of  eloquence,  who,  mounted  on  the  stage  of  arrogance,  think  to  out 
brave  better  pens  with  the  swelling  bombast  of  bragging  blank  verse. "J  As 
Greene  is  declaiming  to  those  around  him,  Nash  looks  up  to  him  with  the 
admiration  of  his  facility  which  thus  shaped  itself  into  printed  words :  "  Give 
me  the  man  whose  extemporal  vein  in  any  humour  will  excel  our  greatest  art- 
master's  deliberate  thoughts ;  whose  inventions,  quicker  than  his  eye,  will 
challenge  the  proudest  rhetorician  to  the  contention  of  like  perfection  with  like 
expedition. "§  In  a  year  or  two  Nash  was  the  foremost  of  controversialists. 
There  are  few  things  in  our  language  written  in  a  bitterer  spirit  than  his 
pamphlets  in  the  "  Marprelate "  controversy,  and  his  letters  to  Gabriel  Harvey. 
Greene,  as  it  appears  to  us,  upon  his  deathbed  warned  Nash  of  the  danger  of 
his  course :  "  With  thee  [Marlowe]  I  join  young  Juvenal,  that  biting  satirist, 
that  lastly  with  me  together  writ  a  comedy.  Sweet  boy,  might  I  advise  thee, 
be  advised,  and  get  not  many  enemies  by  bitter  words :  inveigh  against  vain 
men,  for  thou  canst  do  it,  no  man  better,  no  man  so  weU :  thou  hast  a  liberty 
to  reprove  all,  and  name  none :  for  one  being  spoken  to,  all  are  offended ;  none 
being  blamed,  no  man  is  injured.  Stop  shallow  water  still  running,  it  will 

*  See  Introductory  Notice  to  As  You  Like  It. 

1  Epistle  prefixed  to  Greene's  '  Menaphou.'  J  Ibid.  §  Ibid. 

316 


A   BIOGEAPHY. 

rage  ;  tread  on  a  worm,  and  it  will  turn :  then  blame  not  scholars  who  are 
vexed  with  sharp  and  bitter  lines,  if  they  reprove  thy  too  much  liberty  of 
reproof."  It  is  usual  to  state  that  Thomas  Lodge  is  the  person  thus  addressed. 
So  say  Malone  and  Dr.  Dyce.  The  expression,  "  that  lastly  with  me  together 
writ  a  comedy,"  is  supposed  to  point  to  the  union  of  Greene  and  Lodge  in  the 
composition  of  '  The  Looking-Glass  for  London.'  But  it  is  much  easier  to  be 
lieve  that  Greene  and  Nash  wrote  a  comedy  which  is  unknown  to  us,  than  that 
Greene  should  address  Lodge,  some  years  his  elder,  as  "  young  Juvenal,"  and 
"  sweet  boy."  Neither  have  we  any  evidence  that  Lodge  was  a  "  biting 
satirist,"  and  used  "  bitter  words  "  and  personalities  never  to  be  forgiven.  We 
hold  that  the  warning  was  meant  for  Nash.  It  was  given  in  vain  ;  for  he  spent 
his  high  talents  in  calling  others  rogue  and  fool,  and  having  the  words  returned 
upon  him  with  interest ;  bespattering,  and  bespattered. 

George  Peele  is  dressed  for  his  part,  a  minor  one.  But  the  knot  we  have 
attempted  to  describe  are  his  familiar  friends ;  and  he  must  have  a  laugh  and  a 
sneer  with  them  at  the  young  author  of  the  day.  They  regard  that  author  as  a 
pretender.  He  has  taken  no  degree  at  the  universities :  he  is  not  of  their  own 
habitual  tavern  acquaintance.  His  daily  life  is  that  of  a  base  mechanical ; — he 
labours  hard  at  his  desk.  Old  Burbage,  experienced  as  he  is,  has  learnt  much 
from  him  in  the  economical  management  of  their  joint  adventure.  The  sharers 
are  prospering  under  his  advice  ;  but  for  such  a  drudge  to  write  anything  worth 
the  listening,  God  save  the  mark !  He  is  a  favourite  too  ;  gentle,  considerate, 
but  unfailing  in  his  own  duty,  and  accustomed  to  expect  order  and  punctuality 
in  others.  He  is  a  mere  novice  in  the  ways  of  the  town  ;  pays  his  reckoning  at 
the  ordinary  when  he  dines  there ;  has  never  learnt  to  cog  a  die,  and  scarcely 
knows  pedlers'  French.  The  social  accomplishments  of  George  Peele  are  re 
corded  in  pamphlet  and  play  ;  *  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  if  he  looks 
upon  William  Shakspere  with  more  than  poetical  rivalry. 

But  there  is  one  of  higher  mark  who  occasionally  mingles  with  this  knot  of 
dissolute  wits,  but  suddenly  turns  away  from  them,  as  if  he  sought  to  breathe  a 
purer  atmosphere.  That  impatient  spirit,  with  the  flashing  eye  and  the  lofty 
brow,  is  Christopher  Marlowe.  It  is  the  author  of  '  Tamburlaine  the  Great.' 
It  is  he  who  addressed  his  first  audience  in  words  which  told  them  that  one 
of  high  pretensions  was  come  to  rescue  the  stage  from  the  dominion  of  feeble 
ness  and  buffoonery : — 

"  From  jigging  veins  of  rhyming  mother  wits, 
And  such  conceits  as  clownage  keeps  in  pay, 
We  '11  lead  you  to  the  stately  tent  of  war, 
Where  you  shall  hear  the  Scythian  Tamburlaine, 
*  Threat'ning  the  world  with  high  astounding  terms."  t 

His  daring  was  successful.  It  is  he  who  is  accounted  the  "  famous  gracer  of 
tragedians."*  It  is  he  who  has  "gorgeously  invested  with  rare  ornaments 

*  See  '  The  Merry  Conceited  Jests  of  George  Peele/  and  '  The  Puritan.' 
f  Prologue  to  '  Tamburlaine  the  Great.'  t  Greene. 

31  / 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPEIIE: 

splendid  habiliments  the  English  tongue."*  It  is  he  who,  after  his  tragical  end 
was  held 

"  Fit  to  write  passions  for  the  souls  below."  f 

It  is  he  of  the  "  mighty  line."t  The  name  of  Tamburlaine  was  applied  to 
Marlowe  himself  by  his  contemporaries.  It  is  easy  to  imagine  that  he  might 
be  such  a  man  as  he  has  delighted  to  describe  in  his  Scythian  Shepherd  : — 

"  Of  stature  tall,  and  straightly  fashioned, 
Like  his  desire  lift  upward  and  divine ; 
So  large  of  limbs,  his  joints  so  strongly  knit, 
Such  breadth  of  shoulders  as  might  mainly  bear 
Old  Atlas'  burthen.        ...  , 

Pale  of  complexion,  wrought  in  him  with  passion, 
Thirsting  with  sovereignty  and  love  of  arms, 
His  lofty  brows  in  folds  do  figure  death, 
And  in  their  smoothness  amity  and  life ; 
About  them  hangs  a  knot  of  amber  hair, 
Wrapped  in  curls,  as  fierce  Achilles'  was, 
On  which  the  breath  of  heaven  delights  to  play, 
Making  it  dance  with  wanton  majesty. 
His  arms  and  fingers,  long  and  snowy-white, 
Betokening  valour  and  excess  of  strength  "  § 

The  essential  character  of  his  mind  was  that  of  a  lofty  extravagance,  shaping 
itself  into  words  that  may  be  likened  to  the  trumpet  in  music,  and  the  scarlet 
in  painting — perpetual  trumpet,  perpetual  scarlet.  One  of  the  courtiers  of 
Tamburlaine  says, — 

"  You  see,  my  lord,  what  working  words  he  hath." 
Hear  a  few  of  these  "  working  words  : " — 

"  The  god  of  war  resigns  his  room  to  me, 
Meaning  to  make  me  general  of  the  world : 
Jove,  viewing  me  in  arms,  looks  pale  and  wan, 
Fearing  my  power  should  pull  him  from  his  throne. 
Where'er  I  come  the  fatal  sisters  sweat, 
And  grisly  Death,  by  running  to  and  fro, 
To  do  their  ceaseless  homage  to  my  sword  ; 
And  here,  in  Afric,  where  it  seldom  rains, 
Since  I  arriv'd  with  my  triumphant  host, 
Have  swelling  clouds,  drawn  from  wide-gasping  wounds, 
Been  oft  resolv'd  in  bloody,  purple  showers, 
A  meteor  that  might  terrify  the  earth, 
And  make  it  quake  at  every  drop  it  drinks."  || 

• 

Through  five  thousand  lines  have  we  the  same  pompous  monotony,  the  same 
splendid  exaggeration,  the  same  want  of  truthful  simplicity.  But  the  man  was 
in  earnest.  His  poetical  power  had  nothing  in  it  of  affectation  and  pretence. 
There  is  one  speech  of  Tamburlaine  which  unveils  the  inmost  mind  of  Tam- 

*  Meres.  f  Peele.  J  Jonson. 

§  Tamburlaine,  Part  I.,  Act  IL  ||  Ibid.,  Part  L,  Act  v. 

818 


A   BIOGRAPHY, 

burlaine's  author.  It  is  by  far  the  highest  passage  in  the  play,  revealing  to 
us  something  nobler  than  the  verses  which  "jet  on  the  stage  in  tragical  buskins, 
every  word  filling  the  mouth  like  the  faburden  of  Bow-bell :  "* — 

"  Nature  that  form'd  us  of  four  elements, 
Warring  within  our  breasts  for  regiment, 
Doth  teach  us  all  to  have  aspiring  minds ; 
Our  souls,  whose  faculties  can  comprehend 
The  wondrous  architecture  of  the  world, 
And  measure  every  wandering  planet's  course, 
Still  climbing  after  knowledge  infinite, 
And  always  moving  as  the  restless  spheres, 
Will  us  to  wear  ourselves,  and  never  rest, 
Until  we  reach  the  ripest  fruit  of  all."  f 

The  "ripest  fruit  of  all,"  with  Tamburlaine,  was  an  "earthly  crown;"  but 
with  Marlowe,  there  can  be  little  doubt,  the  "  climbing  after  knowledge  infinite  " 
was  to  be  rewarded  with  wisdom,  and  peace,  the  fruit  of  wisdom.  But  he  sought 
for  the  "  fruit "  in  dark  and  forbidden  paths.  He  plunged  into  the  haunts  of 
wild  and  profligate  men,  lighting  up  their  murky  caves  with  his  poetical  torch, 
and  gaining  nothing  from  them  but  the  renewed  power  of  scorning  the  un- 
spiritual  things  of  our  being,  without  the  resolution  to  seek  for  wisdom  in  the 
daylight  track  which  every  man  may  tread.  If  his  life  had  not  been  fatally  cut 
short,  the  fiery  spirit  might  have  learnt  the  value  of  meekness,  and  the  daring 
sceptic  have  cast  away  the  bitter  "  fruit "  of  half-knowledge.  He  did  not  long 
survive  the  fearful  exhortation  of  his  dying  companion,  the  unhappy  Greene  : — 
"  Wonder  not,  thou  famous  gracer  of  tragedians,  that  Greene,  who  hath  said 
with  thee,  like  the  fool  in  his  heart,  there  is  no  God,  should  now  give  glory  unto 
His  greatness :  for  penetrating  is  His  power,  His  hand  lies  heavy  upon  me,  He 
hath  spoken  unto  me  with  a  voice  of  thunder,  and  I  have  felt  He  is  a  God  that 
can  punish  enemies.  "Why  should  thy  excellent  wit,  His  gift,  be  so  blinded 
that  thou  shouldest  give  no  glory  to  the  giver  ?  "J  Marlowe  resented  the  accu 
sation  which  Greene's  words  conveyed.  We  may  hope  that  he  did  more  ;  that 
he  felt,  to  use  other  words  of  the  same  memorable  exhortation,  that  the  "  liberty  " 
which  he  sought  was  an  "  infernal  bondage." 

Turn  we  to  a  soberer  group  than  those  we  have  described.  On  his  stool,  with 
his  page  behind  him — for  he  is  a  courtier,  though  a  poor  one — sits  "  eloquent 
and  witty  John  Lyly."  §  He  was  called,  by  a  bookseller  who  collected  his  plays 
some  forty  years  or  more  after  their  appearance,  "  the  only  rare  poet  of  that  time, 
the  witty,  comical,  facetiously  quick,  and  unparalleled  John  Lyly,  Master  of  Arts." 
Such  is  the  puff-direct  of  a  title-page  of  1632.  The  title-pages  and  the  puffs 
have  parted  company  in  our  day,  to  carry  on  their  partnership  in  separate  fields, 
and  sometimes  looking  loftily  on  each  other,  as  if  they  were  not  twin-brothers. 
He  it  was  that  took  hold  of  the  somewhat  battered  and  clipped  but  sterling 
coin  of  our  old  language,  and,  minting  it  afresh,  with  a  very  sufficient  quantity 


*  Greene.  t  Tamburlaine,  Part  I.,  Act  11.  J  Groat's-worth  of  Wit. 

§  Meres. 

319 


WILLIAM    SIIAKSPF.RE  : 

of  alloy,  produced  a  sprakling  currency,  the  very  counters  of  court  compliment. 
It  was  truly  said,  and  it  was  meant  for  praise,  that  he  "hath  stepped  one  step 
further  than  any  either  before  or  since  he  first  began  the  witty  discourse  of  his 
'  Euphues.'  "  *  He  is  now  some  forty  years  old.  According  to  Nash,  "  he  is  but 
a  little  fellow,  but  he  hath  one  of  the  best  wits  in  England."f  The  little  man 
smiles  briskly  upon  all  around  him ;  but  there  is  a  furrow  on  his  brow,  for  he 
knows 

"  What  hell  it  is  in  suing  long  to  bide." 

He  has  been  a  dreary  time  waiting  and  petitioning  for  the  place  of  Master  of 
the  Revels.  In  his  own  peculiar  phraseology  he  tells  the  Queen,  in  one  of  his 
petitions, — "  For  these  ten  years  I  have  attended  with  an  unwearied  patience, 
and  now  I  know  not  what  crab  took  me  for  an  oyster,  that  in  the  middest  of 
your  sunshine,  of  your  most  gracious  aspect,  hath  thrust  a  stone  between  the 
shells  to  rate  me  alive  that  only  live  on  dead  hopes."  J  Drayton  described  him 
truly,  at  a  later  period,  when  poetry  had  asserted  her  proper  rights,  as 

".Talking  of  stones,  stars,  plants,  of  fishes,  flies, 
Playing  with  words,  and  idle  siniilies." 

Lyly  was  undoubtedly  the  predecessor  of  Shakspere.  His  '  Alexander  and 
Campaspe,1  acted  not  only  at  Court  but  at  the  Blackfriars,  was  printed  as  early 
as  1584.  It  is  not  easy  to  understand  how  a  popular  audience  could  ever  have 
sat  it  out ;  but  the  incomprehensible  and  the  excellent  are  sometimes  con 
founded.  What  should  we  think  of  a  prologue,  addressed  to  a  gaping  pit,  and 
hushing  the  cracking  of  nuts  into  silence,  which  commences  thus? — "They 
that  fear  the  stinging  of  wasps  make  fans  of  peacock's  tails,  whose  spots  are  like 
eyes :  and  Lepidus,  which  could  not  sleep  for  the  chattering  of  birds,  set  up  a 
beast  whose  head  was  like  a  dragon :  and  we,  which  stand  in  awe  of  report,  are 
compelled  to  set  before  our  owl  Pallas's  shield,  thinking  by  her  virtue  to  cover 
the  other's  deformity."  Shakspere  was  a  naturalist,  and  a  true  one ;  but  Lyly 
was  the  more  inventive,  for  he  made  his  own  natural  history.  The  epilogue  to 
the  same  play  informs  the  confiding  audience  that  "  Where  the  rainbow  toucheth 
the  tree  no  caterpillars  will  hang  on  the  leaves  :  where  the  glow-worm  creepeth 
in  the  night  no  adder  will  go  in  the  day."  '  Alexander  and  Campaspe '  is  in 
prose.  The  action  is  little,  the  talk  is  everything.  Hephaestion  exhorts  Alex 
ander  against  the  danger  of  love,  in  a  speech  that  with  very  slight  elaboration 
would  be  long  enough  for  a  sermon.  Apelles  soliloquizes  upon  his  own  love  for 
Campaspe  in  a  style  so  insufferably  tedious,  that  we  could  wish  to  thrust  the 
picture  that  he  sighs  over  down  his  rhetorical  throat  (even  as  Pistol  was  made 
to  swallow  the  leek),  if  he  did  not  close  his  oration  with  one  of  the  prettiest 
songs  of  our  old  poetry  : — 


*  Webbe's  'Discourse  of  English  Poetry/  1586. 

t  Apology  of  Pierce  Pennilesse. 

J  P«tition  to  the  Queen  in  the  Harleian  MSS.:  Dodsley's  Old  Plays,  1825,  vol.  ii. 
320 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

"  Cupid  and  my  Campaspe  play'd 
At  cards  for  kisses,  Cupid  paid  ; 
He  stakes  his  quiver,  bow,  and  arrows, 
His  mother's  doves  and  team  of  sparrows 
Loses  them,  too ;  then  down  he  throws 
The  coral  of  his  lip,  the  rose 
Growing  on  's  cheek  (but  none  knows  howV 
With  these  the  crystal  of  his  brow, 
And  then  the  dimple  of  his  chin ; 
All  these  did  my  Campaspe  win. 
At  last  he  set  her  both  his  eyes, 
She  won,  and  Cupid  blind  did  rise. 
0  Love  !  has  she  done  this  to  thee  ? 
What  shall,  alas  !  become  of  me  ? " 

The  dramatic  system  of  Lyly  is  a  thing  unique  in  its  kind.  He  never  attempts 
to  deal  with  realities.  He  revels  in  pastoral  and  mythological  subjects.  He 
makes  his  gods  and  goddesses,  his  nymphs  and  shepherds,  all  speak  a  language 
which  common  mortals  would  disdain  to  use.  In  prose  or  in  verse,  they  are  all 
the  cleverest  of  the  clever.  They  are,  one  and  all,  passionless  beings,  with  no 
voice  but  that  of  their  showman.  But  it  is  easy  to  see  how  a  man  of  consider 
able  talent  would  hold  such  things  to  be  the  proper  refinements  to  banish  for 
ever  the  vulgarities  of  the  old  comedy.  He  had  not  the  genius  to  discover  that 
the  highest  drama  was  essentially  for  the  people ;  and  that  its  foundations  must 
rest  upon  the  elemental  properties  of  mankind,  whether  to  produce  tears  or 
laughter  that  should  command  a  lasting  and  universal  sympathy.  Lyly  came 
too  early,  or  too  late,  to  gather  any  enduring  fame  ;  and  he  lived  to  see  a  new 
race  of  writers,  and  one  towering  above  the  rest,  who  cleared  the  stage  of  his 
tinselled  puppets,  and  filled  the  scene  with  noble  copies  of  humanity.  His  fate 
was  a  hard  one.  Without  the  vices  of  men  of  higher  talent,  he  had  to  endure 
poverty  and  disappointment,  doomed  to  spin  his  "  pithy  sentences  and  gallant 
tropes "  for  a  thankless  Court  and  a  neglectful  multitude ;  and,  with  a  tearful 
merriment,  writing  to  his  Queen,  "  In  all  humility  I  entreat  that  I  may  dedicate 
to  your  Sacred  Majesty  Lyly  de  Tristibus,  wherein  shall  be  seen  patience 
labours,  and  misfortunes." 

Around  Lyly  are  collected  the  satellites  of  the  early  stage,  looking  perhaps 
with  little  complacency  upon  the  new  author,  whose  bolder  and  simpler  style, 
though  scarcely  yet  developed — whose  incidents,  though  encumbered  as  yet  with 
superfluous  horrors — have  seized  upon  the  popular  mind  as  something  to  be 
felt  and  understood.  The  critics  can  scarcely  comprehend  that  there  is  genius 
in  this  young  man  ;  for  he  labours  not  at  words,  and  appears  to  have  no  parti 
cular  anxiety  to  be  fine  and  effective.  Robert  Wilson,  of  whom  we  have  spoken, 
compares  notes  with  the  great  Euphuist;  and  they  think  the  age  is  growing 
degenerate.  Thomas  Kyd  is  there  in  the  full  flush  of  his  popularity.  He  is 
the  author  of  '  Jeronimo,'  which  men  held  a  dozen  years  after  "  was  the  only 
best  and  judiciously  penned  play  in  Europe."  *  It  is  of  the  same  period  as 


*  Jonson's  Induction  to  '  Cynthia's  Revels.' 
LIFE.  Y  321 


WILLIAM  SIIAKSIM:I:I:  : 

Andronicus.  Wherever  performed  originally,  the  principal  character  was 
adapted  to  an  actor  of  very  small  stature.  It  is  not  impossible  that  a  precocious 
boy,  one  of  the  children  of  Paul's,  might  have  filled  the  character.  Jeronimo 
the  Spanish  marshal,  and  Balthazar  the  Prince  of  Portugal,  thus  exchange  com 
pliments  : — 

"  Balthazar.  Thou  inch  of  Spain, 
Thou  man,  from  thy  hose  downward  scarce  so  much, 
Thou  very  little  longer  than  thy  beard, 
Speak  not  such  big  Words ;  they  '11  throw  thee  dowu, 
Little  Jeronimo  :  words  greater  than  thyself ! 
It  must  be. 

Jeronimo.  And  thou,  long  thing  of  Portugal,  why  not  ? 
Thou  that  art  full  as  tall 
As  an  English  gallows,  upper  beam  and  all, 
Devourer  of  apparel,  thou  huge  swallower, 
My  hose  will  scarce  make  thee  a  standing  collar : 
What !  have  I  almost  quited  you  ?' 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  '  Jeronimo,'  whatever  remodelling  it  may  have 
received,  belongs  essentially  to  the  early  stage.  There  is  killing  beyond  all 
reasonable  measure.  Lorenzo  kills  Pedro,  and  Alexandro  kills  Rogero :  Andrea 
is  also  killed,  but  he  does  not  so  readily  quit  the  scene.  After  a  decent  in 
terval,  occupied  by  talk  and  fighting,  the  man  comes  again  in  the  shape  of 
his  own  ghost,  according  to  the  following  stage -direction  : — "  Enter  two,  dragging 
of  ensigns ;  then  the  funeral  of  Andrea :  next  Horatio  and  Lorenzo  leading  Prince 
Balthazar  captive :  then  the  Lord  General,  with  others,  mourning  :  a  great  cry 
within,  Charon,  a  boat,  a  boat :  then  enter  Charon  and  the  Ghost  of  Andrea." 
Charon,  Revenge,  and  the  Ghost  have  a  little  pleasant  dialogue  ;  and  the  Ghost 
then  vanishes  with  the  following  triumphant  words  : — 

"  I  am  a  happy  ghost ; 

Revenge,  my  passage  now  cannot  be  cross'd  : 
Come,  Charon ;  come,  hell's  sculler,  waft  me  o'er 
Your  sable  streams  which  look  like  molten  pitch ; 
My  funeral  rites  are  made,  my  hearse  hung  rich." 

The  Ghost  of  Shakspere's  first  Hamlet  was,  we  have  little  doubt,  an  improve 
ment  upon  this  personage. 

Henry  Chettle,  a  friend  of  Greene,  but  who  seems  to  have  been  a  man  of 
higher  morals,  if  of  inferior  genius  ;  and  Anthony  Munday,  who  was  called  by 
Meres  "  the  best  plotter  "  (by  which  he  probably  means  a  manufacturer  of  dumb 
shows),  are  the  only  remaining  dramatists  whose  names  have  escaped  oblivion 
that  can  be  called  contemporaries  of  Shakspere  in  his  early  days  at  the  Black- 
friars. 

Chettle  is  one  of  the  very  few  persons  who  have  left  us  any  distinct  memorial 
cf  Shakspere.  He  appears  to  have  had  some  connexion  with  the  writers  of 
his  time,  in  preparing  their  manuscripts  for  the  press.  He  so  prepared 
Greene's  posthumous  tract,  '  The  Groat's-worth  of  Wit,'  copying  out  the 
author's  faint  and  blotted  sheets,  written  on  his  sick-bed.  He  says,  in  the 
322 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 


preface  to  '  Kind-Harte's   Dream,'  in  which   he  is  very  anxious   to   explain    the 

share  which   he   had    in    the   publication  of  Greene's   pamphlet,  "  I  had  only  in 

the  copy  this  share  :  it  was  ill-written,  as  sometimes  Greene's  hand  was  none  of 

the  best  ;  licensed  it  must  be,  ere  it  could  be  printed,  which  could,  never  be  if 

it  might  not  be   read.     To   be   brief,  I   writ   it   over,  and,  as   near  "as    I   could, 

followed  the  copy,    only  in   that   letter    I   put  something  out,   but  in  the  whole 

book  not  a  word  in  ;    for    I    protest  it  was  all  Greene's,  not   mine,  nor  Master 

Nash's,    as    some    unjustly   have   affirmed."      In   this   pamphlet   of   Greene's   an 

jnsult   was   offered   to    Shakspere;    and   it   would   appear   from    the   allusions   of 

Chettle  that  he  was  justly  offended.     Marlowe,  also,  resented,  as  well  he  might, 

the   charge   of  impiety   which   was   levelled   against   him.     Chettle   says,  "With 

neither   of    them   that    take   offence  was    I    acquainted."     By   acquaintance    he 

means   companionship,  if  not  friendship.     He  goes  on,  "  And  with  one  of  them 

I  care  not  if  I  never  be."     He  is  supposed  here  to  point  at  Marlowe.     But  to 

the  other   he    tenders    an    apology,  in   all   sincerity  :    "  The  other,  whom  at  that 

time  I  did  not  so  much   spare  as  since  I  wish  I  had,  for  that  as   I  have  mo 

derated   the   heat   of    living   writers,    and   might  have   used   my   cwn   discretion 

especially  in  such  a  case),  the  author  being  dead,  that  I   did  not  I  am  as  sorry 

as  if   the  original   fault  had  been    my  fault;    because  myself  have  seen  his  de 

meanour   no   less    civil   than  he  excellent   in  the   quality  he   professes  :   besides. 

divers  of  worship    have  reported   his    uprightness  of    dealing,   which    argues    his 

honesty,  and  his  facetious  grace  in  writing,  that  approves  his  art."     In  the  In 

duction  to  '  Cynthia's  Revels  '   Ben  Jonson  makes  one  of  the  personified  spec 

tators  on  the  stage  say,  "I  would  speak  with  your  author;  where  is  he?"     It 

may  be  presumed,  therefore,  that  it  was  not  uncommon  for  the  author  to  mix 

with  that  part  of  the  audience;  and  thus   Henry  Chettle  may  be  good  evidence 

of    the   civil   demeanour   of  William    Shakspere.     We   may   imagine   the   young 

"  maker  "  composedly  moving  amidst  the  throng  of  wits   and  critics  that  fill  the 

stage.     He  moves  amongst  them  modestly,  but  without  any  false  humility.     In 

worldly   station,    if  such   a   consideration   could    influence   his  demeanour,  he  is 

fully  their  equal.     They  are  for  the  most  part,  as  he  himself  is,  actors,  as  well 

as  makers  of  plays.     Phillips   says    Marlowe  was    an  actor.     Greene   is   reason 

ably    conjectured   to   have   been   an   actor.      Peele    and   Wilson   were   actors   of 

Shakspere's  own   company  ;   and  so  was  Anthony  Wadeson.     There  can  be  little 

doubt  that  upon  the  early  stage   the  occupations  for  the  most  part  went  toge 

ther.     The  dialogue  was  less   regarded   than  the  action.     A  plot  was  hastily  got 

up,  with   rude  shows  and  startling  incidents.     The  characters  were   little   discri 

minated  ;    one   actor   took   the   tyrant   line,    and    another   the   lover  ;    and   ready 

words  were   at  hand  for  the   one   to   rant   with   and    the  other   to  whine.     The 

actors   were   not   very   solicitous    about    the   words,    and   often   discharged   their 

mimic  passions  in  extemporaneous  eloquence.     In   a  few   years  the  necessity  of 

pleasing   more   refined   audiences   changed   the   economy  of  the   stage.     Men   of 

high  talent  sought  the  theatre  as  a  ready  mode  of  maintenance  by  their  writings  ; 

but   their  connexion  with  the  stage  would  naturally  begin    in    acting  rather  than 

in    authorship.     The    managers,    themselves    actors,    would    think,    and    perhaps 


2  Y  2 


WILLIAM   SIIAKSPERE  : 

rightly,  that  an  actor  would  be  the  best  judge  of  dramatic  effect;  and  a  Mastei 
of  Arts,  unless  he  were  thoroughly  conversant  with  the  business  of  the  stage, 
might  better  carry  his  taffeta  phrases  to  the  publishers  of  sonnets.  The  rewards 
of  authorship  through  the  medium  of  the  press  were  in  those  days  small 
indeed  ;  and  paltry  as  was  the  dramatist's  fee.  the  players  were  far  better  pay 
masters  than  the  stationers.  To  become  a  sharer  in  a  theatrical  speculation 
offered  a  reasonable  chance  of  competence,  if  not  of  wealth.  If  a  sharer  existed 
who  was  "  excellent "  enough  in  "  the  quality "  he  professed  to  fill  the  stage 
creditably,  and  added  to  that  quality  "  a  facetious  grace  in  writing,"  there  is, 
no  doubt  that  with  "  uprightness  of  dealing  "  he  would,  in  such  a  company  as 
that  of  the  Blackfriars,  advance  rapidly  to  distinction,  and  have  the  counte 
nance  and  friendship  of  "  divers  of  worship."  One  of  the  early  puritanica. 
attacks  upon  the  stage  has  this  coarse  invective  against  players  :  "  Are  they  not 
notoriously  known  to  be  those  men  in  their  life  abroad,  as  they  are  on  the  stage, 
roysters,  brawlers,  ill-dealers,  boasters,  lovers,  loiterers,  ruffians?  So  that  they  are 
always  exercised  in  playing  their  parts  and  practising  wickedness  ;  making  that  an 
art,  to  the  end  that  they  might  the  better  gesture  it  in  their  parts  ? "  By  the 
side  of  this  silly  abuse  may  be  placed  the  modest  answer  of  Thomas  Heywood,  the 
most  prolific  of  writers,  himself  an  actor  :  "I  also  could  wish  that  such  as  are 
condemned  for  their  licentiousness  might  by  a  general  consent  be  quite  excluded 
our  society;  for,  as  we  are  men  that  stand  in  the  broad  eye  of  the  world,  so 
should  our  manners,  gestures,  and  behaviours,  savour  of  such  government  and 
modesty,  to  deserve  the  good  thoughts  and  reports  of  all  men,  and  to  abide  the 
sharpest  censure  even  of  those  that  are  the  greatest  opposites  to  the  quality.  Many 
amongst  us  I  know  to  be  of  substance,  of  government,  of  sober  lives,  and 
temperate  carriages,  housekeepers,  and  contributory  to  all  duties  enjoined  them, 
equally  with  them  that  are  ranked  with  the  most  bountiful ;  and  if,  amongst  so 
many  of  sort,  there  be  any  few  degenerate  from  the  rest  in  that  good  demeanour 
which  is  both  requisite  and  expected  from  their  hands,  let  me  entreat  you  not  to 
censure  hardly  of  all  for  the  misdeeds  of  some,  but  rather  to  excuse  us,  as  Ovid 
doth  the  generality  of  women  : — 

'  Parcite  paucarum  diffundere  crimen  in  omnes  ; 
Spectetur  mentis  quaeque  puella  snis.'  "  t 

Those  of  Shakspere's  early  competitors  who  approached  the  nearest  to  him  in 
genius  possessed  not  that  practical  wisdom  which  carried  him  safely  and  honourably 
through  a  life  beset  with  some  temptations.  They  knew  not  the  value  of  "  govern 
ment  and  modesty."  He  lived  amongst  them,  but  we  may  readily  believe  that  he 
was  not  of  them. 

The  curtain  is  drawn  back,  slowly,  and  with  little  of  mechanical  contrivance. 
The  rush-strewn  stage  is  presented  to  the  spectators.  The  play  to  be  performed 
is  Henry  VI.  The  funeral  procession  of  Henry  V.  enters  to  a  dead  march  ;  a 


Third  Blast  of  Retreat  from  Plays  and  Players, 
f  Apology  for  Actors. 


824 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

few  mourners  in  sable  robes  following  the  bier.  The  audience  is  silent  as  the 
imaginary  corse;  but  their  imaginations  are  not  stimulated  with  gorgeous 
scenery.  There  is  no  magical  perspective  of  the  lofty  roof  and  long-drawn 
aisles  of  Westminster  Abbey ;  no  ojgan  peals,  no  trains  of  choristers  with  tapers 
and  censers  sing  the  Requiem.  The  rushes  on  the  floor  are  matched  with  the 
plain  arras  on  the  walls.  Bedford  speaks  : — 

"  Hung  be  the  heavens  with  black,  yield  day  to  night." 

Lofty  in  his  tone,  corresponding  with  the  solemn  and  unvarying  rhythm.     It  is 
the  "drumming   decasyllabon "  which   Nash   ridicules.     The   great   master   of    a 
freer   versification    is   not   yet   confident   of    his   power.     The   attention    of    the 
auditory  is  fixed  by  the  stirring  introduction.     There  are  old   remembrances   of 
national  honour  in   every  line.     The  action  moves   rapidly.     The  mourners  dis 
perse  ;  and  by  an  effort  of  imagination  the  scene  must  be  changed  from  England 
to  France.     Charles  the   king   marches   with   drum   and   soldiers.     The   English 
are  encountered,  the   French  are  beaten.     The   Maid  of   Orleans  appears.     The 
people  will  see  the  old  French  wars  which  live  in  their  memories  fought  over 
again ;    and  their   spirits    rise   with   every   alarum.     But   the  poet  will  show  too 
the   ruinous    course    of    faction   at    home.     The   servingmen   of    Gloucester  and 
Winchester  battle  at  the  Tower  gates.     The   Mayor  of   London  and  his  officers 
suppress  the  riot.     Again  to  Orleans,  where  Salisbury  is  slain  by  a  fatal  linstock. 
All  is  bustle  and  contention  in  France ;  but  the  course  of  intrigue  in  England  is 
unfolded.     The   first   page    of  the    fatal   history  of  York  and    Lancaster  is  here 
read.     We    see    the   growth    of   civil  war  at  home ;    we  trace  the  beginnings  of 
disaster  abroad.     The    action   presents   a  succession  of    events,   rather   than   de 
veloping  some  great  event  brought  about  by  a  skilful  adjustment  of  many  parts. 
But  in  a  "  chronicle  history "  this  was  scarcely  to  be  avoided ;  and  it  is  easy  to 
see  how,  until  the  great  principle  of  art  which  should  produce  a  Lear  and    a 
Macbeth  was  evolved,  the  independent  succession  of  events  in  a  chronicle  history 
would  not  only  be  the  easiest  to  portray  by  a  young  writer,  but  would  be  the 
most  acceptable   to  an    uncritical   audience,   that   had   not   yet   been   taught   the 
dependences    of    a   catastrophe    upon    slight   preceding   incidents,    upon    niceties 
of  character,  upon   passion   evolved   out   of    seeming   tranquillity,  the   danger   ot 
which   has    been   skilfully   shadowed   forth   to   the   careful   observer.     It   was    in 
detached  passages,  therefore,  that  the  young  poet  would  put  out  his  strength  in 
such   a  play.     The  death  of  Talbot  and  his  son  was  a  fit  occasion  for  such  an 
effort ;  and  the  early  stage  had  certainly  seen  nothing  comparable  in  power  and 
beauty  to  the  couplets  which  exhibit  the  fall  of  the  hero  and  his  boy.     Other 
poets    would    have   noticed   the   scene.     Shakspere   painted   it;    and   his   success 
is  well  noticed    by  Thomas  Nash,  who  for  once  loses  his  satirical  vein  in  fer 
vent   admiration  : — "  How  would  it  have  joyed   brave  Talbot    (the  terror  of  the 
French)   to  think  that,  after  he   had   lain  two   hundred    years   in   his   tomb,  he 
should  triumph  again  on  the  stage,  and  have  his  bones  new  embalmed  with  the 
tears  of  ten  thousand  spectators  at  least  (at  several  times),  who,  in  the  tragedian 

825 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

that  represents  his  person,  imagine  they  behold  him  fresh  bleeding ! "  *  The 
prejudices  of  the  age  are  gratified  by  the  condemnation  of  the  Pucelle ;  but 
the  poet  takes  care  to  make  it  felt  that  her  judges  are  "bloody  homicides." 
At  the  very  close  of  the  play  a  new  series  o/  events  is  opened,  ending  here  with 
the  mission  of  Suffolk  to  bring  a  bride  for  the  imbecile  king ;  but  showing  that 
the  issue  is  to  be  presented  in  some  coming  story.  The  new  play  is  a  success : 
and  the  best  of  his  brother  poets  have  a  ready  welcome  for  the  author,  in  spite 
of  a  sneer  or  two  at  "  Shake-scene." 

•  Pierce  Pennil 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 


NOTE  ON  THE  DATE  OF  NASH'S  EPISTLE  PREFIXED  TO 

'  MENAPHON.* 


THOMAS  NASH  took  his  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts  at  Cambridge  hi  1585.  In  a  tract  published  in 
1595,  Cambridge  is  said  to  have  been  unkind  to  Nash  in  weaning  him  before  his  time.  As  he  never 
took  a  higher  degree  than  that  of  Bachelor  of  Arts,  he  is  supposed  to  have  left  the  university  in  some 
disgrace.  He  is  held  to  have  travelled  before  he  acquired  a  distinction  amongst  the  satirical  and  con 
troversial  writers  of  London.  In  the  address  to  '  Menaphon '  he  says  to  the  gentlemen-students — 
"  Read  favourably  to  encourage  me  in  the  firstlings  of  my  folly."  It  has  been  usual  to  assign  the  date 
of  this  epistle  to  1589.  The  first  recorded  edition  of  Greene's  'Menaphon'  bears  the  date  of  that 
year.  Nash  in  the  epistle  promises  a  satirical  work  called  'Anatomy  of  Absurdities/  and  in  1589  such 
a  work  appears.  Mr.  Dyce,  however,  fixes  the  date  of  the  first  edition  of  'Menaphon'  as  1587  ;  but  he 
cites  the  title  from  the  earliest  edition  he  has  met  with,  that  of  1589.  It  would  be  satisfactory  to 
know  upon  what  authority  an  earlier  date  than  that  of  1589  is  given  to  Nash's  edition.  If  Nash  wrote 
the  epistle  in  1589,  his  high  praise  of  Peele  as  the  Atlas  of  poetry,  and  the  omission  of  all  mention  of 
Marlowe,  looks  like  partiality,  if  not  prejudice.  If  it  first  appeared  in  1587,  there  is  less  suspicion  for 
an  unworthy  motive  for  the  omission  of  Marlowe.  The  same  reasoning  applies  to  Shakspere.  But  we 
apprehend  that  the  date  of  1587  is  a  mistake.  The  reference  made  in  the  epistle  of  Nash  to  a  play  of 
Hamlet — "whole  Hamlets— I  should  say  handfuls — of  tragical  speeches"  (see  p.  259) — has  been  held 
by  persons  whose  opinions  are  entitled  to  more  weight  than  our  own  to  be  an  allusion  to  the  Hamlet 
of  Shakspere — an  earlier  Hamlet  than  any  we  possess.  But  this  does  not  fall  in  with  the  theory  that 
Shakspere  first  began  to  write  for  the  stage  about  six  or  seven  years  after  he  became  connected  with 
the  theatre.  It  is,  therefore,  convenienence  adopt  Mr.  Dyce's  date  of  1587  without  inquiry;  and  to 
say  "there  cannot  be  a  moment's  doubt"  that  the  Hamlet  alluded  to  by  Nash  "was  written  and  acted 
many  years  before  Shakspeare's  tragedy."  See  Mr.  Collier's  Introduction  to  '  The  History  of  Hamlet," 
1841 ;  in  which  he  says,  without  qualification,  "  Malone  erred  as  to  the  date  of  Greene's  '  Menaphon.' '' 
Malone  gives  the  date  as  1589.  But  in  his  Introduction  to  Nash's  'Pierce  Pennilesse,'  1842,  Mr.  Collier 
speaks  more  doubtingly  : — "We  take  the  date  of  Greene's  'Menaphon,'  1587,  from  the  edition  of  that 
author's  Dramatic  Works  by  the  Rev.  A.  Dyce.  He  does  not  seem  to  have  met  with  any  copy  of  it  of 
BO  early  a  date  as  1587,  and  quotes  the  title-page  of  the  impression  of  1589."  As  regards  the  possible 
allusion  to  Shakspere's  first  Hamlet,  we  look  upon  the  difference  of  two  years  as-a  matter  of  little 
importance ;  for  a  Hamlet  whose  characteristic  was  "  whole  handfuls  of  tragical  speeches  "  might  have 
been  as  readily  produced  by  the  Shakspere  of  twenty-three  as  by  the  Shakspere  of  twenty-five. 
(See  our  Notice  on  the  Authenticity  of  Titus  Andronicus,  p.  58,  and  the  Introductory  Notice  to 
Hamlet.) 


WILLIAM   SHAKSl'ERE  : 


NOTE  ON  MARLOWE. 


IT  has  long  been  the  fashion  to  consider  Marlowe  as  the  precursor  of  Shakspere ;  to  regard  Marluwe 
as  oiie  of  the  founders  of  the  regular  drama,  and  Shakapere  only  as  an  improver.  The  internal 
evidence  for  this  belief  has  been  entered  into  with  some  fulness  in  our  Essay  on  the  Three  Parts 
of  Henry  VI.,  &c.  We  may  here  say  a  few  words  as  to  the  external  evidence.  Marlowe  was  killed 
in  a  wretched  brawl  on  the  1st  of  June,  1593.  Of  his  age  nothing  is  exactly  known;  but  he  took 
his  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts,  in  Corpus  Christi  College,  Cambridge,  in  1583  ;  and  that  of  Master 
of  Arts  in  1587.  The  age  of  Elizabeth  had  its  boy  bachelors,  as  well  as  that  of  her  father.  Youths 
went  earlier  to  the  university  than  in  our  time,  and  received  their  first  degree  earlier.  We  may  con 
clude,  therefore,  that  Marlowe  was  not  older  than  Shakspere.  Phillips,  in  his  '  Theatrum  Poetarum,' 
thus  speaks  of  him: — "Christopher  Marlowe,  a  kind  of  a  second  Shakspeare  (whose  contemporary 
he  was),  not  only  because  like  him  he  rose  from  an  actor  to  be  a  maker  of  plays,  though  inferior 
both  in  fame  aud  merit,"  &c.  We  have  no  distinct  record  of  Marlowe  as  an  actor.  We  know  that 
he  was  early  a  maker  of  plays.  There  appears  to  be  little  doubt  that  he  was  the  author  of  '  Tam 
burlaine;'  and  '  Tamburlaine '  is  mentioned  by  Greene  in  1588.  But  Hamlet  is  mentioned  by  Nash 
hi  1587  (if  1587  be  the  date  of  Greene's  'Menaphon'),  and  the  evidence  is  quite  as  good  that  this  was 
the  Hamlet  of  Shakspere,  as  that  the  other  was  the  '  Tamburlaine '  of  Marlowe.  The  young  Shak- 
spere  and  the  young  Marlowe,  it  is-  agreed,  were  nearly  of  the  same  age.  What  right  have  we 
to  infer  that  the  one  could  produce  a  '  Tarnburlaine '  at  the  age  of  twenty-four  or  twenty-five,  and  the 
other  not  produce  an  imperfect  outline  of  his  own  Hamlet  at  the  same  age  ?  Malone  connects  the 
supposed  date  of  Shakspere's  commencement  as  a  dramatic  writer  with  the  notice  of  him  by  some  of 
his  contemporaries.  He  passes  over  Nash's  "whole  Hamlets;"  he  maintains  that  Spenser's  descrip 
tion,  in  1591,  of  the  "gentle  spirit,"  who 

"  Doth  rather  choose  to  sit  in  idle  cell 
Than  so  himself  to  mockery  to  sell," 

applied  not  to  Shakspere,  but  to  Lyly,  who  was  at  that  instant  most  active  in  "mockery ;"  but  he 
fixes  Shakspere  with  having  begun  to  write  in  1592,  because  Greene  in  that  year  sneers  at  him  as 
"  the  only  Shake-scene  in  a  country."  Does  a  young  writer  suddenly  jump  into  the  distinction  of 
a  sneer  of  envy  from  one  much  older  in  reputation,  as  Greene  was  ?  In  an  age  when  there  were  no 
newspapers  and  no  reviews,  it  must  be  extremely  difficult  to  trace  the  course  of  any  man,  however 
eminent,  by  the  notices  of  the  writers  of  his  times.  An  author's  fame,  then,  was  not  borne  through 
every  quarter  of  the  land  in  the  very  hour  hi  which  it  was  won.  More  than  all,  the  reputation  of  a 
dramatic  writer  could  scarcely  be  known,  except  to  a  resident  in  London,  until  his  works  were  com 
mitted  to  the  press.  The  first  play  of  Shakspere's  which  wag  printed  was  The  First  Part  of  the 
Contention  (Henry  VI.,  Part  II.),  and  that  did  not  appear  till  1594.  Now,  Malone  says,  "In 
Webbe's  '  Discourse  of  English  Poetry,'  published  in  1586,  we  meet  with  the  names  of  most  of  the 
celebrated  poets  of  that  time;  particularly  those  of  George  Whetstone  and  Anthony  Munday,  who 
were  dramatic  writers ;  but  we  find  no  trace  of  our  author,  or  of  any  of  his  works."  But  Maloue 
does  not  tell  UB  that  in  Webbe's  '  Discourse  of  Poetry,'  we  find  the  following  passage : — "  I  am 
humbly  to  desire  pardon  of  the  learned  company  of  gentlemen  scholars,  and  students  of  the  univer 
sities  aud  inns  of  court,  if  I  omit  their  several  commendations  in  this  place,  which  I  know  a  great 
number  of  them  have  worthily  deserved,  hi  many  rare  devices  and  singular  inventions  of  poetry :  for 
neither  hath  it  been  my  good  hap  to  have  seen  all  which  I  have  heard  of,  neither  is  my  abiding  hi  such 
place  where  I  can  with  facility  get  knowledge  of  their  works." 

"Three  years  afterwards,"  continues  Malone,  "Puttenham  printed  his   'Art  of  English  Poesy;' 
328 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

and  in  that  work  also  we  look  in  vain  for  the  name  of  Shakspeare."  The  book  speaks  of  the  one- 
and-thirty  years'  space  of  Elizabeth's  reign  ;  and  thus  puts  the  date  of  the  writing  a  year  earlier 
than  the  printing.  But  we  here  look  in  vain  for  some  other  illustrious  names  besides  that  of 
Shakspere.  Malone  has  not  told  us  that  the  name  of  Edmund  Spenser  is  not  found  in  Puttenham  ; 
nor,  what  is  still  more  uncandid,  that  not  one  of  Shakspere's  early  dramatic  contemporaries  is 
mentioned — neither  Marlowe,  nor  Greene,  nor  Peele,  nor  Kyd,  nor  Lyly.  The  author  evidently 
derives  his  knowledge  of  "  poets  and  poesy "  from  a  much  earlier  period  than  that  in  which  he  pub 
lishes.  He  does  not  mention  Spenser  by  name,  but  he  does  "  that  other  gentleman  who  wrote  the 
late  '  Shepherd's  Calendar.' "  The  '  Shepherd's  Calendar '  of  Spenser  was  published  in  the  year 
1579.  Malone  goes  on  to  argue  that  the  omission  of  Shakspere's  name,  or  any  notice  of  his  works 
in  Sir  John  Harrington's  'Apology  of  Poetry,'  printed  in  1591,  in  which  "he  takes  occasion  to 
speak  of  the  theatre,  and  mentions  some  of  the  celebrated  dramas  of  that  time,"  is  a  proof  that  none 
of  Shakspere's  dramatic  compositions  had  then  appeared.  The  reader  will  be  in  a  better  position 
to  judge  of  the  value  of  this  argument  by  a  reference  to  the  passage  of  Sir  John  Harrington: — 
"  For  tragedies,  to  omit  other  famous  tragedies :  that,  that  was  played  at  St.  John's  in  Cambridge, 
of  Richard  III.,  would  move,  I  think,  Phalaris  the  tyrant,  and  terrify  all  tyrannous-minded  men." 
[This  was  a  Latin  play,  by  Dr.  Legge,  acted  some  years  before  1588.]  "  Then  for  comedies.  How 
full  of  harmless  mirth  is  our  Cambridge  '  Pedantius '  and  the  Oxford  '  Bellum  Grammaticale ' ! " 
[Latin  plays  again.]  "  Or,  to  speak  of  a  London  comedy,  how  much  good  matter,  yea,  and  matter 
of  state,  is  there  in  that  comedy  called  'The  Play  of  the  Cards/  in  whieh  it  is  showed  how  four 
parasitical  knaves  robbed  the  four  principal  vocations  of  the  realm ;  videl.  the  vocation  of  soldiers, 
scholars,  merchants,  and  husbandmen !  Of  which  comedy,  I  cannot  forget  the  saying  of  a  notable 
wise  counsellor  that  is  now  dead,  who,  when  some  (to  sing  Placebo)  advised  that  it  should  be  for 
bidden,  because  it  was  somewhat  too  plain,  and  indeed  as  the  old  saying  is  (sooth  boord  is  no  boord), 
yet  he  would  have  it  allowed,  adding  it  was  fit  that  they  which  do  that  they  should  not,  should  hear 
that  they  would  not." 

Nothing,  it  will  be  seen,  can  be  more  exaggerated  than  Malone's  statement,  "  He  takes  occasion  to 
speak  of  the  theatre,  and  mentions  some  of  the  celebrated  dramas  of  that  time."  Does  he  men 
tion  ' Tamburlaine,'  or  'Faustus,'  or  'The  Massacre  of  Paris,'  or  'The  Jew  of  Malta'?  As  he  does 
not,  it  may  be  assumed  with  equal  justice  that  none  of  Marlowe's  compositions  had  appeared  in  1591 ; 
and  yet  we  know  that  he  died  in  1593.  So  of  Lyly's  'Galathea,'  'Alexander  and  Campaspe,'  'Endy- 
mion,'  &c.  So  of  Greene's  'Orlando  Furioso,'  'Friar  Bacon,'  'James  IV.'  So  of  the  'Spanish 
Tragedy '  of  Kyd.  The  truth  is,  that  Harrington  in  his  notice  of  celebrated  dramas  was  even  more 
antiquated  than  Puttenham ;  and  his  evidence,  therefore,  in  this  matter,  is  utterly  worthless.  But 
Malone  has  given  his  crowning  proof  that  Shakspere  had  not  written  before  1591,  in  the  following 
words  : — "  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  in  his  '  Defence  of  Poesie,'  speaks  at  some  length  of  the  low  state  of 
dramatic  literature  at  the  time  he  composed  this  treatise,  but  has  not  the  slightest  allusion  to  Shak 
speare,  whose  plays,  had  they  then  appeared,  would  doubtless  have  rescued  the  English  stage  from  the 
conte-mpt  which  is  thrown  upon  it  by  the  accomplished  writer;  and  to  which  it  was  justly  exposed  by 
the  wretched  compositions  of  those  who  preceded  our  poet.  '  The  Defence  of  Poesie '  was  not  pub 
lished  till  1595,  but  must  have  been  written  some  years  before."  There  is  one  slight  objection  to  this 
argument :  Sir  Philip  Sidney  was  killed  at  the  battle  of  Zutphen,  in  the  year  1586 ;  and  it  would 
really  have  been  somewhat  surprising  if  the  illustrious  author  of  the  '  Defence  of  Poesy '  could  have 
included  Shakspere  in  his  account  "  of  the  low  state  of  dramatic  literature  at  the  time  he  composed 
this  treatise,"  which  was  in  effect  a  reply  to  '  The  School  of  Abuse '  of  Gosson,  and  to  other  contro 
versialists  of  the  puritanical  faction,  who  were  loudest  about  1580.  At  that  time  Shakspere  was 
sixteen  years  of  age. 


[The  Misfortunes  of  Arthur.) 


CHAPTER    II. 


THE  COUET  AT  GREENWICH. 


AT  the  close  of  the  year  1587,  and  the  opening,  according  to  our  new  style,  ol 
1588,  "the  Queen's  Majesty  being  at  Greenwich,  there  were  showed,  pre 
sented,  and  enacted  before  her  Highness,  betwixt  Christmas  and  Shrovetide, 
seven  plays,  besides  feats  of  activity  and  other  shows,  by  the  children  of  Paul's, 
her  Majesty's  own  servants,  and  the  gentlemen  of  Gray's  Inn,  on  whom  was 
employed  divers  remnants  of  cloth  of  gold  and  other  stuff  out  of  the  store." 
Such  is  the  record  of  the  accounts  of  the  revels  at  Court.  Of  the  seven  plays 
performed  by  the  children  of  Paul's  and  the  Queen's  servants  there  is  no  me 
morial;  but  we  learn  from  the  title  of  a  book  of  uncommon  rarity  of  what 

330 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 


nature  were  the  "  Certaine  Devises  and  Shewes  presented  Her  Majestie  by  the 
Gentlemen  of  Grave's  Inne,  at  Her  Highnesse  Court  in  Greenwich,  the  twenty- 
eighth  day  of  Februarie,  in  the  thirtieth  yeare  of  Her  Majestie's  most  happy 
raigne.""  The  "Misfortunes  of  Arthur,  Uther  Pendragon's  son,"  was  the 
theme  of  these  devices  and  shows.  It  was  "reduced  into  tragical  notes  by 
Thomas  Hughes,  one  of  the  society  of  Gray's  Inn.  It  was  "set  down  as  it 
passed  from  under  his  hands,  and  as  it  was  presented,  excepting  certain  words 
and  lines,  where  some  of  the  actors  either  helped  their  memories  by  brief  omis 
sion,  or  fitted  their  acting  by  alteration."  Thomas  Hughes  also  tells  us  that  he 
has  put  "a  note  at  the  end  of  such  speeches  as  were  penned  by  others,  in  lieu 
of  these  hereafter  following."  It  is  pleasant  to  imagine  the  gentlemen  of  Gray's 
Inn  sitting  over  their  sack  during  the  Christmas  of  1587,  listening  to  Thomas 
Hughes  reciting  his  doleful  tragedy;  cutting  out  a  speech  here,  adding  some 
thing  wondrously  telling  there;  the  most  glib  of  tongue  modestly  declining  to 
accept  the  part  of  Arthur  the  king,  and  expressing  his  content  with  Mordred 
the  usurper;  a  beardless  student  cheerfully  agreeing  to  wear  the  robes  of 
Guenevra  the  queen;  and  a  grey-headed  elder  undertaking  the  Ghost  of  the 
Duke  of  Cornwall.  A  perfect  play  it  is,  if  every  accessory  of  a  play  can  render 
it  perfect ;  for  every  act  has  an  argument,  and  every  argument  a  dumb-show, 
and  every  dumb-show  a  chorus.  Here  is  indeed  an  ample  field  for  ambitious 
members  of  the  honourable  society  to  contribute  their  devices ;  and  satisfactory 
it  is  that  the  names  of  some  of  his  fellow-labourers  in  this  elaborate  work  have 
been  preserved  to  us  by  the  honour-giving  Thomas  Hughes.  "  The  dumb-shows 
and  additional  speeches  were  partly  devised  by  William  Fulbeck,  Francis 
Flower,  Christopher  Yelverton,  Francis  Bacon,  John  Lancaster,  and  others, 
who  with  Master  Penroodock  and  Lancaster  directed  these  proceedings  at 
Court."  Precious  is  this  record.  The  salt  that  preserves  it  is  the  one  name 
of  Francis  Bacon.  Bacon,  in  1588,  was  Reader  of  Gray's  Inn.  To  the  devices 
and  shows  of  Hughes's  tragedy — accompaniments  that  might  lessen  the  tedious- 
ness  of  its  harangues,  and  scatter  a  little  beauty  and  repose  amongst  its  scenes 
of  crime  and  murder — Bacon  would  bring  something  of  that  high  poetical 
spirit  which  gleams  out  at  every  page  of  his  philosophy.  Nicholas  Trotte, 
gentleman,  penned  the  Introduction,  "  which  was  pronounced  in  manner  follow 
ing,  namely,  three  Muses  came  upon  the  stage  apparelled  accordingly,  bringing 
five  gentlemen-students  attired  in  their  usual  garments,  whom  one  of  the 
Muses  presented  to  her  Majesty  as  captives."  But  the  dresses,  the  music,  the 
dancing  to  song,  were  probably  directed  by  the  tasteful  mind  who  subsequently 
wrote,  "  These  things  are  but  toys ;  but  yet,  since  princes  will  have  such  things, 
it  is  better  that  they  should  be  graced  with  elegancy  than  daubed  with  cost."f 
Under  the  roof  then  of  the  old  palace  at  Greenwich— the  palace  which  Hum 
phrey  of  Gloucester  is  said  to  have  built,  and  where  Elizabeth  was  born — are 
assembled  the  gentlemen  of  Gray's  Inn  and  the  Queen's  players.  The  two 
master-spirits  of  their  time— amongst  the  very  greatest  of  all  time — are  there. 

*  A  copy  is  in  the  Garrick  Collection,  in  the  British  Museum, 
t  Of  Masques  and  Triumphs  :  Essay  37, 

331 


I  Bacon  ] 


Francis  Bacon,  the  lawyer,  and  William  Shakspere,  the  actor,  are  unconscious 
each  of  the  greatness  of  the  other.  The  difference  of  their  rank  probably  pre 
vents  that  communication  which  might  have  told  each  something  of  the  other's 
power.  Master  Penroodock  and  Master  Lancaster  may  perhaps  solicit  a  little 
of  the  professional  advice  of  Burbage  and  his  men ;  and  the  other  gentlemen 
who  penned  the  dumb-shows  may  have  assisted  at  the  conference.  A  flash  of 
wit  from  William  Shakspere  may  have  won  a  smile  from  the  Reader  of  Gray's 
Inn;  and  he  may  have  dropped  a  scrap  of  that  philosophy  which  is  akin  to 
poetry,  so  as  to  make  the  young  actor  reverence  him  more  highly  than  as  the 
son  of  Elizabeth's  former  honest  Lord  Keeper.  But  the  signs  of  that  free 
masonry  by  which  great  minds  know  each  other  could  scarcely  be  exchanged. 
They  would  go  their  several  ways,  the  one  to  tempt  the  perils  and  the  degra 
dations  of  ambition,  and  to  find  at  last  a  refuge  in  philosophy ;  the  other  to  be 
content  with  a  well-earned  competence,  and  gathering  amidst  petty  strifes  and 
jealousies,  if  such  could  disturb  him,  something  more  than  happiness  in  the 
culture  of  that  wondrous  imagination  which  had  its  richest  fruits  in  his  own 
unequalled  cheerful  wisdom. 

Elizabeth,  the  Queen,  is  now  in  her  fifty-fifth  year.  She  is  ten  years  younger 
than  when  Paul  Hentzner  described  her,  as  he  saw  her  surrounded  with  her 
state  in  this  same  palace.  The  wrinkles  of  her  face,  oblong  and  fair,  were  per 
haps  not  yet  very  marked.  Her  small  black  eyes,  according  to  the  same 
authority,  were  pleasant  even  in  her  age.  The  hooked  nose,  the  narrow  lips, 
and  the  discoloured  teeth,  were  perhaps  less  noticeable  when  Shakspere  looked 
upon  her  in  his  early  days.  The  red  hair  was  probably  not  false,  as  it  after 
wards  was.  The  small  hand  and  the  white  fingers  were  remarkable  enough  of 
themselves ;  but,  sparkling  with  rings  and  jewels,  the  eye  rested  upon  them. 
832 


[Elizabeth.] 


The  young  poet,  who  has  been  .ately  sworn  her  servant,  has  stood  in  the  back 
ward  ranks  of  the  presence-chamber  to  see  his  dread  mistress  pass  to  chapel. 
The  room  is  thronged  with  councillors  and  courtiers.  The  inner  doors  are 
thrown  open,  and  the  gentlemen-pensioners,  bearing  their  gilt  battle-axes, 
appear  in  long  file.  The  great  officers  of  the  household  and  ministers  of  state 
are  marshalled  in  advance.  The  procession  moves.  When  the  Queen  appears, 
sudden  and  frequent  are  the  genuflexions :  "  Wherever  she  turned  her  face  as 
she  was  going  -  along,  everybody  fell  down  upon  their  knees."  But  she  is 
gracious,  according  to  the  same  authority :  "  Whoever  speaks  to  her  it  is  kneel 
ing;  now  and  then  she  raises  some  with  her  hand."  As  she  moves  into  the 
ante-chapel,  loud  are  the  shouts  of  "  Long  live  Queen  Elizabeth."  The  service 
is  soon  ended,  and  then  to  dinner.  While  reverence  has  been  paid  to  "  the 
only  Ruler  of  princes,"  forms  as  reverent  in  their  outward  appearance  have 
been  offered  even  to  the  very  place  where  the  creature  comforts  of  our  every 
day  life  are  to  be  served  up  to  majesty.  Those  who  cover  the  table  with 
the  cloth  kneel  three  times  with  the  utmost  veneration ;  so  do  the  bearers  of 

333 


WILLIAM   BHAK8PBBI  : 

the  salt-cellar,  of  the  plate,  and  of  the  bread.  A  countess,  dressed  in  white 
silk,  prostrates  herself  with  the  same  reverence  before  the  plate,  which  she  rubs 
with  bread  and  salt.  The  yeomen  of  the  guard  enter,  bearing  the  dishes ; 
and  the  lady  in  white  silk,  with  her  tasting-knife,  presents  a  portion  of  each 
dish  to  the  lips  of  the  yeomen,  not  in  courtesy  but  in  suspicion  of  poison.  The 
bray  of  trumpets  and  the  clang  of  kettle-drums  ring  through  the  hall.  The 
Queen  is  in  her  inner  chamber ;  and  the  dishes  are  borne  in  by  ladies  of  honour 
with  silent  solemnity.  When  the  Queen  has  eaten,  the  ladies  eat.  Brief  is  the 
meal  on  this  twenty-eighth  of  February,  for  the  hall  must  be  cleared  for  the 
play. 

The  platform  in  the  hall  at  Greenwich,  which  was  to  lesound  with  the 
laments  of  Arthur,  was  constructed  by  a  cunning  workman,  so  as  to  be  speedily 
erected  and  taken  down.  It  was  not  so  substantial  an  affair  as  the  "great 
stage,  containing  the  breadth  of  the  church  from  the  one  side  to  the  other," 
that  was  built  in  the  noble  chapel  of  King's  College,  Cambridge,  in  1564,  for  the 
representation  before  the  Queen  of  a  play  of  Plautus.  Probably  in  one  particular 
the  same  arrangement  was  pursued  at  Greenwich  as  at  Cambridge  on  that  occa 
sion  :  "  A  multitude  of  the  guard  had  every  man  in  his  hand  a  torch-staff;  and 
the  guard  stood  upon  the  ground  by  the  stage-side  holding  their  lights."  But 
there  would  be  some  space  between  the  stage  and  the  courtly  audience.  Raised 
above  the  rushes  would  the  Queen  sit  upon  a  chair  of  state.  Around  her 
would  stand  her  honourable  maids.  Behind,  the  eager  courtiers  with  the 
ready  smile  when  majesty  vouchsafed  to  be  pleased.  Amongst  them  is  the 
handsome  captain  of  the  guard,  the  tall  and  bold  Raleigh — he  of  the  high 
forehead,  long  face,  and  small  piercing  eye.*  His  head  is  ever  and  anon  in 
clined  to  the  chair  of  Elizabeth.  He  is  "  as  good  as  a  chorus,"  and  he  can  tell 
more  of  the  story  than  the  induction  "  penned  by  Nicholas  Trotte,  gentleman." 
He  has  need,  however,  to  tell  little  as  the  play  proceeds.  The  plot  does  not 
unravel  itself;  the  incidents  arise  not  clearly  and  naturally;  but  some  worthy 
person  amongst  the  characters  every  now  and  then  informs  the  audience,  with 
extreme  politeness  and  with  a  most  praiseworthy  completeness  of  detail,  every 
thing  that  has  happened,  and  a  good  deal  of  what  will  happen  ;  and  thus  the 
unities  of  time  and  place  are  preserved  according  to  the  most  approved  rules, 
and  Mr.  Thomas  Hughes  eschews  the  offences  which  were  denounced  by  the 
lamented  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  of  having  "  Asia  of  the  one  side,  and  Afric  of  the 
other,  and  so  many  other  under  kingdoms  that  the  player  when  he  comes  in 
must  ever  begin  with  telling  where  he  is,  or  else  the  tale  will  not  be  con 
ceived,  "f  The  author  of  'The  Misfortunes  of  Arthur'  avoids  this  by  the 
somewhat  drowsy  method  of  substituting  the  epic  narrative  for  the  dramatic 
action.  The  Queen  whispers  to  Raleigh  that  the  regular  players  are  more 
amusing. 

A  day  or  two  passes  on,  and  her  Majesty  again  wants  diversion.     She  bends 

•  "  He   had  a  most   remarkable  aspect,  an   exceeding  high  forehead,  long-faced,  and   sour  eye- 
lidded — a  kind  of  pig  eye." — AUBREY. 
f  Defence  of  Pooy. 
334 


[Raleigh.] 


her  mind  manfully  to  public  affairs,  and  it  is  a  high  and  stirring  time  ;  but,  if 
it  only  be  to  show  her  calmness  to  her  people,  she  will  not  forego  her  accus 
tomed  revels.  Her  own  players  are  sent  for;  and  the  summons  is  hasty  and 
peremptory  for  some  fitting  novelty.  Will  the  comedy  which  young  Shakspere 
has  written  for  the  Blackfriars,  and  which  has  been  already  in  rehearsal,  be 
suited  for  the  Court  ?  The  cautious  sagacity  of  old  Burbage  is  willing  to  confide 
in  it.  Without  attempting  too  close  an  imitation  of  Court  manners,  its  phrases 
he  conceives  are  refined,  its  lines  are  smooth.  There  are  some  slight  touches 
of  satire,  at  which  it  bethinks  him  the  Queen  will  laugh :  but  there  is  nothing 
personal,  for  Don  Armado  is  a  Spaniard.  The  verse,  he  holds,  sounds  according 
to  the  right  stately  fashion  in  the  opening  of  the  play  : — 

"  Let  fame  that  all  hunt  after  in  their  lives 
Live  register'd  upon  our  brazen  tombs." 

The  young  poet  is  a  little  licentious,  however,  in  the  management  of  his  verse 
as  he  proceeds ;  he  has  not  Marlowe's  lofty  cadences,  which  roll  out  so  nobly 
from  the  full  mouth.  But  the  lad  will  mend.  Truly  he  has  a  comic  vein.  If 
Kempe  takes  care  to  utter  what  is  put  down  for  him  in  Costard,  her  Majesty 
will  forget  poor  Tarleton.  And  then  the  compliments  to  the  ladies  : — 


"  They  are  the  books,  the  arts,  the  academes, 
That  show,  contain,  and  nourish  all  the  world." 


335 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

Elizabeth  will  take  the  compliments  to  herself.  The  young  man's  play  shall 
be  "  preferred." 

It  is  a  bright  sparkling  morning — "  the  first  mild  day  of  March " — as  the 
Queen's  barge  waits  for  Burbage  and  his  fellows  at  the  Blackfriars  Stairs. 
They  are  soon  floating  down  the  tide.  Familiar  as  that  scene  now  is  to  him, 
William  Shakspere  cannot  look  upon  it  without  wonder  and  elation  of  heart. 
The  venerable  Bridge,  with  its  hundred  legends  and  traditions ;  the  Tower, 
where  scenes  have  been  acted  that  haunt  his  mind,  and  must  be  embodied  some 
day  for  the  people's  instruction.  And  now,  verses,  some  of  which  he  has 
written  in  the  quiet  of  his  beloved  Stratford,  characters  that  he  has  drawn  from 
the  stores  of  his  youthful  observation,  are  to  be  presented  for  the  amusement  of 
a  Queen.  But  with  a  most  modest  estimate  of  his  own  powers,  he  is  sure  that 
he  has  heard  some  very  indifferent  poetry,  which  nevertheless  has  won  the 
Queen's  approbation ;  with  many  jokes  at  which  the  Queen  has  laughed,  that 
scarcely  have  seemed  to  him  fitting  for  royal  ears.  If  his  own  verses  are  not 
listened  to,  perhaps  the  liveliness  of  his  little  Moth  may  command  a  smile.  At 
any  rate,  there  will  be  some  show  in  his  pageant  of  the  Nine  Worthies.  He  will 
meet  the  issue  courageously. 

The  Queen's  players  have  now  possession  of  the  platform  in  the  Hall.  Bur- 
bage  has  ample  command  of  tailors,  and  of  stuff  out  of  the  store.  Paste 
board  and  buckram  are  at  his  service  in  abundance.  The  branches  are  gar 
nished  ;  the  arras  is  hung.  The  Queen  and  her  Court  are  seated.  But  the 
experiment  of  the  new  play  soon  ceases  to  be  a  doubtful  one.  Those  who  can 
judge,  and  the  Queen  is  amongst  the  number,  listen  with  eagerness  to  some 
thing  different  to  the  feebleness  of  the  pastoral  and  mythological  stories  to 
which  they  have  been  accustomed.  "  The  summer's  nightingale "  e  himself 
owns  that  a  real  poet  has  arisen,  where  poetry  was  scarcely  looked  for.  The 
Queen  commands  that  rewards,  in  some  eyes  more  precious  than  the  accus 
tomed  gloves,  should  be  bestowed  upon  her  players.  Assuredly  the  delightful 
comedy  of  '  Love's  Labour's  Lost,'  containing  as  it  does  in  every  line  the  evi 
dence  of  being  a  youthful  work,  was  very  early  one  of  those 

"  flights  upon  the  banks  of  Thames 
That  BO  did  take  Eliza." 


*  Raleigh  is  so  called  by  Sponger. 


NOTE  ON  HENTZNER'S  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  COURT  AT  GREENWICH. 


PAUL  HENTZNER,  a  man  of  learning  and  ability,  accompanied  a  young  German  nobleman  to  England, 
upon  a  visit  of  curiosity,  in  1598.  The  account  of  what  he  saw  is  written  in  Latin;  and  was  trans 
lated  by  Horace  Walpole.  His  description  of  the  Queen  and  her  state  at  Greenwich  is  amongst  the 
most  curious  and  authentic  records  which  we  possess  of  that  time.  It  haa  been  often  quoted  ;  but  it 
will  save  the  reader  trouble  if  we  here  copy  it :  — 

"  First  went  gentlemen,  baroiis,  earls,  knights  of  the  garter,  all  richly  dressed  and  bareheaded ; 
next  came  the  Chancellor,  bearing  the  seals  in  a  red  silk  purse,  between  two ;  one  of  which  carried  the 
royal  sceptre,  the  other  the  sword  of  state,  in  a  red  scabbard,  studded  with  golden  fleur-de-lis,  the 
point  upwards :  next  came  the  Queen,  in  the  sixty-fifth  year  of  her  age,  we  are  told,  very  majestic ; 
her  face  oblong,  fair  but  wrinkled ;  her  eyes  small,  yet  black  and  pleasant ;  her  nose  a  little  hooked, 
her  lips  narrow,  and  her  teeth  black  (a  defect  the  English  seem  subject  to,  from  their  too  great  use  of 
sugar) ;  she  had  in  her  ears  two  pearls,  with  very  rich  drops ;  she  wore  false  hair,  and  that  red  ;  upon 
her  head  she  had  a  small  crown,  reported  to  be  made  of  some  of  the  gold  of  the  celebrated  Lune- 
bourg  table  :  her  bosom  was  uncovered,  as  all  the  English  ladies  have  it,  till  they  marry ;  and  she  had 
on  a  necklace  of  exceeding  fine  jewels ;  her  hands  were  small,  her  fingers  long,  and  her  stature  neither 
tall  nor  low ;  her  air  was  stately,  her  manner  of  speaking  mild  and  obliging.  That  day  she  was  dressed 
in  white  silk,  bordered  with  pearls  of  the  size  of  beans,  and  over  it  a  mantle  of  black  silk,  shot  with 
silver  threads ;  her  train  was  very  long,  the  end  of  it  borne  by  a  marchioness  ;  instead  of  a  chain  she 
had  an  oblong  collar  of  gold  and  jewels.  As  she  went  along  in  all  this  state  and  magnificence,  she 
spoke  very  graciously,  first  to  one,  then  to  another,  whether  foreign  ministers,  or  those  who  attended 
for  different  reasons,  in  English,  French,  and  Italian ;  for,  besides  being  well  skilled  in  Greek,  Latin, 
and  the  languages  I  have  mentioned,  she  is  mistress  of  Spanish,  Scotch,  and  Dutch  :  whoever  speaks 
to  her,  it  is  kneeling ;  now  and  then  she  raises  some  with  her  hand.  While  we  were  there,  W.  Slawata, 
a  Bohemian  baron,  had  letters  to  present  to  her ;  and  she,  after  pulling  off  her  glove,  gave  him  her 
right  hand  to  kiss,  sparkling  with  rings  and  jewels — a  mark  of  particular  favour :  wherever  she  turned 
her  face,  as  she  was  going  along,  everybody  fell  down  on  their  knees.  The  ladies  of  the  court  followed 
next  to  her,  very  handsome  and  well  shaped,  and  for  the  most  part  dressed  in  white ;  she  was  guarded 
on  each  side  by  the  gentlemen-pensioners,  fifty  in  number,  with  gilt  battle-axes.  In  the  ante-chapel 
next  the  hall  where  we  were,  petitions  were  presented  to  her,  and  she  received  them  most  graciously, 
which  occasioned  the  acclamation  of  '  Long  live  Queen  Elizabeth  ! '  She  answered  it  with,  '  I  thank 
you,  my  good  people.'  In  the  chapel  was  excellent  music ;  as  soon  as  it  and  the  service  was  over, 
which  scarce  exceeded  half  an  hour,  the  0  v.een  returned  in  the  same  state  and  order,  and  prepared 
to  go  to  dinnei'.  But  while  she  was  still  at  prayers,  we  saw  her  table  set  out  with  the  following 
solemnity :  — 

''  A  gentleman  entered  the  room  bearing  a  rod,  and  along  with  him  another  who  had  a  table-cloth, 
•which,  after  they  had  both  kneeled  three  times  with  the  utmost  veneration,  he  spread  upon  the  table, 
and,  after  kneeling  again,  they  both  retired.  Then  came  two  others,  one  with  the  rod  again,  the  other 
with  a  salt-cellar,  a  plate,  and  bread ;  when  they  had  kneeled,  as  the  others  had  done,  and  placed  what 
was  brought  upon  the  table,  they  too  retired  with  the  same  ceremonies  performed  by  the  first.  At 
last  came  an  unmarried  lady  (we  were  told  she  was  a  countess),  and  along  with  her  a  married  one, 
bearing  a  tasting-knife ;  the  former  was  dressed  in  white  silk,  who,  when  she  had  prostrated  herself 
three  times  in  the  most  graceful  manner,  approached  the  table,  and  rubbed  the  plates  with  bread  and 
salt,  with  as  much  awe  as  if  the  Queen  had  been  present :  when  they  had  waited  there  a  little  while, 
the  yeomen  of  the  guards  entered,  bareheaded,  clothed  in  scarlet,  with  a  golden  rose  upon  their  backs, 
bringing  in  at  each  turn  a  course  of  twenty -four  dishes,  served  in  plate,  most  of  it  gilt ;  these  dishes 
were  received  by  a  gentleman  in  the  same  order  they  were  brought,  and  placed  upon  the  table,  while 
the  lady-taster  gave  to  each  of  the  guard  a  mouthful  to  eat  of  the  particular  dish  he  had  brought,  for 
fear  of  any  poison.  During  the  time  that  this  guard,  which  consists  of  the  tallest  and  stoutest  men 
that  can  be  found  in  all  England,  being  carefully  selected  for  this  service,  were  bringing  dinner,  twelve 
trumpets  and  two  kettle-drums  made  the  hall  ring  for  half  an  hour  together.  At  the  end  of  all  this 
ceremonial  a  number  of  unmarried  ladies  appeared,  who,  with  particular  solemnity,  lifted  the  meat  off 
the  table,  and  conveyed  it  into  the  Queen's  inner  and  most  private  chamber,  where,  after  she  had 
chosen  for  herself,  the  rest  goes  to  the  ladies  ol  the  court." 

LIFE  Z  837 


[Funeral  of  Sidney. j 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE  MIGHTY  HEAET. 


IN  the  spring  of  1588,  and  through  the  summer  also,  we  may  well  believe  that 
Shakspere  abided  in  London,  whether  or  not  he  had  his  wife  and  children 
about  him.  The  course  of  public  events  was  such  that  he  would  scarcely  have 
left  the  capital,  even  for  a  few  weeks.  For  the  hearts  of  all  men  in  the  vast 
city  were  mightily  stirred  ;  and  whilst  in  that  "  shop  of  war  "  might  be  heard  on 
every  side  the  din  of  "  anvils  and  hammers  waking  to  fashion  out  the  plates 
and  instruments  of  armed  justice,"*  the  poet  had  his  own  work  to  do,  in  urging 
forward  the  noble  impulse  through  which  the  people,  of  whatever  sect,  or 
whatever  party,  willed  that  they  would  be  free.  It  was  the  year  of  the  Ar 
mada.  When  Shakspere  first  exchanged  the  quiet  intercourse  of  his  native 

*  Milton  :  '  Speech  for  the  Liberty  of  Unlicensed  Printing.' 
338 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

town  for  the  fierce  contests  of  opinion  amongst  the  partisans  of  London— he 
must  have  had  fears  for  his  country.  A  conspiracy,  the  most  daring  and  ex 
tensive,  had  burst  out  against  the  life  of  the  Queen ;  and  it  was  the  more 
dangerous  that  the  leaders  of  the  plot  were  high-minded  enthusiasts,  who 
mingled  with  their  traitorous  designs  the  most  chivalrous  devotion  to  another 
Queen,  a  long-suffering  prisoner.  The  horrible  cruelties  that  attended  the 
execution  of  Babington  and  his  accomplices  aggravated  the  pity  which  men 
felt  that  so  much  enthusiasm  should  have  been  lost  to  their  country.  More 
astounding  events  were  to  follow.  In  a  year  of  dearth  the  citizens  had  ban 
queted,  amidst  bells  and  bonfires,  in  honour  of  the  detection  of  Babington  and 
his  followers ;  and  now,  within  three  weeks  of  the  feast  of  Christmas,  the 
Lord  Mayor  and  Aldermen,  assisted  with  divers  earls,  barons,  and  gentlemen 
of  account,  and  worshipful  citizens  "  in  coats  of  velvet  and  chains  of  gold,  all  on 
horseback,  in  most  solemn  and  stately  manner,  by  sound  of  four  trumpets, 
about  ten  of  the  clock  in  the  forenoon,  made  open  and  public  proclamation  and 
declaration  of  the  sentence  lately  given  by  the  nobility  against  the  Queen  of 
Scots  under  the  great  seal  of  England."*  At  the  Cross  in  Cheap,  or  at  the  end 
of  Chancery  Lane,  or  at  St.  Magnus  Corner  near  London  Bridge,  would  the 
young  sojourner  in  this  seat  of  policy  hear  the  proclamation  :  and  he  would 
hear  also  "  the  great  and  wonderful  rejoicing  of  the  people  of  all  sorts,  as  ma 
nifestly  appeared  by  ringing  of  bells,  making  of  bonfires,  and  singing  of  psalms 
in  every  of  the  streets  and  lanes  of  the  City."f  But  amidst  this  show  of 
somewhat  ferocious  joy  would  he  encounter  gloomy  and  fear-stricken  faces. 
Men  would  not  dare  even  to  whisper  their  opinions,  but  it  would  be  manifest 
that  the  public  heart  was  not  wholly  at  ease.  On  the  eighth  of  February  the 
Queen  of  Scots  is  executed.  Within  a  week  after  London  pours  forth  its  mul 
titudes  to  witness  a  magnificent  and  a  mournful  pageant.  The  Queen  has 
taken  upon  herself  the  cost  of  the  public  funeral  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  She  has 
done  wisely  in  this.  In  honouring  the  memory  of  the  most  gallant  and  accom 
plished  of  her  subjects,  she  diverts  the  popular  mind  from  unquiet  reflections 
to  feelings  in  which  all  can  sympathise.  Even  the  humblest  of  the  people, 
who  know  little  of  the  poetical  genius,  the  taste,  the  courtesy,  the  chivalrous 
bearing  of  this  star  of  the  Court  of  Elizabeth,  know  that  a  young  and  brave 
man  has  fallen  in  the  service  of  his  country.  Some  of  his  companions  in  arms 
have  perhaps  told  the  story  of  his  giving  the  cup  of  water,  about  to  be  lifted  to 
his  own  parched  lips,  to  the  dying  soldier  whose  necessities  were  greater  than 
his.  And  that  story  indeed  would  move  their  tears,  far  more  than  all  the 
gallant  recollections  of  the  tilt-yard.  From  the  Minorites  at  the  eastern  ex 
tremity  of  the  City,  to  St.  Paul's,  there  is  a  vast  procession  of  authorities  in 
solemn  purple  ;  but  more  impressive  is  the  long  column  of  "  certain  young  men 
of  the  City  marching  by  three  and  three  in  black  cassokins,  with  their  short 
pikes,  halberds,  and  ensign  trailing  on  the  ground."  There  are  in  that  pro 
cession  many  of  the  "  officers  of  his  foot  in  the  Low  Countries  "  his  "  gentlemen 
and  yeoman-servants,"  and  twelve  "knights  of  his  kindred  and  friends." 

*  Stow's  Annals.  t  Ibid. 

Z2  839 


WILLIAM    SIIAKMTU.  . 

there  is  amongst  them  upon  \\lmm  all  eyes  are  gazing — Drake,  the  bold  seaman 
who  has  carried  the  terror  of  the  English  flag  through  every  sea,  and  in  afew 
months  will  be  "  singeing  the  King  of  Spain's  beard."  The  corpse  of  Sidney 
is  borne  by  fourteen  of  his  yeomen  ;  and  amongst  the  pall-bearers  is  one  weep 
ing  manly  tears,  Fulke  Greville,  upon  whose  own  tomb  was  written  as  the 
climax  of  his  honour  that  he  was  "  friend  to  Sir  Philip  Sidney."  The  uncle, 
of  the  dead  hero  is  there  also,  the  proud,  ambitious,  weak,  and  incapable  Lei 
cester,  who  has  been  kinging  it  as  Governor-General  of  the  Low  Countriei 


[Leicester.] 


without  the  courage  to  fight  a  battle,  except  that  in  which  Sidney  was  sacri 
ficed.  He  has  been  recalled ;  and  is  in  some  disfavour  in  the  courtly  circle, 
although  he  tried  to  redeem  his  disgraces  in  the  Netherlands  by  boldly  coun 
selling  the  poisoning  of  the  Queen  of  Scots.  Shakspere  looks  upon  the  haughty 
peer,  and  shudders  when  he  thinks  of  the  murder  of  Edward  Arden.* 


Seep  S8. 


310 


[Sir  Philip  Sidney.] 


Within  a  year  of  the  burial  of  Sidney  the  popular  temper  had  greatly 
changed.  It  had  gone  forth  to  all  lands  that  England  was  to  be  invaded. 
Philip  of  Spain  was  preparing  the  greatest  armament  that  the  combined  navies 
of  Spain  and  Portugal,  of  Naples  and  Sicily,  of  Genoa  and  Venice,  could  bear 
across  the  seas,  to  crush  the  arch-heretic  of  England.  Rome  had  blessed  the 
enterprise.  Prophecies  had  been  heard  in  divers  languages,  that  the  year 
1588  "should  be  most  fatal  and  ominous  unto  all  estates,"  and  it  was  "now 
plainly  discovered  that  England  was  the  main  subject  of  that  time's  opera 
tion."  *  Yet  England  did  not  quail.  "  The  whole  commonalty,"  says  the 
annalist,  "  became  of  one  heart  and  mind."  The  Council  of  War  demanded 
five  thousand  men  and  fifteen  ships  of  the  City  of  London.  Two  days  were 
craved  for  answer ;  and  the  City  replied  that  ten  thousand  men  and  thirty 
ships  were  at  the  service  of  their  country. f  In  every  field  around  the  capital 
were  the  citizens  who  had  taken  arms  practising  the  usual  points  of  war.  The 

*  Stow's  Annals. 

t  It  has  been  said,  in  contradiction  to  the  good  old  historian  of  London,  that  the  City  only  gave 
what  the  Council  demanded;  10,000  men  were  certainly  levied  in  the  twenty-five  wards. 

841 


NVII.I.IAM   SIIAKSI-I :i:i:  : 

Camp  at  Tilbury  was  formed.  "  It  was  a  pleasant  sight  to  behold  the  soldiers, 
as  they  marched  towards  Tilbury,  their  cheerful  countenances,  courageous 
words  and  gestures,  dancing  and  leaping  wheresoever  they  came ;  and  in  the 
camp  their  most  felicity  was  hope  of  fight  with  the  enemy :  where  ofttimes 
divers  rumours  ran  of  their  foe's  approach,  and  that  present  battle  would  be  given 
them  ;  then  were  they  joyful  at  such  news,  as  if  lusty  giants  were  to  run  a  race." 
There  is  another  description  of  an  eager  and  confident  army  that  may  parallel 
this:  — 

"  All  furnUh'd,  all  in  arms  : 
All  plum'd,  like  estridges  tluxt  with  the  wind 
Bated, — like  eagles  having  lately  bath'd ; 
Glittering  in  golden  coats,  like  images ; 
As  full  of  spirit  as  the  month  of  May, 
And  gorgeous  as  the  sun  at  midsummer : 
Wanton  as  youthful  goats,  wild  as  young  bulls."  * 


•  Henry  IV.,  Part  I.,  Act  iv..  Scene  i. 


[Camp  at  Tilbury.' 


A    BIOGKAP11Y. 

He  who  wrote  this  description  had,  we  think,  looked  upon  the  patriot  train- 
bands  of  London  in  1588.  But,  if  we  mistake  not,  he  had  given  an  impulse  to 
the  spirit  which  had  called  forth  this  "  strong  and  mighty  preparation,"  in  a 
voice  as  trumpet-tongued  as  the  proclamations  of  Elizabeth.  The  chronology 
of  Shakspere's  King  John  is  amongst  the  many  doubtful  points  of  his  literary 
career.  The  authorship  of  the  'King  John'  in  two  Parts  is  equally  doubtful. 
But  if  that  be  an  older  play  than  Shakspere's,  and  be  not,  as  the  Germans 
believe  with  some  reason,  written  by  Shakspere  himself,  the  drama  which  we 
receive  as  his  is  a  work  peculiarly  fitted  for  the  year  of  the  great  Armada. 
The  other  play  is  full  of  matter  that  would  have  offended  the  votaries  of  the 
old  religion.  This,  in  a  wise  spirit  of  toleration,  attacks  no  large  classes  of  men 
—  excites  no  prejudices  against  friars  and  nuns,  but  vindicates  the  independence 
of  England  against  the  interference  of  the  papal  authority,  and  earnestly  ex 
horts  her  to  be  true  to  herself.  This  was  the  spirit  in  which  even  the  un 
doubted  adherents  of  the  ancient  forms  of  religion  acted  while  England  lay 
under  the  ban  of  Rome  yi  1588.  The  passages  in  Shakspere's  King  John 
appear  to  us  to  have  even  a  more  pregnant  meaning,  when  they  are  connected 
with  that  stirring  time  : — 

"K.  John.  What  earthly  name  to  interrogatories 
Can  task  the  free  breath  of  a  sacred  kiug  ? 
Thou  canst  not,  cardinal,  devise  a  name 
So  slight,  unworthy,  and  ridiculous, 
To  charge  me  to  an  answer,  as  the  pope. 
Tell  him  this  tale ;  and  from  the  mouth  of  England 
Add  thus  much  more, — that  no  Italian  priest 
Shall  tithe  or  toll  iu  our  dominions ; 
But  as  we  under  Heaven  are  supreme  head, 
So  under  Him,  that  great  supremacy, 
Where  we  do  reign,  we  will  alone  uphold, 
Without  the  assistance  of  a  mortal  hand  : 
So  tell  the  pope ;  all  reverence  set  apart 
To  him  and  his  usurp' d  authority. 

K.  Phil.  Brother  of  England,  you  blaspheme  in  thia. 

K.  John.  Though  you,  and  all  the  kings  of  Christendom, 
Are  led  so  grossly  by  this  meddling  priest, 
Dreading  the  curse  that  money  may  buy  out; 
And,  by  the  merit  of  vile  gold,  dross,  dust, 
Purchase  corrupted  pardon  of  a  man, 
Who,  in  that  sale,  sells  pardon  from  himself ; 
Though  you,  and  all  the  rest,  so  grossly  led, 
This  juggling  witchcraft  with  revenue  cherish; 
Yet  I,  alone,  alone  do  me  oppose 
Against  the  pope,  and  count  his  friends  my  foes." 

*  .  •  • 

"  K.  John.  The  legate  of  the  pope  hath  been  with  me, 
And  I  have  made  a  happy  peace  with  him ; 
And  he  hath  promised  to  dismiss  the  powers 
Led  by  the  dauphin. 


343 


WILLIAM 

Diut.  0  inglorious  league  ! 

Shall  we,  upon  the  footing  of  our  land, 
Send  fair-play  orders,  and  mako  compromise, 
Insinuation,  parley,  and  base  truce, 
To  limits  invasive?" 


"  This  England  never  did,  nor  never  shall. 
Lie  at  the  proud  foot  of  a  conqueror. 
But  when  it  first  did  help  to  wound  itself. 
Now  these  her  princes  are  come  home  again, 
Come  the  three  corners  of  the  world  in  arms, 
And  we  shall  shock  them  :  Nought  shall  make  us  rue, 
If  England  to  itself  do  rest  but  true." 

The  patriotism  of  Shakspere  is  less  displayed  in 
set  speeches  than  in  the  whole  life  of  his  historical 
plays— incident  and  character.  Out  of  inferior 
writers  might  be  collected  more  laudatory  sentences 
flattering  to  national  pride  ;  but  his  words  are  bright 
and  momentary  as  the  spark  which  fires  the  mine. 
The  feeling  is  in  the  audience,  and  he  causes  it  to 
burst  out  in  shouts  or  tears.  He  learnt  the  manage 
ment  of  this  power,  we  think,  during  the  excitement 
of  the  great  year  of  1588. 

The  Armada  is  scattered.  England's  gallant 
sons  have  done  their  work ;  the  winds,  which  a 
greater  Power  than  that  of  sovereigns  and  councils 
holds  in  His  hand,  have  been  let  loose.  The  praise 
is  to  Him.  Again,  a  mighty  procession  is  on  the 
way  to  St.  Paul's.  Shakspere  is  surely  amongst 
the  gazers  on  that  great  day  of  thanksgiving. 
He  has  seen  the  banners  taken  from  the  Spanish 
ships  hung  out  on  the  battlements  of  the  ca 
thedral  ;  and  now,  surrounded  by  all  the  nobles 


,     ' 


A   BIOGKAPHY. 

and  mighty  men  who  have  fought  her  battles,  the  Queen  descends  from  her 
"  chariot  throne  "  to  make  her  "  hearty  prayers  on  her  hended  knees."  Leicester, 
the  favourite  to  whose  weak  hand  was  nominally  intrusted  the  command  of  the 
troops,  has  not  lived  to  see  this  triumph.  But  Essex,  the  new  favourite,  would 
be  there  ;  and  Hunsdon,  the  General  for  the  Queen.  There  too  would  be  Ra 
leigh,  and  Hawkins,  and  Frobisher,  and  Drake,  and  Howard  of  Effingham — one 


[Howard.] 

who  forgot  all  distinctions  of  sect  in  the  common  danger  of  his  country, 
might  the  young  poet  thus  apostrophize  this  country ! — 

"  This  royal  throne  of  kings,  this  scepter'd  isle, 
This  earth  of  majesty,  this  seat  of  Mars, 
This  other  Eden,  demi-paradise  ; 
This  fortress,  built  by  Nature  for  herself, 
Against  infestion  and  the  hand  of  war ; 
This  happy  breed  of  men,  this  little  world; 
This  precious  stone  set  in  the  silver  sea, 
Which  serves  it  in  the  office  of  a  wall, 
Or  as  a  moat  defensive  to  a  house, 
Against  the  envy  of  less  happier  lands  ; 
This  blessed  plot,  this  earth,  this  realm,  this  England." 


Well 


: 


[Drake.] 

But,  glorious  as  was  the  contemplation  of  the  attitude  of  England  during  the 
year  of  the  Armada,  the  very  energy  that  had  called  forth  this  noble  display 
of  patriotic  spirit  exhibited  itself  in  domestic  controversy  when  the  pressure 
from  without  was  removed.  The  poet  might  then,  indeed,  qualify  his  former 
admiration  : — 

"  0  England  !  model  to  thy  inward  greatness, 
Like  little  body  with  a  mighty  heart, 
What  mightst  thoii  do  that  honour  would  thee  do, 
Were  all  thy  children  kind  and  natural !" 

The  same  season  that  witnessed  the  utter  destruction  of  the  armament  of  Spain 
saw  London  excited  to  the  pitch  of  fury  by  polemical  disputes.  It  was  not 
now  the  quarrel  between  Protestant  and  Romanist,  but  between  the  National 
Church  and  Puritanism.  The  theatres,  those  new  and  powerful  teachers,  lent 
themselves  to  the  controversy.  In  some  of  these  their  licence  to  entertain  the 
people  was  abused  by  the  introduction  of  matters  connected  with  religion  and 
politics  ;  so  that  in  1589  Lord  Burghley  not  only  directed  the  Lord  Mayor  to 
inquire  what  companies  of  players  had  offended,  but  a  commission  was  ap 
pointed  for  the  same  purpose.  How  Shakspere's  company  proceeded  during 
this  inquiry  has  been  made  out  most  clearly  by  the  valuable  document  disco 
vered  at  Bridgewater  House  by  Mr.  Collier,  wherein  they  disclaim  to  have 
conducted  themselves  amiss.  "  These  are  to  certify  your  right  Honourable 
Lordships  that  her  Majesty's  poor  players,  James  Burbage,  Richard  Burbage, 
John  Laneham,  Thomas  Greene,  Robert  Wilson,  John  Taylor,  Anth.  Wade- 
son,  Thomas  Pope,  George  Peele,  Augustine  Phillipps,  Nicholas  Towley,  Wil 
liam  Shakespeare,  William  Kempe,  William  Johnson,  Baptiste  Coodale,  and 
346 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

Robert  Armyn,  being  all  of  them  sharers  in  the  Blackfriars  playhouse,  have  never 
given  cause  of  displeasure,  in  that  they  have  brought  into  their  plays  matters  of 
state  and  religion,  unfit  to  be  handled  by  them  or  to  be  presented  before  lewd 
spectators  :  neither  hath  any  complaint  in  that  kind  ever  been  preferred  against 
them  or  any  of  them.  Wherefore  they  trust  most  humbly  in  your  Lordships' 
consideration  of  their  former  good  behaviour,  being  at  all  times  ready  and  willing  to 
yield  obedience  to  any  command  whatsoever  your  Lordships  in  your  wisdom  may 
think  in  such  case  meet,"  &c. 

"Nov.  1589." 

In  this  petition,  Shakspere,  a  sharer  in  the  theatre,  but  with  others  below  him 
in  the  list,  says,  and  they  all  say,  that  "  they  have  never  brought  into  their  plays 
matters  of  state  and  religion."  The  public  mind  in  1589-90  was  furiously 
agitated  by  "  matters  of  state  and  religion."  A  controversy  was  going  on 
which  is  now  known  as  that  of  Martin  Marprelate,  in  which  the  constitution 
and  discipline  of  the  Church  were  most  furiously  attacked  in  a  succession  of 
pamphlets ;  and  they  were  de-fended  with  equal  violence  and  scurrility.  Tzaak 
Walton  says, — "  There  was  not  only  one  Martin  Marprelate,  but  other  venom 
ous  books  daily  printed  and  dispersed,  —  books  that  were  so  absurd  and  scur 
rilous,  that  the  graver  divines  disdained  them  an  answer."  Walton  adds, — 
"  And  yet  these  were  grown  into  high  esteem  with  the  common  people,  til. 
Tom  Nash  appeared  against  them  all,  who  was  a  man  of  a  sharp  wit,  and  the 
master  of  a  scoffing,  satirical,  merry  pen."  Connected  with  this  controversy, 
there  was  subsequently  a  more  personal  one  between  Nash  and  Gabriel  Harvey ; 
but  they  were  each  engaged  in  the  Marprelate  dispute.  John  Lyly  was  the 
author  of  one  of  the  most  remarkable  pamphlets  produced  on  this  occasion, 
called  '  Pap  with  a  Hatchet.'  Harvey,  it  must  be  observed,  was  the  intimate 
friend  of  Spenser;  and  in  a  pamphlet  which  he  dates  from  Trinity  Hall,  No 
vember  5,  1589,  he  thus  attacks  the  author  of  '  Pap  with  a  Hatchet/  the  more 
celebrated  Euphuist,  whom  Sir  Walter  Scott's  novel  has  made  familiar  to 
us  : — 

"  I  am  threatened  with  a  bable,  and  Martin  menaced  with  a  comedy — a  fit 
motion  for  a  jester  and  a  player  to  try  what  may  be  done  by  employment  of  his 
faculty.  Babies  and  comedies  are  parlous  fellows  to  decipher  and  discourage  men 
(that  is  the  point)  with  their  witty  flouts  and  learned  jerks,  enough  to  lash  any  man 
out  of  countenance.  Nay,  if  you  shake  the  painted  scabbard  at  me,  I  have  done ; 
and  all  you  that  tender  the  preservation  of  your  good  names  were  best  to  please 
Pap-Hatchet,  and  fee  Euphues  betimes,  for  fear  lest  he  be  moved,  or  some  one  of 
his  apes  hired,  to  make  a  play  of  you,  and  then  is  your  credit  quite  undone  for  ever 
and  ever.  Such  is  the  public  reputation  of  their  plays.  He  must  needs  be 
discouraged  whom  they  decipher.  Better  anger  an  hundred  other  than  two  such 
that  have  the  stage  at  commandment,  and  can  furnish  out  vices  and  devils  at  their 
pleasure."  * 

We  thus  see  that  Harvey,  the  friend  of  Spenser,  is  threatened  by  one  of 
those  who  "  have  the  stage  at  commandment "  with  having  a  play  made  of  him. 

«  Pierce's  'Supererogation.'     Reprinted  in  'Archaica,'  p.  137. 

347 


WILLIAM    SHAKSP 

Such  plays  were  made  in  1589,  and  Nash  thus  boasts  of  them  in  one  of  his 
tracts  printed  in  1589: — "  Methought  Vetus  Comcedia  began  to  prick  him  at 
London  in  the  right  vein,  when  he  brought  forth  divinity  with  a  scratched 
face,  holding  of  her  heart  as  if  she  were  sick,  because  Martin  would  have 
forced  her ;  but  missing  of  his  purpose,  he  left  the  print  of  his  nails  upon  her 
cheeks,  and  poisoned  her  with  a  vomit,  which  he  ministered  unto  her  to  make 
her  cast  up  her  dignities."  Lyly,  taking  the  same  side,  writes,  — "  Would 
those  comedies  might  be  allowed  to  be  played  that  are  penned,  and  then  I  am 
sure  he  [Martin  Marprelate]  would  be  deciphered,  and  so  perhaps  discouraged." 
Here  are  the  very  words  which  Harvey  has  repeated, — "  He  must  needs  be 
discouraged  whom  they  decipher."  Harvey,  in  a  subsequent  passage  of  the 
same  tract,  refers  to  this  prostitution  of  the  stage  to  party  purposes  in  very 
striking  words : — "  The  stately  tragedy  scorneth  the  trifling  comedy,  and  the 
trifling  comedy  fiouteth  t/ie  new  ruffianism."  These  circumstances  appear  to  us 
very  remarkable,  with  reference  to  the  state  of  the  drama  about  1590.  Shak- 
spere's  great  contemporary,  Edmund  Spenser,  in  a  poem  entitled  '  The  Tears 
of  the  Muses,'  originally  published  in  1591,  describes,  in  the  'Complaint'  of 
Thalia,  the  Muse  of  Comedy,  the  state  of  the  drama  at  the  time  in  which  he  is 
writing : — 

"  Where  be  the  sweet  delights  of  learning's  treasure, 

That  wont  with  comic  sock  to  beautify 
The  painted  theatres,  and  fill  with  pleasure 

Tha  listeners'  eyes,  and  ears  with  melody ; 
In  which  I  late  was  wont  to  reign  as  queen, 
And  mask  in  mirth  with  graces  well  beseen  ? 

0  !  all  is  gone ;  and  all  that  goodly  glee, 

Which  wont  to  be  the  glory  of  gay  wits, 
Is  laid  a-bed,  and  nowhere  now  to  see ; 

And  in  her  room  unseemly  Sorrow  sits, 
With  hollow  brows  and  grissly  countenance, 
Marring  my  joyous  gentle  dalliance. 

And  him  beside  sits  ugly  Barbarism, 

And  brutish  Ignorance,  ycrept  of  late 
Out  of  dread  darkness  of  the  deep  abysm, 

Where  being  bred,  he  light  and  heaven  does  hate ; 
They  in  the  minds  of  men  now  tyraimi/c, 
And  the  fair  scene  with  rudeness  foul  disguise. 

All  places  they  with  folly  have  possess'd, 

And  with  vain  toys  the  vulgar  entertain ; 
But  me  have  banished,  with  all  the  rest 

That  whilom  wont  to  wait  upon  my  train, 
Fine  Counterfesauce,  and  unhurtful  Sport, 
Delight,  and  Laughter,  deck'd  in  seemly  sort." 

Spenser  was  in  England  in  1590-91,  and  it  is  probable  that  'The  Tears  of  the 
Muses'  was  written  in  1590,  and  that  the  poet  described  the  prevailing  state  of 
the  drama  in  London  during  the  time  of  his  visit. 

The   four   stanzas   which    we   have   quoted    are    descriptive,  as   we    think,  of  a 
348 


A   BIOGRAPHV. 

period  of  the  drama  when  it  had  emerged  from  the  semi-barbarism  by  which  it 
was  characterized,  "  from  the  commencement  of  Shakspere's  boyhood,  till  about 
the  earliest  date  at  which  his  removal  to  London  can  be  possibly  fixed."  *  This 
description  has  nothing  in  common  with  those  accounts  of  the  drama  which  have 
reference  to  this  "  semi-barbarism."  Nor  does  the  writer  of-  it  belong  to  the 
school  which  considered  a  violation  of  the  unities  of  time  and  place  as  the  great 
defect  of  the  English  theatre.  Nor  does  he  assert  his  preference  of  the  classic 
school  over  the  romantic,  by  objecting,  as  Sir  Philip  Sidney  objects,  that  "plays 
be  neither  right  tragedies  nor  right  comedies,  mingling  kings  and  clowns." 
There  had  been,  according  to  Spenser,  a  state  of  the  drama  that  would 


"  Fill  with  pleasure 
The  listeners'  eyes,  and  ears  with  melody." 


Can  any  comedy  be  named,  if  we  assume  that  Shakspere  had,  in  1590,  not 
written  any,  which  could  be  celebrated— and  by  the  exquisite  versifier  of  'The 
Fairy  Queen ' — for  its  "  melody  "  ?  Could  any  also  be  praised  for 

"  That  goodly  glee 
Which  wont  to  be  the  glory  of  gay  wits  "  ? 

Could  the  plays  before  Shakspere  be  described  by  the  most  competent  of  judges 
— the  most  poetical  mind  of  that  age  next  to  Shakspere — as  abounding  in 

"  Fine  Counterfesanoe,  and  unhurtful  Sport, 
Delight,  and  Laughter,  deck'd  in  seemly  sort "  ? 

We  have  not  seen  such  a  comedy,  except  some  three  or  four  of  Shakspere's, 
which  could  have  existed  before  1590.  We  do  not  believe  there  is  such  a 
comedy  from  any  other  pen.  What,  according  to  the  '  Complaint '  of  Thalia, 
has  banished  such  comedy?  "Unseemly  Sorrow,"  it  appears,  has  been  fashion 
able  ; — not  the  proprieties  of  tragedy,  but  a  Sorrow 

"  With  hollow  Irows  and  grimly  countenance ;" — 

the  violent  scenes  of  blood  which  were  offered  for  the  excitement  of  the  multi 
tude,  before  the  tragedy  of  real  art  was  devised.  But  this  state  of  the  drama  is 
shortly  passed  over.  There  is  something  more  defined.  By  the  side  of  this 
false  tragic  sit  "  ugly  Barbarism  and  brutish  Ignorance."  These  are  not  the 
barbarism  and  ignorance  of  the  old  stage ; — they  are 

"  Ycrept  of  late 
Out  of  dread  darkness  of  the  deep  abysm." 

They  "now  tyrannize;"  they  now  "disguise"  the  fair  scene  "with  rudeness." 
The  Muse  of  Tragedy,  Melpomene,  had  previously  described  the  "  rueful  spec 
tacles  "  of  "  the  stage."  It  was  a  stage  which  had  no  "  true  tragedy."  But  i 
had  possessed 

"  Delight,  and  Laughter,  deck'd  in  seemly  sort." 

Now   "  the  trifling  comedy  flouteth  the  new  ruffianism."     The   words  of  Gabriel 

*  Edinburgh  Review,  vol.  Ixxi.,  p.  469. 

349 


WILLIAM    SIIAKMM 

Harvey  and  Edmund  Spenser  agree  in  this.  The  bravos  that  "  have  the  stage 
at  commandment  can  furnish  out  vices  and  devils  at  their  pleasure,"  says  Har 
vey.  This  describes  the  Vetus  Comcedia — the  old  comedy — of  which  Nash 
boasts.  Can  there  be  any  doubt  that  Spenser  had  this  state  of  things  in  view 
vhen  he  denounced  the 

"  Ugly  Barbaritm, 

ALC!  brutish  Ignorance,  ycrept  of  late 
Out  of  dread  darkness  of  the  deep  abysm  "  t 

He  denounced  it  in  common  with  his  friend  Harvey,  who,  however  he  partook 
of  the  controversial  violence  of  his  time,  was  a  man  of  learning  and  eloquence  ; 
and  to  whom  only  three  years  before  he  had  addressed  a  sonnet,  of  which  the 
highest  mind  in  the  country  might  have  been  proud. 

But    we    must   return    to    the    'Thalia.'      The    four   stanzas    which    we    have 
quoted  are  immediately  followed  by  these  four  others  : — 

"  All  these,  and  all  that  else  the  comic  stage 

With  season'd  wit  and  goodly  pleasure  graced, 
By  which  man's  life  in  his  likest  image 

Was  limned  forth,  are  wholly  now  defaced ; 
And  those  sweet  wits,  which  wont  the  like  to  frame, 
Are  now  despised,  and  made  a  laughing  game. 

And  he,  the  man  whom  Nature  self  had  made 

To  mock  herself,  and  Truth  to  imitate, 
With  kindly  counter,  under  mimic  shade, 

Our  pleasant  Willy,  ah  !  is  dead  of  late  : 
With  whom  all  joy  and  jolly  merriment 
Is  also  deaded,  and  in  dolour  drent. 

Instead  thereof  scoffing  Scurrility, 

And  scornful  Folly,  with  Contempt,  is  crept, 
Rolling  in  rhymes  of  shameless  ribaldry, 

Without  regard  or  due  decorum  kept ; 
Each  idle  wit  at  will  presumes  to  make, 
And  doth  the  Learned's  task  upon  him  take. 

But  that  same  gentle  spirit,  from  whose  pen 

Large  streams  of  honey  and  sweet  nectar  flow, 
Scorning  the  boldness  of  such  base-born  men, 

Which  dare  their  follies  forth  so  rashly  throw, 
Doth  rather  choose  to  sit  in  idle  cell 
Than  so  himself  to  mockery  to  sell." 

Here  there  is  something  even  stronger  than  what  has  preceded  it,  in  the  direct 
allusion  to  the  state  of  the  stage  in  1590.  Comedy  had  ceased  to  be  an  exhi 
bition  of  "seasoned  wit"  and  "goodly  pleasure;"  it  no  longer  showed  "man's 
life  in  his  likest  image."  Instead  thereof  there  was  "Scurrility" — -'scornful 
Folly  " — "  shameless  Ribaldry  ;  " — and  "  each  idle  wit  " 

"  doth  the  Learned's  task  upon  him  take." 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

It  was  the  task  of  "the  Learned"  to  deal  with  the  high  subjects  of  religious 
controversy— the  "matters  of  state  and  religion,"  with  which  the  stage  had 
meddled.  Harvey  had  previously  said,  in  the  tract  quoted  by  us,  it  is  "a  godly 
motion,  when  interluders  leave  penning  their  pleasureable  plays  to  become  zeal 
ous  ecclesiastical  writers."  He  calls  Lyly  more  expressly,  with  reference  to 
this  meddling,  "the  fool  master  of  the  theatre."  In  this  state  of  things  the 
acknowledged  head  of  the  comic  stage  was  silent  for  a  time  : — 

"  HE,  the  man  whom  Nature  self  had  made 
To  mock  herself,  and  Truth  to  imitate, 
With  kindly  counter,  under  mimic  shade, 
Our  pleasant  WILLY,  ah  !  is  dead  of  late." 

And  the  author  of  '  The  Fairy  Queen '  adds, 

"  But  that  same  gentle  spirit,  from  whose  pen 

Large  streams  of  honey  and  sweet  nectar  flow, 
Scorning  the  boldness  of  such  base-born  men, 

Which  dare  their  follies  forth  so  madly  throw, 
Doth  rather  choose  to  sit  in  idle  cell 
Than  so  himself  to  mockery  to  sell." 

The  love  of  personal  abuse  had  driven  out  real  comedy ;  and  there  was  one  who 
for  a  brief  season  had  left  the  madness  to  take  its  course.  We  cannot  doubt 
that 

"  HE,  the  man  whom  Nature  self  had  made 
To  mock  herself,  and  Truth  to  imitate," 

was  William  Shakspere.  Mr.  Collier,  in  his  '  History  of  Dramatic  Poetry/ 
says  of  Spenser's  '  Thalia/ — "  Had  it  not  been  certain  that  it  was  written  at  so 
early  a  date,  and  that  Shakespeare  could  not  then  have  exhibited  his  talents  and 
acquired  reputation,  we  should  say  at  once  that  it  could  be  meant  for  no  other 
poet.  It  reads  like  a  prophetic  anticipation,  which  could  not  have  been  ful 
filled  by  Shakspere  until  several  years  after  it  was  published."  Mr.  Collier, 
when  he  wrote  this,  had  not  discovered  the  document  which  proves  that  Shak 
spere  was  a  sharer  in  the  Blackfriars  Theatre  at  least  a  year  before  this  poem 
was  published.  Spenser,  we  believe,  described  a  real  man,  and  real  facts.  He 
made  no  "  prophetic  anticipation ; "  there  had  been  genuine  comedy  in  ex 
istence  ;  the  ribaldry  had  driven  it  out  for  a  season.  The  poem  has  reference 
to  some  temporary  degradation  of  the  stage ;  and  what  this  temporary  degrada 
tion  was  is  most  exactly  defined  by  the  public  documents  of  the  period,  and  the 
writings  of  Harvey,  Nash,  and  Lyly.  The  dates  of  all  these  proofs  correspond 
with  minute  exactness.  And  who  then  is  "our  pleasant  Willy,"  according  to 
the  opinion  of  those  who  would  deny  to  Shakspere  the  title  to  the  praise  of  the 
other  great  poet  of  the  Elizabethan  age?  It  is  John  Lyly,  says  Malone — the 
man  whom  Spenser's  bosom  friend  was,  at  the  same  moment,  denouncing  as 
"  the  foolmaster  of  the  theatre."  We  say,  advisedly,  that  there  is  absolutely  no 
proof  that  Shakspere  had  not  written  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  The 

351 


WI  I.T.I  AM 

Comedy  of  Errors,  Love's  Labour 's  Lost,  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  and  All 's 
Well  that  Ends  Well,  amongst  his  comedies,  before  1 590  :  we  believe  that  he 
alone  merited  the  high  praise  of  Spenser ;  that  it  was  meant  for  him.* 

•  This  argument  was  originally  advanced  by  us  in  a  small  Life  of  Shakspere ;  and  we  here  repeat 
it,  with  slight  alteration. 


[Spenser  J 


352 


[Ilu.nmonu.J 


CHAPTER    IV. 

HOW  CHANCES  IT  THEY  TRAVEL. 


JOHN  STANHOPE,  one  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  Privy  Chamber,  writes  thus  to 
Lord  Talbot,  in  December,  1589: — "The  Queen  is  so  well  as,  I  assure  you,  six 
or  seven  galliards  in  a  morning,  besides  music  and  singing,  is  her  ordinary 
exercise."*  This  letter  is  dated  from  Richmond.  The  magnificent  palace 
which  the  grandfather  of  Elizabeth  erected  upon  the  ruins  of  the  old  palace  of 
the  Plantagenets  was  a  favourite  residence  of  the  Queen.  Here,  where  she 
danced  her  galliards,  and  made  the  courts  harmonious  with  her  music,  she 
closed  her  life  some  ten  years  after, — not  quite  so  deserted  as  was  the  great 
Edward  upon  the  same  spot,  but  the  victim,  in  all  probability,  of  blighted 
affections  and  unavailing  regrets.  Scarcely  a  vestige  is  now  left  of  the  second 
palace  of  Richmond.  The  splendid  towers  of  Henry  VII.  have  fallen,  but  the 


2  A 


*  '  Lodge's  Illustrations,'  4  to.,  vol.  ii.,  page  411. 


353 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  : 

name  which  he  gave  to  the  site  endures,  and  the  natural  beauty  which  fixed 
here  the  old  sovereigns  of  England,  and  which  the  people  of  all  lands  still  come 
to  gaze  upon,  is  something  which  outlives  the  works  of  man,  if  not  the  memory 
of  those  works.  In  the  Christmas  of  1589,  the  Queen's  players  would  be  neces 
sarily  busy  for  the  diversion  of  the  Court.  The  records  are  lost  which  would 
show  us  at  this  period  what  were  the  precise  performances  offered  to  the  Queen ; 
and  the  imperfect  registers  of  the  Council,  which  detail  certain  payments  for 
plays,  do  not  at  this  date  refer  to  payments  to  Shakspere's  company.  But  there 
can  be  little  doubt  that  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  were  more  frequently 
called  upon  for  her  Majesty's  solace  than  the  Lord  Admiral's  men,  or  Lord 
Strange's  men,  or  the  Earl  of  Warwick's  men,  to  whom  payments  are  recorded 
at  this  period.  It  is  impossible  that  the  registers  of  the  Council,  as  published 
originally  by  Chalmers,  should  furnish  a  complete  account  of  the  theatrical 
performances  at  Court ;  for  there  is  no  entry  of  any  payment  whatever  for  such 
performances,  under  the  Council's  warrant,  between  the  llth  of  March,  1593, 
and  the  27th  of  November,  1597-  The  office-books  of  the  Treasurers  of  the 
Chamber  exhibit  a  greater  blank  at  this  time.  We  can  have  no  doubt  that 
the  last  decade  of  the  sixteenth  century  was  the  most  brilliant  period  of  the 
regal  patronage  of  the  drama ;  the  period  when  Shakspere,  especially, 

"  Made  those  flights  upon  the  banks  of  Thames  " 

to  which  Jonson  has  so  emphatically  alluded.  That  Shakspere  was  familiar 
with  Richmond  we  can  well  believe.  He  and  his  fellows  would  unquestionably, 
at  the  holiday  seasons  of  Christmas  and  Shrovetide,  be  at  the  daily  command 
of  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  and  in  attendance  upon  the  Court  wherever  the 
Queen  chose  to  dwell.  The  servants  of  the  household,  the  ladies  waiting  upon 
the  Queen,  and  even  the  great  officers  composing  the  Privy  Council,  seem  to 
have  been  in  a  perpetual  state  of  migration  from  palace  to  palace.  Elizabeth 
carried  this  desire  for  change  of  place  to  an  extent  that  was  not  the  most  agree 
able  to  many  of  her  subjects.  Her  progress  from  house  to  house,  with  a  cloud 
of  retainers,  was  almost  ruinous  to  some  who  were  yet  unable  to  reject  the 
honour.  But  even  the  frequent  removals  of  the  Court  from  palace  to  palace 
must  have  been  productive  of  no  little  annovance  to  the  grave  and  the  delicate 
amongst  the  royal  attendants.  The  palaces  were  ill-furnished ;  and  whenever 
the  whim  of  a  moment  directed  a  removal,  many  of  the  heavier  household 
necessaries  had  to  be  carried  from  palace  to 'palace  by  barge  or  waggon.  In  the 
time  of  Henry  VIII.  we  constantly  find  charges  attendant  upon  these  removals.* 
Gifford  infers  that  in  the  time  of  which  we  are  writing,  the  practice  was  suffi 
ciently  common  and  remarkable  to  have  afforded  us  one  of  our  most  significant 
and  popular  words :  "  To  the  smutty  regiment,  who  attended  the  progresses, 
and  rode  in  the  carts  with  the  pots  and  kettles,  which,  with  every  other  article 
of  furniture,  were  then  moved  from  palace  to  palace,  the  people,  in  derision, 
gave  the  name  of  black  guards, — a  term  since  become  sufficiently  familiar,  and 
never  properly  explained."  f  The  palaces  themselves  were  most  inconveniently 

*  See  Nicolaa's  'Privy  Purse  Expenses  of  King  Henry  the  Eighth.' 

f  Note  to  '  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour.' 
354 


[St.  James's.] 


adapted  for  these  changes.  Wherever  the  Queen  was,  there  was  the  seat  of 
government.  The  Privy  Council  were  in  daily  attendance  upon  the  Queen 
and  every  public  document  is  dated  from  the  Court.  Official  business  of  the 
most  important  nature  had  to  be  transacted  in  bedchambers  and  passages. 
Lady  Mary  Sidney,  whose  husband  was  Lord  President  of  Wales,  writes  the 
most  moving  letter  to  an  officer  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  to  implore  him  to 
beg  his  principal  "to  have  some  other  room  than  my  chamber  for  my  lord  to 
have  his  resort  unto,  as  he  was  wont  to  have,  or  else  my  lord  will  be  greatly 
troubled  when  he  shall  have  any  matters  of  dispatch;  my  lodging,  you  see, 
being  very  little,  and  myself  continually  sick,  and  not  able  to  be  much  out  of 
my  bed."*  A  great  officer  of  state  being  obliged  to  transact  business  with  his 
servants  and  suitors  in  his  sick  wife's  bedroom,  is  a  tolerable  example  of  the 
inconvenient  arrangements  of  our  old  palaces.  Perhaps  a  more  striking  example 
of  their  want  of  comfort,  and  even  of  decent  convenience,  is  to  be  found  in  a 
memorial  from  the  maids  of  honour,  which  we  have  seen  in  the  State  Paper 
Office,  humbly  requesting  that  the  partition  which  separates  their  sleeping- 
rooms  from  the  common  passage  may  be  somewhat  raised,  so  as  to  shut  them 
out  from  the  possible  gaze  of  her  Majesty's  gallant  pages.  If  Windsor  was  thus 
inconvenient  as  a  permanent  residence,  how  must  the  inconvenience  have  been 
doubled  when  the  Queen  suddenly  migrated  here  from  St.  James's,  or  Somerset 
Place,  or  Greenwich?  The  smaller  palaces  of  Nonsuch  and  Richmond  were 


2  A2 


The  letter  is  given  in  Malone's  'Inquiry,'  p.  91. 


355 


WILLIAM    SII  \KMT.Iir  : 

probably  still  less  endurable.  But  they  were  all  the  seats  of  gaiety,  throwing 
a  veil  over  fears  and  jealousies  and  feverish  ambition.  Our  business  is  not 
with  their  real  tragedies. 

From  about  the  period  of  Shakspere's  first  connection  with  the  stage,  and 
thence  with  the  Court,  Henry  Lord  Hunsdon,  the  kinsman  of  Elizabeth,  was 
Lord  Chamberlain.  It  is  remarkable,  that  when  Burbage  erected  the  Black- 
friars  Theatre,  in  1576,  close  by  the  houses  of  Lord  Hunsdon  and  of  the  famous 
Ratcliffe,  Earl  of  Sussex,  Lord  Hunsdon  was  amongst  the  petitioners  against 
the  project  of  Burbage.  But  the  Earl  of  Sussex,  who  was  then  Lord  Cham 
berlain,  did  not  petition  against  the  erection  of  a  playhouse ;  and  he  may  there 
fore  be  supposed  to  have  approved  of  it.  The  opinions,  however,  of  Lord 
Hunsdon  must  have  undergone  some  considerable  change ;  for  upon  his  suc 
ceeding  to  the  office  of  Lord  Chamberlain  upon  the  death  of  Sussex,  he  became 
the  patron  of  Shakspere's  company.  They  were  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  men  ; 
or,  in  other  words,  the  especial  servants  of  the  Court.  Henry  Lord  Hunsdon 
held  this  office  for  eleven  years,  till  his  death  in  1596.  Elizabeth  bestowed 


:    Zl 

[Lord  Hunsdon.] 


[Somerset  Houie.j 

upon  him  as  a  residence  the  magnificent  palace  of  the  Protector  Somerset. 
Here,  in  the  halls  which  had  been  raised  out  of  the  spoliation  of  the  great 
Priory  of  St.  John  of  Jerusalem,  would  the  company  of  Shakspere  be  frequently 
engaged.  The  Queen  occasionally  made  the  palace  her  residence ;  and  it  can 
scarcely  be  doubted  that  on  these  occasions  there  was  revelry  upon  which  the 
genius  of  the  new  dramatic  poet,  so  immeasurably  above  all  his  compeers,  would 
bestow  a  grace  which  a  few  years  earlier  seemed  little  akin  to  the  spirit  of  the 
drama.  That  palace  also  is  swept  away ;  and  the  place  which  once  witnessed 
the  stately  measure  and  the  brisk  galliard — where  Cupids  shook  their  painted 
wings  in  the  solemn  masque — and  where,  above  all,  our  great  dramatic  poet 
may  first  have  produced  his  Comedy  of  Errors,  his  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona, 
his  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  have  been  rewarded  with  smiles  and  tears,  such  as 
seldom  were  bestowed  in  the  chill  regions  of  state  and  etiquette,  —  that  place 
now  sees  the  complicated  labours  of  the  routine  departments  of  a  mighty 
government  constantly  progressing  in  their  prosaic  uniformity.  No  contrast 
can  be  more  striking  than  the  Somerset  House  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  Lord 
Chamberlain,  and  the  Somerset  House  of  Queen  Victoria's  Commissioners  of 
Stamps  and  Taxes. 

"  How    chances    it    they  travel  ? "    says    Hamlet,    speaking    of    the    players  — 
Their  residence  both  in  reputation  and  profit  was  better  both  ways."      Ham- 

357 


WILLIAM   SnAKSrr.lM   : 

let's  "  tragedians  of  the  city "  travel  because  "  the  boys  carry  it  away."  But 
there  were  other  causes  that  more  than  once  forced  Shakspere's  company  to 
disperse,  and  which  affected  also  every  other  company.  That  terrible  affliction 
from  which  England  has  so  long  been  free,  the  plague,  almost  invariably  broke 
up  the  residence  of  the  players.  They  were  in  general  scattered  about  the 
country  seeking  a  precarious  maintenance,  whilst  their  terror-stricken  families 
remained  in  the  fated  city.  In  the  autumn  of  1592  the  plague  raged  in  Lon 
don.  Michaelmas  term  was  kept  at  Hertford  ;  as  in  1593  it  was  at  St.  Albans. 
During  this  long  period  all  the  theatres  were  closed,  the  Privy  Council  justly 
alleging  "  that  infected  people,  after  their  long  keeping  in  and  before  they  be 
cleared  of  their  disease  and  infection,  being  desirous  of  recreation,  use  to  resort 
to  such  assemblies,  where  through  heat  and  throng  they  infect  many  sound 
persons."  In  the  letters  of  Alleyn  the  player,  which  are  preserved  in  Dulwich 
College,  there  is  one  to  his  wife,  of  this  exact  period,  being  dated  from  Chelms- 
ford,  the  2nd  of  May,  1593,  which  exhibits  a  singular  picture  of  the  indignities 
to  which  the  less  privileged  players  appear  to  have  been  subjected  : — "  I  have  no 
news  to  send  thee,  but  I  thank  God  we  are  all  well,  and  in  health,  which  I  pray 
God  to  continue  with  us  in  the  country,  and  with  you  in  London.  But,  mouse, 
I  little  thought  to  hear  that  which  I  now  hear  by  you,  for  it  is  well  known 
they  say,  that  you  were  by  my  Lord  Mayor's  officers  made  to  ride  in  a  cart, 
you  and  all  your  fellows,  which  I  am  sorry  to  hear ;  but  you  may  thank  your 
two  supporters,  your  strong  legs  I  mean,  that  would  not  carry  you  away,  but 
let  you  fall  into  the  hands  of  such  termagants."*  On  the  1st  of  September, 
1592,  there  was  a  company  of  players  at  Cambridge,  and,  as  it  appears,  engaged 
in  a  contest  with  the  University  authorities.  On  that  day  the  Vice-Chancellor 
issues  a  warrant  to  the  constable  forbidding  the  inhabitants  to  allow  the  players 
to  occupy  any  houses,  rooms,  or  yards,  for  the  purpose  of  exhibiting  their  inter 
ludes,  plays,  and  tragedies.  The  players,  however,  disregarded  the  warrant ; 
for  on  the  8th  of  September,  the  Vice-Chancellor  complains  to  the  Privy  Council 
that  "  certain  light  persons,  pretending  themselves  to  be  her  Majesty's  players, 
&c.,  did  take  boldness,  not  only  here  to  proclaim  their  interludes  (by  setting 
up  of  writings  about  our  college  gates),  but  also  actually  at  Chesterton  to  play 
the  same,  which  is  a  village  within  the  compass  of  the  jurisdiction  granted  to 
us  by  her  Majesty's  charter,  and  situated  hard  by  the  plot  where  Stourbridge 
fair  is  kept."  The  Privy  Council  does  not  appear  to  have  been  in  a  hurry  to 
redress  the  grievance;  for  ten  days  afterwards  the  Vice- Chancellor  and  various 
heads  of  colleges  repeated  the  complaint,  alleging  that  the  offenders  were  sup 
ported  by  Lord  North  (who  resided  at  Kirtling,  near  Cambridge),  who  said  "  in 
the  hearing  as  well  of  the  players,  as  of  divers  knights  and  gentlemen  of  the 
shire  then  present,"  that  an  order  of  the  Privy  Council  of  1575,  forbidding  the 
performance  of  plays  in  the  neighbourhood  of  universities,  "was  no  perpe 
tuity."  It  was  not  till  the  following  year  that  the  Privy  Council  put  an  end 
to  this  unseemly  contest,  by  renewing  the  letters  of  1575.  The  company  of 
Shakspere  was  not,  we  apprehend,  the  "  certain  light  persons,  pretending  them- 

*  Collier's  '  Memoiro  of  Edward  Alleyn,'  p.  24. 
358 


A   BIOGRAPUY. 

selves  to  be  her  Majesty's  players."  The  complaint  of  the  Vice-Chancellor 
recites  that  one  Button  was  a  principal  amongst  them ;  and  Button's  company 
is  mentioned  in  the  accounts  of  the  Revels  as  early  as  1572.  But  for  this 
notice  of  Button  we  might  have  concluded  that  the  Queen's  players  were  the 
company  to  which  Shakspere  belonged ;  and  that  his  acquaintance  with  Cam 
bridge,  its  splendid  buildings,  and  its  noble  institutions,  was  to  be  associated 
with  the  memory  of  a  dispute  that  is  little  creditable  to  those  who  resisted  the 
just  exercise  of  the  authority  of  the  University.  The  Queen  and  her  courtiers 
appear  to  have  looked  upon  this  contest  in  something  of  the  spirit  of  mischiev 
ous  drollery.  Three  months  after  the  dispute,  Br.  John  Still,  then  Vice-Chan- 
cellor,  Master  of  Trinity  College,  and  Bishop  of  Bath  and  Wells,  writes  thus  to 
the  Lords  of  the  Council :  "  Upon  Saturday  last,  being  the  second  of  Becember, 
we  received  letters  from  Mr.  Vice-Chamberlain  by  a  messenger  sent  purposely, 
wherein,  by  reason  that  her  Majesty's  own  servants  in  this  time  of  infection 
may  not  disport  her  Highness  with  their  wonted  and  ordinary  pastimes,  his 
Honour  hath  moved  our  University  (as  he  writeth  that  he  hath  also  done  the 
other  of  Oxford)  to  prepare  a  comedy  in  English,  to  be  acted  before  her  High 
ness  by  some  of  our  students  in  this  time  of  Christmas.  How  ready  we  are 
to  do  anything  that  may  tend  to  her  Majesty's  pleasure,  we  are  very  desirous 
by  all  means  to  testify  ;  but  how  fit  we  shall  be  by  this  is  moved,  having  no 
practice  in  this  English  vein,*  and  being  (as  we  think)  nothing  beseeming  our 

*  The   English   vein  had   gone    out   of  use.     In   1564,  'Ezekias,'  a   comedy   in   English   by  Dr. 
Nicholas  Udall,  was  pel-formed  before  Elizabeth  in  King's  College  Chapel. 


(Ancient  View  of  Cambridge.) 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPKU. 

students,  specially  out  of  the  University,  we  much  doubt;  and  do  find  our  prin 
cipal  actors  (whom  we  have  of  purpose  called  before  us)  very  unwilling  to  play 
in  English."*  If  Dr.  Still  were  the  author  of  'Gammer  Gurton's  Needle,'  as 
commonly  believed,  the  joke  is  somewhat  heightened ;  but  at  any  rate  it  is 
diverting  enough,  as  a  picture  of  manners,  to  find  the  University  who  have 
opposed  the  performances  of  professional  players,  being  called  upon  to  produce 
a  play  in  the  "  English  vein,"  a  species  of  composition  mostly  held  in  contempt 
by  the  learned  as  fitted  only  for  the  ignorant  multitude. 

In  relation  to  Shakspere,  we  learn  from  these  transactions  at  Cambridge,  that 
at  the  Christmas  of  1592  there  were  no  revels  at  Court:  "her  Majesty's  own 
servants  in  this  time  of  infection  may  not  disport  her  Highness  with  their 
wonted  and  ordinary  pastimes."  Shakspere,  we  may  believe,  during  the  long 
period  of  the  continuance  of  the  plague  in  London,  had  no  occupation  at  the 
Blackfriars  Theatre ;  and  the  pastimes  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  were 
dispensed  with  at  the  palaces.  It  is  probable  that  he  was  residing  at  his  own 
Stratford.  The  leisure,  we  think,  afforded  him  opportunity  of  preparing  the 
most  important  of  that  wonderful  series  of  historical  dramas  which  unquestion 
ably  appeared  within  a  few  years  of  this  period ;  and  of  producing  some  other 
dramatic  compositions  of  the  highest  order  of  poetical  excellence.  The  accounts 
of  the  Chamberlains  of  Stratford  exhibit  no  payments  to  players  from  1587  to 
1592;  but  in  that  year  in  the  account  of  Henry  Wilson,  the  Chamberlain,  we 
have  the  entry  of  "  Paid  to  the  Queenes  players  XXs,"  and  a  similar  entry 
occurs  in  the  account  of  John  Sadler,  Chamberlain  in  1593.  Were  these  pay 
ments  to  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  company,  known  familiarly  as  the  Queen's 
players  ?  We  cannot  absolutely  decide.  Another  company  was  at  Cambridge 
pretending  to  be  the  Queen's  players ;  and  in  the  office  book  of  the  Treasurer 
of  the  Chamber,  in  1590,  there  is  the  record  of  a  payment  "  to  Lawrance  Button 
and  John  Dutton,  her  Majesty's  players,  and  their  company."  The  Lord  Cham 
berlain's  players  appear  to  have  ceased  to  be  called  "  the  Queen's  players,"  about 
this  time.  Upon  the  whole,  we  are  inclined  to  the  belief, — although  we  have 
previously  assumed  that  the  Queen's  players  who  performed  at  Stratford  in 
1587  were  Shakspere's  fellows,  f — that  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  did 
not  "  travel."  If  the  "profit  "of  their  "  residence  "  in  London  was  interrupted 
by  the  plague,  it  did  not  consist  with  their  "  reputation  "  to  seek  out  the  scanty 
remuneration  of  uncritical  country  audiences.  It  appears  to  us,  also,  looking 
at  the  poetical  labours  of  Shakspere  at  this  exact  period,  that  there  was  some 
pause  in  his  professional  occupation  ;  and  that  many  months'  residence  in  Strat 
ford,  from  the  autumn  of  1592  to  the  summer  of  1593,  enabled  him  more 
systematically  to  cultivate  those  higher  faculties  which  placed  him,  even  in  the 
opinion  of  his  contemporaries,  at  the  head  of  the  living  poets  of  England.  J 

One  of  the  peculiar  characteristics  of  the  genius  of  Shakspere  consists  in  its 
essentially  practical  nature — its  perfect  adaptation  to  the  immediate  purpose  of 
its  employment.  It  is  not  inconsistent,  therefore,  with  the  most  unlimited  re- 

*  The  various  documents  may  be  consulted  in  Collier's  'Annals  of  the  Stage,'  vol.  L 

f  See  page  281.  J  Sec  note  at  the  end  of  this  chapter. 

360 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

verence  for  the  higher  qualities  of  that  genius,  to  believe  that  in  its  original 
direction  to  the  drama  it  was  guided  by  no  very  abstract  ideas  of  excellence, 
but  sought  to  accommodate  itself  to  the  taste  and  the  information  of  the  people, 
and  to  deal  only  with  what  was  to  them  obvious  and  familiar.  It  is  thus  that 
we  may  readily  admit  that  many  of  the  earliest  plays  of  Shakspere  were 
founded  upon  some  rude  production  of  the  primitive  stage.  Andronicus  had, 
no  doubt,  its  dramatic  ancestor,  who  exhibited  the  same  Gothic  view  of  Roman 
history,  and  whose  scenes  of  blood  were  equally  agreeable  to  an  audience  re 
quiring  strong  excitement.  Pericles,  however  remodelled  at  an  after  period, 
belonged,  we  can  scarcely  doubt,  to  Shakspere's  first  efforts  for  the  improvement 
of  some  popular  dramatic  exhibition  which  he  found  ready  to  his  hand.  So  of 
The  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  of  which  we  may  without  any  violence  assume 
that  a  common  model  existed  both  for  that  and  for  the  other  play  with  a  very 
similar  name,  which  appears  to  belong  to  the  same  period.  It  is  in  the  highest 
degree  probable  that  the  three  parts  of  Henry  VI.  may  in  the  same  manner 
be  founded  upon  older  productions ;  but  it  is  utterly  inconsistent  with  our  con 
fidence  in  the  originality  of  Shakspere's  powers,  even  when  dealing  with  old 
materials,  to  believe  that  those  plays  which  we  know  as  the  two  parts  of  The 
Contention  between  the  Houses  of  York  and  Lancaster,  were  the  plays  upon 
which  Shakspere  founded  the  second  and  third  parts  of  Henry  VI.  They  are 
as  much  his  own  as  the  Hamlet  of  1603  is  his  own,  or  the  Henry  V.  of  1600, 
or  the  Merry  Wives  of  1602,  each  of  which  is  evidently  the  sketch,  and  per 
haps  the  mutilated  sketch,  of  the  finished  picture  which  was  subsequently 
delivered  to  us.  That  sketch  of  Hamlet,  which  in  all  probability  was  the 
remodelling  of  something  earlier  from  the  same  pen  (which  earliest  piece  might 
even  have  been  founded  upon  some  rude  dialogue  or  dumb  show  of  a  murder 
or  a  ghost),  proves  to  us,  comparing  it  with  the  finished  play,  the  quarto  of 
1604,  how  luxuriantly  the  vigorous  sapling  went  on  year  by  year  to  grow  into 
the  monarch  of  the  forest.  But  from  the  first,  Shakspere,  with  that  consummate 
judgment  which  gave  a  fitness  to  every  thing  that  he  did,  or  proposed  to  do, 
held  his  genius  in  subjection  to  the  apprehension  of  the  people,  till  he  felt 
.  secure  of  their  capability  to  appreciate  the  highest  excellence.  In  his  case,  as 
in  that  of  every  great  artist,  perfection  could  only  be  attained  by  repeated 
efforts.  He  had  no  models  to  work  upon ;  and  in  the  very  days  in  which  he 
lived  the  English  drama  began  to  be  created.  It  was  not  "  Learning's  triumph 
o'er  her  barbarous  foes  "  which  "  first  rear'd  the  stage,"  but  a  singular  combina 
tion  of  circumstances  which  for  the  most  part  grew  out  of  the  reformation  of 
religion.  He  took  the  thing  as  he  found  it.  The  dramatic  power  was  in  him 
so  supreme  that,  compared  with  the  feebler  personifications  of  other  men,  it 
looks  like  instinct.  He  seized  upon  the  vague  abstractions  which  he  found  in 
the  histories  and  comedies  of  the  Blackfriars  and  the  Bel  Savage,  and  the 
scene  was  henceforth  filled  with  living  beings.  But  not  as  yet  were  these 
individualities  surrounded  with  the  glowing  atmosphere  of  burning  poetry. 
The  philosophy  which  invests  their  sayings  with  an  universal  wisdom,  that 
enters  the  mind  and  becomes  its  loadstar,  was  scarcely  yet  evoked  out  of  that 

361 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPKKI.  : 

profound  contemplation  of  human  actions  and  of  the  higher  things  dimly  re 
vealed  in  human  nature,  which  belonged  to  the  maturity  of  his  wondrous  mind. 
The  wit  was  there  in  some  degree  from  the  first,  for  it  was  irrepressible  ;  but 
it  was  then  as  the  polished  metal,  which  dazzlingly  gives  back  the  brightness 
of  the  sunbeams ;  in  after  times  it  was  as  the  diamond,  which  reflects  every 
thing,  and  yet  appears  to  be  self-irradiated  in  its  lustrous  depths.  If  these 
qualities,  and  if  the  humour  which  seems  more  especially  the  ripened  growth 
of  the  mental  faculty,  could  have  been  produced  in  the  onset  of  Shakspere's 
career,  it  is  probable  that  the  career  would  not  have  been  a  successful  one. 
He  had  to  make  his  audience.  He  himself  has  told  us  of  a  play  of  his  earliest 
period,  that  "  I  remember,  pleased  not  the  million  ;  'twas  caviarie  to  the  ge 
neral  :  but  it  was  (as  I  received  it,  and  others,  whose  judgments  in  such  mat 
ters  cried  in  the  top  of  mine)  an  excellent  play ;  well  digested  in  the  scenes : 
set  down  with  as  much  modesty  as  cunning.  I  remember,  one  said  there  were 
no  sallets  in  the  lines  to  make  the  matter  savoury  ;  nor  no  matter  in  the  phrase 
that  might  indite  the  author  of  affectation  ;  but  called  it  an  honest  method,  as 
wholesome  as  sweet,  and  by  very  much  more  handsome  than  fine."*  Was  this 
play  an  attempt  of  Shakspere  himself  to  depart  from  the  popular  track  ?  If  it 
were,  we  probably  owe  much  to  the  million. 

Let  us  place  then  the  Shakspere  of  eight-and-twenty  once  more  in  the  soli 
tude  of  Stratford,  with  the  experience  of  seven  years  in  the  pursuits  which  he 
has  chosen  as  his  profession.  He  has  produced,  we  believe,  several  plays  be 
longing  to  each  class  of  the  drama  with  which  the  early  audiences  were  familiar. 
In  the  tragedy  of  Andronicus,  as  it  has  come  down  to  us,  and  with  great  pro 
bability  in  the  first  conceptions  of  Hamlet  and  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  the  physical 
horrors  of  the  scene  were  as  much  relied  upon  as  attractions,  if  not  more  so, 
than  the  poetry  and  characterization.  The  struggles  for  the  empery  of  France, 
and  the  wars  of  the  Roses,  had  been  presented  to  the  people  with  marvellous 
animation  ;  but  the  great  dramatic  principle  of  unity  of  idea  had  been  but  im 
perfectly  developed,  and  probably,  without  the  practice  of  that  apprentice-period 
of  the  poet's  dramatic  life,  would  scarcely  have  been  conceived  in  its  ultimate 
perfection.  Comedy,  too,  had  been  tried  ;  and  here  the  rude  wit  and  the. 
cumbrous  affectations  of  his  contemporaries  had  been  supplanted  by  drollery 
and  nature,  with  a  sprinkle  of  graceful  poetry  whose  essential  characteristic  is 
the  rejection  of  the  unnatural  ornament  and  the  conventional  images  which 
belong  to  every  other  dramatic  writer  of  the  period.  The  Two  Gentlemen  of 
Verona,  the  Comedy  of  Errors,  Love's  Labour's  Lost,  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew, 
and  All  's  Well  that  Ends  Well,  are  essentially  nobler  and  purer  in  their  poetical 
elements  than  anything  that  Peele,  or  Greene,  or  Lyly,  or  Lodge,  have  be 
queathed  to  us.  That  they  are  superior  in  many  respects  to  many  of  the  best 
productions  of  Shakspere's  later  contemporaries  may  be  the  result  of  the  after- 
polish  which  we  have  no  doubt  the  poet  bestowed  even  upon  his  least  important 
works.  They,  with  the  histories  and  tragedies  we  have  named,  essentially 

*  Hamlet,  Act  n.,  Sc.  n. 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

belonged,  we  think,  to  his  earliest  period.     We  are  about  to  enter  upon  the  career 
of  a  higher  ambition. 

William  Shakspere  left  Stratford  about  1585  or  1586,  an  adventurer  probably, 
but.  as  we  hold,  not  the  reckless  adventurer  which  it  has  been  the  fashion  to 
represent  him.  We  know  not  whether  his  wife  and  children  were  with  him  in 
London.  There  is  no  evidence  to  show  that  they  did  not  so  dwell.  If  he  were 
absent  alone  during  a  portion  of  the  year  from  his  native  place,  his  family  probably 
lived  under  the  roof  of  his  father  and  mother.  His  visits  to  them  would  not 
necessarily  be  of  rare  occurrence  and  of  short  duration.  The  Blackfriars  was 
a  winter  theatre,  although  at  a  subsequent  period,  when  the  Globe  was  erected,  it 
was  let  for  summer  performances  to  the  "  children  of  the  Chapel."  With  rare 
exceptions  the  performances  at  Court  occupied  only  the  period  from  Hallowmas 
Day  to  Shrove  Tuesday.  The  latter  part  of  the  summer  and  autumn  seem, 
therefore,  to  have  been  at  Shakspere's  disposal,  at  least  during  the  first  seven  or 
eight  years  of  his  career.  That  he  spent  a  considerable  portion  of  the  year  in  the 
quiet  of  his  native  walks  we  may  be  tolerably  well  assured,  from  the  constant 
presence  of  rural  images  in  all  his  works,  his  latest  as  well  as  his  earliest.  We 
have  subsequently  more  distinct  evidence  in  his  farming  occupations.  At  the  time 
of  which  we  are  now  writing  we  believe  that  a  great  public  calamity  gave  him 
unwonted  leisure  ;  and  that  here  commences  what  may  be  called  the  middle  period 
of  his  dramatic  life,  which  saw  the  production  of  his  greater  histories,  and  of  some 
of  his  most  delightful  comedies. 

There  is  a  well-known  passage  in  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  which  goes  very 
far  towards  a  determination  of  its  date.     Titania  thus  reproaches  Oberon  : 

"  These  are  the  forgeries  of  jealousy  : 
And  never,  since  the  middle  summer's  spring, 
Met  we  on  hill,  in  dale,  forest,  or  mead, 
By  paved  fountain,  or  by  rushy  brook, 
Or  on  the  beached  margeut  of  the  sea, 
To  dance  our  ringlets  to  the  whistling  wind, 
But  with  thy  brawls  thou  hast  disturbed  our  sport. 
Therefore,  the  winds,  piping  to  us  in  vain, 
As  in  revenge,  have  suck'd  up  from  the  sea 
Contagious  fogs ;  which,  falling  in  the  land, 
Have  every  pelting  river  made  so  proud, 
That  they  have  overborne  their  continents  : 
The  ox  hath  therefore  stretch'd  his  yoke  in  vain, 
The  ploughman  lost  his  sweat,  and  the  green  corn 
Hath  rotted  ere  his  youth  attained  a  beard : 
The  fold  stands  empty  in  the  drowned  field, 
And  crows  are  fatted  with  the  murrain  flock ; 
The  nine  men's  morris  is  fill'd  up  with  mud 
And  the  quaint  mazes  in  the  wanton  green, 
For  lack  of  tread,  are  undistinguishable." 

The  summers  of  1592,  1593,  and  1594  were  so  unpropitious,  that  the  minute 
description  of  Titania,  full  of  the  most  precise  images  derived  from  the  observ 
ation  of  a  resident  in  the  country,  gives  us  a  far  more  exact  idea  of  these  re- 

363 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE  : 

markable  seasons  than  any  of  the  prosaic  records  of  the  time.  In  1594,  Dr.  J. 
King  thus  preaches  at  York  :  "  Remember  that  the  spring  (that  year  when  the 
plague  broke  out)  was  very  unkind,  by  means  of  the  abundance  of  rains  that 
fell.  Our  July  hath  been  like  to  a  February,  our  June  even  as  an  April,  so 
that  the  air  must  needs  be  infected."  He  then  adds,  speaking  of  three  succes 
sive  years  of  scarcity,  "  Our  years  are  turned  upside  down.  Our  -summers  are 
no  summers  ;  our  harvests  are  no  harvests  ;  our  seed-times  are  no  seed-times."* 
There  are  passages  in  Stow's  '  Annals,'  and  in  a  manuscript  by  Dr.  Simon  For- 
man  in  the  Ashmolean  Museum,  which  show  that  in  the  June  and  July  of 
1594  there  were  excessive  rains.  But  Stow  adds,  of  1594,  "notwithstanding 
in  the  month  of  August  there  followed  a  fair  harvest."  This  does  not  agree 
with 

"  The  ox  hath  therefore  stretch'd  his  yoke  in  vain, 
The  ploughman  lost  his  sweat,  and  the  green  corn 
Hath  rotted,  ere  his  youth  attain'd  a  beard." 

It  is  not  necessary  to  fix  Shakspere's  description  of  the  ungenial  season  upon  1594 
in  particular.  There  was  a  succession  of  unpropitious  years,  when 

"  The  spring,  the  summer, 
The  childing  autumn,  angry  winter,  change 
Their  wonted  liveries." 

"  Our  summers  are  no  summers ;  our  harvests  are  no  harvests ;  our  seed-times 
are  no  seed-times."  Churchyard,  in  his  preface  to  a  poem  entitled  '  Charity,'t 
says,  "  A  great  nobleman  told  me  this  last  wet  summer  the  weather  was  too  cold 
for  poets."  The  poetry  of  Shakspere  was  as  much  subjective  as  objective,  to  use 
one  of  the  favourite  distinctions  which  we  have  derived  from  the  Germans.  The 
most  exact  description  of  the  coldness  of  the  "wet  summer"  becomes  in  his 
hands  the  finest  poetry,  even  taken  apart  from  its  dramatic  proprfety;  but  in 
association  with  the  quarrels  of  Oberon  and  Titania,  it  becomes  something  much 
nigher  than  descriptive  poetry.  It  is  an  integral  part  of  those  wondrous  efforts 
of  the  imagination  which  we  can  call  by  no  other  name  than  that  of  creation. 
It  is  in  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  as  it  appears  to  us,  that  Shakspere  first 
felt  the  entire  strength  of  his  creative  power.  That  noble  poem  is  something 
so  essentially  different  from  anything  which  the  stage  had  previously  possessed, 
that  we  must  regard  it  as  a  great  effort  of  the  highest  originality;  conceived 
perhaps  with  very  little  reference  to  its  capacity  of  pleasing  a  mixed  audience ; 
probably  composed  with  the  express  intention  of  being  presented  to  "  an  audience 
fit  though  few,"  who  were  familiar  with  the  allusions  of  classical  story,  of 
"  masque  and  antique  pageantry,"  but  who  had  never  yet  been  enabled  to  forrc 
an  adequate  notion  of 

"  Such  sights  as  youthful  poets  dream 
On  summer  eves  by  haunted  stream." 


•  See  our  Illustrations  of  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  Act  n.,  Sc.  n. 
t  Quoted  by  Mr.  Halliwell,  in  his  '  Introduction  to  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream.' 
364 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

The  exquisite  delicacy  of  the  compliment  to  "the  imperial  votaress"  fully  war 
rants  the  belief  that  in  the  season  of  calamity,  when  her  own  servants  "  may 
not  disport  her  Highness  with  their  wonted  and  ordinary  pastimes,"  one  of  them 
was  employed  in  a  labour  for  her  service,  which  would  make  all  other  pastimes 
of  that  epoch  appear  flat  and  trivial. 

It  is  easy  to  believe  that  if  any  external  impulse  were  wanting  to  stimulate 
the  poetical  ambition  of  Shakspere— to  make  him  aspire  to  some  higher  cha 
racter  than  that  of  the  most  popular  of  dramatists — such  might  be  found  in 
1593  in  the  clear  field  which  was  left  for  the  exercise  of  his  peculiar  powers. 
Robert  Greene  had  died  on  the  3rd  of  September,  1592,  leaving  behind  him  a 
sneer  at  the  actor  who  aspired  "  to  bombast  out  a  blank  verse."  Had  his  genius 
not  been  destroyed  by  the  wear  and  tear,  and  the  corrupting  influences,  of  a 
profligate  life,  he  never  could  have  competed  with  the  mature  Shakspere.  But 
as  we  know  that  "  the  only  Shake-scene  in  a  country,"  at  whom  the  unhappy 
man  presumed  to  scoff,  felt  the  insult  somewhat  deeply,  so  we  may  presume  he 
took  the  most  effectual  means  to  prove  to  the  world  that  he  was  not,  according 
to  the  malignant  insinuation  of  his  envious  compeer,  "  an  upstart  crow  beautified 
with  our  feathers."  We  believe  that  in  the  gentleness  of  his  nature,  when  he 
introduced  into  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream 

"  The  thrice  three  Muses  mourning  for  the  death 
Of  learning  late  deceas'd  in  beggary," 

he  dropped  a  tear  upon  the  grave  of  him  whose  demerits  were  to  be  forgiven 
in  his  misery.  On  the  1st  of  June,  1593,  Christopher  Marlowe  perished  in  a 
wretched  brawl,  "slain  by  Francis  Archer,"  as  the  Register  of  Burials  of  the 
parish  of  St.  Nicholas,  Deptford,  informs  us.  Who  was  left  of  the  dramatists 
that  could  enter  into  competition  with  William  Shakspere,  such  as  he  then 
was  ?  He  was  almost  alone.  The  great  disciples  of  his  school  had  not  arisen. 
Jonson  had  not  appeared  to  found  a  school  of  a  different  character.  It  was  for 
him,  thenceforth,  to  sway  the  popular  mind  after  his  own  fashion  ;  to  disregard 
the  obligation  which  the  rivalry  of  high  talent  might  have  imposed  upon  him 
of  listening  to  other  suggestions  than  those  of  his  own  lofty  art ;  to  make  the 
multitude  bow  before  that  art,  rather  than  that  it  should  accommodate  itself  to 
their  habits  and  prejudices.  But  at  a  period  when  the  exercise  of  the  poetical 
power  in  connection  with  the  stage  was  scarcely  held  amongst  the  learned  and 
the  polite  in  itself  to  be  poetry,  Shakspere  vindicated  his  reputation  by  the 
publication  of  the  Venus  and  Adonis.  It  was,  he  says,  "  the  first  heir  of  my 
invention."  There  may  be  a  doubt  whether  Shakspere  meant  to  say  literally 
that  this  was  the  first  poetical  work  that  he  had  produced ;  or  whether  he  held, 
in  deference  to  some  critical  opinions,  that  his  dramatic  productions  could  not 
be  classed  amongst  the  heirs  of  "invention."  We  think  that  he  meant  to  use 
the  words  literally ;  and  that  he  used  them  at  a  period  when  he  might  assume, 
without  vanity,  that  he  had  taken  his  rank  amongst  the  poets  of  his  time.  He 
dedicates  to  the  Earl  of  Southampton  something  that  had  not  before  been  given 
to  the  world.  H«  calls  his  verses  "  unpolished  lines ;  "  he  vows  to  take  advan- 

365 


WILLIAM   SHAKSI-;  UK  : 

tage  of  all  idle  hours  till  he  had  honoured  the  young  patron  of  the  Muses  with 
"some  graver  labour."  But  invention  was  received  then,  as  it  was  afterwards, 
as  the  highest  quality  of  the  poet.  Dryden  says, — "  A  poet  is  a  maker,  as  the 
word  signifies ;  and  he  who  cannot  make,  that  is  invent,  hath  his  name  for 
nothing."  We  consider,  therefore,  that  "my  invention"  is  not  the  language 
of  cne  unknown  to  fame.  He  was  exhibiting  the  powers  which  he  possessed 
upon  a  different  instrument  than  that  to  which  the  world  was  accustomed  ;  but 
the  >*'orld  knew  that  the  power  existed.  We  employ  the  word  genius  always 
with  reference  to  the  inventive  or  creative  faculty.  Substitute  the  word  genius 
for  invention,  and  the  expression  used  by  Shakspere  sounds  like  arrogance. 
But  the  substitution  may  indicate  that  the  actual  expression  could  not  have 
been  used  by  one  who  came  forward  for  the  first  time  to  claim  the  honours 
of  the  poet.  It  has  been  argued  from  this  expression  that  Shakspere  had 
produced  nothing  original  before  the  Venus  and  Adonis — that  up  to  the  period 
of  its  publication,  in  1593,  he  was  only  a  repairer  of  the  works  of  other  men. 
We  hold  that  the  expression  implies  the  direct  contrary. 
The  dreary  summer  of  1593  has  passed  away  ; 

"  And  on  old  Hyenas'  chin,  and  icy  crown, 
An  odorous  chaplet  of  sweet  summer  buds 
Is,  aa  in  mockery,  set." 

From  the  1st  of  August  in  that  year  to  the  following  Christmas  the  Queen  was 
at  Windsor.  The  plague  still  raged  in  London,  and  the  historian  gravely 
records,  amongst  the  evils  of  the  time,  that  Bartholomew  Fair  was  not  held. 
Essex  was  at  Windsor  during  this  time,  and  probably  the  young  Southampton, 
was  there  also.  It  was  a  long  period  for  the  Court  to  remain  in  one  place. 
Elizabeth  was  afraid  of  the  plague  in  the  metropolis ;  and  upon  a  page  dying 
within  the  castle  on  the  21st  of  November,  she  was  about  to  rush  away  from  the 
pure  air  which  blew  around  the  "proud  keep."  But  "the  lords  and  ladies 
who  were  accommodated  so  well  to  their  likings  had  persuaded  the  Queen  to 
suspend  her  removal  from  thence  till  she  should  see  some  other  effect."  *  Living 
in  the  dread  of  "  infection,"  we  may  believe  that  the  Queen  would  require 
amusement;  and  that  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  players,  who  had  so  long  for 
borne  to  resort  to  the  metropolis,  might  be  gathered  around  her  without  any 
danger  from  their  presence.  If  so,  was  the  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  one  of 
the  novelties  which  her  players  had  to  produce  ?  But  there  was  another  novelty 
which  tradition  tells  us  was  written  at  the  especial  desire  of  the  Queen  herself 
—a  comedy  which  John  Dennis  altered  in  1702,  and  then  published  with  the 
following  statement: — "That  this  comedy  was  not  despicable,  I  guessed  for 
several  reasons  :  first,  I  knew  very  well  that  it  had  pleased  one  of  the  greatest 
queens  that  ever  was  in  the  world — great  noc  only  for  her  wisdom  in  the  arts  of 
government,  but  for  her  knowledge  of  polite  learning,  and  her  nice  taste  of  the 
drama  ;  for  such  a  taste  we  may  be  sure  she  had,  by  the  relish  which  she  had  of 
the  ancients.  This  comedy  was  written  at  her  command,  and  by  her  direction, 

*  Letter  from  Mr.  Standen  to  Mr.  Bacon,  in  Birch's  '  Memoirs  of  Queen  Elizabeth.' 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 


and  she  was  so  eager  to  see  it  acted,  that  she  commanded  it  to  be  finished  in 
fourteen  days;  and  was  afterwards,  as  tradition  tells  us,  very  well  pleased  at 
the  representation."  The  plain  statement  of  Dennis,  "this  comedy  was  written 
at  her  command,"  was  amplified  by  Rowe  into  the  circumstantial  relation  that 
Elizabeth  was  so  well  pleased  with  the  character  of  Falstaff  in  Henry  IV.  "  that 
she  commanded  him  to  continue  it  for  one  play  more,  and  to  show  him  in  love. 
Hence  all  the  attempts,  which  have  only  resulted  in  confusion  worse  confounaea, 
to  connect  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  with  Henry  IV.  We  have  stated  this 
question  fully,  and,  we  hope,  impartially,  in  the  Introductory  Notice  to  The 
Merry  Wives  of  Windsor.  Let  us  give  one  corroboration  of  the  belief  there 
expressed,  that  the  comedy  was  written  in  1 593,  or  very  near  to  that  time ;  tne 
circumstance  itself  being  somewhat  of  a  proof  that  Shakspere  was  at  Windsor 
precisely  at  that  period,  and  ready  to  obey  the  Queen's  command  that  a  comedy 
suggested  by  herself  should  "  be  finished  in  fourteen  days." 

"  Ben  Jonson  and  he  [Shakspere]  did  gather  humours  of  men  daily  wherever 
they  came."  So  writes  honest  Aubrey.  "  The  humour  of  the  constable,"  which 
Shakspere,  according  to  the  same  authority,  "happened  to  take  at  Grendon 
in  Bucks,  which  is  on  the  road  from  London  to  Stratford,"  may  find  a  paralle* 
in  mine  host  of  the  Garter  of  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor.  We  have  little 
doubt  that  the  character  was  a  portrait  of  a  man  well  known  to  the  courtiers, 
and  whose  good-natured  bustling  importance  was  drawn  out  by  the  poet  as  he 
passed  many  a  cheerful  evening  of  the  winter  of  1593  around  his  sea-coal  fire. 
We  have  shown  that  in  all  likelihood  the  "perplexity"  of  the  host  when  he 
lost  his  horses  was  a  real  event.  Let  us  quote  the  cause  of  this  perplexity  from 
the  original  sketch  of  The  Merry  Wives,  as  published  in  1602.  The  unfortunate 
host,  who  when  he  is  told  "  Here  be  three  gentlemen  come  from  the  Duke,  the 
stranger,  sir,  would  have  your  horse,"  exclaims  with  wondrous  glee  "  They 
shall  have  my  horses,  Bardolph,  they  must  come  off,  I'll  sauce  them,"  is  now 
"cozened."  Sir  Hugh,  who  has  a  spite  against  mine  host,  thus  tells  him  the 
ill  news :  "  Where  is  mine  Host  of  the  Garter  ?  Now,  my  Host,  I  would 
desire  you,  look  you  now,  to  have  a  care  of  your  entertainments,  for  there  is 
three  sorts  of  cosen  garmombles  is  cosen  all  the  Host  of  Maidenhead  and  Read 
ings."  Dr.  Caius  has  previously  told  him  "Dere  be  a  Garman  Duke  come  to 
de  Court  has  cosened  all  de  host  of  Branford  and  Reading."  We  have  pointed 
out  that  in  1592  a  German  Duke  did  visit  Windsor;  and  that  he  had  a  kind  ot 
passport  from  Lord  Howard  addressed  to  all  justices  of  peace,  mayors,  and 
bailiffs,  expressing  that  it  was  her  Majesty's  pleasure  "to  see  him  furnished 
with  post-horses  in  his  travel  to  the  sea-side,  and  there  to  seek  up  such  shipping, 
he  paying  nothing  for  the  same."  We  asked,  was  there  any  dispute  about  the 
ultimate  payment  for  the  Duke's  horses  for  which  he  was  to  pay  nothing?  We 
have  no  doubt  whatever  that  the  author  of  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor 
literally  rendered  the  tale  of  mine  host's  perplexity  for  the  amusement  of  the 
Court.  For  who  was  the  German  Duke  who  visited  Windsor  in  the  autumn 
of  1592?  "His  Serene  Highness  the  Right  Honourable  Prince  and  Lord 
Frederick  Duke  of  Wiirtemburg  and  Teck,  Count  of  Miimpelgart."  The  pass- 


367 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE: 

port  of  Lord  Howard  describes  him  as  Count  Mombeliard.  And  who  are  those 
who  have  rid  away  with  the  horses?  " Three  sorts  of  cosen  garmombles."  One 
device  of  the  poets  of  that  day  for  masking  a  rea^  name  under  a  fictitious  was 
to  invert  the  order  of  the  syllables ;  thus,  in  the  '  Shepherd's  Calendar '  Algrind 
stands  for  Archbishop  Grindal,  and  Morel  for  Elmor,  Bishop  of  London.  In 
Lodge's  '  Fig  for  Momus/  we  also  find  Donroy  for  Matthew  Roydon,  and  Ringde 
for  Bering.  Precisely  according  to  this  method  Garmomble  is  Momble^rar — 
Mumpelgart.*  We  think  this  is  decisive  as  to  the  allusion  ;  and  that  the  allusion 
is  decisive  as  to  the  date  of  the  play.  What  would  be  a  good  joke  when  the 
Court  was  at  Windsor  in  1593,  with  the  visit  of  the  Duke  fresh  in  the  memory 
of  the  courtiers,  would  lose  its  point  at  a  later  period.  Let  us  fix  then  the  per 
formance  of  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  at  that  period  when  Elizabeth 
remained  five  months  in  her  castle,  repressing  her  usual  desire  to  progress  from 

•  We  are  indebted  for  this  suggestion  to  a  correspondent  to  whom  we  ofier  our  best  thanks. 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

county  to  county,  or  to  move  from  palace  to  palace.  She  has  completed  her 
noble  terrace,  with  its  almost  unrivalled  prospect  of  beauty  and  fertility.  Her 
gallery  too  is  finished,  whose  large  bay  window  looks  out  upon  the  same  mag 
nificent,  landscape.  The  comedy,  which  probably  arose  out  of  some  local  inci 
dent,  abundantly  provocative  of  courtly  gossip  and  merriment,  has  hastily  been 
produced.  The  hand  of  the  master  is  yet  visible  in  it.  Its  allusions,  contrary 
to  the  wont  of  the  author,  are  all  local,  and  therefore  agreeable  to  his  audience. 
As  his  characters  hover  about  Frogmore,  with  its  farm-house  where  Anne  Page 
is  a-feasting ;  as  Falstaff  meets  his  most  perilous  adventure  in  Datchet  Mead ; 
as  Mistress  Anne  and  her  fairies  crouch  in  the  castle  ditch, — the  poet  shows 
that  he  has  made  himself  familiar  with  the  scenes  where  the  Queen  delighted 
to  dwell.  The  characters,  too,  are  of  the  very  time  of  the  representation  of  the 
play,  perhaps  more  than  one  of  them  copied  from  actual  persons.  In  the  ori 
ginal  sketch  Shakspere  hardly  makes  an  attempt  to  transfer  the  scene  to  an 
earlier  period.  The  persons  of  the  drama  are  all  of  them  drawn  from  the  rich 
storehouse  of  the  humours  of  the  middle  classes  of  his  own  day.  We  may 
readily  believe  the  tradition  which  tells  us  that  the  Queen  was  "  very  well 
pleased  at  the  representation."  The  compliment  to  her  in  association  with 
Windsor,  in  the  last  scene,  where  the  drollery  is  surrounded  with  the  most 
appropriate  poetry,  sufficiently  indicates  the  place  at  which  the  comedy  was 
performed,  and  the  audience  to  whom  it  was  presented  : — 

"  About,  about ; 

Search  Windsor  Castle,  elves,  within  and  out : 
Strew  good  luck,  ouphes,  on  every  sacred  room, 
That  it  may  stand  till  the  perpetual  doom, 
In  state  as  wholesome  as  in  state  't  is  fit ; 
Worthy  the  owner,  and  the  owner  it." 

This  is  one  of  the  few  passages  which  in  the  amended  edition  remain  unaltered 
from  the  original  text. 


LIFE.         2  B 


WILLIAM    BHAK8PERK. 


NOTE  ON  SHAKSPERE'S  OCCUPATIONS  IN  1593. 


IT  may  be  assumed  with  tolerable  certainty  that  for  nearly  a  year  Shakspere  was  unemployed  in  his 
profession.  We  have  endeavoured  to  show  in  this  chapter  how  he  filled  up  some  part  of  his  leisure. 
But  with  reference  to  his  poetical  labours  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  infer  that  all  his  time  was  spent  in 
"lonely  musing."  A  notion  has  been  propounded  that  he  personally  visited  Italy.  In  the  Local 
Illustrations  to  the  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  and  the  Merchant  of  Venice,  with  which  we  were  favoured 
by  Miss  Martineau,  will  be  found  some  very  striking  proofs  of  Shakspere's  intimate  acquaintance,  not 
only  with  Italian  manners,  but  with  those  minor  particulars  of  the  domestic  life  of  Italy,  such  as  the 
furniture  and  ornaments  of  houses,  which  could  scarcely  be  derived  from  books,  nor,  with  reference  to 
their  minute  accuracy,  from  the  conversation  of  those  who  had  "  swam  in  a  gondola."  These  observa 
tions  were  communicated  to  us  by  our  excellent  friend,  without  any  previous  theorizing  on  the  subject, 
or  any  acquaintance  with  the  opinions  that  had  been  just  then  advanced  on  this  matter  by  Mr.  Brown. 
It  is  not  our  intention  here  to  go  over  this  ground  again ;  but  it  appears  to  us  strongly  confirmatory  of 
the  belief  that  Shakspere  did  visit  Italy,  that  in  1593  he  might  have  been  absent  several  months  from 
England  without  any  interference  with  his  professional  pursuits.  It  is  difficult  to  name  any  earlier 
period  of  his  life  in  which  we  can  imagine  him  with  the  leisure  and  the  command  of  means  necessary 
for  such  a  journey.  The  subsequent  part  of  the  sixteenth  century  certainly  left  him  no  leisure.  The 
Merchant  of  Venice  and  Othello  (in  which  there  is  also  one  or  two  remarkable  indications  of  local 
knowledge)  were  produced  within  a  few  years  of  1 593.  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew  probably  belongs 
to  the  exact  period. 


870 


'-'  'iie-«i*'-'vs 

-   V    -^ 
[The  Globe  Theatre.] 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE     GLOBE. 


WE  have  a  distinct  record  when  the  theatres  were  re-opened  after  the  plague. 
The  '  Diary'  of  Philip  Henslowe  records  that  "  the  Earl  of  Sussex  his  men  ' 
acted  '  Huon  of  Bordeaux'  on  the  28th  of  December,  1593.  Henslowe  ap 
pears  to  have  had  an  interest  in  this  company.  It  is  probable  that  Shakspere's 
vheatre  of  the  Blackfriars  was  opened  about  the  same  period.  We  have  some 
evidence  to  show  what  was  the  duration  of  the  winter  season  at  this  theatre ; 
for  the  same  diary  shows  that  from  June,  1594,  the  performances  of  the  theatre 
2  B  2  371 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE- 

at  Newington  Butts  were  a  joint  undertaking  by  the  Lord  Admiral's  men  and 
the  Lord  Chamberlain's  men.  How  long  this  association  of  two  companies 
lasted  is  not  easy  to  determine ;  but  during  the  month  of  June  we  have  entries 
of  the  exhibition  of  Andronicus,  of  Hamlet,  and  of  The  Taming  of  a  Shrew 
No  subsequent  entries  exhibit  the  names  of  plays  which  have  any  real  or  appa 
rent  connection  with  Shakspere.*  It  appears  that  in  December,  1593,  Richard 
Burbage  entered  into  a  bond  with  Peter  Streete,  a  carpenter,  for  the  per 
formance  on  the  part  of  Burbage  of  the  covenants  contained  in  an  indenture  of 
agreement  by  which  Streete  undertook  to  erect  a  new  theatre  for  Burbage's 
company.  This  was  the  famous  Globe  on  the  Bankside,  of  which  Shakspere 
was  unquestionably  a  proprietor.  We  thus  see  that  in  1594  there  were  new 
demands  to  be  made  upon  his  invention ;  and  we  may  reasonably  conclude  that 
the  reliance  of  Burbage  and  his  other  fellows  upon  their  poet's  unequalled 
powers  was  one  of  their  principal  inducements  to  engage  in  this  new  enter 
prise. 

In  the  midst  of  his  professional  engagements,  which  doubtless  were  renewed 
with  increased  activity  after  their  long  suspension,  Shakspere  published  his 
Rape  of  Lucrece.  He  had  vowed  to  take  advantage  of  all  idle  hours  till  he 
had  honoured  Lord  Southampton  with  some  graver  labour  than  the  first  heir 
of  his  invention.  The  Venus  and  Adonis  was  entered  in  the  Registers  of  the 
Stationers'  Company  on  the  18th  of  April,  1593.  The  Lucrece  appears  in  the 
same  Registers  on  the  9th  of  May,  1594.  That  this  elaborate  poem  was  wholly 
or  in  part  composed  in  that  interval  of  leisure  which  resulted  from  the  shutting 
of  the  theatres  in  1593  may  be  reasonably  conjectured;  but  it  is  evident  that 
during  the  year  which  had  elapsed  between  the  publication  of  the  first  and  the 
second  poem,  Shakspere  had  been  brought  into  more  intimate  companionship 
with  his  noble  patron.  The  language  of  the  first  dedication  is  that  of  distant 
respect,  the  second  is  that  of  grateful  friendship  : — 

"  To  the  Right  Honourable  Henry  Wriothesly,  Earl  of  Southampton  and  Baron  of  TitcJifield. 

"  The  love  I  dedicate  to  your  Lordship  is  without  end ;  whereof  this  pamphlet,  without  begin 
ning,  is  but  a  superfluous  moiety.  The  warrant  I  have  of  your  honourable  disposition,  not  the 
worth  of  my  untutored  lines,  makes  it  assured  of  acceptance.  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." 

Henry  Wriothesly  was  born  October  6th,  1573.  His  grandfather,  the  first 
Earl,  was  the  celebrated  Chancellor  of  Henry  VIII. /a  fortunate  statesman  and 
lawyer,  whose  memory,  however  he  was  lauded  by  his  contemporaries,  is  in 
famously  associated  with  the  barbarous  cruelties  of  that  age  in  the  torture  of 
the  heroic  Ann  Askew.  His  son  Henry,  the  second  Earl,  bred  up  by  his  father 
in  the  doctrines  opposed  to  the  Reformation,  adhered  with  pertinacity  to  the 
old  forms  of  religion,  and  was  of  course  shut  out  from  the  honours  and  employ- 

*  See  our  Introductory  Notice  to  Hamlet. 
872 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

ments  of  the  government.      He   was  unmolested,   however,   till   his   partisanship 
In  the  cause  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  occasioned  his  imprisonment  in  the  Tower, 
in   1572.      The  house  in  which  his   father   the    Chancellor   dwelt  was   also   his 
London  residence  ;    and  its  site  is  still  indicated  by  the  name  of  Southampton 
Buildings.      In  Aggas's  map  the  mansion  appears  to  have  been  backed   by  ex 
tensive    gardens.       Gervase    Markham,  in    his    curious  book,    printed    in    1624, 
entitled    '  Honour  in   his    Perfection ;    or,   a   Treatise  in    Commendation   of  the 
Vertues  and  Renowned  Vertuous  Vndertakings  of  the    Illustrious   and    Heroicall 
Princes   Henry  Earle  of  Oxenford,  Henry  Earle   of   Southampton,  Robert   Earle 
of  Essex,  &c.,'  thus   describes   the    state   with   which   the   father   of   Shakspere's 
friend  was  surrounded: — "His  muster-roll  never   consisted  of  four  lackeys  and 
a  coachman,  but  of  a  whole  troop  of  at  least  a  hundred  well-mounted  gentlemen 
and  yeomen ;  he  was  not  known  in  the  streets  by  guarded  liveries,  but  by  gold 
chains ;    not   by   painted   butterflies,  ever   running    as   if  some   monster  pursued 
them,  but  by  tall  goodly  fellows,  that  kept  a  constant   pace,  both   to   guard   his 
person   and   to    admit  any  man  to  their  lord  which  had  serious  business."     The 
pomp  with  which  he  was  encircled  might  in  some  degree  have  compensated  for 
the  absence  of  courtly   splendour.      But  he  lived  not  long  to  enjoy  his  solitary 
dignity,    or,    as    was   sufficiently    probable,    to    conform    to    the   opinions   which 
might  have  opened  to  him  the  road  to  the  honours  of  the  crown.     He  died   in 
1581,  leaving   two    children,  Henry   and    Mary.      The   boy   earl   was   only   eight 
years    old   at  the  death   of  his  father.     During  his  long  minority  the  accumula 
tion   of   the  family  property  must  have  been  great :    and  we   may   thus   believe 
that  the  general  munificence  of  his   patronage   in   after-life   has    not  been  over 
rated.      He  appears  to  have  had  careful  guardians,  who   taught   him   that   there 
were   higher   honours    to   be   won   than   those   which   his   rank   and  wealth  gave 
him.      At  the  age  of   twelve  he  became  a  student  of  St.  John's    College,  Cam 
bridge  ;    and   four   years    afterwards   took   the   degree  of   Master  of  Arts  by  the 
usual  exercises.*     He  subsequently  became,  according  to   one   account,  a   mem 
ber  of  Gray's  Inn.     At  the  period  when  Shakspere   dedicated  to  him  his  Venus 
and   Adonis,  he   was   scarcely   twenty    years    of  age.       He   is   supposed   to  have 
become  intimate   with    Shakspere   from   the   circumstance   that  his    mother  had 
married  Sir  Thomas  Heneage,  who  filled  the  office  of  Treasurer  of  the  Chamber, 
and  in  the  discharge  of  his  official  duties  would  be  brought  into  frequent  inter 
course   with    the   Lord   Chamberlain's   players.      This   is   Drake's    theory.      The 
more  natural  belief  appears  to  be  that  he  had  a  strong  attachment  to  literature, 
and,  with  the  generous  impetuosity  of  his  character,  did  not  regard   the   distinc 
tions    of   rank   to   the   extent   with   which  they  were  regarded  by  men  of  colder 
temperaments   and  more  worldly  minds.     Shakspere   appears   to   have   been   the 
first  amongst  the  writers   of  his  day  that  offered  a  public  tribute  to  the  merits 
of  the  youna  nobleman.     Both  the  dedications,  and  especially   that   of  Lucrece, 
are  conceived  in  a  modest  and  a   manly  spirit,  entirely  different  from  the  ordi 
nary  language   of  literary  adulation.     Nash,  who   dedicates    a  little  book  to  him 


••  Cum  prius  disputasset  public^  pro  gradu."— Harleian  MS.  7138. 


873 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  : 

at  the  same  period,  after  calling  him  "  a  dear  lover  and  cherisher,  as  well  of 
the  lovers  of  poets  as  of  poets  themselves,"  gives  us  one  of  the  many  proofs 
that  the  characters  of  satirist  and  flatterer  may  have  some  affinity  : — "  Incom 
prehensible  is  the  height  of  your  spirit,  both  in  heroic  resolution  and  matters 
of  conceit.  Unreprievably  perisheth  that  book  whatsoever  to  waste  paper  which 
on  the  diamond  rock  of  your  judgment  disasterly  chanceth  to  be  shipwracked." 
Gervase  Markham,  who  many  years  after  became  the  elaborate  panegyrist  of 
Southampton,  dedicates  a  tragedy  to  him  in  the  following  sonnet,  in  1 595  : — 


"  Thou  glorious  laurel  of  the  Muses'  hill, 
Whose  eyes  doth  crown  the  most  victorious  pen ; 
Bright  lamp  of  virtue,  in  whose  sacred  skill 
Lives  all  the  bliss  of  ears-enchanting  men  : 

From  graver  subjects  of  thy  grave  assays, 
Bend  thy  courageous  thoughts  uuto  these  lines ; 
The  grave  from  whence  mine  humble  Muse  doth  raise 
True  honour's  spirit  in  her  rough  designs : 

And  when  the  stubborn  stroke  of  my  harsh  song 
Shall  seasonless  glide  through  almighty  earn, 
Vouchsafe  to  sweet  it  with  thy  blessed  tongue, 
Whose  well-tun'd  sound  stills  music  in  the  spheres  : 

So  shall  my  tragic  lays  be  blest  by  thee, 

And  from  thy  lips  suck  their  eternity." 


This  hyperbolical  praise  is  something  different  from  Shakspere's  simple  expres 
sions  of  respect  and  devotion  in  the  dedication  to  the  Lucrece.  There  is  evi 
dence  in  that  dedication  of  a  higher  sort  of  intercourse  between  the  two  minds 
than  consists  with  any  forced  adulation  of  any  kind,  and  especially  with  any 
extravagant  compliments  to  the  learning  and  to  the  abilities  of  a  superior  in 
rank.  Such  testimonies  are  always  suspicious  ;  and  probably  honest  old  Florio, 
when  he  dedicated  his  '  World  of  Words '  to  the  Earl  in  1 598,  shows  pretty 
correctly  what  the  race  of  panegyrists  expected  in  return  for  their  compliments : 
"  In  truth,  I  acknowledge  an  entire  debt,  not  only  of  my  best  knowledge,  but  of 
all ;  yea  of  more  than  I  know,  or  can  to  your  bounteous  lordship,  in  whose  pay 
and  patronage  I  have  lived  some  years  ;  to  whom  I  owe  and  vow  the  years  I 
have  to  live.  But,  as  to  me,  and  many  more,  the  glorious  and  gracious  sun 
shine  of  your  honour  hath  infused  light  and  life."  There  is  an  extraordinary 
anecdote  told  by  Rowe  of  Lord  Southampton's  munificence  to  Shakspere,  which 
seems  to  bring  the  poet  somewhat  near  to  Florio's  plain-speaking  association  of 
pay  and  patronage  : — "  What  grace  soever  the  Queen  conferred  upon  him,  it 
was  not  to  her  only  he  owed  the  fortune  which  the  reputation  of  his  wit  made. 
He  had  the  honour  to  meet  with  many  great  and  uncommon  marks  of  favour 
and  friendship  from  the  Earl  of  Southampton,  famous  in  the  histories  of  that 
time  for  his  friendship  to  the  unfortunate  Earl  of  Essex.  It  was  to  that  noble 
lord  that  he  dedicated  his  poem  of  Venus  and  Adonis.  There  is  one  instance 
so  singular  in  the  magnificence  of  this  patron  of  Shakspeare's,  that  if  I  had  not 
been  assured  that  the  story  was  handed  down  by  Sir  William  D'Avenant,  who 
374 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 

was  probably  very  well  acquainted  with  his  affairs,  I  should  not  have  ventured 
to  have  inserted ;  that  my  Lord  Southampton  at  one  time  gave  him  a  thousand 
pounds,  to  enable  him  to  go  through  with  a  purchase  which  he  heard  he  had  a 
mind  to.  A  bounty  very  great,  and  very  rare  at  any  time,  and  almost  equal  to 
that  profuse  generosity  the  present  age  has  shown  to  French  dancers  and  Italian 
singers.'^  This  is  one  of  the  many  instances  in  which  we  are  not  warranted 
in  rejecting  a  tradition,  however  we  may  look  suspiciously  upon  the  accuracy  of 
its  details.  D'Avenant  could  scarcely  be  very  well  acquainted  with  Shak- 
spere's  affairs,  for  he  was  only  ten  years  old  when  Shakspere  died.  The  sum 
mentioned  as  the  gift  of  the  young  nobleman  to  the  poet  is  so  large,  looking  at 
the  value  of  money  in  those  days,  that  it  could  scarcely  consist  with  the  inde 
pendence  of  a  generous  spirit  to  bear  the  load  of  such  a  prodigality  of  bounty. 
The  notions  of  those  days  were,  however,  different  from  ours.  Examples  will 
readily  suggest  themselves  of  the  most  lavish  rewards  bestowed  by  princes  and 
nobles  upon  great  painters.  They  received  such  gifts  without  any  compromise 
of  their  intellectual  dignity.  It  was  the  same  then  with  poets.  The  public, 
now  the  best  patron,  was  then  but  a  sorry  paymaster;  and  the  great  stepped 
in  to  give  the  price  for  a  dedication  as  they  would  purchase  any  other  gratifi 
cation  of  individual  vanity.  According  to  the  habits  of  the  time,  Shakspere 
might  have  received  a  large  gift  from  Lord  Southampton,  without  any  for 
feiture  of  his  self-respect.  Nevertheless,  Rowe's  story  must  still  appear  suffi 
ciently  apocryphal :  "  My  Lord  Southampton  at  one  time  gave  him  a  thousand 
pounds,  to  enable  him  to  go  through  with  a  purchase  which  he  heard  he  had  a 
mind  to."  It  is  not  necessary  to  account  for  the  gradual  acquisition  of  property 
by  Shakspere  that  we  should  yield  our  assent  to  this  tradition,  without  some 
qualification.  In  1589,  when  Lord  Southampton  was  a  lad  at  College,  Shak 
spere  had  already  acquired  that  property  which  was  to  be  the  foundation  of  his 
future  fortune.  He  was  then  a  shareholder  in  the  Blackfriars  Theatre.  That 
the  adventure  was  a  prosperous  one,  not  only  to  himself  but  to  his  brother 
shareholders,  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  four  years  afterwards  they 
began  the  building  of  another  theatre.  The  Globe  was  commenced  in  De 
cember,  1 593  ;  and  being  constructed  for  the  most  part  of  wood,  was  ready  to  be 
opened,  we  should  imagine,  in  the  summer  of  1594.  In  1596  the  same  pros 
perous  company  were  prepared  to  expend  considerable  sums  upon  the  repair 
and  extension  of  their  original  theatre,  the  Blackfriars.  The  name  of  Shak 
spere  occupies  a  prominent  position  in  the  document  from  which  we  collect  this 
fact :  it  is  a  petition  to  the  Lords  of  the  Privy  Council  from  "  Thomas  Pope, 
Richard  Burbadge,  John  Hemings,  Augustine  Philips,  William  Shakespeare, 
William  Kempe,  William  Slye,  Nicholas  Tooley,  and  others,  servants  to  the 
Right  Honorable  the  Lord  Chamberlain  to  her  Majesty;"  and  it  sets  forth  that 
they  are  "  the  owners  and  players  of  the  private  theatre  in  the  Blackfriars ; 
that  it  hath  fallen  into  decay;  and  that  it  has  been  found  necessary  to  make 
the  same  more  convenient  for  the  entertainment  of  auditories  coming  thereto." 


Rowe's  '  Life  of  Shakspeare.' 

375 


WILLIAM  SHAKsri.Ki:  : 

It  then  states  what  is  important  to  the  present  question  : — "  To  this  end 
your  petitioners  have  all  and  each  of  them  put  down  sums  of  money  according 
to  their  shares  in  the  said  theatre,  and  which  they  have  justly  and  honestly 
gained  by  the  exercise  of  their  quality  of  stage-players."  It  then  alleges  that 
certain  inhabitants  of  the  precinct  had  besought  the  Council  not  to  allow  the 
said  private  house  to  remain  open,  "  but  hereafter  to  be  shut  up  and  closed,  to 
the  manifest  and  great  injury  of  your  petitioners,  who  have  no  other  means 
whereby  to  maintain  their  wives  and  families,  but  by  the  exercise  of  their 
quality  as  they  have  heretofore  done."  The  common  proprietorship  of  the 
company  in  the  Globe  and  Blackfriars  is  also  noticed : — "  In  the  summer  season 
your  petitioners  are  able  to  play  at  their  new-built  house  on  the  Bankside, 
called  the  Globe,  but  in  the  winter  they  are  compelled  to  come  to  the  Black- 
friars."  If  the  winter  theatre  be  shut  up,  they  say  they  will  be  "  unable  to 
practise  themselves  in  any  plays  or  interludes  when  called  upon  to  perform  for 
the  recreation  and  solace  of  her  Majesty  and  her  honourable  Court,  as  they  have 
been  heretofore  accustomed."  Though  the  Registers  of  the  Council  and  the 
Office-books  of  the  Treasurer  of  the  Chamber  are  wanting  for  this  exact  period, 
we  have  here  the  distinct  evidence  of  the  intimate  relation  between  Shakspere's 
company  and  the  Court.  The  petitioners,  in  concluding  by  the  prayer  that 
their  "  honourable  Lordships  will  grant  permission  to  finish  the  reparations 
and  alterations  they  have  begun,"  add  as  a  reason  for  this  favour  that  they 
"  have  hitherto  been  well  ordered  in  their  behaviour  and  just  in  their  deal 
ings."*  The  performances  at  the  Blackfriars  went  on  without  interruption. 
Shakspere,  in  1597,  bought  "  all  that  capital  messuage  or  tenement  in  Stratford 
called  the  New  Place."  This  appears  to  have  been  his  first  investment  in  pro 
perty  distinct  from  his  theatrical  speculations.  The  purchase  of  the  best  house 
in  his  native  town,  at  a  period  of  his  life  when  his  professional  occupations 
could  have  allowed  him  little  leisure  to  reside  in  it,  would  appear  to  have  had 
in  view  an  early  retirement  from  a  pursuit  which  probably  was  little  agreeable 
to  him.  His  powers  as  a  dramatic  writer  might  be  profitably  exercised  with 
out  being  associated  with  the  actor's  vocation.  We  know  from  other  circum 
stances  that  at  this  period  Stratford  was  nearest  to  his  heart.  On  the  24th  of 
January,  1 598,  Mr.  Abraham  Sturley,  an  alderman  of  Stratford,  writes  to  his 
brother-in-law,  Richard  Quiney,  then  in  London : — "  I  would  write  nothing 
unto  you  now — but  come  home.  I  pray  God  send  you  comfortably  home. 
This  is  one  special  remembrance,  from  your  father's  motion.  It  seemeth  by 
him  that  our  countryman  Mr.  Shakspere  is  willing  to  disburse  some  money 
upon  some  odd  yard  land  or  other  at  Shottery,  or  near  about  us.  He  thinketh 
it  a  very  fit  pattern  to  move  him  to  deal  in  the  matter  of  our  tithes.  By  the 
instructions  you  can  give  him  thereof,  and  by  the  friends  he  can  make  there 
fore,  we  think  it  a  fair  mark  for  him  to  shoot  at,  and  not  impossible  to  hit.  It 
obtained,  would  advance  him  indeed,  arid  would  do  us  much  good."  We  thus 
see  that  in  a  year  after  the  purchase  of  New  Place,  Shakspere's  accumulation 


»  The  petition  is  printed  in  Mr.  Collier's  '  Annals  of  the  Stage,'  vol.  L,  p.  298. 
376 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 


of   money  was  going  on.     The  worthy  aldermen  and  his  connections  appear  to 
look   confidently  to   their   countryman,    Mr.   Shakspere,  to   assist   them   in   their 
needs.     On  the  4th  of  November,  in  the  same  year,  Sturley  again  writes  a  very 
long   letter.   "  to    his   most   loving  brother,  Mr.   Richard  Quiney,  at  the  Bell,   in 
Carter  Lane,   in  London,"  in  which  he  says    of   a   letter  written  by  Quiney  to 
him  on  the  21st  of  October,  that  it  imported,  amongst  other  matters,   "that  our 
countryman   Mr.  W.  Shakspere  would  procure  us  money,  which  I  well  like  of, 
as  I  shall  hear  when,  and  where,  and  how  ;  and  I  pray  let  not  go  that  occasion, 
if  it  may  sort  to  any  indifferent  conditions."     Quiney  himself  at  this  very  time 
writes  the  following   characteristic   letter   to   his    "  loving  good  friend  and  coun 
tryman,  Mr.  William   Shakspere  :  "  —  "  Loving  countryman,   I  am  bold  of  you  as 
of   a   friend,  craving   your   help   with   thirty  pounds   upon   Mr.  Bushell  and  my 
security,    or  Mr.  Myttens  with  me.      Mr.   Rosswell   is  not  come  to  London  as 
yet,  and  I  have  especial  cause.     You  shall  friend  me  much  ill  helping  me  out  of 
all  the  debts  I  owe  in  London,  I  thank  God,  and  much  quiet  to  my  mind  which 
would  not  be  indebted.     I  am  now  towards  the  Court  in  hope  your  answer  for 
the   dispatch   of   my  business.     You  shall  neither  lose  credit  nor  money  by  me, 
the  Lord  willing  ;    and    now    but  persuade  yourself  so  as  I  hope,  and  you  shall 
not   need   to   fear   but   with   all   hearty   thankfulness    I   will   hold   my  time,  and 
content    your   friend,    and   if    we   bargain   farther,    you   shall   be   the   paymaster 
yourself.     My  time  bids  me  to  hasten  to  an  end,  and  so  I  commit  this  to  your 
care  and  hope  of  your  help.     I   fear   I   shall   not  be   back  this  night  from  the 
Court.     Haste.     The  Lord  be  with  you  and  with  us  all.     Amen.     From  the  Bell 
in  Carter  Lane,  the  25th  October,  1598.     Yours  in  all  kindness,  Rye.  Quiney." 
The  anxious  dependence  which  these  honest  men  appear  to  have  upon  the  good 
offices   of   their  townsman   is   more  satisfactory   even   than  the  evidence  which 
their  letters  afford  of  his  worldly  condition. 

In  the  midst  of  this  prosperity  the  registers  of  the  parish  of  Stratford-upon- 
Avon  present  to  us  an  event  which  must  have  thrown  a  shade  over  the  brightest 
prospects. 


This  is  the  register  of  the  burial  of  the  only  son  of  the  poet  in  1596.  Hamnet 
was  born  on  the  2nd  of  February,  1585;  so  that  at  his  death  he  was  eleven 
years  and  six  months  old.  He  was  a  twin  child  ;  and  it  is  not  unlikely  that  he 
was  constitutionally  weak.  Some  such  cause  interfered  probably  with  the  edu 
cation  of  the  twin-sister  Judith  ;  for  whilst  Susanna,  the  elder,  is  recorded  to 
have  been  "  witty  above  her  sex,"  and  wrote  a  firm  and  vigorous  hand,  as  we 
may  judge  from  her  signature  to  a  deed  in  1639, 


377 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE 


the  mark  of  Judith  appears  as  an  attesting  witness  to  a  conveyance  in  161 1 


Shakspere  himself  has  given  us  a  most  exquisite  picture  of  a  boy,  who,  like  his 
own  Hamnet,  died  young,  in  whom  the  imaginative  faculty  was  all -predominant. 
Was  this  a  picture  of  his  own  precocious  child  ? 

"  Her.  Take  the  boy  to  you :  he  so  troubles  me, 
*T  is  past  enduring. 

1  Lady.  Come,  my  gracious  lord, 

Shall  I  be  your  playfellow  ? 

Mam.  No,  I  '11  none  of  you. 

1  Lady.  Why,  my  sweet  lord  ? 

Mam.  You  '11  kiss  me  hard ;  and  speak  to  me  as  if 
I  were  a  baby  stilL — I  love  you  better. 

2  Lady.  And  why  so,  my  lord  ? 

Mam.  Not  for  because 

Your  brows  are  blacker ;  yet  black  brows,  they  say, 

Become  some  women  best ;  so  that  there  be  not 

Too  much  hair  there,  but  in  a  semi-circle, 

Or  a  half-moon  made  with  a  pen. 

2  Lady.  Who  taught  you  this  f 

Mam.  I  learn'd  it  out  of  women's  faces. — Pray,  now, 

What  colour  are  your  eyebrows? 

.  1  Lady.  Blue,  my  lord. 

378 


A   BIOGKAPHY. 

Mam.  Nay,  that 's  a  mock  :  I  have  seen  a  lady's  noso 
That  has  been  blue,  but  not  her  eyebrows." 

" Her.  What  wisdom  stirs  amongst  you?     Come,  sir,  now 
I  am  for  you  again  :  Pray  you,  sit  by  us, 
And  tell 's  a  tale. 

Mam.  Merry,  or  sad,  shall 't  be  ? 

Her.  As  merry  as  you  will. 

Mam.  A  sad  tale 's  best  for  winter : 

I  have  one  of  sprites  and  goblins. 

Her.  Let 's  have  that,  good  sir. 

Come  on,  sit  down : — Come  on,  and  do  your  best 
To  fright  me  with  your  sprites  :  you  're  powerful  at  it. 

M am.  There  was  a  man 

Her.  Nay,  come,  sit  down  ;  then  on. 

Mam.  Dwelt  by  a  churchyard ;  —I  will  tell  it  softly ; 
Yon  crickets  shall  not  hear  it. 

Her.  Come  on  then, 

And  give  't  in  mine  ear."  * 

With  the  exception  of  this  inevitable  calamity,  the  present  periou  may  pro 
bably  be  regarded  as  a  happy  epoch  in  Shakspere's  life.  He  had  conquered  any 
adverse  circumstances  by  which  his  earlier  career  might  have  been  impeded. 
He  had  taken  his  rank  among  the  first  minds  of  his  age ;  and,  above  all,  his 
pursuits  were  so  engrossing  as  to  demand  a  constant  exercise  of  his  faculties, 
but  to  demand  that  exercise  in  the  cultivation  of  the  highest  and  the  most 
pleasurable  thoughts.  This  was  the  period  to  which  belong  the  great  histories 
of  Richard  II.,  Richard  III.,  and  Henry  IV.,  and  the  delicious  comedies  of  the 
Merchant  of  Venice,  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  and  Twelfth  Night.  These 
productions  afford  the  most  abundant  evidence  that  the  greatest  of  intellects 
was  in  the  most  healthful  possession  of  its  powers.  These  were  not  hasty 
adaptations  for  the  popular  appetite,  as  we  may  well  believe  some  of  the  earlier 
plays  were  in  their  first  shape  ;  but  highly-wrought  performances,  to  which  all 
the  method  of  his  cultivated  art  had  been  strenuously  applied.  It  was  at  this 
period  that  the  dramatic  poet  appears  not  to  have  been  satisfied  with  the  ap 
plause  of  the  Globe  or  the  Blackfriars,  or  even  with  the  gracious  encourage 
ments  of  a  refined  Court.  During  three  years  he  gave  to  the  world  careful 
editions  of  some  of  these  plays,  as  if  to  vindicate  the  drama  from  the  pedantic 
notion  that  the  Muses  of  tragedy  and  comedy  did  not  meet  their  sisters  upon 
equal  ground.  Richard  II.  and  Richard  III.  were  published  in  1597 ;  Love's 
Labour's  Lost,  and  Henry  IV.,  Part  I.,  in  1598;  Romeo  and  Juliet,  corrected  and 
augmented,  in  1599 ;  Henry  IV.,  Part  II.,  the  Merchant  of  Venice,  A  Midsum 
mer  Night's  Dream,  and  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  in  1600.  The  system  of  pub 
lication  then  ceased.  It  no  doubt  interfered  with  the  interests  of  his  fellows; 
and  Shakspere  was  not  likely  to  assert  an  exclusive  interest,  or  to  gratify  an 
exclusive  pride,  at  the  expense  of  his  associates.  But  his  reputation  was  higher 
than  that  of  any  other  man,  when  only  four  of  his  plays  were  accessible  to  the 
readers  of  poetry.  In  1598  it  was  proclaimed,  not  timidly  or  questionably,  that 

*  Winter's  Tale,  Act  n.,  Sc.  i. 

379 


WILLIAM   SHAKSri 

••  as  Plautus  arid  Seneca  are  accounted  the  best  for  tragedy  and  comedy  among 
the  Latins,  so  Shakespeare,  among  the  English,  is  the  most  excellent  in  both 
kinds  for  the  stage :"  and  "As  the  soul  of  Euphorbus  was  thought  to  live  in 
Pythagoras,  so  the  sweet  witty  soul  of  Ovid  lives  in  mellifluous  and  honey- 
tongued  Shakespeare."*  It  was  certainly  not  at  this  period  of  Shakspere's  life 
that  he  wrote  with  reference  to  himself,  unlocking  his  heart  to  some  nameless 
friend . — 

"  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, 
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  I  scorn  to  change  my  state  with  kings." 

Sonnets  of  Shakspere  were  in  existence  in  1598,  when  Meres  tells  us  of  "  his 
sugared  sonnets  among  his  private  friends."  We  have  entered  so  fully  into  the 
question,  whether  these  poems  are  to  be  considered  autobiographical,  that  it 
would  be  useless  for  us  here  to  repeat  an  argument  not  hastily  entered  upon,  or 
carelessly  set  forth.  We  believe  that  the  order  in  which  they  were  printed  is 
an  arbitrary  one ;  that  some  form  a  continu  us  poem  or  poems,  that  others  are 
Isolated  in  their  subjects  and  the  persons  to  whom  they  are  addressed ;  that 
some  may  express  the  poet's  personal  feelings,  that  others  are  wholly  fictitious, 
dealing  with  imaginary  loves  and  jealousies,  and  not  attempting  to  separate  the 
personal  identity  of  the  artist  from  the  sentiments  which  he  expressed,  and  the 
situations  which  he  delineated.  "  We  believe  that,  taken  as  works  of  art,  .having 
a  certain  degree  of  continuity,  the  Sonnets  of  Spenser,  of  Daniel,  of  Drayton, 
of  Shakspere,  although  in  many  instances  they  might  shadow  forth  real  feel 
ings  and  be  outpourings  of  the  inmost  heart,  were  presented  to  the  world  as 
exercises  of  fancy,  and  were  received  by  the  world  as  such."f  Even  of  those 
portions  of  these  remarkable  relics  which  appear  to  have  an  obvious  reference 
to  the  poet's  feelings  and  circumstances,  we  cannot  avoid  rejecting  the  principle 
of  continuity ;  for  they  clearly  belong  to  different  periods  of  his  life,  if  they  are 
the  reflection  of  his  real  sentiments.  We  have  the  playfulness  of  an  early  love, 
and  the  agonizing  throes  of  an  unlawful  passion.  They  speak  of  a  period  when 
the  writer  had  won  no  honour  or  substantial  rewards — "  in  disgrace  with  for 
tune  and  men's  eyes,"  the  period  of  his  youth,  if  the  allusion  was  at  all  real ; 
and  yet  the  writer  is 

"  With  time's  injurious  hand  crush'd  and  o'erworn." 

•  Francis  Meres.  t  Illustrations  of  the  Sonnets,  Pictorial  Edition,  p.  114. 

380 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 
One  little  dedicatory  poem  says, 

"  Lord  of  my  love,  to  whom  in  vassalage 

Thy  merit  hath  my  duty  strongly  knit, 
To  thee  I  send  this  written  embassage, 
To  witness  duty,  not  to  show  my  wit." 

Another  (and  it  is  distinctly  associated  with  what  we  hold  to  be  a  continued 
little  poem,  wholly  fictitious,  in  which  the  poet  dramatizes  as  it  were  the  poeti 
cal  character)  boasts  that 

"  Not  marble,  not  the  gilded  monuments 
Of  princes  shall  outlive  this  powerful  rhyme." 

Without  attempting  therefore  to  disprove  that  these  Sonnets  were  addressed  to 
the  Earl  of  Southampton,  or  to  the  Earl  of  Pembroke,  we  must  leave  the  reader 
who  fancies  he  can  find  in  them  a  shadowy  outline  of  Shakspere's  life  to  form 
his  own  conclusion  from  their  careful  perusal.  We  have  endeavoured,  in  our 
analysis  of  these  poems,  to  place  before  him  all  the  facts  which  have  relation  to 
the  subject.  But  to  preserve  in  this  place  the  unity  of  our  narrative  with 
reference  to  the  period  before  us,  we  venture  to  reprint  a  passage  from  the 
Illustrations  to  which  we  refer:  "The  7lst  to  the  74th  Sonnets  seem  bursting 
from  a  heart  oppressed  with  a  sense  of  its  own  unworthiness,  and  surrendered  to 
some  overwhelming  misery.  There  is  a  line  in  the  74th  which  points  at  suicide. 
We  cling  to  the  belief  that  the  sentiments  here  expressed  are  essentially  dra 
matic.  In  the  32nd  Sonnet,  where  we  recognise  the  man  Shakspere  speaking  in 
his  own  modest  and  cheerful  spirit,  death  is  to  come  across  his  'well  contented 
day/  The  opinion  which  we  have  endeavoured  to  sustain  of  the  probable  admix 
ture  of  the  artificial  and  the  real  in  the  Sonnets,  arising  from  their  supposed 
original  fragmentary  state,  necessarily  leads  to  the  belief  that  some  are  accurate 
illustrations  of  the  poet's  situation  and  feelings.  It  is  collected  from  these 
Sonnets,  for  example,  that  his  profession  as  a  player  was  disagreeable  to  him ; 
and  this  complaint  is  found  amongst  those  portions  which  we  have  separated 
from  the  series  of  verses  which  appear  to  us  to  be  written  in  an  artificial  character. 
It  might  be  addressed  to  any  one  of  his  family,  or  some  honoured  friend,  such  as 
Lord  Southampton  : — 

'  0,  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.' 

But  if  from  his  professional  occupation  his  nature  was  felt  by  him  to  be  subdued 
to  what  it  worked  in, — if  thence  his  name  received  a  brand, — if  vulgar  scandal 
sometimes  assailed  him,— he  had  high  thoughts  to  console  him,  such  as  were 
never  before  imparted  to  mortal.  This  was  probably  written  in  some  period  or 
dejection,  when  his  heart  was  ill  at  ease,  and  he  looked  upon  the  world  with  a 
J  381 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

slight  tinge  of  indifference,  if  not  of  dislike.  Every  man  of  high  genius  has 
felt  something  of  this.  It  was  reserved  for  the  highest  to  throw  it  off,  '  like 
dew-drops  from  the  lion's  mane.'  But  the  profound  self-abasement  and  de 
spondency  of  the  74th  Sonnet,  exquisite  as  the  diction  is,  appear  to  us  unreal,  as 
a  representation  of  the  mental  state  of  William  Shakspere ;  written,  as  it  most 
probably  was,  at  a  period  of  his  life  when  he  revels  and  luxuriates  (in  the  comedies 
which  belong  to  the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century)  in  the  spirit  of  enjoyment,  rush 
ing  from  a  heart  full  of  love  for  his  species,  at  peace  with  itself  and  \vith  all  the 
world." 


[Richard  Butbage  ) 


[The  Falcon  Tavern.] 

CHAPTER  VI. 

WIT-COMBATS. 


"  MANY  were  the  wit-combats  betwixt  him  and  Ben  Jonson ;  which  two  I 
behold  like  a  Spanish  great  galleon  and  an  English  man-of-war :  Master  Jonson 
(like  the  former)  was  built  far  higher  in  learning ;  solid,  but  slow,  in  his  per 
formances.  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  invention."  Such  is  Thomas 
Fuller's  well-known  description  of  the  convivial  intercourse  of  Shakspere  and 
Jonson,  first  published  in  1662.  A  biographer  of  Shakspere  says,  "The  me 
mory  of  Fuller  perhaps  teemed  with  their  sallies."  That  memory,  then,  must 
have  been  furnished  at  secondhand ;  for  Fuller  was  not  born  till  1608.  He 
beheld  them  in  his  mind's  eye  only.  Imperfect,  and  in  many  respects  worth 
less,  as  the  few  traditions  of  these  wit-combats  are,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the 
companionship  and  ardent  friendship  of  these  two  monarchs  of  the  stage.  Ful- 


WILLIAM   SHAK8PERE: 

ler's  fanciful  comparison  of  their  respective  conversational  powers  is  probably 
to  some  extent  a  just  one.  The  difference  in  the  constitution  of  their  minds, 
and  the  diversity  of  their  respective  acquirements,  would  more  endear  each  to 
the  other's  society. 

Rowe  thus  describes  the  commencement  of  the  intercourse  between  Shak- 
spere  and  Jonson : — "  His  acquaintance  with  Ben  Jonson  began  with  a  remark 
able  piece  of  humanity  and  good  nature.  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  was  put,  after 
having  turned  it  carelessly  and  superciliously  over,  were  just  upon  returning  it 
to  him  with  an  ill-natured  answer,  that  it  would  be  of  no  service  to  their  com 
pany,  when  Shakspeare  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  recom 
mend  Mr.  Jonson  and  his  writings  to  the  public."*  The  tradition  which  Rowe 
thus  records  is  not  supported  by  minute  facts  which  have  since  become  known. 
In  Henslowe's  Diary  of  plays  performed  at  his  theatre,  we  have  an  entry  under 
the  date  of  the  llth  of  May,  1597,  of  'The  Comedy  of  Humours.'  This  was 
no  doubt  a  new  play,  for  it  was  acted  eleven  times ;  and  there  can  be  little 
question  that  it  was  Jonson's  comedy  of  'Every  Man  in  his  Humour.'  A  few 
months  after  we  have  the  following  entry  in  the  same  document: — "Lent  unto 
Benjamin  Jonson,  player,  the  22nd  of  July,  1597,  in  ready  money,  the  sum  of 
four  pounds,  to  be  paid  it  again  whensoever  either  I  or  my  son  shall  demand 
it."  Again  :  "Lent  unto  Benjamin  Jonson,  the  3rd  of  December,  1597,  upon  a 
book  which  he  was  to  write  for  us  before  Christmas  next  after  the  date  hereof, 
which  he  showed  the  plot  unto  the  company :  I  say,  lent  in  ready  money  unto 
him  the  sum  of  twenty  shillings."  On  the  5th  of  January,  1598,  Henslowe 
records  in  the  same  way  the  trifling  loan  of  five  shillings.  An  advance  is  also 
made  by  Henslowe  to  his  company  on  the  13th  of  August,  1598,  "to  buy  a 
book  called  '  Hot  Anger  soon  cold,'  of  Mr.  Porter,  Mr.  Chettle,  and  Benjamin 
Jonson,  in  full  payment,  the  sum  of  six  pounds."  We  thus  see,  that  in  1597 
and  1598  there  was  an  intimate  connection  of  Jonson  with  the  stage,  but  not 
with  Shakspere's  company.  It  can  scarcely  be  supposed  that  Jonson  was  a 
writer  for  the  stage  earlier  than  1597,  and  that  the  "remarkable  piece  of  hu 
manity  and  good  nature "  recorded  of  Shakspere  took  place  before  the  con 
nection  of  Jonson  with  Henslowe's  theatre.  He  was  born,  according  to  Gifford, 
in  1574.  In  January,  1619,  he  sent  a  poetical  "picture  of  himself"  to  Drum- 
mond,  in  which  these  lines  occur  : — 

"  My  hundred  of  grey  hairs 
Told  six  and  forty  years." 

This  would  place  his  birth  in  1573.f  Drummond,  in  narrating  Jonson's  ac 
count  of  "  his  own  life,  education,  birth,  actions,"  up  to  the  period  in  which  we 
have  shown  how  dependent  he  was  upon  the  advances  of  a  theatrical  manager, 

•  '  Life  of  Shakspeare,' 

•f  See  '  Jonson's  Conversations  with  Drummond,'  published  by  the  Shakespeare  Society. 
384 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

thus  writes :  — "  His  grandfather  came  from  Carlisle,  and,  he  thought,  from 
Annandale  to  it:  he  served  King  Henry  VIII.,  and  was  a  gentleman.  His 
father  lost  all  his  estate  under  Queen  Mary,  having  been  cast  in  prison  and  for 
feited  ;  at  last  turned  minister :  so  he  was  a  minister's  son.  He  himself  was 
posthumous  born,  a  month  after  his  father's  decease  ;  brought  up  poorly,  put  to 
school  by  a  friend  (his  master  Camden) ;  after,  taken  from  it,  and  put  to  another 
craft  (I  think  was  to  be  a  wright  or  bricklayer),  which  he  could  not  endure  ; 
then  went  he  to  the  Low  Countries  ;  but  returning  soon,  he  betook  himself  to  his 
wonted  studies.  In  his  service  in  the  Low  Countries,  he  had,  in  the  face  of 
both  the  camps,  killed  an  enemy  and  taken  opima  spolia  from  him  ;  and  since 
his  coming  to  England,  being  appealed  to  the  fields,  he  had  killed  his  adver 
sary  which  had  hurt  him  in  the  arm,  and  whose  sword  was  ten  inches  longer 
than  his  ;  for  the  which  he  was  imprisoned,  and  almost  at  the  gallows.  Then 
took  he  his  religion  by  trust,  of  a  priest  who  visited  him  in  prison.  Thereafter 
he  was  twelve  years  a  Papist."  Aubrey  says  in  his  random  way,  "  He  killed 
Mr.  Marlowe  the  poet  on  Bunhill,  coming  from  the  Green  Curtain  Playhouse." 
We  know  where  Marlowe  was  killed,  and  when  he  was  killed.  He  was  slain  at 
Deptford  in  1593.  Gifford  supposes  that  this  tragical  event  in  Jonson's  lifa 
took  place  in  1595  ;  but  the  conjecture  is  set  aside  by  an  indisputable  account  of 
the  fact.  Philip  Henslowe,  writing  to  his  son-in-law  Alleyn  on  the  26th  of 
September,  1598,  says,  "Since  you  were  with  me  I  have  lost  one  of  my  com 
pany,  which  hurteth  me  greatly,  that  is  Gabrell  [Gabriel],  for  he  is  slain  in 
Hogsden  Fields  by  the  hands  of  Benjamin  Jonson,  bricklayer ;  therefore  I 
would  fain  have  a  little  of  your  counsel,  if  I  could."*  This  event  took  place 
then,  we  see,  exactly  at  the  period  when  Jonson  was  in  constant  intercourse 
with  Henslowe's  company ;  and  it  probably  arose  out  of  some  quarrel  at  the 
theatre  that  he  was  "  appealed  to  the  fields."  The  expression  of  Henslowe, 
"  Benjamin  Jonson,  bricklayer,"  is  a  remarkable  one.  It  is  inconsistent  with 
Jonson's  own  declaration,  that  after  his  return  from  the  Low  Countries  he  "  be 
took  himself  to  his  wonted  studies."  We  believe  that  Henslowe,  under  the 
excitement  of  that  loss  for  which  he  required  the  counsel  of  Alleyn,  used  it  as 
a  term  of  opprobrium,  that  was  familiar  to  his  company.  Dekker,  who  was  a 
writer  for  Henslowe's  theatre,  and  who  in  1599  was  associated  with  Jonson  in 
the  composition  of  two  plays,  ridicules  his  former  friend  and  colleague,  in  1602, 
as  a  "  poor  lime  and  hair  rascal,"— as  one  who  ambled  "  in  a  leather  pilch  by  a 
play-waggon  in  the  highway"— "a  foul-fisted  mortar-treader "— " one  famous 
for  killing  a  player  "—one  whose  face  "  looks  for  all  the  world  like  a  rotten 
russet-apple  when  it  is  bruised  "—whose  "goodly  and  glorious  nose  was  blunt, 
blunt,  blunt"— who  is  asked,  "  how  chance  it  passeth  that  you  bid  good  bye  to 
an  honest  trade  of  building  chimnies  and  laying  down  bricks  for  a  worse  handi- 
craftness?"— who  is  twitted  with  "dost  stamp,  mad  Tamburlaine,  dost  stamp; 
thou  think'st  thou'st  mortar  under  thy  feet,  dost?"  — one  whose  face  was 
"punched  full  of  eyelet-holes  like  the  cover  of  a  warming-pan "—" a  hollow- 
cheeked  scrag."  It  is  evident  from  all  this  abuse,  which  we  transcribe  as  the 

•  Letter  in  Dulwich  College,  quoted  in  Collier's  •  Memoirs  of  Alleyn.' 
LIFE.        2  C 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

passages  occur  in  Dekker's  '  Satiro-Mastix/  that  the  poverty,  the  personal 
appearance,  and,  above  all,  the  original  occupation  of  Jonson,  exposed  him  to 
the  vulgar  ridicule  of  some  of  those  with  whom  he  was  brought  into  contact  at 
the  theatre.  They  did  not  feel  as  honest  old  Fuller  felt,  when,  describing 
Jonson,  being  in  want  of  maintenance,  as  "  fain  to  return  to  the  trade  of  his 
lather-in-law,"  the  old  chronicler  of  the  Worthies  says  —  "Let  not  them  blush 
that  have,  but  those  who  have  not,  a  lawful  calling."  We  can  thus  understand 
what  Henslowe  means  when  he  says  "  Benjamin  Jonson,  bricklayer."  In  the 
autumn  of  1598  the  bricklayer-poet  was  lying  in  prison.  At  the  Christmas  of 
that  year  '  Every  Man  in  his  Humour,'  greatly  altered  from  the  original  sketch 
produced  by  Henslowe's  company,  was  brought  out  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain's 
company  at  the  Blackfriars.  The  doors  of  Henslowe's  theatre  on  the  Bankside 
were  probably  shut  against  the  man  who  had  killed  Gabriel,  "  whose  sword  was 
ten  inches  longer  than  his."  There  seems  to  have  been  an  effort  on  the  part  of 
some  one  to  console  the  unhappy  prisoner  under  his  calamity.  He  was  a  writer 
for  a  rival  theatre,  receiving  its  advances  up  to  the  13th  of  August,  1598. 
His  improved  play  was  brought  out  by  the  company  of  a  theatre  which  stood 
much  higher  in  the  popular  and  the  critical  estimation  a  few  months  after 
wards.  There  was  an  ac*  of  friendship  somewhere.  May  we  not  believe  that 
this  proud  man,  who  seems  to  have  been  keenly  alive  to  neglect  and  injury — 
who  says  that  "  Daniel  was  at  jealousies  with  him," — that  "  Drayton  feared 
nim " — that  "  he  beat  Marston,  and  took  his  pistol  from  him  "  —  that  "  Sir 
William  Alexander  was  not  half  kind  unto  him  " — that  "  Markham  was  but  a 
Ijase  fellow " — that  "  such  were  Day  and  Middleton," — that  "  Sharpham,  Day, 
Dekker,  were  all  rogues,  and  that  Minshew  was  one," — that  "  Abraham  Francis 
was  a  fool"* — may  we  not  believe  that  some  deep  remembrance  of  unusual 
kindness  induced  him  to  write  of  Shakspere,  "  I  loved  the  man,  and  do  honour 
his  memory  on  this  side  idolatry  as  much  is  any.  He  was  indeed  honest,  and 
of  an  open  and  free  nature?"  We  have  no  hesitation  in  abiding  by  the  com 
mon  sense  of  Gifford,  who  treated  with  ineffable  scorn  all  that  has  been  written 
about  Jonson's  envy,  and  malignity,  and  coldness  towards  Shakspere.  We 
believe  with  him  "  that  no  feud,  no  jealousy  ever  disturbed  their  connection ; 
that  Shakspere  was  pleased  with  Jonson,  and  that  Jonson  loved  and  admired 
Shakspere."  They  worked  upon  essentially  different  principles  of  art ;  they 
had  each  their  admirers  and  disciples  ;  but  the  field  in  which  they  laboured  was 
large  enough  for  both  of  them,  and  they  each  cultivated  it  after  his  own  fashion. 
With  the  exception  of  such  occasional  quarrels  as  those  between  Jonson  and 
Dekker,  the  poets  of  that  time  lived  as  a  generous  brotherhood,  whose  cordial 
intercourse  might  soften  many  of  the  rigours  of  their  worldly  lot.  Jonson  was 
by  nature  proud,  perhaps  arrogant.  His  struggles  with  penury  had  made  him 
proud.  He  had  the  inestimable  possession  of  a  well-educated  boyhood  ;  he  had 
the  consciousness  of  great  abilities  and  great  acquirements.  He  was  thrown 
amongst  a  band  of  clever  men,  some  of  whom  perhaps  laughed,  as  Dekker  un 
worthily  did,  at  his  honest  efforts  to  set  himself  above  the  real  disgrace  of  earn 

•  All  these  passages  are  extracted  from  hia  conversations  with  Drummond. 

ni 


[Jonson.J 

ing  his  bread  by  corrupt  arts ;  who  ridiculed  his  pimpled  face,  his  "  one  eye 
lower  than  t'other,"  and  his  "  coat  like  a  coachman's  coat,  with  slips  under  the 
arm-pits."  So  Aubrey  describes  him  who  laid  down  laws  of  criticism,  and 
married  music  and  painting  to  the  most  graceful  verse.  But  when  the  brick 
layer  had  the  gratification  of  seeing  his  first  comedy  performed  by  the  Lord 
Chamberlain's  company,  to 

"  Sport  with  human  follies,  not  with  crimes," 

there  was  one  amongst  that  company  strong  enough  to  receive  with  kindliness 
even  the  original  prologue,  in  which  the  romantic  drama,  perhaps  some  of  his 
own  plays,  were  declaimed  against  by  one  who  belonged  to  another  school  of 
art.  Shakspere  could  not  doubt  that  a  man  of  vigorous  understanding  had 
arisen  up  to  devote  himself  to  the  exhibition  of  "popular  errors," — humours — 
passing  accidents  of  life  and  character.  He  himself  worked  upon  more  endur 
ing  materials ;  but  he  would  nevertheless  see  that  there  was  one  fitted  to  deal 
with  the  comedy  of  manners  in  a  higher  spirit  than  had  yet  been  displayed. 
Not  only  was  the  amended  '  Every  Man  in  his  Humour '  acted  by  Shakspere's 
2  C  2  387 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE: 

company,  Shakspere  himself  taking  one  of  the  characters ;  but  the  second  comedy 
from  the  same  satirist  was  first  produced  by  that  company  in  1599.  When  the 
author,  in  his  Induction,  exclaims 

"  If  any  here  chance  to  behold  himself, 
Let  him  not  dare  to  challenge  me  of  wrong ; 
For,  if  he  shame  to  have  his  follies  known, 
First  he  should  shame  to  act  'em  :  my  strict  hand 
Was  made  to  seize  on  vice,  and  with  a  gripe 
Squeeze  out  the  humour  of  such  spongy  soula 
As  lick  up  every  idle  vanity,"— 

the  poet  who  "was  not  for  an  age,  but  for  all  time," — he,  especially,  who  never 
once  comes  before  the  audience  in  his  individual  character, — might  gently  smile  at 
these  high  pretensions.  But  he  would  stretch  out  the  hand  of  cordial  friendship  to 
the  man ;  for  he  was  in  earnest — his  indignation  against  vice  was  an  honest  one. 
Though  a  little  personal  vanity  might  peep  out — though  the  satirist  might  "  venture 
on  the  stage  when  the  play  is  ended  to  exchange  courtesies  and  compliments  with 
gallants  in  the  lord's  rooms,  to  make  all  the  house  rise  up  in  arms  and  to  cry, — 
.That's  Horace,  that's  he,  that's  he,  that's  he,  that  pens  and  purges  humours  and 
diseases,"  *  Shakspere's  congratulations  on  the  success  of  Asper — for  so  Jonson  de 
lighted  to  call  himself — would  come  from  the  heart.  An  evening  at  the  Falcon 
might  fitly  conclude  such  a  first  play. 

The  things  "  done  at  the  Mermaid  "  were  not  as  yet.  Francis  Beaumont,  who 
has  made  them  immortal  by  his  description,  was  at  this  period  scarcely  sixteen 
years  of  age.  His  '  Letter  to  Jonson '  may,  however,  give  us  the  best  notion  of 
the  earlier  convivial  intercourse  of  some  of  the  illustrious  band  to  whom  the  young 
dramatist  refers : — 

"  Methinks  the  little  wit  I  had  is  lost 
Since  I  saw  you ;  for  wit  is  like  a  rest 
Held  up  at  tennis,  which  men  do  the  best 
With  the  best  gamesters  :  what  things  have  we  seen 
Done  at  the  Mermaid  !  heard  words  that  have  been 
So  nimble,  and  so  full  of  subtile  Same, 
As  if  that  every  one  from  whence  they  came 
Had  meant  to  put  his  whole  wit  in  a  jest, 
And  had  resolv'd  to  live  a  fool  the  rest 
Of  his  dull  life ;  then  when  there  hath  been  thrown 
Wit  able  enough  to  justify  the  town 
For  three  days  past — wit  that  might  warrant  be 
For  the  whole  city  to  talk  foolishly 
Till  that  were  cancell'd  :  and  when  that  was  gone, 
We  left  an  air  behind  us,  which  alone 
Was  able  to  make  the  two  next  companie. 
Right  witty :  though  but  downright  fools,  mere  wise." 

The  play  at  the  Blackfriars  would  be  over  at  five  o'clock.  The  gallants  who 
came  from  the  ordinary  to  the  playhouse  would  have  dined ;  and  so  would  the 
players.  At  three  the  play  commenced ;  and  an  audience  more  rational  than 

*  Satiro-Mastix. 
388 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

those  of  our  own  times  as  to  the  quantity  of  amusement  which  they  demanded 
would  be  quite  satisfied  with  the  two  hours'  exhibition : — 

"  Those  that  come  to  see 
Only  a  show  or  two,  and  so  agree 
The  play  may  pass,  if  they  be  still  and  willing, 
I  "11  undertake  may  see  away  their  shilling 
Kichly  in  two  short  hours."  * 

Out  of  the  smoke  and  glare  of  the  torches  (for  in  the  private  theatres  the  win 
dows  were  closed  so  as  to  exclude  the  day)  would  the  successful  author  and 
his  friends  come  forth  into  the  grey  light  of  a  January  evening,  f  The  Black- 
friars  Stairs  are  close  at  hand.  John  Taylor  the  water-poet  was  then  a  very 
young  man  ;  but  the  apprentice  of  the  Thames  might  be  there,  with  the  ambi 
tion  already  developed  to  be  the  ferryman  to  the  wits  and  actors  from  the  Black- 
friars  to  the  Bankside.  The  "gentlemanlike  sculler,"  as  he  was  subsequently 
called,  might  listen  even  then  with  a  chuckling  delight  to  the  sallies  of  "  Master 
Benjamin  Jonson,"  whom  some  eighteen  years  afterwards  he  wrote  of  as  "  my 
long-approved  and  assured  good  friend" — generous  withal  beyond  his  means, 
for  "  at  my  taking  leave  of  him  he  gave  me  a  piece  of  gold  and  two-and-twenty 
shillings  to  drink  his  health."  J  The  merry  party  are  soon  landed  at  Paris 
Garden,  and  walking  up  the  lane,  which  was  a  very  little  to  the  east  of  the 
present  Blackfriars  Bridge,  they  turn  eastward  before  they  reach  the  old  stone 
cross,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  are  on  the  Bankside,  close  to  the  Falcon  Inn,  in 

*  Prologue  to  Henry  VIII. 

t  It  would  appear  from  the  Epilogue  that ' Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour*  was  acted  at  the 
Globe ;  and  perhaps  for  the  first  time  there.  We  are  of  course  only  here  attempting  a  generalization 
not  literally  accurate. 

J  Taylor's  '  Penniless  Pilgrimage.' 


[John  Taylor.] 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  : 

the  liberty  of  the  Clink.  At  a  very  short  distance  from  this  is  the  Bear  Gar 
den,  and  a  little  farther  eastward  the  Globe.  Part  of  the  Falcon  Tavern  was 
standing  in  1805,  a  short  distance  from  the  north  end  of  Gravel-lane.  Tradi 
tion  holds  it  to  have  been  the  favourite  resort  of  Shakspere  and  his  companions. 
It  is  highly  probable.  He  was  a  householder  in  the  Clink  liberty ;  but  his 
disposition  was  eminently  social,  and  sociality  was  the  fashion  of  those  days — 
in  moderation,  not  a  bad  fashion.  Gifford  has  noticed  this  with  great  justness  : 
"  Domestic  entertainments  were,  at  that  time,  rare ;  the  accommodations  of  a 
private  house  were  ill  calculated  for  the  purposes  of  a  social  meeting  ;  and 
taverns  and  ordinaries  are  therefore  almost  the  only  places  in  which  we  hear  of 
such  assemblies.  This,  undoubtedly,  gives  an  appearance  of  licentiousness  to 
the  age,  which,  in  strictness,  does  not  belong  to  it.  Long  after  the  period  of 
which  we  are  now  speaking,  we  seldom  hear  of  the  eminent  characters  of  the 
day  in  their  domestic  circles."*  Jonson  laughs  at  his  own  disposition  to  con 
viviality  in  connection  with  his  habitual  abstemiousness :  "  Canary,  the  very 
elixir  and  spirit  of  wine !  This  is  that  our  poet  calls  Castalian  liquor,  when 
he  comes  abroad  now  and  then,  once  in  a  fortnight,  and  makes  a  good  meal 
among  players,  where  he  has  caninum  appetitum  ;  marry,  at  home  he  keeps  a 
good  philosophical  diet,  beans  and  buttermilk ;  an  honest  pure  rogue,  he .  will 
take  you  off  three,  four,  five  of  these,  one  after  another,  and  look  villainously 
when  he  has  done,  like  a  one-headed  Cerberus. "f  He  puts  these  words  into 
the  mouth  of  a  buffoon.  In  his  own  person  he  speaks  of  himself  in  a  nobler 
strain : 

"  I  that  spend  half  my  nights,  and  all  my  days, 

Here  in  a  cell  to  get  a  dark  pale  face, 
To  come  forth  worth  the  ivy  and  the  bays ; 
And,  in  this  age,  can  hope  no  other  grace."  J 

The  alternations  of  excessive  labour  and  joyous  relaxation  belong  to  the  ener 
gies  of  the  poetical  temperament.  Jonson  has  been  accused  of  excess  in  his 
pleasures.  Drummond  ill-naturedly  says,  "Drink  is  one  of  the  elements  in 
which  he  liveth."  But  no  one  affirmed  that  in  his  convivial  meetings  there  was 
not  something  higher  and  better  than  sensual  indulgence . 

"Ah,  Ben! 
Say  how,  or  when 
Shall  we  thy  guests 
Meet  at  those  lyric  feasts, 

Made  at  the  Sun, 
The  Dog,  the  Triple  Tun  ? 
Where  we  such  clusters  had, 
As  made  us  nobly  wild,  not  mad ; 

And  yet  each  verse  of  thine 
Outdid  the  meat,  outdid  the  frolic  wine."  § 


*  '  Memoirs  of  Ben  Jonson,'  p.  cxc. 
f  '  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour.'  J  '  The  Foetaiiter.' 

§  Herrick's  '  Hesperidea.' 
390 


A   BIOGKAPHT. 

Amongst  the  group  that  might  be  assembled  at  the  Falcon,  let  us  first  trace  . 
the  lineaments  of  Thomas  Dekker.  He  has  not  yet  quarrelled  with  Jonson. 
He  has  no  tbeen  held  up  to  contempt  as  Demetrius  in  the  '  Poetaster/  nor  re- 
turned  the  satire  with  more  than  necessary  vehemence  in  the  Satiro-Mastix 
He  is  one  who  has  looked  upon  the  world  with  an  observant  eye ;  one  of  whom 
it  has  been  said  that  his  "pamphlets  and  plays  alone  would  furnish  a  more 
complete  view  of  the  habits  and  customs  of  his  contemporaries  in  vulgar  and 
middle  life  than  could  easily  be  collected  from  all  the  grave  annals  of  the 
times."*  His  'Gull's  Horn-Book'  has  not  yet  appeared;  but  its  writer  can 
season  his  talk  with  the  most  amusing  relations  of  the  humours  of  Paul's  Walk, 
of  the  ordinary,  of  the  playhouse,  of  the  tavern.  He  was  not  a  very  young  man 
at  the  period  of  which  we  write.  In  1631  he  says,  "  I  have  been  a  priest  in 
Apollo's  temple  many  years;  my  voice  is  decaying  with  my  age."  He  is  con 
fident  in  his  powers  ;  and  claims  to  be  a  satirist  by  as  indefeasible  a  title  as 
that  of  his  greater  rival: — "I  am  snake-proof;  and  though,  with  Hannibal, 
you  bring  whole  hogsheads  of  vinegar-railings,  it  is  impossible  for  you  to 
quench  or  come  over  my  Alpine  resolution.  I  will  sail  boldly  and  desperately 
alongst  the  shores  of  the  isle  of  Gulls  ;  and  in  defiance  of  those  terrible  block 
houses,  their  loggerheads,  make  a  true  discovery  of  their  wild  yet  habitable 
country."  f  He  has  many  a  joke  against  the  gallants  whom  he  has  noted  even 
that  afternoon  sitting  on  the  stage  in  all  the  glory  of  their  coxcombry — on  the 
very  rushes  where  the  comedy  is  to  dance,  beating  down  the  mews  and  hisses 
of  the  opposed  rascality.  The  proportionable  leg,  the  white  hand,  the  love 
lock  of  the  essenced  fop,  have  none  of  them  passed  unmarked.  The  red  beard 
artistically  dyed  according  to  the  most  approved  fashion  supplies  many  a 
laugh ;  especially  if  the  wearer  had  risen  to  be  gone  in  the  middle  of  the  scene, 
saluting  his  gentle  acquaintance  to  the  discomfiture  of  the  mimics.  He,  above 
all,  is  quizzed  who  hoards  up  the  play  scraps  upon  which  his  lean  wit  most 
savourily  feeds  in  the  presence  of  the  Euphuesed  gentlewomen.  Dekker  has 
been  that  morning  in  Paul's  Walk,  in  the  Mediterranean  Aisle.  He  has  noted 
one  who  walks  there  from  day  to  day,  even  till  lamp -light,  for  he  is  safe  from 
his  creditors.  One  more  fortunate  parades  his  silver  spurs  in  the  open  choir, 
that  he  may  challenge  admiration  as  he  draws  forth  his  perfumed  embroidered 
purse  to  pay  the  forfeit  to  the  surpliced  choristers.  Another  is  waited  upon 
by  his  tailor,  who  steps  behind  a  pillar  with  his  table-book  to  note  the  last 
fashion  which  hath  made  its  appearance  there,  and  to  commend  it  to  his  wor 
ship's  admiration.  Equally  familiar  is  the  satirist  with  the  ordinary.  He  tells 
of  a  most  absolute  gull  tha41  he  has  marked  riding  thither  upon  his  Spanish 
iennet,  with  a  French  lacquey  carrying  his  cloak,  who  having  entered  the 
public  room  walks  up  and  down  scornfully  with  a  sneer  and  a  sour  face  to  pro 
mise  quarrelling;  who,  when  he  does  speak,  discourses  how  often  this  lady  has 
sent  her  coach  for  him,  and  how  he  has  sweat  in  the  tennis-court  with  that 
lord.  An  unfledged  poet,  too,  he  has  marked,  who  drops  a  sonnet  out  of  the 
.arge  fold  of  his  glove,  which  he  at  last  reads  to  the  company  with  a  pretty 

*  '  Quarterly  Review.'  t  '  Gull's  Hornbook.' 

391 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPKlii:  : 

counterfeit  lothness.  He  has  a  story  of  the  last  gull  whom  he  saw  there, 
skeldered  of  his  money  at  primero  and  hazard,  who  sat  as  patiently  as  a  dis 
armed  gentleman  in  the  hands  of  the  bailiffs.  At  the  tavern  he  has  drawn  out 
a  country  gentleman  that  has  brought  his  wife  to  town  to  learn  the  fashions, 
and  see  the  tombs  at  Westminster,  and  the  lions  in  the  Tower ;  and  is  already 
glib  with  the  names  of  the  drawers,  Jack  and  Will  and  Tom  :  the  tavern  is  to 
him  so  delightful,  with  its  suppers,  its  Canary,  its  tobacco,  and  its  civil  hostess 
at  the  bar,  that  it  is  odds  but  he  will  give  up  housekeeping.  Above  all,  "  the 
satirical  rogue"  is  familiar  with  the  habits  of  those  who  hear  the  chimes  at 
midnight.  He  knows  how  they  shun  the  waking  watch  and  play  tricks  with 
the  sleeping,  and  he  hears  the  pretenders  to  gentility  call  aloud  Sir  Giles,  or 
Sir  Abraham,  will  you  turn  this  way  ?  Every  form  of  pretence  is  familiar  to 
him.  He  has  watched  his  gull  critical  upon  new  books  in  a  stationer's  shop, 
and  has  tracked  him  through  all  his  vagaries  at  the  tobacco  ordinary,  the 
barber's,  the  fence-school,  and  the  dancing-school.  Thomas  Dekker  is  certainly 
one  of  those  who  gather  humours  from  all  men ;  but  his  wit  is  not  of  the 
highest  or  the  most  delicate  character ;  yet  is  he  listened  to  and  laughed  at  by 
many  of  nobler  intellect  who  say  little.  He  knows  the  town,  and  he  makes 
the  most  of  his  knowledge.  Though  he  is  a  "  high  flyer  in  wit,"  as  Edward 
Philipps  calls  him,  yet  is  he  a  poet.  At  this  very  time  he  is  engaged  with 
Henry  Chettle  and  William  Haughton  in  the  composition  of  '  Patient  Grissil ' 
for  Henslowe's  theatre,  in  earnest  of  which  they  received  three  pounds  of  good 
and  lawful  money  on  the  19th  of  December,  1599.  There  is  one  of  the  partners 
in  this  drama  who  has  drunk  his  inspiration  at  the  well  of  Chaucer.  The  ex 
quisite  beauty  of  '  The  Clerk's  Tale '  must  have  rendered  it  exceedingly  difficult 
to  have  approached  such  a  subject ;  but  a  man  of  real  genius  has  produced  the 
serious  scenes  of  the  comedy,  and  it  is  difficult  to  assign  them  to  any  other  of 
the  trio  but  Dekker.  Might  not  some  Jack  Wilson*  have,  for  the  first  time, 
touched  his  lute  to  the  following  exquisite  song,  for  the  suffrages  of  the  gay 
party  at  the  Falcon  ? 

"  Art  thou  poor,  yet  hast  thou  golden  slumbers  ? 

Oh,  sweet  content ! 
Art  thou  rich,  yet  is  thy  mind  perplexed  ? 

Oh,  punishment  1 

Dost  thou  laugh  to  see  how  fools  are  vexed 
To  add  to  golden  numbers,  golden  numbers  ? 

Oh,  sweet  content  1     Oh,  sweet,  Ac. 
Work  apace,  apace,  apace,  apace ; 
Honest  labour  bears  a  lovely  face ; 
Then  hey  noney,  noney,  hey  noney,  noney. 

Canst  drink  the  waters  of  the  crisped  spring  ? 

Oh,  sweet  content  I 

Swimm'st  thou  in  wealth,  yet  sink'st  in  thine  own  tears  ? 
Oh,  punishment ! 


•  A  singer  of  Shakspere's  company.     See  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  Introductory  Notica 
392 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

Then  he  that  patiently  want's  burden  bears, 
No  burden  bears,  but  is  a  king,  a  king  ! 

Oh,  sweet  content !  &c. 
Work  apace,"  &c. 

There  is  one,  we  may  believe,  in  that  company  of  poets  who  certainly  "  is 
thought  not  the  meanest  of  English  poets  of  that  time,  and  particularly  for  his 
dramatic  writings."  George  Chapman,  as  Anthony  Wood  tells  us,  "  was  a 
person  of  most  reverend  aspect,  religious  and  temperate,  qualities  rarely  meet 
ing  in  a  poet."  Anthony  Wood  has  a  low  notion  of  the  poetical  character,  as 
many  other  prosaic  people  have.  He  tells  us  of  an  unhappy  verse-maker  of 
small  merit  who  was  "  exceedingly  given  to  the  vices  of  poets."  Chapman  was, 
however,  the  senior  of  the  illustrious  band  who  lighted  up  the  close  of  the  six 
teenth  century,  and  might  be  more  reverend  than  many  of  them.  He  was 
seven  years  older  than  Shakspere,  being  born  in  1557.  Yet  his  inventive 
faculties  were  brilliant  to  the  last.  Jonson  told  Drummond,  in  1619,  that 
"  next  himself  only  Fletcher  and  Chapman  could  make  a  masque."  He  said 
also,  what  was  more  important,  that  "  Chapman  and  Fletcher  were  loved  of 
him."  No  one  can  doubt  the  vigour  of  the  poet  who  translated  twelve  books  of 
the  Iliad  in  six  weeks, — the  daring  fiery  spirit  of  him  who,  in  the  opinion  of 
the  more  polished  translator,  gave  us  a  Homer  such  as  he  might  have  been  before 
he  had  come  to  the  years  of  discretion.  This  is  meant  by  Pope  for  censure. 
Meres,  in  1598,  enumerates  Chapman  amongst  the  "tragic  poets,"  and  also 
amongst  the  "best  poets  for  comedy."  We  have  no  evidence  that  he  wrote 
before  the  period  when  Shakspere  raised  the  drama  out  of  chaos.  He  had  not 
the  power  to  become  a  great  dramatist  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word ;  for  his 


[George  Chapman.l 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

genius  was  essentially  didactic.  He  could  not  go  out  of  himself  to  paint  &.U 
the  varieties  of  passion  and  character  in  vivid  action;  but  he  could  analyze  the 
passion,  exhibit  its  peculiarities,  describe  its  current,  with  wondrous  force  and 
originality,  throwing  in  touches  of  the  purest  poetry,  clothed  in  the  most 
splendid  combinations  of  language.  Dryden  has  not  done  justice  to  him,  when 
he  says  that  "  a  dwarfish  thought  dressed  up  in  gigantic  words  is  his  charac 
teristic."  There  are  the  gigantic  words,  but  the  thought  is  rarely  dwarfish. 
Had  he  become  a  dramatist  ten  years  earlier,  as  he  well  might  from  the  period 
in  which  he  was  born,  we  should  have  found  more  extravagance  and  less  poeti 
cal  fire.  Shakspere  rendered  the  drama  not  so  easy  of  approach  by  inferior 
men,  as  it  was  in  the  early  days  of  the  Greenes  and  Peeles.  Chapman  with  his 
undramatic  mind  has  done  wonders  in  his  own  way. 

Beside  the  man  of  reverend  aspect  sits  a  young  scholar,  who  is  anxious  to 
say,  I  too  am  a  poet.  John  Fletcher  was  born  in  1576.  His  father,  the 
Bishop  of  London — he  who  poured  into  the  ears  of  the  unhappy  Mary  of  Scots 
on  the  scaffold  that  verbosam  orationem,  as  Camden  has  it,  which  had  more  re 
gard  to  his  own  preferment  than  the  Queen's  conversion — he  who,  marrying  a 
second  time,  fell  under  his  royal  mistress's  displeasure,  and  died  of  grief  and 
excessive  tobacco,  in  1596,  "  seeking  to  lose  his  sorrow  in  a  mist  of  smoke,"  * — 
he  has  left  his  son  John  to  carry  his  "  sail  of  phantasy "  into  the  dangerous 
waters  of  the  theatre.  The  union  of  real  talent  with  fashionable  pretension, 
which  in  time  made  him  one  of  the  most  popular  of  dramatists,  and  the  lyrical 
genius  which  will  place  him  for  ever  amongst  the  first  of  English  poets,  were 
budding  only  at  the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century.  We  can  scarcely  believe 
that  his  genius  was  only  called  out  by  the  "  wonderful  consimility  of  fancy " 
between  him  and  Francis  Beaumont ;  and  that  his  first  play  was  produced  only 
in  1607,  when  he  was  thirty-one  and  Beaumont  twenty-one.  It  is  possible 
that  in  his  earlier  days  he  wrote  in  conjunction  with  some  of  the  veterans  of 
the  drama.  Shakspere  is  held  to  have  been  associated  with  him  in  the  '  Two 
Noble  Kinsmen.'  We  have  discussed  that  question  elsewhere ;  and  it  is  scarcely 
necessary  for  us  to  attempt  any  summary  here,  for  the  reason  of  our  belief  that 
the  union,  if  any  there  were,  was  not  with  Shakspere.  At  this  period  Fletcher 
would  be  gathering  materials,  at  any  rate,  for  some  of  those  pictures  of  manners 
which  reveal  to  us  too  much  of  the  profligacy  of  the  fine  people  of  the  beginning 
of  the  seventeenth  century.  The  society  of  the  great  minds  into  which  he 
would  be  thrown  at  the  Falcon,  and  the  Mermaid,  and  the  Apollo  Saloon, 
would  call  out  and  cherish  that  freshness  of  his  poetical  nature  which  survives, 
and  indeed  often  rides  over,  the  sapless  conventionalities  and  frigid  licentious 
ness  of  his  fashionable  experience.  In  the  company  of  Shakspere,  and  Jonson, 
and  Chapman,  and  Donne,  he  would  be  taught  there  was  something  more  in  the 
friendship,  and  even  in  the  mere  intercourse  of  conviviality,  of  men  of  high  in 
tellect,  than  the  town  could  give.  He  would  learn  from  Jonson's  '  Leges  Con- 
vivales,'  that  there  was  a  charm  in  the  social  hours  of  the  "  entditi,  urbani, 
hi/ares,  honesti,"  which  was  rarely  found  amidst  the  courtly  hunters  after  plea- 

•  Fuller's  '  Worthies.' 
394 


[John  Fletcher.] 


sure ;  and  that  a  festival  with  them  was  something  better  than  even  the  excite 
ment  of  wine  and  music.  A  few  years  after  this  Fletcher  ventured  out  of  the 
track  of  that  species  of  comedy  in  which  he  won  his  first  success,  giving  a  real 
poem  to  the  public  stage,  which,  with  all  its  faults,  was  a  noble  attempt  to 
emulate  the  lyrical  and  pastoral  genius  of  Shakspere.  To  our  minds  there  is  as 
much  covert  advice,  if  not  gentle  reproof,  to  Fletcher,  as  there  is  of  just  and 
cordial  praise,  in  Jonson's  verses  upon  the  condemnation  of  'The  Faithful 
Shepherdess'  by  the  audience  of  1610  : — 

"  The  wise,  and  many -headed  bench,  that  sits 

Upon  the  life  and  death  of  plays  and  wits, 

(Compos' d  of  gamester,  captain,  knight,  knight's  man, 

Lady,  or  pucelle,  that  wears  mask  or  fan, 

Velvet,  or  taffata  cap,  rank'd  in  the  dark 

With  the  shop's  foreman,  or  some  such  brave  spark 

That  may  judge  for  his  sixpence)  had,  before 

They  saw  it  half,  damn'd  thy  whole  play,  and  more  : 

Their  motives  were,  since  it  had  not  to  do 

With  vices,  which  they  look'd  for,  and  came  to. 

I,  that  am  glad  thy  innocence  was  thy  guilt, 

And  wish  that  all  the  Muses'  blood  were  spilt 

In  such  a  martyrdom,  to  vex  their  eyes, 

Do  crown  thy  murder'd  poem :  which  shall  rise 

A  glorified  work  to  time,  when  fire 

Or  moths  shall  eat  what  all  those  fools  admire." 

There  is  another  young  poet  who  has  fairly  won  his  title  to  a  place  amongst 
the  most  eminent  of  his  day.  John  Donne  is  there,  yet  scarcely  seven-and- 
twenty ;  who  wrote  the  most  vigorous  satires  that  the  English  language  had 
seen  as  early  as  1593.  No  printed  copy  exists  of  them  of  an  earlier  date  than 
that  of  his  collected  works  in  1633  ;  but  there  is  an  undoubted  manuscript  of 
the  three  first  satires  in  the  British  Museum,  bearing  the  title  "  Ihon  Dunne 

395 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

his  Satires,  Anno  Domini  1593."  No  one  has  left  a  more  vigorous  picture  of 
this  exact  period  than  has  Donne,  the  student  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  who  has  already 
looked  upon  the  world  with  the  eye  of  a  philosopher.  He  stands  in  the  middle 
street  and  points,  as  they  pass  along,  to  the  "  captain  bright  parcel  gilt " — to 
the  "  brisk  perfumed  pert  courtier  " — to  the 

"Velvet  justice,  with  a  long 
Great  train  of  blue-coats  twelve  or  fourteen  strong  "- 

to  the  "  superstitious  Puritan "  with  His  "  formal  hat."  He  and  his  friend,  the 
"  changeling  motley  humourist,"  take  their  onward  way,  and  thus  he  paints  the 
characters  they  encounter.  The  condensation  of  the  picture  is  perfect : — 

"  Now  we  are  in  the  street :  he  first  of  all, 
Improvidently  proud,  creeps  to  the  wall, 
And  so  imprison'd  and  hemm'd  in  by  me, 
Sells  for  a  little  state  his  liberty ; 
Yet  though  he  cannot  skip  forth  now  to  greet 
Every  fine  silken  painted  fool  we  meet, 
He  them  to  him  with  amorous  smiles  allures, 
And  grins,  smacks,  shrugs,  and  such  an  itch  endures 
As  'prentices  or  school-boys,  which  do  know 
Of  some  gay  sport  abroad,  yet  dare  not  go ; 
And  as  fiddlers  stoop  lowest  at  highest  sound, 
So  to  the  most  brave  stoops  he  nigh'st  the  ground ; 
But  to  a  grave  man  he  doth  move  no  more 
Than  the  wise  politic  horse  would  heretofore ; 
Or  thou,  0  elephant  or  ape  !  wilt  do 
When  any  names  the  king  of  Spain  to  you. 
Now  leaps  he  upright,  jogs  me,  and  cries,  Do  you  see 
Yonder  well-favour'd  youth  ?    Which  ?    Oh  !  't  is  he 
That  dances  so  divinely.     Oh  !  said  I, 
Stand  still ;  must  you  dance  here  for  company  T 
He  droop'd,  we  went,  till  one  (which  did  excel 
Th'  Indians  in  drinking  his  tobacco  well) 
Met  us  :  they  talk'd ;  I  whisper'd  Let  us  go ; 
It  may  be  you  smell  him  not ;  truly  I  do. 
He  hears  not  me ;  but  on  the  other  side 
A  many-colour'd  peacock  having  spy'd, 
Leaves  him  and  me :  I  for  my  lost  sheep  stay ; 
He  follows,  overtakes,  goes  on  the  way, 
Saying,  Him  whom  I  last  left  all  repute 
For  his  device  in  handsoming  a  suit, 
To  judge  of  lace,  pink,  panes,  print,  cut  and  phut. 
Of  all  the  court  to  have  the  best  conceit : 
Our  dull  comedians  want  him ;  let  him  go." 

There  is  something  in  these  Satires  deeper  than  mere  satirical  description ;  for 
example  : — 

"  Sir,  though  (I  thank  God  for  it)  I  do  hate 
Perfectly  all  this  town,  yet  there  'a  one  state 
In  all  ill  things  so  excellently  best, 
1   That  hate  towards  them  breeds  pity  towards  the  rest." 

Donne's  genius  was  too  subjective  for  the  drama ;  yet  his  delineations  of  indi- 
896 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

vidual  character  are  full  of  humour.     Take    the   barrister,  who    "  woos   in   Ian- 
guage  of  the  Pleas  and  Bench  :" — 

"  A  motion,  lady  !     Speak,  Coscus.     I  have  been 
In  love  e'er  since  tricesimo  of  the  queen. 
Continual  claims  I  've  made,  injunctions  got 
To  stay  my  rival's  suit,  that  he  should  not 
Proceed ;  spare  me,  in  Hilary  term  I  went ; 
You  said,  if  I  return'd  next  'size  in  Lent, 
I  should  be  in  remitter  of  your  grace  : 
In  th'  interim  my  letters  should  take  place 
Of  affidavits." 

Jonson  well  knew  Donne's  powers.  Drummond  records  that  "He  esteemeth 
John  Donne  the  first  poet  in  the  world  in  some  things  :  his  verses  of  the  '  Lost 
Chain '  he  hath  by  heart ;  and  that  passage  of  the  '  Calm,'  '  That  dust  and  fea 
thers  do  not  stir,  all  was  so  quiet.'  Affirmeth  Donne  to  have  written  all  his 
best  pieces  ere  he  was  twenty-five  years  old."  That  "  passage  of  the  Calm  "  to 
which  Jonson  alludes,  is  found  in  his  poetical  letters  "  from  the  Island  voyage 
with  the  Earl  of  Essex."  Never  were  the  changing  aspects  of  the  sea  painted 
with  more  truth  and  precision  than  in  the  two  '  Letters '  of  '  the  Storm '  and  '  the 
Calm.'  He  made  this  island  voyage  in  1597.  He  is  now  again  in  London. 
What  a  life  is  before  him  of  the  most  ardent  love,  of  married  poverty,  of  dedi 
cation  to  the  sacred  profession  for  which  his  mind  was  best  fitted,  of  years  of 
peace  and  usefulness !  Jonson  said  that  Donne,  "  for  not  being  understood 
would  perish."  Not  wholly  so.  There  are  some  who  will  study  him,  whilst 
less  profound  thinkers  are  forgotten. 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE: 

The  diary  of  Henslowe  during  the  last  three  years  of  the  sixteenth  century 
contains  abundant  notices  of  Michael  Drayton  as  a  dramatist.  According  to 
this  record,  of  which  we  have  no  reason  to  doubt  the  correctness,  there  were 
extant  in  1597  'Mother  Red  Cap/  written  by  him  in  conjunction  with  Anthony 
Munday  ;  and  a  play  without  a  name,  which  the  manager  calls  a  "  book  wherein 
is  a  part  of  a  Welchman,"  by  Drayton  and  Henry  Chettle.  In  1598  we  have 
'  The  Famous  Wars  of  Henry  I.  and  the  Prince  of  Wales,'  by  Drayton  and  Tho 
mas  Dekker ;  '  Earl  Goodwin  and  his  three  Sons,'  by  Drayton,  Chettle,  Dekker, 
and  Robert  Wilson  ;  the  '  Second  Part  of  Goodwin,'  by  Drayton  ;  '  Pierce  of 
Exton/  by  the  same  four  authors  ;  '  The  Funeral  of  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion/  by 
Wilson,  Chettle,  Munday,  and  Drayton ;  '  The  Mad  Man's  Morris/  '  Hannibal 
and  Hermes/  and  '  Pierce  of  Winchester/  by  Drayton,  Wilson,  and  Dekker ; 
'  William  Longsword/  by  Drayton ;  '  Chance  Medley/  by  Wilson,  Munday, 
Drayton.  and  Dekker :  '  Worse  Afeard  than  Hurt/  '  Three  Parts  of  the  Civil 
Wars  of  France/  and  '  Connan,  Prince  of  Cornwall/  by  Drayton  and  Dekker. 
In  1600  we  have  the  'Fair  Constance  of  Rome/  in  two  parts,  by  Munday,  Hath- 
way,  Drayton,  and  Dekker.  In  1601,  'The  Rising  of  Cardinal  Wolsey/  by 
Munday,  Drayton,  Chettle,  and  Wentworth  Smith.  In  1602,  'Two  Harpies/ 
by  Dekker,  Drayton,  Middleton,  Webster,  and  Munday.  This  is  a  most  extra 
ordinary  record  of  the  extent  of  dramatic  associations  in  those  days  ;  and  it  is 
more  remarkable  as  it  regards  Drayton,  that  his  labours,  which,  as  we  see,  were 
not  entirely  in  copartnership,  did  not  gain  for  him  even  the  title  of  a  dramatic 
poet  in  the  next  generation.  Langbaine  mentions  him  not  at  all.  Philipps 
says  nothing  of  his  plays.  Meres  indeed  thus  writes  of  him  :  "  We  may  truly 
term  Michael  Drayton  Tragediographus,  for  his  passionate  penning  the  down 
falls  of  valiant  Robert  of  Normandy,  chaste  Matilda,  and  great  Gaveston." 
But  this  praise  has  clearly  reference  to  the  '  Heroical  Epistles '  and  the  '  Legends.' 
If  '  The  Merry  Devil  of  Edmonton '  be  his,  the  comedy  does  not  place  his  dra 
matic  powers  in  any  very  striking  light ;  but  it  gives  abundant  proofs,  in  com 
mon  with  all  his  works,  of  a  pure  and  gentle  mind,  and  a  graceful  imagination. 
Meres  is  enthusiastic  about  his  moral  qualities  ;  and  his  testimony  also  shows 
that  the  character  for  upright  dealing  which  Shakspere  won  so  early  was  not 
universal  amongst  the  poetical  adventurers  of  that  day  :  "  As  Aulus  Persius 
Flaccus  is  reported  among  all  writers  to  be  of  an  honest  and  upright  conversa 
tion,  so  Michael  Drayton  (quern  toties  honoris  et  amoris  causa  nomino),  among 
scholars,  soldiers,  poets,  and  all  sorts  of  people,  is  held  for  a  man  of  virtuous 
disposition,  honest  conversation,  and  well-governed  carriage,  which  is  almost 
miraculous  among  good  wits  in  these  declining  and  corrupt  times,  when  there 
is  nothing  but  roguery  in  villainous  man,  and  when  cheating  and  craftiness  is 
counted  the  cleanest  wit,  and  soundest  wisdom."  The  good  wits,  according  to 
Meres,  are  only  parcel  of  the  corrupt  and  declining  times.  Yet,  after  all,  his 
dispraise  of  the  times  is  scarcely  original:  "You  rogue,  here's  lime  in  this 
sack  too.  There  is  nothing  but  roguery  to  be  found  in  villainous  man." ! 
Jonson  was  an  exception  to  the  best  of  his  contemporaries  when  he  said  of 
Drayton  that  "  he  esteemed  not  of  him."  That  Shakspere  loved  him  we  may 

*  Henry  IV.,  Part  I.,  Act  n.,  Sc.  IV. 


[Drayton.] 

readily  believe.  They  were  nearly  of  an  age,  Drayton  being  only  one  year  his 
elder.  They  were  born  in  the  same  county — they  had  each  the  same  love  of 
^natural  scenery,  and  the  same  attachment  to  their  native  soil.  Drayton  ex 
claims — 

"  My  native  country  then,  which  so  brave  spirits  hath  bred, 
If  there  be  virtues  yet  remaining  in  thy  earth, 
Or  any  good  of  thine  thou  bred'st  into  my  birth, 
Accept  it  as  thine  own,  whilst  now  I  sing  of  thee ; 
Of  all  thy  later  brood  th'  unworthiest  though  I  be." 

It  is  his  own  Warwickshire  which  he  invokes.  They  had  each  the  same  fami 
liar  acquaintance  with  the  old  legends  and  chronicles  of  English  history ;  the 
same  desire  to  present  them  to  the  people  in  forms  which  should  associate  the 
poetical  spirit  with  a  just  patriotism.  It  was  fortunate  that  they  walked  by 
different  paths  to  the  same  object.  However  Drayton  might  have  been  asso 
ciated  for  a  few  years  with  the  minor  dramatists  of  Shakspere's  day,  it  may  be 
doubted  whether  his  genius  was  at  all  dramatic.  Yet  was  he  truly  a  great 
poet  in  an  age  of  great  poets.  Old  Aubrey  has  given  us  one  or  two  exact  par 
ticulars  of  his  life : — "  He  lived  at  the  bay  window  house  next  the  east  end  of 
St.  Dunstan's  Church,  in  Fleet  Street."  Would  that  bay  window  house  were 
standing !  Would  that  the  other  house  of  precious  memory  close  by  it,  where 
Izaak  Walton  kept  his  haberdasher's  shop,  were  standing  also !  He  "  who  has 
not  left  a  rivulet  (so  narrow  that  it  may  be  stepped  over)  without  honourable 
mention ;  and  has  animated  hills  and  streams  with  life  and  passion  above  the 
dreams  of  old  mythology ; "  *  and  he  who  delighted  to  sit  and  sing  under  the 
honeysuckle  hedge  while  the  shower  fell  so  gently  upon  the  teeming  earth, — 
they  loved  not  the  hills  and  streams  and  verdant  meadows  the  less  because 
they  daily  looked  upon  the  tide  of  London  life  in  the  busiest  of  her  thorough 
fares.  There  is  one  minute  touch  in  Aubrey's  notice  of  Drayton  that  must  not 
pass  without  mention : — "  Natus  in  Warwickshire,  at  Atherstone-upon-Stour. 

*  Charles  Lamb. 

399 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

He  was  a  butcher's  son."  The  writers  of  biography  have  let  Aubrey's  testi 
mony  pass.  In  spite  of  it  they  tell  us  he  "was  of  an  ancient  and  worthy 
family,  originally  descended  from  the  town  of  Drayton,  in  Leicestershire, 
which  gave  name  to  his  progenitors."*  Not  so  indifferent  has  biography  been 
to  the  descent  of  William  Shakspere  as  recorded  by  the  same  historiographer: 
he  "  was  born  at  Stratford-upon  Avon,  in  the  county  of  Warwick :  his  father  was 
a  butcher."  The  original  record  in  each  case  is  of  precisely  equal  value. 

The  '  Cleopatra '  of  Samuel  Daniel  places  him  amongst  the  dramatic  poets  of 
this  period ;  but  his  vocation  was  not  to  the  drama.  He  was  induced,  by  the 
persuasion  of  the  Countess  of  Pembroke, 

"  To  sing  of  elate,  and  tragic  notes  to  frame." 

After  Shakspere  had  arisen  he  adhered  to  the  model  of  the  Greek  theatre. 
According  to  Jonson,  "  Samuel  Daniel  was  no  poet."  Jonson  thought  Daniel 
"envied  him,"  as  he  wrote  to  the  Countess  of  Rutland.  He  tells  Drummond 
that  "  Daniel  was  at  jealousies  with  him."  Yet  for  all  this  even  with  Jonsorj 
he  was  "a  good  honest  man."  Spenser  formed  the  same  estimate  of  Daniel's 
genius  as  the  Countess  of  Pembroke  did  : — 

"  Then  rouse  thy  feathers  quickly,  Daniel, 
And  to  what  course  thou  please  thyself  advance : 
But  most,  meseems,  thy  accent  will  excel 
In  tragic  plaints,  and  passionate  mischance."  f 

Daniel  did  wisely  when  he  confined  his  "  tragic  plaints "  to  narrative  poetry. 
He  went  over  the  same  ground  as  Shakspere  in  his  'Civil  Wars;1  and  there 
are  passages  of  resemblance  between  the  dramatist  and  the  descriptive  poet 
which  are  closer  than  mere  accident  could  have  produced.  J  The  imitation,  on 
whatever  side  it  was,  was  indicative  of  respect. 

*  '  Biographia  Britannica.' 
t  '  Colin  Clout 's  come  Home  again.'  J  See  Introductory  Notice  to  Richard  II. 


'Snnui'l  Danie 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

In  the  company  at  the  Falcon  we  may  place  John  Marston,  a  man  of  original 
talent,  who  had  at  that  period  won  some  celebrity.  He  was  at  this  time  probably 
about  five  and  twenty,  having  taken  his  Bachelor's  degree  at  Oxford  in  1592. 
There  is  very  little  known  with  any  precision  about  his  life  ;  but  a  pretty  accurate 
opinion  of  his  character  may  be  collected  from  the  notices  of  his  contemporaries, 
and  from  his  own  writings.  He  began  in  the  most  dangerous  path  of  literary 
ambition,  that  of  satire,  bitter  and  personal  :  — 

"  Let  others  sing,  as  their  good  genius  moves, 
Of  deep  designs,  or  else  of  clipping  loves. 
Fair  fall  them  all  that  with  wit's  industry 
Do  clothe  good  subjects  in  true  poesy  ; 
But  as  for  me,  my  vexed  thoughtful  soul 
Takes  pleasure  in  displeasing  sharp  control. 

Quake,  guzzle-dogs,  that  live  on  spotted  lime, 
Scud  from  the  lashes  of  my  yerking  rhyme."  * 

His  first  performance,  'The  Metamorphoses  of  Pygmalion's  Image,'  has  been 
thought  by  Warton  to  have  been  written  in  ridicule  of  Shakspere's  Venus  and 
Adonis.  The  author  says, 

"  Know,  I  wrot 

These  idle  rhymes,  to  note  the  odious  spot 
And  blemish,  that  deforms  the  lineaments 
Of  modern  poesy's  habiliments." 

In  his  parody,  if  parody  it  be,  he  has  contrived  to  produce  a  poem,  of  which  the 
licentiousness  is  the  only  quality.  Thus  we  look  upon  a  sleeping  Venus  of  Titian, 
and  see  but  the  wonderful  art  of  the  painter;  a  dauber  copies  it,  and  then  beauty 
becomes  deformity.  He  is  angry  that  his  object  is  misunderstood,  as  well  it  might 
be:— 

"  0  these  same  buzzing  gnats 
That  sting  my  sleeping  brows,  these  Nilus  rats, 
Half  dung,  that  have  their  life  from  putrid  slime, 
These  that  do  praise  my  loose  lascivious  rhyme, 
For  these  same  shades  I  seriously  protest, 
I  slubbered  up  that  chaos  indigest, 
To  fish  for  fools,  that  stalk  in  goodly  shape  : 
What  though  in  velvet  cloak,  yet  still  an  ape  !  " 

He  had  the  ordinary  fate  of  satirists—  to  live  in  a  state  of  perpetual  warfare,  and  to 
have  offences  imputed  to  him  of  which  he  was  blameless.  The  "  galled  jade  "  not 
only  winces,  but  kicks.  The  comedy  of  'The  Malecontent/  written  in  1600, 
appears  to  have  been  Marston's  first  play;  it  was  printed  in  1605.  He  says  in  the 
Preface,  "  In  despite  of  my  endeavours,  I  understand  some  have  been  most 
unadvisedly  over-cunning  in  misinterpreting  me,  and  with  subtilty  (as  deep  as  hell) 
have  maliciously  spread  ill  rumours,  which  springing  from  themselves,  might  to 


*  'Scourge  of  Villainy;  Three  Books  of  Satire  :'  1593. 
LIFE.        2  D 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

themselves  have  heavily  returned."  *  Marston  says  in  the  Preface  to  one  of  his 
later  plays,  "  So  powerfully  have  I  been  enticed  with  the  delights  of  poetry,  and 
(I  must  ingenuously  confess),  above  better  desert,  so  fortunate  in  these  stage- 
pleasings,  that  (let  my  resolutions  be  never  so  fixed,  to  call  mine  eyes  unto  myself) 
I  much  fear  that  most  lamentable  death  of  him — 

'  Qui  niiiiis  notua  omnibus, 
Ignotus  nioritur  sibi.' " — Seneca. 

He  adds,  "  the  over-vehement  pursuit  of  these  delights  hath  been  the  sickness 
of  my  youth."  He  unquestionably  writes  as  one  who  is  absorbed  by  his  pur 
suit;  over  whom  it  has  the  mastery.  In  his  plays,  as  well  as  in  his  satires, 
there  is  no  languid  task-work  ;  but,  as  may  be  expected,  he  cannot  go  out  of 
himself.  It  is  John  Marston  who  is  lashing  vice  and  folly,  whatever  character 
may  fill  the  scene  ;  and  from  first  to  last  in  his  reproof  of  licentiousness  we  not 
only  see  his  familiarity  with  many  gross  things,  but  cannot  feel  quite  assured 
that  he  looks  upon  them  wholly  with  pure  eyes.  His  temper  was  no  doubt 
capricious.  It  is  clear  that  Jonson  had  been  attacked  by  him  previous  to  the 
production  of  '  The  Poetaster.'  He  endured  the  lash  which  was  inflicted  on 
him  in  return,  and  became  again,  as  he  probably  was  before,  the  friend  of  Jon- 
son,  to  whom  he  dedicates  'The  Malecontent '  in  1605.  Gifford  has  clearly 
made  out  that  the  Crispinus  of  'The  Poetaster '  was  Marston.  Tucca  thus  de 
scribes  him,  in  addressing  the  player :  "  Go,  and  be  acquainted  with  him  then ; 
he  is  a  gentleman,  parcel  poet,  you  slave ;  his  father  was  a  man  of  worship,  I 
tell  thee.  Go,  he  pens  high,  lofty,  in  a  new  stalking  strain,  bigger  than  half 
the  rhymers  in  the  town  again  :  he  was  born  to  fill  thy  mouth,  Minotaurus,  he 
was ;  he  will  teach  thee  to  tear  and  rand.  Rascal,  to  him,  cherish  his  muse, 
go ;  thou  hast  forty — forty  shillings,  I  mean,  stinkard ;  give  him  in  earnest,  do, 
he  shall  write  for  thee,  slave !  If  he  pen  for  thee  once,  thou  shall  not  need  to 
travel  with  thy  pumps  full  of  gravel  any  more,  after  a  blind  jade  and  a  hamper, 
and  stalk  upon  boards  and  barrel  heads  to  an  old  cracked  trumpet."  Jonson, 
in  the  same  play,  has  parodied  Marston's  manner,  and  has  introduced  many  of 
his  expressions,  in  the  following  verses  which  are  produced  as  those  of  Cris 
pinus  : — 

"  Ramp  up,  my  genius,  be  not  retrograde ; 
But  boldly  nominate  a  spade  a  spade. 
What,  shall  thy  lubrical  and  glibbery  muse 
Live,  as  she  were  defunct,  like  punk  in  stews  t 
Alas  !  that  were  no  modern  consequence, 
To  have  cothurnal  buskins  frighted  hence. 
No,  teach  thy  Incubus  to  poetize, 
And  throw  abroad  thy  spurious  snotteries, 
Upon  that  puft-up  lump  of  balmy  froth, 
Or  clumsy  chilblain'd  judgment;  that  with  oath 
Magnificates  his  merit ;  and  bespawls 
The  conscious  time  with  humorous  foam,  and  brawls, 
As  if  his  organons  of  sense  would  crack 
The  sinews  of  my  patience.     Break  his  back, 


»  See  Note  at  the  end  of  this  Chapter. 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

0  poets  all  and  some  !   for  now  we  list 
Of  strenuous  vengeance  to  clutch  the  fist" 

The  following  advice  is  subsequently  given  to  him  : — 

"  You  must  not  hunt  for  wild  outlandish  terms, 
To  stuff  out  a  peculiar  dialect  ; 
But  let  your  matter  run  before  your  words. 
And  if  at  any  time  you  chance  to  meet 
Some  Gallo-Belgic  phrase,  you  shall  not  straight 
Hack  your  poor  verse  to  give  it  entertainment, 
But  let  it  pass  ;  and  do  not  think  yourself 
Much  damnified,  if  you  do  leave  it  out, 
When  nor  your  understanding  nor  the  sense 
Could  well  receive  it." 

Marston,  with  all  his  faults,  was  a  scholar  and  a  man  of  high  talent ;  and  it  is 
pleasant  to  know  that  he  and  Ben  were  friends  after  this  wordy  war.  He  appears 
to  us  to  describe  himself  in  the  following  narrative  of  a  scholar  in  '  What  You 
Will:'— 

"  I  was  a  scholar  :  seven  useful  springs 

Did  I  deflour  in  quotations 
<  Of  cross'd  opinions  'bout  the  soul  of  man ; 

The  more  I  learnt  the  more  I  learnt  to  doubt, 

Knowledge  and  wit,  faith's  foes,  turn  faith  about. 

Nay,  mark,  list !     Delight,  Delight,  my  spaniel,  slept, 

whilst  I  bauz'd  *  leaves, 
Toss'd  o'er  the  dunces,  por'd  on  the  old  print 
Of  titled  words,  and  still  my  spaniel  slept. 
Whilst  I  wasted  lamp-oil,  'bated  my  flesh, 
Shrunk  up  my  veins,  and  still  my  spaniel  slept. 
And. still  I  held  converse  with  Zabarell, 
Aquinas,  Scotus,  and  the  musty  saw 
Of  antic  Donate,  still  my  spaniel  slept. 
Still  on  went  I,  first  an  sit  anima, 
Then,  an  it  were  mortal ;  oh,  hold,  hold, 
At  that  they  are  at  brain  buffets,  fell  by  the  ears, 
Amain,  pell-mell  together ;  still  my  spaniel  slept. 
Then  whether  't  were  corporeal,  local,  fix'd, 
Extraduce;  but  whether  'thad  free  will 
Or  no,  0  philosophers 

Stood  banding  factions,  all  so  strongly  propp'd, 
I  stagger'd,  knew  not  which  was  firmer  part ; 
But  thought,  quoted,  read,  observ'd,  and  pried, 
Stuff  d  noting  books,  and  still  my  spaniel  slept. 
At  length  he  wak'd,  and  yawn'd,  and  by  yon  sky, 
For  aught  I  knew,  he  knew  as  much  as  I. 


*  Mr.  Dilke,   in  his    valuable   'Selection    from    the   Early  Dramatic    Writers,'   prints  three    of 

Marston's  plays.     He  says  this  word  may  be  derived  from  baiser,  to  hiss;  and  that  basse  has  been 

used  by  Chaucer  in  this  sense. 

2  D  2 


403 


Wll.l.l  \M    SIIAKSI'KIJK  : 

How  'twas  created,  how  the  soul  exists; 

One  talks  of  motes,  the  soul  was  made  of  motes ; 

Auother  fire,  t'other  light,  a  third  a  spark  of  star-like  nature  > 

Hippo,  water;  Anaximenea,  air; 

Aristoxeuus,  music ;  Critias,  I  know  not  what ; 

A  company  of  odd  Phrenetic! 

Did  eat  my  youth ;  and  when  I  crept  abroad, 

Finding  my  numbness  in  this  nimble  age, 

I  fell  a  railing." 

The  light  jest,  the  glancing  wit,  the  earnest  eloquence,  the  deep  criticism,  which 
would  wear  away  the  hours  in  such  a  company  as  that  assembled  at  the  Falcon,  are 
to  be  interrupted.  The  festivity  is  about  to  close ;  when  Marston,  in  the  words  oi 
one  of  his  own  characters,  says 

"  Stay,  take  an  old  rhyme  first :  though  dry  and  lean, 
'Twill  serve  to  close  the  stomach  of  the  scene  ;" 

and  then  bursts  out  into  a  song  which  bears  the  stamp  of  his  personal  character : 

"  Music,  tobacco,  sack,  and  sleep, 
The  tide  of  sorrow  backward  keep. 
If  thou  art  sad  at  others'  fate, 
Rivo  !  drink  deep,  give  care  the  mate. 

Ou  us  the  end  of  time  is  come, 
Fond  fear  of  that  we  cannot  shun ; 
Whilst  quickest  sense  doth  freshly  List, 
Clip  time  about,  hug  pleasure  fast."  * 

Shakspere  suddenly  leaves  the  room,  ere  the  song  be  ended  ;  for  one  who  bears  the 
badge  of  the  Earl  of  Essex  waits  without.  His  message  is  a  brief  but  a  sad  one. 
He  returns  just  to  hear  the  last  lines  of  Marston's  song, 

"  When  I  can  breathe  no  longer,  then 
Heaven  take  all ;  there  put  amen," 

and  to  break  up  all  revelry  with  the  message — Spenser  is  dead. 

In  the  obscure  lodging-house  in  King's  Street,  Westminster,  where  he  lay 
down  heart-broken,  alone,  has  the  poor  fugitive  died  in  his  forty-sixth  year. 
Jonson  says,  "  He  died  for  lack  of  bread  in  King's  Street,  and  refused  twenty 
pieces  sent  to  him  by  my  Lord  of  Essex,  and  said  he  was  sorry  he  had  no  time 
to  spend  them."  The  lack  of  bread  could  scarcely  be.  He  could  only  have 
been  a  very  short  time  in  London  when  he  came  to  seek  that  imperfect  com 
pensation  which  the  government  might  afford  him  for  some  of  his  wrongs.  His 
house  was  burnt ;  his  wife  and  two  children  had  fled  from  those  outrages  which  had 
made 

"  The  cooly  shade 
Of  the  green  alders  by  the  Mulla's  shore  " 


1  What  You  Will.' 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 


a  place  of  terror  and  fatal  recollections;  his  infant  had  perished  in  the  flames 
which  destroyed  his  property.  But  it  seems  impossible  that  one  in  his  social 
position  could  die  for  lack  of  bread.  He  died  most  probably  of  that  which  kills 
as  surely  as  hunger-the  << hysterica  passio"  of  Lear.  In  a  few  days  most  of 
those  we  have  named  would  be  gathered  round  Spenser's  grave  in  Westminster 
Abbey:  "his  hearse  attended  by  poets,  and  mournful  elegies,  and  poems  with 
the  pens  that  wrote  them,  thrown  into  his  tomb."*  One  of  the  ablest  writers 
of  our  day  in  his  quaint  and  pleasant  'Citation  and  Examination  of  William 
Shakspeare,  &c.,  says,  "William  Shakspeare  was  the  only  poet  who  abstained 
from  throwing  in  either  pen  or  poem,— at  which  no  one  marvelled,  he  bein-  of 
low  estate,  and  the  others  not  having  yet  taken  him  by  the  hand."  This  is°the 
language  only  of  romance;  for  assuredly  when  Shakspere  stood  by  the  grave  of 
Spenser,  he  of  all  the  poets  then  living  must  have  been  held  to  be  the  head. 
Five  years  before,  Spenser  himself  had  without  doubt  thus  described  him  :— 


Jonson  says — 


"And  there,  though  last  not  least,  is  Action; 
A  gentler  shepherd  may  nowhere  be  found : 
Whose  Muse,  full  of  high  thoughts'  invention, 
Doth  like  himself  heroically  sound."  \ 


"  He  seems  to  shake  a  lance 
As  brandish'd  at  the  eyes  of  ignorance." 


Fuller  compares  him  to  the  poet  Martial  "  in  the  warlike  sound  of  his  surname, 
whence  some  may  conjecture  him  of  a  military  extraction,  hasti-vibrans,  or 
Shake-speare."  We  cannot  doubt  of  the  allusion.  He  could  not  have  meant 
to  compare  the  poet  with  the  Roman  painter  Action.  The  fancy  of  Spenser 
might  readily  connect  the  "high  thoughts"  with  the  soaring  eagle— aero?— 
and  we  might  almost  fancy  that  there  was  some  association  of  the  image  with 
Shakspere's  armorial  bearings — "his  crest  or  cognizance,  a  falcon,  his  wings 
displayed." 

The  spring  of  1599  saw  Shaicspere's  friends  and  patrons,  Essex  and  South 
ampton,  in  honour  and  triumph.  "The  27th  of  March,  1599,  about  two  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  Robert  Earl  of  Essex,  Vicegerent  of  Ireland,  &c.,  took  horse 
in  Seeding  Lane,  and  from  thence,  being  accompanied  with  divers  noblemen 
and  many  others,  himself  very  plainly  attired,  rode  through  Grace  Street,  Corn- 
hill,  Cheapside,  and  other  high  streets,  in  all  which  places,  and  in  the  fields, 
the  people  pressed  exceedingly  to  behold  him,  especially  in  the  highways  for 
more  than  four  miles  space,  crying,  and  saying,  God  bless  your  Lordship,  God 
preserve  your  honour,  &c.,  and  some  followed  him  until  the  evening,  only  to 
behold  him.  When  he  and  his  company  came  forth  of  London,  the  sky  was 
very  calm  and  clear,  but  before  he  could  get  past  Iseldon  [Islington]  there  arose 
a  great  black  cloud  in  the  north-east,  and  suddenly  came  lightning  and  thun 
der,  with  a  great  shower  of  hail  and  rain,  the  which  some  held  as  an  ominous 

*  Ciimden.  t  'Colin  Clout's  come  Home  again,'  1594. 


\VII.I. I  AM    SIIAKSPEKE 

prodigy.'  *  It  was  perhaps  with  some  reference  to  such  ominous  forebodings 
lhat  in  the  chorus  to  the  fifth  Act  of  Henry  V. — which  of  course  must  have 
been  performed  between  the  departure  of  Essex  in  March,  and  his  return  in 
September — Shakspere  thus  anticipates  the  triumph  of  Essex  : — 

"  But  now  behold, 

In  the  quick  forge  and  working  house  of  thought, 
How  London  doth  pour  out  her  citizens  ! 
The  mayor  and  all  his  brethren,  in  best  sort, — 
Like  to  the  senators  of  the  antique  Rome, 
With  the  plebeians  swarming  at  their  heels, — 
Go  forth,  and  fetch  their  conquering  Caesar  in : 
As,  by  a  lower  but  by  loving  likelihood, 
Were  now  the  general  of  our  gracious  empress 
(As,  in  good  time,  he  may)  from  Ireland  coming, 
Bringing  rebellion  broached  on  his  sword, 
How  many  would  the  peaceful  city  quit 
To  welcome  him !" 

*  Stow's  'Annals.' 


NOTE  ON  MARSTON'S  '  MALE  CONTENT. 


MARSTON'S  comedy,  as  it  appears  by  the  edition  of  1605,  was  then  played  by  Shakspere's  company, 
"  the  King's  Majesty's  Servants ; "  but  it  had  been  previously  played  by  another  company,  as  we 
learn  from  the  very  singular  Induction,  in  which  some  of  the  most  eminent  of  Shakspere's  fellows 
come  upon  the  stage  in  their  own  characters.  We  have  here  William  Sly,  Harry  Condell,  and 
Dick  Burbage;  with  Sinklow  (of  whom  little  is  known  beyond  his  twice  being  mentioned  by 
accident  instead  of  the  dramatic  character  in  the  folio  of  Shakspere)  and  John  Lowin,  famous 
for  his  performance  of  Falstaff.  The  Induction  itself  presents  so  curious  a  picture  of  the  theatre 
in  Shakspere's  time,  that  we  may  properly  fill  a  little  space  with  a  portion  of  it : — 

"Enter  W.  SLY  ;  a  Tire-man  following  him  with  a  stool. 

Tire-man.  Sir,  the  gentlemen  -will  be  angry  if  you  sit  here. 

Sly.  Why,  we  may  sit  upon  the  stage  at  the  private  house.  Thou  dost  not  take  me  for  a  country  gentleman,  dost  T  Dost 
thou  fear  hissing  t  I'll  hold  my  life  thou  took'st  me  for  one  of  the  players. 

Tire-man.  No,  sir. 

Sly.  By  God's-slid,  if  you  had  I  would  have  given  you  but  sixpence  for  your  stool.  Let  them  that  have  stale  suits  sit  in 
the  galleries.  Hiss  me !  He  that  will  be  laughed  out  of  a  tavern,  or  an  ordinary,  shall  seldom  feed  well,  or  be  drunk  in 
good  company.  Where's  Harry  Condell,  Dick  Burbage,  and  William  Sly  t  Let  me  speak  with  some  of  them. 

Tire-man.  An 't  please  you  to  go  in,  sir,  you  may. 

Sly.  I  tell  you  no ;  I  am  one  that  hath  seen  this  play  often,  and  can  give  them  intelligence  for  their  action.  I  have  most 
of  the  jests  here  in  my  table-book. 

Enter  SINKLOW. 

Sinklow.  Save  you,  coz. 

Sly.  O !   cousin,  come,  you  shall  sit  between  my  legs  here. 

Sinklow.  No  indeed,  cousin ;  the  audience  then  will  take  me  for  a  viol  de  gambo,  and  think  that  you  play  upon  me. 

Sly.  Nay,  rather  that  I  work  upon  you,  coz. 

Sinklow.  We  staid  for  you  at  supper  last  night  at  my  cousin  Honeymoon's,  the  woollen-draper.     After  supper  we  d 
cuts  for  a  score  of  apricots  ;  the  longest  cut  still  to  draw  an  apricot ;  by  this  light,  't  was  Mrs.  Frank  Honeymoon's  fortune 
utill  to  have  the  longest  cut.    I  did  measure  for  the  women.    What  be  these,  coz  t 

Enter  D.  BURBAGE,  H.  CONDELL,  and  J.  Lowix. 

Sly.    The  players.    God  save  you. 

Burbage.  You  are  very  welcome.  „ 


WILLIAM 

Sly.  I  pray  you  know  this  gentleman,  my  cousin  ;  't  ii  Mr.  Doomsday's  son,  the  usurer. 

Condell.  1  beseech  you,  fir,  be  cover'd. 

Sly.  No,  in  good  faith,  fur  mine  ease  ;  look  you,  my  hat's  the  handle  to  this  fan  :  God's  so,  what  a  beast  was  1, 1  did  not 
leave  my  feather  at  home  I  Well,  but  I  take  an  order  with  you.  [Putt  a  fcatHtr  tn  hit  pocket. 

Burbaye.  Why  do  you  conceal  your  feather,  sir  ? 

Sly.  Why  !  do  you  think  I'll  have  jests  broken  upon  me  in  the  play  to  be  laughed  at  t  This  play  hath  beaten  all  young 
gallants  out  of  the  feather*.  Blackfriars  hath  almost  spoiled  Blackfriars  fur  feathers. 

Sinkluw.  God's  so  I    I  thought  'twas  for  somewhat  our  gentlewomen  at  home  counselled  me  to  wear  ray  feather  to  the 
play ;  yet  I  am  loath  to  spoil  it. 
Sly.  Why,  cox  f 

Sinkloir.  Because  I  got  it  in  the  tilt-yard  :  there  was  a  herald  broke  my  pate  for  taking  it  up.  But  1  have  worn  it  up  and 
down  the  Strand,  and  met  him  forty  times  since,  and  yet  he  dares  not  challenge  it. 

Sly.  Do  you  hear,  sirt  this  play  it  a  bitter  play. 

Condell.  Why,  sir,  't  is  neither  satire  nor  moral,  but  the  mere  passage  of  an  history  :  yet  there  are  a  sort  of  discontented 
creatures  that  bear  a  stingless  envy  to  great  ones,  and  these  will  wrest  the  doings  of  any  man  to  theii  base,  malicious  appli- 
ment ;  but  should  their  interpretation  come  to  the  test,  like  your  marmoset,  they  presently  turn  their  teeth  to  their  tail  and 
eat  it. 

Sly.  I  will  not  go  far  with  you ;  but  I  say  any  man  that  hath  wit  may  censure,  if  he  sit  in  the  twelve-penny  room  :  and 
1  say  again,  the  play  is  bitter. 

Burbaye.  Sir,  you  are  like  a  patron  that,  presenting  a  poor  scholar  to  a  benefice,  enjoins  him  not  to  rail  against  anything 
tliat  stands  within  compass  of  his  patron's  folly.  Why  should  not  we  enjoy  the  ancient  freedom  of  poesy  t  Shall  we  protest 
to  the  ladies,  that  their  painting  makes  them  angels  I  or  to  my  young  gallant,  that  his  expense  in  the  brothel  should  gain 
him  reputation  f  No,  sir,  such  vices  as  stand  not  accountable  to  law  should  be  cured  as  men  heal  tetters,  by  casting  ink 
upon  them.  Would  you  be  satisfied  in  anything  else,  sir  f 

Sly.  Ay,  marry  would  I :  I  would  know  how  you  came  by  this  play  t 

Cundell.  Faith,  sir,  the  book  was  lost ;  and  because  'twas  pity  so  .u'ooil  a  play  should  be  lost,  we  found  it,  and  play  it. 

A'///.  I  wonder  you  play  it,  another  company  having  interest  in  it." 


[Essex  House.] 


CHAPTER   VII. 

EVIL     DAYS. 


ABOUT  the  close  of  the  year  1599,  the  Blackfriars  Theatre  was  remarkable  for 
the  constant  presence  of  two  men  of  high  rank,  who  were  there  seeking  amuse 
ment  and  instruction  as  some  solace  for  the  bitter  mortifications  of  disappointed 
ambition.  "  My  Lord  Southampton  and  Lord  Rutland  came  not  to  the  Court ; 
the  one  doth  but  very  seldom :  they  pass  away  the  time  in  London  merely  in 
going  to  plays  every  day."*  Essex  had  arrived  from  Ireland  on  the  28th  of 
September,  1599 — not 

"  Bringing  rebellion  broached  on  his  sword," — 
not  surrounded  with  swarms  of  citizens  who 

"  Go  forth,  and  fetch  their  conquering  Csesar  in,"— 


Letter  of  Rowland  Whyte  to  Sir  Robert  Sydney,  in  the  Sydney  Papers. 


409 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPI  Kl.  : 

but  a  fugitive  from  his  army ;  one  who  in  his  desire  for  peace  had  treated  with 
rebels,  and  had  brought  down  upon  him  the  censures  of  the  Court;  one  who 
knew  that  his  sovereign  was  surrounded  with  his  personal  enemies,  and  who  in 
his  reckless  anger  once  thought  to  turn  his  army  homeward  to  compel  justice 
at  their  hands ;  one  who  at  last  rushed  alone  into  the  Queen's  presence,  "  full 
of  dirt  and  mire,"  and  found  that  he  was  in  the  toils  of  his  foes.  From  that 
Michaelmas  till  the  26th  of  August,  1600,  Essex  was  in  the  custody  of  the  Lord 
Keeper ;  in  free  custody  as  it  was  termed,  but  to  all  intents  a  prisoner.  It  was 
at  this  period  that  Southampton  and  Rutland  passed  "  away  the  time  in  London 
merely  in  going  to  plays  every  day."  Southampton  in  1598  had  married  Eli-, 
zabeth  Vernon,  a  cousin  of  Lord  Essex.  The  marriage  was  without  the  consent 
of  the  Queen ;  and  therefore  Southampton  was  under  the  ban  of  the  Court, 
having  been  preremptorily  dismissed  by  Elizabeth  from  the  office  to  which 
Essex  had  appointed  him  in  the  expedition  to  Ireland.  Rutland  was  also  con 
nected  with  Essex  by  family  ties,  having  married  the  daughter  of  Lady  Essex, 
by  her  first  husband,  the  accomplished  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  The  season  when 
these  noblemen  sought  recreation  at  the  theatre  was  one  therefore  of  calamity 
to  themselves,  and  to  the  friend  who  was  at  the  head  of  their  party  in  the  state. 
At  Shakspere's  theatre  there  were  at  this  period  abundant  materials  for  the 
highest  intellectual  gratification.  Of  Shakspere's  own  works  we  know  that  at 
the  opening  of  the  seventeenth  century  there  were  twenty  plays  in  existence. 
Thirteen  (considering  Henry  IV.  as  two  parts)  are  recorded  by  Meres  in  1598  ; 
Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  and  Henry  V.  (not  in  Meres'  list),  were  printed  in 
1600;  and  we  have  to  add  the  three  parts  of  Henry  VI.,  The  Taming  of  the 
Shrew,  and  the  original  Hamlet,  which  are  also  wanting  in  Meres'  record,  but 
which  were  unquestionably  produced  before  this  period.  We  cannot  with 
extreme  precision  fix  the  date  of  any  novelty  from  the  pen  of  Shakspere  when 
Southampton  and  Rutland  were  amongst  his  daily  auditors ;  but  there  is  every 
reason  to  believe  that  As  You  Like  It  belongs  as  nearly  as  possible  to  this 
exact  period.  It  is  pleasant  to  speculate  upon  the  tranquillizing  effect  that 
might  have  been  produced  upon  the  minds  of  the  banished  courtiers,  by  the 
exquisite  philosophy  of  this  most  delicious  play.  It  is  pleasant  to  imagine 
Southampton  visiting  Essex  in  the  splendid  prison  of  the  Lord  Keeper's  house, 
and  there  repeating  to  him  from  time  to  time  those  lessons  of  wisdom  that 
were  to  be  found  in  the  woods  of  Arden.  The  two  noblemen  who  had  once 
revelled  in  all  the  powers  and  privileges  of  Court  favouritism  had  now  felt  by 
how  precarious  a  tenure  is  the  happiness  held  of 

"  That  poor  man  that  hangs  on  princes'  favours." 

The  great  dramatic  poet  of  their  time  had  raised  up  scenes  of  surpassing  love 
liness,  where  happiness  might  be  sought  for  even  amidst  the  severest  penalties 
of  fortune  :  — 

"  Now,  my  co-mstes,  and  brothers  in  exile, 
Hath  not  old  custom  made  this  life  more  sweet 
Than  that  of  painted  pomp  ?    Are  not  these  woods 
More  free  from  peril  than  the  envious  court  ? " 
410 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 
It  was  for  them  to  feel  how  deep  a  truth  was  there  in  this  lesson  :— 

"  Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity." 
Happy  are  those  that  can  feel  such  a  truth  ; 

"  That  can  translate  the  stubbornness  of  fortune 
Into  so  quiet  and  so  sweet  a  style." 

And  yet  the  same  poet  had  created  a  character  that  could  interpret  the  feelings  of 
those  who  had  suffered  undeserved  indignities,  and  had  learnt  that  the  greatest 
crime  in  the  world's  eye  was  to  be  unfortunate.  There  was  one  in  that  play 
who  could  moralize  the  spectacle  of 

"  A  poor  sequester'd  stag, 
That  from  the  hunter's  aim  had  ta'en  a  hurt," 

and  who  thus  pierced  through  the  hollowness  of  "this  our  life  :"— 

" '  Poor  deer,'  quoth  he,  '  thou  mak'st  a  testament 
As  worldlings  do,  giving  thy  sum  of  more 
To  that  which  had  too  much.'     Then,  being  there  alone, 
Left  and  abandon'd  of  his  velvet  friend ; 
'  'T  is  right,'  quoth  he ;  '  thus  misery  doth  part 
The  flux  of  company  : '  Anon,  a  careless  herd, 
Full  of  the  pasture,  jumps  along  by  him, 
And  never  stays  to  greet  him ;  '  Ay,'  quoth  Jaques, 
'  Sweep  on,  you  fat  and  greasy  citizens  j 
'Tis  just  the  fashion:  Wherefore  do  you  look 
Upon  that  poor  and  broken  bankrupt  there  ?'  " 

We  could  almost  slide  into  the  belief  that  As  You  Like  It  had  an  especial  reference 
to  the  circumstances  in  which  Essex  and  Southampton  were  placed  in  the  spring  of 
1600.  There  is  nothing  desponding  in  its  tone,  nothing  essentially  misanthropical 
in  its  philosophy.  Jaques  stands  alone  in  his  railing  against  mankind.  The  healing 
influences  of  nature  fall  sweetly  and  fruitfully  upon  the  exiled  Duke  and  his 
co-mates.  But,  nevertheless,  the  ingratitude  of  the  world  is  emphatically  dwelt 
upon,  even  amidst  the  most  soothing  aspects  of  a  pure  and  simple  life  "under 
the  greenwood  tree."  The  song  of  Amiens  has  perhaps  a  deeper  meaning  even 
than  the  railing  of  Jaques  : — 

"  Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky, 
That  dost  not  bite  so  nigh 

As  benefits  forgot : 
Though  thou  the  waters  warp, 
Thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp 

As  friend  rernember'd  not." 

There  was  one  who  had  in  him  much  of  the  poetical  temperament — a  gorgeous 
imagination  for  the  externals  of  poetry — upon  whose  ear,  if  he  ever  sought 
common  amusement  in  the  days  of  his  rising  power,  these  words  must  have 
fallen  like  the  warning  voice  that  cried  "  woe."  There  was  one  who,  when 
Essex  in  the  days  of  his  greatness  had  asked  a  high  place  for  him  and  had 

411 


WILLIAM    SIIAKSPi:i:i 

been  refused,  received  from  the  favourite  a  large  private  gift  thus  bestowed : — 
"  I  know  that  you  are  the  least  part  of  your  own  matter,  but  you  fare  ill  be 
cause  you  have  chosen  me  for  your  mean  and  dependence.  You  have  spent 
your  time  and  thoughts  in  my  matters.  I  die,  if  I  do  not  somewhat  towards 
your  fortune.  You  shall  not  deny  to  accept  a  piece  of  land,  which  I  will 
bestow  upon  you."  The  answer  of  him  who  accepted  a  park  from  the  hands 
of  the  generous  man  who  had  failed  to  procure  him  a  place,  was  prophetic. 
The  Duke  of  Guise,  he  said,  was  the  greatest  usurer  in  France,  "  because  he 
had  turned  all  his  estates  into  obligations,  having  left  himself  nothing.  .  .  . 
I  would  not  have  you  imitate  this  course,  for  you  will  find  many  bad  debtors." 
It  was  this  man  who,  in  the  darkest  hour  of  Essex,  when  he  was  hunted  to  the 
death,  said  to  the  Lord  Steward,  "  My  lord,  I  have  never  yet  seen  in  any  case  such 
favour  shown  to  any  prisoner." 

"  Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind, 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind 
As  man's  ingratitude." 

Who  can  doubt  that  the  ingratitude  had  begun  long  before  the  fatal  catastrophe  of 
the  intrigues  of  Cecil  and  Raleigh  ?  Francis  Bacon,  the  ingrate,  justifies  himself 
by  the  "  rules  of  duty "  which  opposed  him  to  his  benefactor,  at  the  bar  in  his 
"  public  service."  The  same  rules  of  duty  were  powerful  enough  to  lead  him  to 
blacken  his  friend's  character  after  his  death,  by  garbling  with  his  own  hand  the 
depositions  against  the  victim  of  his  faction,  and  publishing  them  as  authentic 
records  of  the  trial.*  Essex,  before  the  last  struggles,  had  acquired  experience  of 
"bad  debtors."  The  poet  of  As  You  Like  It  might  have  done  something  in 
teaching  him  to  bear  this  and  other  afflictions  bravely  :— 

"  Thou  seest,  we  are  not  all  alone  unhappy 
This  wide  and  universal  theatre 
Presents  more  woeful  pageants  than  the  scene 
Wherein  we  play  in." 

Essex  was  released  from  custody  in  the  August  of  1600;  but  an  illegal  sen 
tence  had  been  passed  upon  him  by  commissioners,  that  he  should  not  execute 
the  offices  of  a  Privy  Councillor,  or  of  Earl  Marshal,  or  of  Master  of  the  Ord 
nance.  The  Queen  signified  to  him  that  he  was  not  to  come  to  Court  without 
leave.  He  was  a  marked  and  a  degraded  man.  The  wily  Cecil,  who  at  this 
very  period  was  carrying  on  a  correspondence  with  James  of  Scotland,  that 
might  have  cost  him  his  head,  was  laying  every  snare  for  the  ruin  of  Essex. 
He  desired  to  do  what  he  ultimately  effected,  to  goad  his  fiery  spirit  into  mad 
ness.  Essex  was  surrounded  with  warm  but  imprudent  friends.  They  relied 
upon  his  unbounded  popularity  not  only  as  a  shield  against  arbitrary  power, 
but  as  a  weapon  to  beat  down  the  strong  arm  of  authority.  During  the  six 
months  which  elapsed  between  the  release  of  Essex  and  the  fatal  outbreak  of 
1601,  Essex  House  saw  many  changing  scenes,  which  marked  the  fitful  temper 
and  the  wavering  counsels  of  its  unhappy  owner.  Within  a  month  after  he  had 

•  See  Jardinc's  '  Criminal  Trials,'  vol.  L,  p.  387- 
412 


0- 


[Uobert  Cec-U.] 


been  discharged  from  custody,  the  Queen  refused  to  renew  a  valuable  patent  to 
Essex,  saying  that  "to  manage  an  ungovernable  beast  he  must  be  stinted  in 
his  provender."  On  the  other  hand,  rash  words  that  had  been  held  to  fall 
from  the  lips  of  Essex  were  reported  to  the  Queen.  He  was  made  to  say,  "  She 
was  now  grown  an  old  woman,  and  was  as  crooked  within  as  without."*  The 
door  of  reconciliation  was  almost  closed  for  ever.  Essex  House  had  been  strictly 
private  during  its  master's  detention  at  the  Lord  Keeper's.  Its  gates  were  now 
opened,  not  only  to  his  numerous  friends  and  adherents,  but  to  men  of  all  per 
suasions,  who  had  injuries  to  redress  or  complaints  to  prefer.  Essex  had  always 
professed  a  noble  spirit  of  toleration,  far  in  advance  of  his  age  ;  and  he  now  re 
ceived  with  a  willing  ear  the  complaints  of  all  those  who  were  persecuted  by 
the  government  for  religious  opinions,  whether  Roman  Catholics  or  Puritans. 
He  was  in  communication  with  James  of  Scotland,  urging  him  to  some  open 
assertion  of  his  presumptive  title  to  the  crown  of  England.  It  was  altogether 
a  season  of  restlessness  and  intrigue,  of  bitter  mortifications  and  rash  hopes. 
Between  the  closing  of  the  Globe  Theatre  and  the  opening  of  the  Blackfriars, 
Shakspere  was  in  all  likelihood  tranquil  amidst  his  family  at  Stratford.  The 

*  Tbere  is  a  slight  resemblance  in  a  passage  in  The  Tempest : 

"  And  as  with  age  his  body  uglier  grows, 
So  his  mind  cankers." 

413 


WILLIAM   SHAKSl'l.u: 

winter  comes,  and  then  even  the  players  are  mixed  up  with  the  dangerous 
events  of  the  time.  Sir  Gilly  Merrick,  one  of  the  adherents  of  Essex,  was 
accused,  amongst  other  acts  of  treason,  with  "  having  procured  the  out-dated 
tragedy  of  the  'Deposition  of  Richard  II.'  to  be  publicly  acted  at  his.  own 
charge,  for  the  entertainment  of  the  conspirators."*  In  the  'Declaration  of 
the  Treasons  of  the. late  Earl  of  Essex  and  his  Complices,'  which  Bacon  acknow 
ledges  to  have  been  written  by  him  at  the  Queen's  command,  there  is  the  fol 
lowing  statement  : — "  The  afternoon  before  the  rebellion,  Merrick,  with  a  great 
company  of  others,  that  afterwards  were  all  in  the  action,  had  procured  to  be 
played  before  them  the  play  of  deposing  King  Richard  the  Second  ; — when  it 
was  told  him  by  one  of  the  players,  that  the  play  was  old,  and  they  should  have 
loss  in  playing  it,  because  few  would  come  to  it,  there  was  forty  shillings  ex 
traordinary  given  to  play,  and  so  thereupon  played  it  was."  In  the  '  State 
Trials '  this  matter  is  somewhat  differently  mentioned  :  "  The  story  of  Henry 
IV.  being  set  forth  in  a  play,  and  in  that  play  there  being  set  forth  the  killing 
of  the  King  upon  a  stage  ;  the  Friday  before,  Sir  Gilly  Merrick  and  some  others 
of  the  Earl's  train  having  an  humour  to  see  a  play,  they  must  needs  have  the 
play  of  Henry  IV.  The  players  told  them  that  was  stale ;  they  could  get 
nothing  by  playing  that ;  but  no  play  else  would  serve :  and  Sir  Gilly  Merrick 
gives  forty  shillings  to  Phillips  the  player  to  play  this,  besides  whatsoever  he 
could  get."  Augustine  Phillips  was  one  of  Shakspere's  company  ;  and  yet  it  is 
perfectly  evident  that  it  was  not  Shakspere's  Richard  II.,  nor  Shakspere's  Henry 
IV.,  that  was  acted  on  this  occasion.  In  his  Henry  IV.  there  is  no  "  killing  of 
the  king  upon  a  stage.  His  Richard  II.,  which  was  published  in  1597,  was 
certainly  not  an  out-dated  play  in  1601.  A  second  edition  of  it  had  appeared 
in  1598,  and  it  was  no  doubt  highly  popular  as  an  acting  play.  But  if  any 
object  was  to  be  gained  by  the  conspirators  in  the  stage  representation  of  the 
'  deposing  King  Richard  II.,'  Shakspere's  play  would  not  assist  that  object. 
The  editions  of  1597  and  1598  do  not  contain  the  deposition  scene.  That  por 
tion  of  this  noble  history  which  contains  the  scene  of  Richard's  surrender  of  the 
crown  was  not  printed  till  1608  ;  and  the  edition  in  which  it  appears  bears  in 
the  title  the  following  intimation  of  its  novelty :  '  The  Tragedie  of  King 
Richard  the  Second,  with  new  additions  of  the  Parliament  Sceane,  and  the  de 
posing  of  King  Richard.  As  it  hath  been  lately  acted  by  the  Kinges  servantes, 
at  the  Globe,  by  William  Shake-speare.'  In  Shakspere's  Parliament  scene  our 
sympathies  are  wholly  with  King  Richard.  This,  even  if  the  scene  were  acted 
in  1601,  would  not  have  forwarded  the  views  of  Sir  Gilly  Merrick,  if  his  pur 
pose  were  really  to  hold  up  to  the  people  an  example  of  a  monarch's  dethrone 
ment.  But  nevertheless,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  such  a  subject  could  be 
safely  played  at  all  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  players  during  this  stormy  period 
of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  Her  sensitiveness  on  this  head  was  most  remarkable. 
There  is  a  very  curious  record  existing  of  "  that  which  passed  from  the  Excel- 

*  This  is  the  translation  of  the  passage  in   Camden's  'Annales,'  &c.,  as  printed    in  Kennett's 
4  History  of  England.'    The  accusation   against  Merrick  is  thus  stated   in  the  original : — "  Quod 
exoletam  tragcediam  de  tragica  abdicatione  regis  Ilieardi  Secundi  in  publico  theatro   coram  conju- 
ratis  data  pecunia  agi  curasset." 
414 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

lent  Majestie  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  in  her  Privie  Chamber  at  East  Greenwich, 
4°  Augusti,  1601,  43°  Reg.  sui,  towards  William  Lambarde,"*  which  recounts 
his  presenting  the  Queen  his  '  Pandecta '  of  historical  documents  to  be  placed 
in  the  Tower,  which  the  Queen  read  over,  making  observations  and  receiving 
explanations.  The  following  dialogue  then  takes  place  : — 

"  W.  L.  He  likewise  expounded  these  all  according  to  their  original  diversities,  which  she  took 
in  gracious  and  full  satisfaction ;  so  her  Majesty  fell  upon  the  reign  of  King  Richard  II.,  saying, 
'  I  am  Richard  II.,  know  ye  not  that  ? ' 

"  W.  L.  '  Such  a  wicked  imagination  was  determined  and  attempted  by  a  most  unkind  gentle 
man,  the  most  adorned  creature  that  ever  your  Majesty  made.' 

"Her  Majesty.  'He  that  will  forget  God  will  alao  forget  his  benefactors:  this  tragedy  was 
played-  forty  times  in  open  streets  and  houses.'  " 

The  "wicked  imagination"  that  Elizabeth  was  Richard  the  Second  is  fixed 
upon  Essex  by  the  reply  of  Lambarde,  and  the  rejoinder  of  the  Queen  makes 
it  clear  that  the  "  wicked  imagination "  was  attempted  through  the  performance 
of  the  Tragedy  of  the  Deposition  of  Richard  the  Second  :  "  This  tragedy 
was  played  forty  times  in  open  streets  and  houses."  The  Queen  is  speak 
ing  six  months  after  the  outbreak  of  Essex ;  and  it  is  not  improbable  that 
the  outdated  play — that  performance  which  in  the  previous  February  the 
players  "  should  have  loss  in  playing " — had  been  rendered  popular  through 
the  partisans  of  Essex  after  his  fall,  and  had  been  got  up  in  open  streets  and 
houses  with  a  dangerous  avidity.  But  there  is  a  circumstance  which  renders 
it  tolerably  evident  that,  although  Sir  Gilly  Merrick  might  have  given  forty 
shillings  to  Phillips  to  perform  that  stale  play,  the  company  of  Shakspere 
were  not  the  performers.  In  the  Office  Book  of  the  Treasurer  of  the  Chamber  f 
there  is  an  entry  on  the  31st  of  March,  1601,  of  a  payment  to  John  Heminge 
and  Richard  Cowley,  servants  to  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  for  three  plays  showed 
before  her  Highness  on  St.  Stephen's  Day  at  night  [26th  of  December,  1600], 
Twelfth  Day  at  night  [January  6th,  1601],  and  Shrove  Tuesday  at  night 
[Easter  Day  being  on  the  12th  of  April  in  1601,  Shrove  Tuesday  would  be  on 
the  3rd  of  March].  Shakspere's  company  were  thus  performing  before  the 
Queen  within  a  week  of  the  period  when  Essex  was  beheaded.  They  would 
not  have  been  so  performing  had  they  exhibited  the  offensive  tragedy. 

In  her  conversation  with  Lambarde,  Elizabeth  uttered  a  great  truth,  which 
might  not  be  unmingled  with  a  retrospect  of  the  fate  of  Essex.  Speaking  of 
the  days  of  her  ancestors,  she  said, — "  In  those  days  force  and  arms  did  prevail, 
but  now  the  wit  of  the  fox  is  everywhere  on  foot,  so  as  hardly  a  faithful  or  vir 
tuous  man  may  be  found."  When  Raleigh  was  called  upon  the  trial  of  Essex, 
and  "his  oath  given  him,"  Essex  exclaimed,  "What  booteth  it  to  swear  the 
fox  ?  "  The  fox  had  even  then  accomplished  his  purpose.  He  had  driven  his 
victim  onwards  to  that  fatal  movement  of  Sunday  the  8th  of  February,  which, 
begun  without  reasonable  plan  or  fixed  purpose,  ended  in  casual  bloodshed  and 
death  by  the  law.  We  may  readily  believe  that  the  anxiety  of  Shakspere  for 

*  This  was  first  printed  from  the  original  in  NichoUs's 'Progresses  of  Queen  Elizabeth.'  Lam 
barde  died  in  a  fortnight  after  this  interview. 

+  Cunningham's  '  Revels  at  Court.' 

41/5 


[hssex.J 


his  friends  and  benefactors  would  have  led  him  to  the  scene  of  that  wild  com- 
motion.  He  might  have  seen  Essex  and  Southampton,  with  Danvers,  Blount, 
Catesby,  Owen  Salisbury,  and  a  crowd  of  followers,  riding  into  Fleet  Street, 
shouting,  "  For  the  Queen  !  for  the  Queen  !  "  He  might  have  heard  the  people 
crying  on  every  side,  "  God  save  your  honour !  God  bless  your  honour !  "  An 
nour  or  two  later  he  might  have  listened  to  the  proclamation  in  Gracechurch 
Street  and  Cheapside,  that  the  Earl  and  all  his  company  were  traitors.  By  two 
o'clock  of  that  fatal  Sunday,  Shakspere  might  have  seen  his  friends  fighting 
their  way  back  through  the  crowds  of  armed  men  who  suddenly  assailed  them, 
and,  taking  boat  at  Queenhithe,  reach  Essex  House  in  safety.  But  it  was  sur 
rounded  with  soldiers  and  artillery  ;  shots  were  fired  at  the  windows  ;  the  cries 
of  women  within  mingled  with  the  shouts  of  fury  without.  At  last  came  the 
surrender,  at  ten  o'clock  at  night.  The  axe  with  the  edge  turned  towards  the 
prisoners  followed  as  a  matter  of  course. 

The  period  at  which  Essex  fell  upon  the  block,  and  Southampton  was  under 
condemnation,  must  have  been  a  gloomy  period  in  the  life  of  Shakspere.  The 
friendship  of  Southampton  in  all  likelihood  raised  the  humble  actor  to  that  just 
appreciation  of  himself  which  could  alone  prevent  his  nature  being  subdued  to 
what  it  worked  in.  There  had  been  a  compromise  between  the  inequality  of 
rank  and  the  inequality  of  intellect,  ana  the  fruit  had  been  a  continuance  and  a 
strengthening  of  that  "  love "  which  seven  years  earlier  had  been  described  as 
"  without  end."  Those  ties  were  now  broken  by  calamity.  The  accomplished 
noble,  a  prisoner  looking  daily  for  death,  could  not  know  the  depth  of  the  love 
of  his  "  especial  friend."  *  He  was  beyond  the  reach  of  any  service  that  this 

*  The  expression  is  used  by  Southampton  in  his  Letter  to  Lord  Ellesmere  introducing  Shakapere 
and  Burbage  in  1608.     See  Collier's  '  New  Facts,'  p.  33. 
418 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

friend  could  render  him.  All  was  gloom  and  uncertainty.  It  has  been  said, 
and  we  believe  without  any  intention  to  depreciate  the  character  of  the  great 
poet,  that  "There  seems  to  have  been  a  period  of  Shakspeare's  life  when  his 
heart  was  ill  at  ease,  and  ill  content  with  the  world  or  his  own  conscience ;  the 
memory  of  hours  mis-spent,  the  pang  of  affection  misplaced  or  unrequited,  the 
experience  of  man's  worser  nature,  which  intercourse  with  ill-chosen  associates, 
by  choice  or  circumstance,  peculiarly  teaches ;— these,  as  they  sank  down  into 
the  depths  of  his  great  mind,  seem  not  only  to  have  inspired  into  it  the  concep 
tion  of  Lear  and  Timon,  but  that  of  one  primary  character,  the  censurer  of  man 
kind."^  The  genius  of  Shakspere  was  so  essentially  dramatic,  that  neither 
Lear,  nor  Timon,  nor  Jaques,  nor  the  Duke  in  Measure  for  Measure,  nor  Hamlet, 
whatever  censure  of  mankind  they  may  express,  can  altogether  be  held  to  reflect 
"a  period  of  Shakspeare's  life  when  his  heart  was  ill  at  ease,  and  ill  content 
with  the  world."  That  period  is  referred  to  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  to  which  the  plays  belong  that  are  said  to  exhibit  these  attributes.! 
But  from  this  period  there  is  certainly  a  more  solemn  cast  of  thought  in  all  the 
works  of  the  great  poet.  We  wholly  reject  the  opinion  that  this  tone  of  mind 
in  the  slightest  degree  partakes  of  "  the  memory  of  hours  mis-spent,  the  pang 
of  affection  misplaced  or  unrequited,  the  experience  of  man's  worser  nature, 
which  intercourse  with  ill-chosen  associates,  by  choice  or  circumstance,  pecu 
liarly  teaches."  There  is  a  strong  but  yet  tolerant  censure  of  the  heartlessness 
of  worldly  men,  and  the  delusions  of  friendship,  such  as  we  have  pointed  out,  in 
As  You  Like  It.  There  is  the  fierce  misanthropy  of  Timon,  so  peculiar  to  his 
character  and  situation  that  it  is  quite  lifted  out  of  the  range  of  a  poet's  self- 
consciousness  :  "  the  experience  of  man's  worser  nature "  was  not  to  make  of 
Shakspere  one  "  who  all  the  human  sons  doth  hate."  Measure  for  Measure 
was,  we  believe,  a  covert  satire  upon  the  extremes  of  weak  and  severe  govern 
ment  :  it  interprets  nothing  of  unrequited  affections  and  an  evil  conscience. 
The  bitter  denunciations  of  Lear  are  the  natural  reflections  of  his  own  dis 
turbed  thoughts,  seeking  to  recover  the  balance  of  his  feelings  out  of  the  vehe 
mence  of  his  passion.  The  Hamlet,  such  as  we  have  it  in  its  altered  state,  as 
compared  with  the  earlier  sketch,  does  indeed  contain  passages  which  have  a 
peculiar  fitness  for  Hamlet's  utterance,  but  which,  at  the  same  time,  might 
afford  relief  in  their  expression  to  the  poet's  own  wrestlings  with  the  problem 
of  existence.  An  example  or  two  of  these  new  passages  will  suffice  : 

"  How  weary,  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable 
Seems  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this  world  ! 
Fye  on 't !  0  fye  !  't  is  an  umveeded  garden 
That  grows  to  seed ;  things  rank,  and  gross  in  nature, 
Possess  it  merely." 

Again  : — 

"  I  have  of  late  (but,  wherefore,  1  know  not)  lost  all  my  mirth,  foregone  all  custom  of  exercises : 
and,  indeed,  it  goes  so  heavily  with  my  disposition,  that  this  goodly  frame,  the  earth,  seems  to  me  a 


Kalinin's  '  Literature  of  Europe,'  vol.  iii.,  p.  568. 
Mr.  Hallam  refers  to  Hamlet  in  its  altered  form. 


LIKK. 


417 


WILLIAM    SHAKbPURE  : 

«toril  promontory;  this  most  excellent  canopy,  the  air,  look  you, — this  brave  o'erbanging — this 
majeatical  roof  fretted  with  golden  fire,  why,  it  appears  no  other  thing  to  me  than  a  foul  and  pesti 
lent  congregation  of  vapours." 

We  can  conceive  this  train  of  thought  to  be  in  harmony  with  the  temper  in 
which  Shakspere  must  have  regarded  the  public  events  of  1600.  We  may  even 
believe  that  those  events  might  have  directed  his  mind  to  a  more  passionate  and 
solemn  and  earnest  exercise  of  its  power  than  had  previously  been  called  forth. 
We  may  fancy  such  tragic  scenes  having  their  influence  in  rendering  the  great 
master  of  comedy,  unrivalled  amidst  his  contemporaries  for  the  brilliancy  of  his 
wit  and  the  genuineness  of  his  humour,  turn  to  other  and  loftier  themes  : — 

"  I  come  no  more  to  make  you  laugh ;  things  now, 
That  bear  a  weighty  and  a  serious  brow, 
Sad,  high,  and  working,  full  of  state  and  woe, 
Such  noble  scenes  as  draw  the  eye  to  flow 
We  now  present."  * 

But  the  influence  of  time  in  the  formation  and  direction  of  the  poetical  power 
must  also  be  taken  into  account.  Shakspere  was  now  thirty -seven  years  of  age. 
He  had  attained  to  the  consciousness  of  his  own  intellectual  strength,  and  he 
had  acquired  by  long  practice  the  mastery  of  his  own  genius.  He  had  already 
learnt  to  direct  the  stage  to  higher  and  nobler  purposes  than  those  of  mere 
amusement.  It  might  be  carried  farther  into  the  teaching  of  the  highest  philo 
sophy  through  the  medium  of  the  grandest  poetry.  The  epoch  which  produced 
Othello,  Lear,  and  Macbeth  has  been  described  as  exhibiting  the  genius  of 
Shakspere  in  full  possession  and  habitual  exercise  of  power,  "  at  its  very  point 
of  culmination. "t 

The  year  1601  was  also  a  year  which  brought  to  Shakspere  a  great  domestic 
affliction.  His  father  died  on  the  8th  of  September  of  that  year.  It  is  impos 
sible  not  to  feel  that  Shakspere's  family  arrangements,  imperfectly  as  we  know 
them,  had  especial  reference  to  the  comfort  and  honour  of  his  parents.  When 
he  bought  New  Place  in  1597,  his  occupations  then  demanding  his  presence  in 
London  through  great  part  of  the  year,  his  wife  and  children,  we  may  readily 
imagine,  were  under  the  same  roof  with  his  father  and  mother.  They  had 
sighed  over  the  declining  health  of  his  little  Hamnet, — they  had  watched  over 
the  growth  of  his  Susanna  and  Judith.  If  restricted  means  had  at  any  previous 
period  assailed  them,  he  had  provided  for  the  comforts  of  their  advanced  age. 
And  now  that  father,  the  companion  of  his  boyhood — he  who  had  led  him  forth 
into  the  fields,  and  had  taught  him  to  look  at  nature  with  a  practical  eye — was 
gone.  More  materials  for  deep  thought  in  the  year  1601.  The  Register  of 
Stratford  thus  attests  the  death  of  this  earliest  friend  : — 


•  Prologue  to  Henry  VIII.  +  Coleridge. 

418 


[Edinburgh  in  the  Seventeenth  Century.] 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


DID    SHAKSPEEE   VISIT   SCOTLAND? 


THE  question  which  we  set  forth  as  a  title  to  this  chapter  was  first  raised,  in 
1767,  by  William  Guthrie,  in  his  'General  History  of  Scotland;'  "A.D.  1599. 
The  King,  to  prove  how  thoroughly  he  was  now  emancipated  from  the  tutelage 
of  his  clergy,  desired  Elizabeth  to  send  him  this  year-  a  company  of  English 
comedians.  She  complied,  and  James  gave  them  a  licence  to  act  in  his  capital 
and  in  his  court.  I  have  great  reason  to  think  that  the  immortal  Shakspere 
was  of  the  number."  Guthrie,  a  very  loose  and  inaccurate  compiler,  gives  no 
authority  for  his  statement ;  but  it  is  evidently  founded  upon  the  following 
passage  in  Archbishop  Spottiswood's  '  History  of  the  Church  of  Scotland,' 
which  the  writer  says  was  "penned  at  the  command  of  King  James  the  Sixth, 
2  E  2  419 


WILLIAM    SII AKSI'KIM-:  : 

who  hid  the  author  write  the  truth  and  spare  not:" — "In  the  end  of  the  year 
[1599]  happened  some  new  jars  betwixt  the  King  and  the  ministers  of  Edin 
burgh  ;  because  of  a  company  of  English  comedians,  whom  the  King  had  licensed 
to  play  within  the  burgh.  The  ministers,  being  offended  with  the  liberty 
given  them,  did  exclaim  in  their  sermons  against  stage-players,  their  unruliness 
and  immodest  behaviour;  and  in  their  sessions  made  an  act,  prohibiting  people 
to  resort  unto  their  plays,  under  pain  of  the  church  censures.  The  King, 
t  iking  this  to  be  a  discharge  of  his  licence,  called  the  sessions  before  the 
council,  and  ordained  them  to  annul  their  act,  and  not  to  restrain  the  people 
from  eoing  to  these  comedies ;  which  they  promised,  and  accordingly  performed ; 
whereof  publication  was  made  the  day  after,  and  all  that  pleased  permitted  to 
repair  unto  the  same,  to  the  great  offence  of  the  ministers."  The  assertion  of 
Guthrie,  that  James  "desired  Elizabeth  to  send  him  this  year  a  company  of 
English  comedians,"  rests  upon  no  foundation ;  and  his  conjecture  "  that  the 
immortal  Shakspere  was  of  the  munber"  is  equally  baseless.  The  end  of  the 
year  1599,  the  period  mentioned  by  Spottiswood,  must  be  taken  to  mean  some- 
\vhere  about  the  month  of  December ;  for  by  an  alteration  of  style,  exactly  at 
this  period,  the  legal  year  in  Scotland  commenced  on  the  1st  of  January,  1600. 
We  find,  both  from  the  Registers  of  the  Privy  Council,*  and  the  Office  Books 
of  the  Treasurers  of  the  Chamber,  that  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  per 
formed  before  Queen  Elizabeth  on  St.  Stephen's  Day  at  night,  the  26th  of 
December,  1599.  This  is  decisive  evidence  that  the  company  of  English  come 
dians,  who  were  licensed  by  James  to  play  at  Edinburgh  at  the  end  of  the  year 
1599,  was  not  Shakspere's  company. 

But  it  has  been  conjectured  that  Shakspere  visited  Scotland  at  a  much  earlier 
period.  In  Sir  John  Sinclair's  '  Statistical  Account  of  Scotland/  there  is  a  de 
scription  of  the  parish  of  Perth,  by  the  Rev.  James  Scott,  in  which,  speaking  of 
modern  plays  at  Perth,  the  writer  says,  "  It  may  afford  what  may  be  reckoned 
a  curious  piece  of  information  to  relate  how  plays  were  regulated  in  Perth 
more  than  two  hundred  years  ago.  It  appears  from  the  old  records  that  a  com 
pany  of  players  were  in  Perth,  June  3,  1589.  In  obedience  to  an  act  of  the 
General  Assembly,  which  had  been  made  in  the  year  1574-5,  they  applied  to 
the  consistory  of  the  church  for  a  licence,  and  showed  a  copy  of  the  play  which 
they  proposed  to  exhibit."  The  words  of  the  record,  some  of  them  a  little  mo 
dernized,  are,  "  Perth,  June  3,  1589 — The  minister  and  elders  give  licence  to 
play  the  play,  with  conditions  that  no  swearing,  banning,  nor  ane  scurrility 
shall  be  spoken,  which  would  be  a  scandal  to  our  religion  which  we  profess, 
and  for  an  evil  example  unto  others.  Also  that  nothing  shall  be  added  to  what 
is  in  the  register  of  the  play  itself.  If  any  one  who  plays  shall  do  in  the  con 
trary,  he  shall  be  warded,  and  make  his  public  repentance."  Mr.  Scott  then 
alludes  to  Guthrie's  statement,  and  says  of  Shakspere,  "that  actor  and  writer 
of  plays  most  probably  began  his  excursions  before  the  year  1589.  If,  there 
fore,  they  were  English  actors  who  were  at  Perth  that  year,  he  might  perhaps 
be  one  of  them." 

•  See  Ch'ilnier.Vs  'Apology,'  D.  401. 
420 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

The  conjectures  of  Guthrie  and  of  Scott  are  so  manifestly  loose  and  untenable, 
that  we  can  easily  understand  why  they  attracted  no  regard  amongst  the  Eng 
lish  writers  on  Shakspere.  Sir  John  Sinclair,  as  stated  by  Drake,  "when 
speaking  of  the  local  traditions  respecting  Macbeth's  castle  at  Dunsinane,  infers 
from  their  coincidence  with  the  drama,  that  Shakspere,  'in  his  capacity  of 
actor,  travelled  to  Scotland  in  1599,  and  collected  on  the  spot  materials  for  the 
exercise  of  his  imagination.'"*  Drake  doubts  the  validity  of  the  inference; 
and  Stoddart  holds  that  here  "  conjecture  seems  to  have  gone  its  full  length,  if 
not  to  have  overstepped  the  modesty  of  nature."  f  Chalmers,  although  he 
notices  at  some  length  the  state  of  the  drama  in  Scotland  previous  to  the  acces 
sion  of  James  to  the  English  crown,  has  no  mention  of  the  opinion  that  Shak 
spere  had  visited  Scotland.  Malone  gives  the  statement  and  the  conjecture  of 
Guthrie,  adding,  "  If  the  writer  had  any  ground  for  this  assertion,  why  was  it 
not  stated  ?  It  is  extremely  improbable  that  Shakspeare  should  have  left  London 
at  this  period.  In  1599  his  King  Henry  V.  was  produced,  and  without  doubt 
acted  with  great  applause."  J  Mr.  Collier,  mentioning  that  "  Towards  the  close  of 
the  year  1599  a  company  of  English  players  arrived  in  Edinburgh,"  says  in  a  note, 
"  It  has  been  supposed  by  some,  that  Shakespeare  was  a  member  of  this  company, 
and  that  he  even  took  his  description  of  Macbeth's  castle  from  local  observation. 
No  evidence  can  be  produced  either  way,  excepting  Malone's  conjecture,  that 
Shakespeare  could  not  have  left  London  in  1599,  in  consequence  of  the  production 
of  his  Henry  V.  in  that  year."§  Mr.  Collier  does  not  notice  a  subsequent  visit  of 
a  company  of  English  players  to  Scotland,  as  detailed  in  a  bulky  local  history 
published  in  London  in  1818, — the  'Annals  of  Aberdeen/  by  William  Kennedy. 
This  writer  does  not  print  the  document  upon  which  he  founds  his  statement ; 
but  his  narrative  is  so  circumstantial  as  to  leave  little  doubt  that  the  company  of 
players  to  which  Shakspere  belonged  visited  Aberdeen  in  1601.  The  account  of 
Mr.  Kennedy  has  since  been  commented  upon  in  a  paper  published  in  the 
Transactions  of  the  Society  of  Antiquaries  in  Scotland  in  1830  (to  which  we  shall 
presently  further  allude)  ;  and  in  a  most  lively,  instructive,  and  learned  volume — 
a  model  of  guide-books — '  The  Book  of  Bon  Accord,  or  a  Guide  to  the  City  of 
Aberdeen/  1839. 

Before  we  proceed  to  state  the  additional  evidence  which  we  have  collected 
upon  this  question,  we  would  briefly  direct  the  attention  of  our  readers  to  the 
bearings  of  the  subject  upon  Shakspere's  life,  in  connection  with  his  writings. 
Macbeth  is  altogether  one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  the  plays  of  Shakspere, 
not  only  as  displaying  the  highest  power,  but  as  presenting  a  story  and  a  ma 
chinery  altogether  different  in  character  from  any  other  of  his  works.  If  it 
can  be  proved,  or  reasonably  inferred,  that  this  story  was  suggested,  or  its  local 
details  established,  or  the  materials  for  the  machinery  collected,  through  the 
presence  of  the  great  poet  upon  Scottish  ground,  a  new  interest  is  created  in 
Macbeth,  not  only  for  the  people  of  Scotland,  but  for  every  one  to  whom  Shak- 


*  < 


Chronological  Order,'  Boswell's  Edition,  p.  41. 
t  '  Shakspeare  and  his  Times,'  vol.  ii.,  p.  588. 
I  '  Remarks  on  Local  Scenery,  &c.,  in  Scotland.' 
§  '  Annals  of  the  Stage,'  1831,  vol.  i.,  p.  344. 

421 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

spere  is  familiar.  It  is  especially  interesting  as  a  literary  question,  from  the 
circumstance  that  if  we  can  trace  Shakspere's  accurate  observation  of  the  things 
which  were  around  him,  in  recent  events,  in  scenery,  and  in  the  manners  of  the 
people,  during  a  brief  visit  to  a  country  so  essentially  different  in  its  physical 
features  from  his  own — of  which  the  people  presented  so  many  characteristics 
which  he  could  not  find  in  England — we  may  add  one  more  to  the  proofs  which 
we  have  all  along  sought  to  establish,  that  Shakspere  was  the  most  careful  of 
observers,  and  the  most  diligent  of  workers ;  that  his  poetical  power  had  a  deep 
foundation  of  accuracy;  that  his  judgment  was  as  remarkable  as  his  imagina 
tion.  Inclining,  therefore,  to  the  belief  that  Shakspere  did  visit  Scotland  in 
1601, — having  the  precise  date  of  the  visit  of  a  company  of  players  to  Aberdeen 
in  October,  1601, — we  shall,  in  the  first  instance,  go  through  the  play  of  Mac 
beth  with  the  impression  that  it  may  contain  some  peculiarities  which  were 
not  wholly  derived  from  books ;  which  might  have  been  more  vividly  im 
pressed  upon  the  mind  of  the  poet  by  local  associations  ;  which  become  more 
clear  and  intelligible  to  ourselves  when  we  understand  what  those  associations 
especially  were.  We  request  our  readers  not  to  be  incredulous  at  the  onset  of 
this  examination.  We  may  distinctly  state  that,  as  far  as  any  public  or  private 
record  informs  us,  there  is  no  circumstance  to  show  that  the  Lord  Chamber 
lain's  company  was  not  in  Scotland  in  the  autumn  of  1601.  It  is  a  curious  fact 
that  even  three  months  later,  at  the  Christmas  of  that  year,  there  is  no  record 
that  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  company  performed  before  Queen  Elizabeth. 
The  Office- Book  of  the  Treasurer  of  the  Chamber  records  no  performance  be 
tween  Shrove  Tuesday,  the  3rd  of  March,  1601,  and  St.  Stephen's  Day,  the 
26th  of  December,  1602.  There  is  a  record,  however,  which  shows  that  Shak 
spere's  company  was  in  London  at  the  beginning  of  1602.  It  is  that  note  in 
the  table-book  of  the  student  of  the  Middle  Temple,  which  proves  that  Twelfth 
Night  was  performed  at  the  feast  of  that  society  on  the  2nd  of  February,  1602. 
If  it  can  be  shown  that  the  company  to  which  Shakspere  belonged  was  performing 
in  Scotland  in  October,  1601,  there  is  every  probability  that  Shakspere  himself  was 
not  absent.  He  buried  his  father  at  Stratford  on  the  8th  of  September  of  that 
year.  The  summer  season  of  the  Globe  would  be  ended ;  the  winter  season  at  the 
Blackfriars  not  begun.  He  had  a  large  interest  as  a  shareholder  in  his  company ; 
he  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  owner  of  its  properties  or  stage  equipments.  His 
duty  would  call  him  to  Scotland.  The  journey  and  the  sojourn  there  would 
present  some  relief  to  the  gloomy  thoughts  which  the  events  of  1601  must  have 
cast  upon  him. 

The  commentators  on  Shakspere  have  taken  some  pains  to  assign  to  his 
tragedy  of  Macbeth  a  different  origin  than  the  narrative  of  Holinshed.  That 
narrative  was,  of  course,  before  the  author  of  Macbeth.  It  was  a  striking  narra 
tive;  and,  after  the  accession  of  James,  the  poet's  attention  might  have  been 
drawn  to  it  by  other  circumstances  than  its  capacity  for  the  drama.  Holinshed 
speaks  of  "  Banquo  the  Thane  of  Lochabar,  of  whom  the  house  of  the  Stuarts  is 
descended,  the  which  by  order  of  lineage  hath  now  for  a  long  time  enjoyed  the 
crown  of  Scotland  even  till  these  our  days."  It  is  clear  that  Shakspere  con. 
suited  Holinshed ;  for  he  has  engrafted  some  of  the  circumstances  related  of  the 
422 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

murder  of  King  Duff  upon  the  story  of  Macbeth.  But  we  still  admit  that  the 
commentators  might  naturally  look  for  some  circumstance  that  should  have  im 
pressed  the  history  of  the  fortunes  of  Macbeth  and  Banquo  more  forcibly  upon 
the  imagination  of  Shakspere  than  the  narrative  of  Holinshed.  It  was  not  the 
custom  of  the  poet  to  adopt  any  story  that  was  not  in  some  degree  familiar  to 
his  audience,  either  in  their  chroniclers,  their  elder  dramatists,  or  in  their 
novelists.  Here  was  a  story  quite  out  of  the  range  of  the  ordinary  reading  even 
of  educated  Englishmen.  The  wild  romance  of  Scottish  history  had  not  as  yet 
been  popularized  and  elevated  into  poetry.  The  field  was  altogether  untrodden. 
The  memory  of  the  patrir  t  heroes  of  Scotland  would  not  be  acceptable  to  those 
who  desired  to  see  revived  upon  the  stage  their  own  "forefathers'  valiant  acts 
that  had  been  long  buried  in  rusty  brass  and  worm-eaten  books."*  'The  Scot 
tish  History  of  James  IV.  slain  at  Flodden,'  of  Robert  Greene,  is  altogether  a 
romance,  the  materials  for  which  can  be  traced  in  no  Scottish  history  or  tradi 
tion.  The  fable  of  that  wild  play  has  no  reference  to  the  death  of  James  IV.  at 
Flodden.  It  was  the  knowledge  of  these  facts  which  probably  led  Dr.  Farmer  to 
the  following  notion  of  the  origin  of  Macbeth  :  "  Macbeth  was  certainly  one  of 
Shakspeare's  latest  productions,  and  it  might  possibly  have  been  suggested  to 
him  by  a  little  performance  on  the  same  subject  at  Oxford,  before  King  James, 
1605."f  Dr.  Farmer  acquired  his  knowledge  of  this  performance  from  a 
description  in  Wake's  'Rex  Platonicus,'  1607,  from  which  it  appears  that  three 
young  men,  habited  as  sibyls,  came  forth  from  St.  John's  College,  singing  alter 
nate  verses,  in  which  they  professed  themselves  to  be  the  three  Sibyls  who, 
according  to  the  ancient  history  of  Scotland,  appeared  to  Macbeth  and  Banquo, 
predicting  that  one  should  be  king,  but  should  have  no  kingly  issue,  and  that 
the  other  should  not  be  king,  but  should  be  tne  father  of  many  kings.'J  The 
actual  verses  of  the  little  performance  were  subsequently  found  annexed  to  the 
'Vertumnus'  of  Dr.  Gwynne,  1607-  The  whole  interlude,  as  it  is  called,  con 
sists  of  twenty-nine  lines,  six  of  which  only  have  any  reference  to  Banquo,  and 
none  whatever  to  Macbeth.  We  must  seek  farther  for  the  origin  of  Shakspere's 
Macbeth.  A.Nixon,  in  his  'Oxford  Triumphs/  1605,  says  "The  King  did 
very  much  applaud  the  conceit  of  three  little  boys  dressed  like  three  nymphs." 
This  is  very  limited  applause.  "  Hearing  of  this  favourable  reception,"  says 
Chalmers,  "  Shakspeare  determined  to  write  his  tragedy,  knowing  that  he  could 
readily  find  materials  in  Holinshed's  Chronicle,  his  common  magazine."  If  we 
believe  that  the  materials  of  Holinshed  were  not  sufficiently  suggestive  to  the 
poet,— if  we  think  that  local  associations  might  probably  have  first  carried 
Shakspere  to-  the  story  of  Macbeth,  more  strikingly  than  a  romantic  narrative, 
mixed  up  with  other  legends  as  strongly  seizing  upon  the  imagination, — we 
may  find  upon  Scottish  ground  some  memories  of  an  event  which  could  not 
itself  be  safely  dramatized  (although  even  that  was  subsequently  shown  upon 
the  stage),  but  which  might  have  originated  that  train  of  thought  which  was 
finally  to  shape  itself  into  the  dramatic  history  of  King  Duncan's  murder,  under 
the  influence  of  "fate  and  metaphysical  aid." 

*  Nashe.  t  '  Essay  on  the  Learning  of  Shakspeare.' 

1  The  Latin  quotations  from  Wake  may  be  consulted  in  Boswell's  Miilone,  vol.  xi.,  pp.  280,  281. 

42J? 


WILLIAM   ,>i!AKsi'i:i;i: : 

If  Shakspere  visited  Perth  in  the  autumn  of  1601,  he  was  in  that  city  within 
fourteen  months  of  the  period  when  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  tragedies  in 
the  tragic  history  of  Scotland  had  been  acted  within  its  walls.  With  the  details 
of  this  real  tragedy  Shakspere  might  have  been  familiar  without  a  visit  to 
Perth ;  -  for  '  The  Earle  of  Cowrie's  Conspiracie  against  the  Kingis  Maiestie  of 
Scotland,  at  Saint  Johnstoun,*  vpon  Tuesday  the  fift  of  August,  1600,'  was 
printed  at  London  by  Valentine  Simmes  (the  printer  of  several  of  Shakspere's 
quarto  plays)  in  the  same  year  that  the  conspiracy  took  place.  Whatever  might 
have  been  the  insinuations  of  the  Presbyterian  divines  in  Scotland,  this  author 
ized  account  could  not  have  presented  itself  to  an  unprejudiced  English  mind 
except  as  a  circumstantial,  consistent,  and  true  relation.  The  judicial  evidence 
which  has  been  collected  and  published  in  recent  times  sustains  this  narrative 
in  all  essential  particulars.  Place  the  poet  in  the  High  Gate  [High  Street]  of 
Perth,  looking  upon  the  Castle  of  Cowrie  ;  let  the  window  be  pointed  out  to 
him  from  which  the  King  cried  out  "  I  am  murdered ; "  let  him  enter  the 
"Blak  Turnpike,"  the  secret  stair  which  led  to  the  "gallery  chalmer"  from 
which  the  cries  proceeded  ; — let  him,  surrounded  with  the  courtiers  of  James, 
listen  to  the  details  of  terror  which  would  be  crowded  into  the  description  of 
such  an  event ;  and  Scottish  history  might  then  be  searched  for  some  parallel  of 
a  king  murdered  by  an  ambitious  subject.  Let  us  see  if  there  are  any  details 
in  the  '  Discourse  of  the  vnnaturall  and  vile  Conspiracie  attempted  against  his 
Maiesties  person,  at  Saint  Johnstoun,  upon  the  fift  day  of  August,  being  Tues 
day,  1600,'  or  in  the  judicial  evidence  before  the  court  held  in  Perth  on  the  22nd 
of  August  of  that  year,  or  in  the  previous  examinations  at  the  King's  Palace  at 
Falkland,!  which  have  any  resemblance  to  the  incidents  in  the  tragedy  of  Mac 
beth. 

John  Earl  of  Cowrie,  and  his  brother  Alexander,  the  Master  of  Ruthven, 
were  two  young  noblemen  of  great  popularity.  They  had  travelled ;  they  were 
accomplished  in  many  branches  of  knowledge.  Amongst  the  attempts  to  blacken 
the  character  of  the  unhappy  Earl  it  was  desired  to  be  shown  that  he  practised 
sorceries,  and  that  he  conversed  with  sorcerers.  James  Weimis,  of  Bogy,  re 
counts  the  Earl's  conversations  with  him  upon  mysterious  subjects  ; — of  serpents 
which  could  be  made  to  stand  still  upon  pronouncing  a  Hebrew  word ;  of  a  ne 
cromancer  in  Italy  with  whom  he  had  dealings ;  of  a  man  whose  hanging  he 
predicted,  and  he  was  hanged ;  "  and  that  this  deponent  counselled  the  Earl  to 
beware  with  whom  he  did  communicate  sudh  speeches,  who  answered  that  he 
would  communicate  them  to  none  except  great  scholars."  Master  William 
Reid  deposed  to  certain  magical  characters  found  in  his  lord's  pocket  after  his 
death  ;  that  he  always  kept  the  characters  about  him ;  and  that  in  his  opinion 
it  was  for  no  good.  Thus,  then,  we  encounter  at  the  onset  something  like  the 
belief  of  Macbeth  in  matters  beyond  human  reason.  "  I  have  learned  by  the 
perfectest  report,  they  have  more  in  them  than  mortal  knowledge. "J  According 

*  Saint  Johnstoun  was  another  name  for  Perth. 
f  See  ritcaim's  '  Criminal  Trials,'  vol.  ii.,  p.  146  to  p.  332. 

J  A   Latin  treatise  was   published  at   Edinburgh,  in   1601,   'De   execrabili  et  nefanda  fratrvm 
Rvvenorvm  in  serenissimi  Scotorum   Regis   caput   Coujuratione,'  which   learnedly  dwells   upon  the 
424 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

to  the  narrative  of  the  Cowrie  Conspiracy,  Alexander  Ruthven  met  the  King 
as  he  was  going  out  of  his  palace  at  Falkland,  and  earnestly  solicited  him  to  go 
to  Perth,  to  examine  a  man  who  had  discovered  a  treasure.  The  King  reluct 
antly  consented,  but  at  last  did  consent.  Ruthven  then  directed  "Aimrew 
Henderson,  Chamberlain  to  the  said  Earl,  to  ride  in  all  haste  to  the  Earl,  com 
manding  him  that  he  should  not  spare  for  spilling  of  his  horse,  and  that  he 
should  advertise  the  Earl  that  he  hoped  to  move  his  Majesty  to  come  thither." 
Compare  this  with  the  fifth  scene  of  Macbeth  : — 

"  Attendant.  The  King  comes  here  to-night. 

Lady  Macbeth.  Thou  'rt  mad  to  say  it  : 

Is  not  thy  master  with  him  ?  who,  wer  't  so, 
Would  have  inforni'd  for  preparation. 

Atten.  So  please  you,  it  is  true  ;  our  thane  is  coming; 
One  of  my  fellows  had  the  speed  of  him ; 
Who,  almost  dead  for  breath,  had  scarcely  more 
Than  would  make  up  his  message. 

Lady  M.  Give  him  tending, 

He  brings  great  news." 

Macbeth  precedes  Duncan.  Alexander  Ruthven  goes  before  James.  The  Duke 
of  Lennox  says,  "  After  that  Master  Alexander  had  come  a  certain  space  with 
his  Highness,  he  rode  away  and  galloped  to  Perth  before  the  rest  of  the  com 
pany  towards  his  brother's  lodgings,  of  purpose,  as  the  deponent  believes,  to 
advertise  the  Earl  of  Cowrie  of  his  Majesty's  coming  there."  So  Macbeth: 
"Duncan  comes  here  to-night."  When  Macbeth  receives  the  prophecy  of  the 
weird  sisters  he  is  so  absorbed  with 

"  That  suggestion 

Whose  horrid  image  doth  unfix  my  hair, 
And  make  iny  seated  heart  knock  at  my  ribs, 
Against  the  use  of  nature," 

that  Banquo  exclaims 

*'  Look,  how  our  partner's  rapt ! " 

King  James  thought  Alexander  Ruthven  "  somewhat  beside  himself,"  and 
noticed  "his  raised  and  uncouth  staring  and  continued  pensiveness."  The 
description  of  the  banquet  with  which  Cowrie  receives  the  King, — sorry  cheer, 

charge  against  Gowrie  of  tampering  with  supernatural  aid,  and  which  in  one  passage  bears  a  still 
more  remarkable  resemblance  to  the  original  promptings  of  Macbeth's  ambition  :— "  Quis  est  enim 
in  noscitandis  adolescentum  nostri  tevi  ingenijs  adeo  peregrinus,  qui  non  continue  subodoretur 
Govvrium  hsereditaria  ea  scabie  pravse  curiositatis  prurientem,  atque  in  patris  ac  aui  mores  instl- 
tutaque  euntem,  consuluisse  Magum  hunc,  quse  sors  maneret  eum,  aut  quo  fato  esset  periturus :  et 
veteratoris  spiritus  astu  (ita  vt  fit)  ambigua  aliqua  responsione  fucum  illi  factum."  This  is  the  very 
stntiment  of  Macbeth  : — 

"And  be  these  juggling  fiends  no  more  believ'd, 
That  palter  with  us  in  a  double  sense ; 
That  keep  the  word  of  promise  to  our  ear, 
And  break  it  to  our  hope." 

425 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE. 

according  to  his  Majesty,  excused  upon  the  suddenness  of  his  coming — is  very 
remarkable :  "  His  Majesty  being  set  down  to  his  dinner,  the  said  Earl  stood 
very  pensive,  and  with  a  dejected  countenance,  at  the  end  of  his  Majesty's 
table,  oft  rounding  [whispering]  over  his  shoulder,  one  while  to  one  of  his 
servants,  and  another  while  to  another;  and  oft-times  went  out  and  in  to  the 
chamber."  Very  similar  to  this  is  the  situation  expressed  by  the  original  stage 
direction  in  Macbeth :  "  Enter  a  Sewer,  and  divers  servants  with  dishes  and 
service  over  the  stage.  Then  enter  Macbeth."  We  can  imagine  Gowrie,  on 
one  of  the  occasions  when  he  went  out  and  in  to  the  chamber,  thinking  the  very 
thoughts  which  Macbeth  thinks  aloud  when  he  has  left  the  King  : — 

"  If  it  were  done,  when  't  is  done,  then  't  were  well 
It  were  done  quickly." 

We  can  fancy  the  Master  of  Ruthven  seeking  his  brother,  (the  favourite  of 
the  people  of  Perth,)  as  Lady  Macbeth  sought  her  husband  : — 

"  Lady  M.  He  has  almost  supp'd  :   Why  have  you  left  the  chamber  ? 

Macb.  Hath  he  ask'd  for  me  ? 

Lady  M.  Know  you  not  he  has  ? 

Macb.  We  will  proceed  no  further  in  this  business  : 
He  hath  honour"  d  me  of  late ;  and  I  have  bought 
Golden  opinion*  from  all  sorts  of  people," 

King  James  is  led  by  Master  Alexander  "  up  a  turnpike,  and  through  two  or 
three  chambers,  the  said  Master  Alexander  ever  locking  behind  him  every  door 
as  he  passed."  Then  comes  the  attempt  at  assassination.  The  circumstances 
in  Macbeth  are  of  course  essentially  different ;  but  the  ambition  which  prompted 
the  murder  of  Duncan,  and  the  attempt  upon  James,  are  identical.  The  King 
is  held  to  have  said  while  he  was  in  the  death  grip  of  the  Master  of  Ruthven, 
"  Albeit  ye  bereave  me  of  my  life,  ye  will  nought  be  King  of  Scotland,  for  I 
have  both  sons  and  daughters."  So 

"  We  will  establish  our  estate  upon 
Our  eldest  Malcolm." 

It  is  a  singular  characteristic  of  the  Gowrie  tragedy  that  the  chief  conspirators, 
the  Earl  of  Gowrie  and  the  Master  of  Ruthven,  were  put  to  death  in  so  sudden 
a  way  that  the  real  circumstances  of  the  case  must  always  be  involved  in  some 
doubt.  The  evidence  is  not  wholly  satisfactory.  The  Duke  of  Lennox,  who 
was  the  chief  witness  of  credit,  says  of  himself,  the  Earl  of  Mar,  and  their  com 
pany,  that  "  Notwithstanding  long  forcing  with  hammers,  they  got  nought  entry 
at  the  said  chamber  until  after  the  Earl  of  Gowrie  and  his  brother  were  both 

slain And  at  their  first  entry  they  saw  the  Earl  of  Gowrie  lying 

dead  in  the  chamber,  Master  Alexander  Ruthven  being  slain  and  taken  down 
the  stair  before  their  entry."  The  official  account  says  that  Sir  John  Ramsey, 
finding  the  turnpike- door  open  (not  the  regular  entrance,  but  one  that  led 
direct  from  the  street),  entered  the  chamber  where  the  King  and  the  Master 
were  struggling.  He  struck  the  traitor  with  his  dagger,  "  who  was  no  sooner 
shot  out  at  the  door  but  he  was  met  by  Sir  Thomas  Erskine  and  Sir  Hugh 
4-26 


[Perth,  and  Vicinity.] 

Herries,  who  there  upon  the  stair  ended  him."  The  Earl  of  Gowrie  followed 
these  servants  of  the  King ;  and  then  the  Earl  was  "  stricken  dead  with  a  stroke 
through  the  heart  which  the  said  Sir  John  Ramsey  gave  him."  Sir  Thomas 
Erskine  and  Sir  John  Ramsey  confirm  this  account.  The  people  of  Perth  be 
lieved  that  the  Earl  of  Gowrie,  their  Provost,  was  unjustly  slain ;  and  their  cry 
was,  "  Bloody  butchers,  traitors,  murderers,  ye  shall  all  die !  give  us  forth  our 
Provost !  Woe  worth  ye  greencoats,  woe  worth  this  day  for  ever !  Traitors 
and  thieves  that  have  slain  the  Earl  of  Gowrie!"  The  slaying  of  the  two  bro 
thers  gave  rise  to  the  belief  that  "  the  King  was  a  doer,  and  not  a  sufferer."  * 
It  was  this  belief  that  moved  the  people  of  Perth  to  utter  "  most  irreverent  and 
undutiful  speeches  against  his  Majesty,"  even  though  the  Earl  was  denounced 
as  "  a  studier  of  magic,  and  a  conjurer  of  devils."  Macbeth  has  furnished  the 
excuse  for  such  a  sudden  slaying  of  the  brothers  : — 

"Macbeth.  0,  yet  I  do  repent  me  of  my  fury, 
That  I  did  km  them. 

Macduff.  Wherefore  did  you  so  ? 

Macb.  Who  can  be  wise,  amaz'd,  temperate,  and  furious, 
Loyal,  and  neutral,  in  a  moment  ?    No  man  : 
The  expedition  of  my  violent  love 
Outran  the  pauser  reason." 

The  people  of  Perth,  however,  became  reconciled  to  James.  On  the  15th  of 
April,  1601,  "The  King's  Majesty  came  to  Perth,  and  was  made  burgess  at  the 


Galloway's  Discourse  before  the  King 


427 


\\  1 1. MAM    MIAK.-T 

Market  Cross.  There  was  eight  puncheons  of  wine  set  there,  and  all  drunken 
out.  He  received  the  banquet  at  the  town,  and  subscribed  the  guild-book  with 
his  own  hand,  '  Jacobus  Rex,  parcere  subjectis,  et  debellare  superbos.' " 

In  a  paper  read  to  the  Society  of  Antiquaries  of  Scotland,  by  John  Anderson, 
Esq.,  'On  the  Site  of  Macbeth's  Castle  at  Inverness,'*  the  author  says,  "The 
extreme  accuracy  with  which  Shakspere  has  followed  the  minutiae  of  Macbeth's 
career  has  given  rise  to  the  opinion  that  he  himself  visited  those  scenes  which 
are  immortalized  by  his  pen."  It  is  our  duty  to  examine  this  opinion  some 
what  particularly,  whatever  be  the  conclusions  to  which  the  examination  may 
conduct  us. 

The  story  of  Macbeth  was  presented  to  Shakspere  in  a  sufficiently  complete 
form  by  the  chronicler  from  whom  he  derived  so  many  other  materials,  Holin- 
shed.  In  testing,  therefore,  "  the  extreme  accuracy  with  which  Shakspere  has 
followed  the  minutiae  of  Macbeth's  career" — by  which  we  understand  the  writer 
to  mean  the  accuracy  of  the  poet  in  details  of  locality — we  must  inquire  how 
far  he  agrees  with,  or  differs  from,  and  how  far  he  expands,  or  curtails,  the 
local  statements  or  allusions  of  his  chief  authority.  In  the  tragedy,  Macbeth 
and  Banquo,  returning  from  their  victory,  are  proceeding  to  Forres :  "  How  far 
is't  called  to  Forres?"  In  the  chronicler  we  find,  "  It  fortuned  as  Macbeth  and 
Banquo  journeyed  towards  Forres,  where  the  king  then  lay."  So  far  there  is 
agreement  as  to  the  scene.  The  historian  thus  proceeds :  "  They  went  sporting 
by  the  way  together  without  other  company,  passing  thorough  the  woods  and 
fields,  when  suddenly,  in  the  middest  of  a  laund,  there  met  them  three  women 
in  strange  and  wild  apparel."  This  description  presents  to  us  the  idea  of  a 
pleasant  and  fertile  place.  The  very  spot  where  the  supernatural  solicit 
ing  occurs  is  a  laund,  or  meadow  amongst  trees. f  The  poet  chose  his  scene 
with  greater  art.  The  witches  meet  "upon  the  heath;"  they  stop  the  way  of 
Macbeth  and  Banquo  upon  the  "  blasted  heath."  But  the  poet  was  also  more 
accurate  than  the  historian  in  his  traditionary  topography.  The  country  around 
Forres  is  wild  moorland.  Boswell,  passing  from  Elgin  to  Forres  in  company 
with  Johnson,  says,  "  In  the  afternoon  we  drove  over  the  very  heath  where 
Macbeth  met  the  witches,  according  to  tradition.  Dr.  Johnson  again  solemnly 
repeated,  '  How  far  is't  called  to  Forres?'  &c."  But,  opposed  to  this,  the  more 
general  tradition  holds  that  the  "  blasted  heath "  was  on  the  east  of  Forres, 
between  that  town  and  Nairn.  "  A  more  dreary  piece  of  moorland  is  not  to  be 

found  in  all  Scotland There  is  something  startling  to  a  stranger  in 

seeing  the  solitary  figure  of  the  peat-digger  or  rush-gatherer  moving  amidst  the 
waste  in  the  sunshine  of  a  calm  autumn  day ;  but  the  desolation  of  the  scene  in 
stormy  weather,  or  when  the  twilight  fogs  are  trailing  over  the  pathless  heath, 
or  settling  down  upon  the  pools,  must  be  indescribable."  J  We  thus  see  that, 
whether  Macbeth  met  the  weird  sisters  to  the  east  or  west  of  Forres,  there  was 
in  each  place  that  desolation  which  was  best  fitted  for  such  an  event,  and  not 

*  '  Transactions,'  vol.  Hi.,  28th  January,  1828. 

•}   A  laund  is  described  by  Camden  as  "  a  plain  amongst  trees.*' 

J  Local  Illustrations  of  Macbeth,  Act  L 

423 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

the  woods  and  fields  and  launds  of  the  chronicler.  From  Forres,  where  Macbeth 
proffers  his  service  and  his  loyalty  to  his  king,  was  a  day's  ride  to  his  own  castle : 
"  From  hence  to  Inverness."  Boece  makes  Inverness  the  scene  of  Duncan's 
murder.  Holinshed  merely  says,  "  He  slew  the  king  at  Enverns,  or  (as  some  say) 
at  Botgosvane.."  The  chroniclers  would  have  furnished  Shakspere  no  notion  of  the 
particular  character  of  the  castle  at  Inverness.  Without  some  local  knowledge  the 
poet  might  have  placed  it  upon  a  frowning  rock,  lonely,  inaccessible,  surrounded 
with  a  gloom  and  grandeur  fitted  for  deeds  of  murder  and  usurpation.  He  has 
chosen  altogether  a  different  scene  : — 

"  Dun.  This  castle  hath  a  pleasant  seat ;  the  air 
Nimbly  and  sweetly  recommends  itself 
Unto  our  gentle  senses. 

Ban.  This  guest  of  summer, 

The  temple-haunting  martlet,  does  approve, 
By  his  lov'd  mansionry.  that  the  heaven's  breath 
Smells  wooingly  here  ;  no  jutty,  frieze, 
Buttress,  nor  coigne  of  vantage,  but  this  bird 
Hath  made  his  pendent  bed,  and  procreant  cradle  : 
Where  they  most  breed  and  haunt,  I  have  observ'd, 
The  air  is  delicate." 

Such  a  description,  contrasting  as  it  does  with  the  deeds  of  terror  that  are  to  be 
acted  in  that  pleasant  seat,  is  unquestionably  an  effort  of  the  highest  art.  But 
here  again  the  art  appears  founded  upon  a  reality.  Mr.  Anderson,  in  the  paper 
which  we  have  already  quoted,  has  shown  from  various  records  that  there  was 
an  old  castle  at  Inverness.  It  was  not  the  castle  whose  ruins  Johnson  visited 
and  of  which  Boswell  says,  "  It  perfectly  corresponds  with  Shakspeare's  descrip 
tion;  "but  a  castle  on  an  adjacent  eminence  called  the  Crown — so  called  from 
having  been  a  royal  seat.  Traditionary '  lore,  Mr.  Anderson  says,  embodies  this 
opinion,  connecting  the  place  with  the  history  of  Macbeth.  "  Immediately 
opposite  to  the  Crown,  on  a  similar  eminence,  and  separated  from  it  by  a  small 
valley,  is  a  farm  belonging  to  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Welsh.  That  part  of 
the  ascent  to  this  farm  next  Viewfield,  from  the  Great  Highland  Road,  is  called 
'  Banquo's  Brae.'  The  whole  of  the  vicinity  is  rich  in  wild  imagery.  From 
the  mouth  of  the  valley  of  Diriebught  to  King's  Mills,  thence  by  the  road  to 
Viewfield,  and  down  the  gorge  of  Aultmuniack  to  the  mail -road  along  the  sea 
shore,  we  compass  a  district  celebrated  in  the  annals  of  diablerie."  The  writer 
then  goes  on  to  mention  other  circumstances  corroborating  his  opinion  as  to  the 
site  of  Macbeth's  castle  :  "  Traces  of  what  has  been  an  approach  to  a  place  of 
consequence  are  still  discernible.  This  approach  enters  the  lands  of  Diriebught 
from  the  present  mail-road  from  Fort  George ;  and,  running  through  the  valley, 
gradually  ascends  the  bank  of  the  Crown  Hill ;  and,  the  level  attained,  strikes 
again  towards  the  eastern  point,  where  it  terminates.  Here  the  '  pleasant  seat '  is 
rumoured  to  have  stood,  facing  the  sea  ;  and  singularly  correct  with  respect  to  the 
relative  points  of  the  compass  will  be  found  the  poet's  disposal  of  the  portal  '  at  the 
south  entry/  " 

The  investiture  of  Macbeth  at  Scone,  and  the  burial  of  Duncan  at  Colmeskill, 
are  facts  derived  by  the  poet  from  the  chronicler.     Hence  also  Shakspere  derived 

429 


WILLIAM   SHAKSl'EKt:  : 

the  legend,  of  which  he  made  so  glorious  a  use,  that  "  a  certain  witch  whom  he  had 
in  great  trust  had  told  Macbeth  that  he  should  never  be  slain  with  man  born  of  any 
woman,  nor  vanquished  till  the  wood  of  Birnane  came  to  the  castle  of  Dunsinane." 
From  Holinshed,  also,  he  acquired  a  general  notion  of  the  situation  of  this  castle  : 
"  He  builded  a  strong  castle  on  the  top  of  an  high  hill  called  Dunsinane,  situate 
in  Cowrie,  ten  miles  from  Perth,  on  such  a  proud  height  that  standing  there  aloft 
a  man  might  behold  well  near  all  the  countries  of  Angus,  Fife,  Stirmond,  and 
Erndale,  as  it  were  lying  underneath  him."  The  propinquity  of  Birnam  Wood  to 
Dunsinane  is  indicated  only  in  the  chronicler  by  the  circumstance  that  Malcolm 
rested  there  the  night  before  the  battle,  and  on  the  morrow  marched  to  Dunsinane, 
every  man  "  bearing  a  bough  of  some  tree  or  other  of  that  wood  in  his  hand." 
The  commanding  position  of  Dunsinane,  as  described  by  the  chronicler,  is  strictly 
adhered  to  by  the  poet : — 

"  As  I  did  stand  my  watch  upon  the  hill 
I  looked  toward  Birnam,  and  anon,  methought 
The  wood  began  to  move." 

But  the  poet  has  a  particularity  which  the  historian  has  not  :— 

"  Within  this  three  mile  may  you  see  it  coming ; 
I  say,  a  moving  grove." 

This  minuteness  sounds  like  individual  local  knowledge.  The  Dunsinane  Hills 
form  a  long  range  extending  in  a  north-easterly  direction  from  Perth  to  Glamis. 
The  castle  of  the  "  thane  of  Glamis "  has  been  made  a  traditionary  scene  of  the 
murder  of  Duncan.  Birnam  Hill  is  to  the  north-west  of  Perth  ;  and  between 
the  two  elevations  there  is  a  distance  of  some  twelve  miles,  formed  by  the  valley 


[Dunsinane.] 


[Giamis  Castle,  j 

of  the  Tay.  But  Birnam  Hill  and  Birnam  Wood  might  have  been  essentially 
different  spots  two  centuries  and  a  half  ago.  The  plain  is  now  under  tillage ;  but 
even  in  the  time  of  Shakspere  it  might  have  been  for  the  most  part  woodland, 
extending  from  Birnam  Hill  within  four  or  five  miles  of  Dunsinane ;  distinguished 
from  Birnam  Hill  as  Birnam  Wood.  At  the  distance  of  three  miles  it  was  "  a 
moving  grove."  It  was  still  nigher  to  Dunsinane  when  Malcolm  exclaimed, 

"  Now,  near  enough,  your  leafy  screens  throw  down." 

These  passages  in  the  play  might  have  been  written  without  any  local  know 
ledge,  but  they  certainly  do  not  exhibit  any  local  ignorance.  It  has  been  said, 
"  The  probability  of  Shakspeare's  ever  having  been  in  Scotland  is  very  remote. 
It  should  seem,  by  his  uniformly  accenting  the  name  of  this  spot  Dunsinane, 
that  he  could  not  possibly  have  taken  it  from  the  mouths  of  the  country-people, 
who  as  uniformly  accent  it  Dunsinnan."  *  This  is  not  quite  accurate,  as  Dr. 
Drake  has  pointed  out.  Shakspere  has  this  passage : — 

"  Macbeth  shall  never  vanquish'd  be,  until 
Great  Birnam  wood  to  high  Dunsiuaue  hill 
Shall  come  against  him." 


*  Stoddart's  '  Remarks  on  the  Local  Scenery  and  Manners  in  Scotland,'  1801. 


431 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPEIM:  : 

Wintoun,  in  his  '  Chronicle,'  has  both  Dunsinane  and  Dunsinane.  But  we  are 
informed  by  a  gentleman  who  is  devoted  to  the  study  of  Scotch  antiquities  that 
there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  Dunsinane  was  the  ancient  pronunciation, 
and  that  Shakspere  was  consequently  right  in  making  Dunsinane  the  exception 
to  his  ordinary  method  of  accenting  the  word.  So  much  for  the  topographical 
knowledge  displayed  in  '  Macbeth.'  Alone,  it  is  scarcely  enough  to  found  an 
argument  upon. 

But  there  is  a  point  of  specific  knowledge  in  this  tragedy  which  opens  out  a 
wider  field  of  inquiry.  Coleridge  has  said — "The  Weird  Sisters  are  as  true  a 
creation  of  Shakspeare's,  as  his  Ariel  and  Caliban, — fates,  furies,  and  materializ 
ing  witches  being  the  elements.  They  are  wholly  different  from  any  representa 
tion  of  witches  in  the  contemporary  writers,  and  yet  presented  a  sufficient 
external  resemblance  to  the  creatures  of  vulgar  prejudice  to  act  immediately  on 
the  audience."  Fully  acknowledging  that  the  weird  sisters  are  a  creation — for 
all  the  creations  of  poetry  to  be  effective  must  still  be  akin  to  something  which 
has  been  acted  or  believed  by  man,  and  therefore  true  in  the  highest  sense  of 
the  word — we  have  still  to  inquire  whether  there  were  in  existence  any  common 
materials  for  this  poetical  creation.  We  have  no  doubt  that  the  witches  of 
'  Macbeth '  "  are  wholly  different  from  any  representation  of  witches  in  the  con 
temporary  writers."  Charles  Lamb  says  of  the  'Witch  of  Edmonton/ a  tragi 
comedy  by  Rowley,  Dekker,  and  Ford,  that  Mother  Sawyer  "  is  the  plain  tradi 
tional  old  woman  witch  of  our  ancestors ;  poor,  deformed,  and  ignorant ;  the 
terror  of  villages,  herself  amenable  to  a  justice."  She  has  "  a  familiar  which 
serves  her  in  the  likeness  of  a  black  dog."  It  is  he  who  strikes  the  horse  lame, 
and  nips  the  sucking  child,  and  forbids  the  butter  to  come  that  has  been  churn 
ing  nine  hours.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  inquire  whether  the  'Witch'  of 
Middleton  preceded  the  '  Macbeth '  of  Shakspere.  Davenant  engrafted  Mid- 
dleton's  Lyrics  upon  the  stage  '  Macbeth ; '  but  those  who  sing  Locke's  music 
are  not  the  witches  of  Shakspere.  Middleton's  witches  are  essentially  un- 
poetical,  except  in  a  passage  or  two  of  these  Lyrics.  Hecate,  their  queen,  has 
all  the  low  revenges  and  prosaic  occupations  of  the  meanest  of  the  tribe.  Take  an 
example : — 


"  ffec.  Is  the  heart  of  wax 
Stuck  full  of  magic  needles  ? 

Stadlin.  'T  is  done,  Hecate. 

ffec.  And  is  the  farmer's  picture,  and  his  wife's, 
Laid  down  to  th'  fire  yet  ? 

Stad.  They  are  a  roasting  both,  too. 

ffec.  Good; 

Then  their  marrows  are  a  melting  subtlely, 
And  three  months'  sickness  sucks  up  life  in  'em. 
They  deny'd  me  often  flour,  barm,  and  milk, 
Goose-grease  and  tar,  when  I  ne'er  hurt  their  churnings, 
Their  brew-locks,  nor  their  batches,  nor  fore-spoke 
Any  of  their  breedings.     Now  I  '11  be  meet  with  'em. 
Seven  of  their  young  pigs  I  have  bewitch'd  already 
Of  the  last  litter;  nine  ducklings,  thirteen  goslings,  and  a  hog 

Fell  lame  last  Sunday  after  even-song  too. 
432 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 


And  mark  how  their  sheep  prosper;  or  what  soup 
Each  mi  ch-kine  gives  to  th'  pail  :  I'll  send  these  snakea 
Shall  milk  em  all  beforehand  :  the  dew'd-skirted  dairy  wenches 
Shall  stroke  dry  dugs  for  this,  and  go  home  cursing  • 

U  mar  their  syllabubs,  and  swathy  feastings 
Under  cows'  bellies,  with  the  parish  youths." 


te        d  epCT        s  scarce'y  "">"  elevated. 

has     indeed     thrown 


,1  1  ^-»*iv,v,l  y       lliuic      CieVttLUU, 

poetry,  ,,llt  sonorous  -n    S°me    ""^   ™   to   "«*   P- -  conventional 

"  Within  a  gloomy  dimble  she  doth  dwell, 
Down  in  a  pit  o'ergrown  with  brakes  and  briars, 
Close  by  the  ruins  of  a  shaken  abbey, 
Torn  with  an  earthquake  down  unto  the  ground 
'Mongst  graves  and  grots,  near  an  old  charnel-house." 

But  her  pursuits  scarcely  required  so  solemn  a  scene  for  her  incantations.  Her 
business  was 

"  To  make  ewes  cast  their  lambs,  swine  eat  their  farrow, 
The  housewives'  tun  not  work,  nor  the  milk  churn ; 
Writhe  children's  wrists,  and  suck  their  breath  in  sleep, 
Get  vials  of  their  blood ;  and  where  the  sea 
Casts  up  his  slimy  ooze,  search  for  a  weed 
To  open  locks  with,  and  to  rivet  charms, 
Planted  about  her  in  the  wicked  feat 
Of  all  her  mischiefs,  which  are  manifold." 

For  these  ignoble  purposes  she  employs  all  the  spells  of  classical  antiquity;  but 
she  is  nevertheless  nothing  more  than  the  traditional  English  witch  who  sits 
m  her  form  in  the  shape  of  a  hare  :-— 

"I '11  lay 

My  hand  upon  her,  make  her  throw  her  skut    ' 
Along  her  back,  when  she  doth  start  before  us. 
But  you  must  give  her  law :  and  you  shall  see  her 
Make  twenty  leaps  and  doubles;  cross  the  paths, 
And  then  squat  down  beside  us." 

Ihe  peculiar  elevation  of  the  weird  sisters,  as  compared  with  these  representa 
tions  of  a  vulgar  superstition,  may  be  partly  ascribed  to  the  higher  character  of 
the  scenes  ^in  which  they  are  introduced,  and  parfly  to  the  loftier  powers  of  the 
poet  who  introduces  them.  But  we  think  it  may  be  also  shown,  in  a  great 
degree,  that  some  of  their  peculiar  attributes  belong  to  the  superstitions  of 
Scotland  rather  than  to  those  of  England  ;  and,  if  so,  we  may  next  inquire  how 
the  poet  became  familiarly  acquainted  with  those  superstitions. 

The  first  legislative  enactment  against  witchcraft  in  England  was  in  the  33rd 
of  Henry  VIII.  This  bill  is  a  singular  mixture  of  unbelief  and  credulity.  The 
preamble  recites,  that  "Where  [whereas]  divers  and  sundry  persons  unlawfully 
have  devised  and  practised  invocations  and  conjurations  of  spirits,  pretending 
by  such  means  to  understand  and  get  knowledge  for  their  own  lucre  in  what 
LIFE.  2  F  433 


WILLIAM    SIIAKSPF.UK  : 

place  treasure  of  gold  and  silver  should  or  might  be  found  or  had  in  the  earth 
or  other  secret  places,  and  also  have  used  and  occupied  witchcrafts,  enchant 
ments,  and  sorceries,  to  the  destruction  of  their  neighbours'  persons  and  goods." 
Thus  the  witches  have  pretended  to  get  knowledge  of  treasure,  but  they  have 
used  enchantments  to  the  injury  of  their  neighbours.  The  enactment  makes  it 
felony  to  use  or  cause  to  be  used  "  any  invocations  or  conjurations  of  spirits, 
witchcrafts,  enchantments,  or  sorceries,  to  the  intent  to  get  or  find  money  or 
treasure,  or  to  waste,  consume,  or  destroy  any  person  in  his  body,  members,  or 
goods."  So  little  was  the  offence  regarded  in  England,  or  the  protection  of  the 
law  desired,  that  this  statute  was  repealed  amongst  other  new  felonies  in  the 
first  year  of  Edward  VI.,  1547.  The  Act  of  the  5th  of  Elizabeth,  1562-3,  ex- 
hibits  a  considerable  progress  in  the  belief  in  witchcraft.  It  recites  that  since 
the  repeal  of  the  statute  of  Henry  VIII.,  "  Many  fantastical  and  devilish  per 
sons  have  devised  and  practised  invocations  and  conjurations  of  evil  and  wicked 
spirits,  and  have  used  and  practised  witchcrafts,  enchantments,  charms,  and 
sorceries,  to  the  destruction  of  the  persons  and  goods  of  their  neighbours,  and 
other  subjects  of  this  realm."  The  enactment  makes  a  subtle  distinction  be 
tween  those  who  "  use,  practise,  or  exercise  any  invocations  or  conjurations  of 
evil  and  wicked  spirits  to  or  for  any  intent  or  purpose,"  and  those  who  "use 
any  witchcraft,  enchantment,  charm,  or  sorcery,  whereby  any  person  shall 
happen  to  be  killed  or  destroyed."  The  conjuration  of  spirits,  for  any  intent, 
was  a  capital  crime  :  plain  witchcraft  was  only  capital  when  a  person  was 
through  it  killed  or  destroyed.  It  would  seem,  therefore,  that  witchcraft 
might  exist  without  the  higher  crime  of  the  conjuration  of  evil  spirits.  By 
this  enactment  the  witchcraft  which  destroyed  life  was  punishable  by  death  ; 
but  the  witchcraft  which  only  wasted,  consumed,  or  lamed  the  body  or  member, 
or  destroyed  or  impaired  the  goods  of  any  person,  was  punishable  only  with 
imprisonment  and  the  pillory  for  the  first  offence.  The  treasure-finders  were 
dealt  with  even  more  leniently.  The  climax  of  our  witch  legislation  was  the 
Act  of  the  1st  of  James  I.,  1603-4.  This  statute  deals  with  the  offence  with  a 
minute  knowledge  of  its  atrocities  Vhich  the  learning  of  England  had  not  yet 
attained  to.  The  King  brought  this  lore  from  his  own  land :  "  And  for  the 
better  restraining  the  said  offences,  and  more  severe  punishing  the  same,  be  it 
further  enacted  by  the  authority  aforesaid,  that  if  any  person  or  persons,  after 
the  said  Feast  of  Saint  Michael  the  Archangel  next  coming,  shall  use,  practise, 
or  exercise  any  invocation  or  conjuration  of  any  evil  and  wicked  spirit,  or  shall 
consult,  covenant  with,  entertain,  employ,  feed,  or  reward  any  evil  and  wicked 
spirit  to  or  for  any  intent  or  purpose,  or  take  up  any  dead  man,  woman,  or 
child  out  of  his,  her,  or  their  grave,  or  any  other  place  where  the  dead  body 
resteth,  or  the  skin,  bone,  or  any  other  part  of  any  dead  person,  to  be  employed 
or  used  in  any  manner  of  witchcraft,  sorcery,  charm,  or  enchantment ;  or  shall 
use,  practise,  or  exercise  any  witchcraft,  enchantment,  charm,  or  sorcery,  where 
by  any  person  shall  be  killed,  destroyed,  wasted,  consumed,  pined,  or  lamed  in 
his  or  her  body,  or  any  part  thereof ;  that  then  every  such  offender  or  offenders, 
their  aiders,  abettors,  and  counsellors,  being  of  any  the  said  offences  duly  and 
lawfully  convicted  and  attainted,  shall  suffer  pains  of  death  as  a  felon  or  felons, 
434 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 

and  shall   lose  the  privilege  and   benefit  of  clergy  and  sanctuary.''     It  is  a  re- 
markable  proof  of  the  little  hold  which  the  belief  in  witchcraft  had  obtained  in 
England,  that  the  legislation  against  the  crime  appears  to  have  done  very  little 
for  the  production  of  the  crime.     "  In   one  hundred  and  three  years  from  the 
statute   against  witchcraft,  in  the  33rd  of  Henry  VIII.  till  1644,  when  we  were 
in  the  midst  of  our  civil  wars,  I  find  but  about  sixteen  executed."*     The  po 
pular   fury   against   witchcraft   in   England   belongs   to   a   later  period,  which  we 
call  enlightened ;  when  even  such  a  judge  as  Hale  could  condemn  two  women 
to  the  flames,  and   Sir  Thomas  Browne,  upon  the  same  occasion,  could  testify  his 
opinion   that   "  the   subtlety  of  the   devil  was   co-operating  with   the   malice   of 
these   which   we   term   witches."     It   was   in    1597    that   James  VI.  of   Scotland 
[James    I.]    published   his    '  Deemonology,'   written    "  against   the   damnable   opi 
nions  of  two  principally,  in  our  age,  whereof  the  one  called   Scott,   an  English 
man,  is  not  ashamed,  in  public  print,  to  deny  that  there  can  be  such  a  thing  as 
witchcraft."     The  opinions  of  the  King  gave  an  impulse,   no  doubt,  to  the  su 
perstitions    of    the    people,    and   to   the    frightful    persecutions    to   which    those 
superstitions   led.       But   the   popular   belief  assumed  such  an  undoubting  form, 
and  displayed  itself  in  so  many  shapes  of  wild  imagination,  that  we  may  readily 
believe  that  the  legal  atrocities  were  as  much  a  consequence  of  the  delusion  as  that 
they  fostered  and  upheld  it.     If  Shakspere  were  in  Scotland  about  this  period,  he 
would  find  ample  materials  upon  which  to  found  his  creation  of  the  weird  sisters, — 
materials  which  England  could  not  furnish  him,  and  which  it  did  not  furnish  to  his 
contemporaries. 

On  the  2nd  of  February,  1596,  a  commission  was  issued  by  the  King  of 
Scotland  "  in  favour  of  the  Provost  and  Baillies  of  the  burgh  of  Aberdeen,  for 
the  trial  of  Janet  Wishart  and  others  accused  of  witchcraft."  Other  commis 
sions  were  obtained  in  1596  and  1597,  and  during  the  space  of  one  year  no  less 
than  twenty-three  women  and  one  man  were  burned  in  Aberdeen,  upon  con 
viction  of  this  crime,  in  addition  to  others  who  were  banished  and  otherwise 
punished.  Many  of  the  proceedings  on  this  extraordinary  occasion  were  re 
cently  discovered  in  an  apartment  in  the  Town  House  of  that  city,  and  they 
were  published  in  1841  in  the  first  volume  of  'The  Miscellany  of  the  Spalding 
Club/ — a  Society  established  "  For  the  printing  of  the  historical,  ecclesiastical, 
genealogical,  topographical,  and  literary  remains  of  the  north-eastern  counties 
of  Scotland."  These  papers  occupy  more  than  a  hundred  closely-printed  quarto 
pages ;  and  very  truly  does  the  editor  of  the  volume  say,  "  There  is  a  greater 
variety  of  positive  incident,  and  more  imagination,  displayed  in  these  trials 

than  are  generally  to   be  met  with  in  similar  records They  reflect 

a  very  distinct  light  on  many  obsolete  customs,  and  on  the  popular  belief  of  our 
ancestors."  We  opened  these  most  curious  documents  with  the  hope  of  finding 
something  that  might  illustrate,  however  inadequately,  the  wonderful  display 
of  fancy  in  the  witches  of  Shakspere— that  extraordinary  union  of  a  popular 
belief  and  a  poetical  creation  which  no  other  poet  has  in  the  slightest  degree 
approached.  We  have  not  been  disappointed.  The  documents  embody  the 

*  '  An  Historical  Essay  concerning  Witchcraft/  by  Francis  Hutchinson,  D.D.,  1720. 
2  F  2  435 


WII,!  JAM    Sll  AKS1M.IM.  : 

superstitions  of  the  people  within  four  years  of  the  period  when  Shakspere  is 
supposed  to  have  visited  Scotland  ;  and  when  the  company  of  which  he  was  one 
of  the  most  important  members  is  held  to  have  played  at  Aberdeen.  The  popular 
belief,  through  which  twenty-four  victims  perished  in  1597,  would  not  have 
died  out  in  1601.  Had  Shakspere  spent  a  few  weeks  in  that  city,  it  must  have 
encountered  him  on  every  side,  amidst  the  wealthy  and  the  poor,  the  learned  and 
the  ignorant,  the  clergy  and  the  laity.  All  appear  to  have  concurred  in  the  un 
shaken  confidence  that  they  were  acting  rightly  in  the  allegation  and  the  credence  of 
the  most  extraordinary  instances  of  supernatural  power.  It  was  unnecessary  that 
Shakspere  should  have  heard  the  trials  or  read  the  documents  which  are  now  open 
to  us,  if  he  had  dwelt  for  a  short  time  amongst  the  people  who  were  judges  and 
witnesses.  The  popular  excitement  did  not  subside  for  many  years.  To  the 
philosophical  poet  the  common  delusion  would  furnish  ample  materials  for  wonder 
and  for  use. 

'  Graymalkin '  the  cat,  and  '  Paddock '  the  toad,  belong  to  the  witch  supersti 
tions  of  the  south  as  well  as  the  north.  The  witches  of  the  extreme  north,  the 
Laplanders  and  Finlanders,  could  bestow  favourable  winds.  Reginald  Scott, 
with  his  calm  and  benevolent  irony,  says,  "  No  one  endued  with  common  sense 
but  will  deny  that  the  elements  are  obedient  to  witches  and  at  their  command 
ment,  or  that  they  may,  at  their  pleasure,  send  rain,  hail,  tempests,  thunder, 
lightning,  when  she,  being  but  an  old  doting  woman,  casteth  a  flint  stone  over 
her  left  shoulder  towards  the  west."  Shakspere  in  Macbeth  dwells  upon  this 
superstition : — 

"  Fair  is  foul,  and  foul  is  fair," 

say  the  witches  in  the  first  scene.  The  second  and  third  sisters  will  each  give  their 
revengeful  sister  "  a  wind  : " — 

"  I  myself  have  all  the  other ; 
And  the  very  ports  they  blow, 
All  the  quarters  that  they  know 
I'  the  shipman's  card." 

Macbeth  and  Banquo,  before  they  meet  the  sisters,  have  not  seen  "  so  foul  and  fair 
a  day."  Macbeth,  in  the  incantation  scene,  invokes  them  with, 

"  Though  you  untie  the  winds,  and  let  them  fight 
Against  the  churches." 

In  the  '  Dittay  against  Issobell  Oige '  at  Aberdeen  she  is  thus  addressed : — 
"  Thou  art  indicted  and  accused  of  practising  of  thy  witchcraft  in  laying  of  the 
wind,  and  making  of  it  to  become  calm  and  lowdin  [smooth],  a  special  point 
teached  to  thee  by  thy  master  Satan."*  In  those  humble  practices  of  the 
witches  in  Macbeth  which  assimilate  them  to  common  witches,  such  as 
"  killing  swine "  in  the  third  scene  of  the  first  act,  Shakspere  would  scarcely 
need  the  ample  authority  which  is  furnished  by  charge  upon  charge  in  the 

*  In  these  quotations  we  shall  take  the  freedom  to  change  the  Scottish  orthography  into  English, 
to  save  unnecessary  difficulty  to  our  readers. 
436 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

trials  at  Aberdeen.  But  even  amongst  these  there  is  one  incident  so  peculiar 
that  we  can  scarcely  believe  that  the  poet  could  have  conceived  it  amongst  the 
woods  and  fields  of  his  own  mid- England  : — 

"  A  sailor's  wife  had  chestnuts  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  hi  a  sieve  I  '11  thither  sail, 
And  like  a  rat  without  a  tail, 
I  '11  do,  I  '11  do,  I  '11  do.' " 

One  of  the  images  here  employed  certainly  came  from  Scotland.  The  witches 
who  were  evidence  against  Dr.  Fian,  the  notable  sorcerer  who  was  burnt  at 
Edinburgh  in  1591,  in  their  discovery  "how  they  pretended  to  bewitch  and 
drown  his  Majesty  in  the  sea  coming  from  Denmark,"  testified  "that  all  they 
together  went  to  sea,  each  one  in  a  riddle  or  sieve."  The  revengeful  witch 
goes  on  to  say, 

"  Though  his  bark  cannot  be  lost, 
Yet  it  shall  be  tempest-toss'd." 

In  the  indictment  against  Violet  Leys,  she  is  told  that  "  Alexander  Lasoun 
thy  husband,  being  one  long  time  mariner  in  William  Finlay's  ship,  was  put 
forth  of  the  same  three  years  since.  Thou  and  thy  umquhile  mother  together 
bewitched  the  said  William's  ship,  that  since  thy  husband  was  put  forth  of  the 
same  she  never  made  one  good  voyage  ;  but  either  the  master  or  merchants  at 
some  times  through  tempest  of  weather  were  forced  to  cast  overboard  the 
greatest  part  of  their  lading,  or  then  to  perish,  men,  ship,  and  gear."  This  is  a 
veritable  sea-port  superstition ;  and  it  is  remarkable  that  nearly  all  the  dialogue 
of  the  witches  before  "  Macbeth  doth  come,"  is  occupied  with  it.  Such  delu 
sions  must  have  been  rife  at  Aberdeen  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  In  the  witch  superstitions  of  England,  whether  recorded  in  legis 
lative  enactments,  in  grave  treatises,  or  in  dramatic  poetry,  we  find  nothing  of 
witchcraft  in  connexion  with  maritime  affairs. 

We  have  seen  that  in  the  enactment  of  Henry  VIII.,  the  superstitious  belief 
that  the  power  of  witchcraft  could  waste  the  body  was  especially  regarded. 
Shakspere  need  not,  therefore,  have  gone  farther  for, 

"  Sleep  shall  neither  night  nor  day 
Hang  upon  his  pent-house  lid ; 
He  shall  live  a  man  forbid  : 
Weary  sev'n  nights  nine  times  nine, 
Shall  he  dwindle,  peak,  and  pine." 

But  the  extent  to  which  this  belief  was  carried  in  Aberdeen,  in  1596-7,  is  almost 
beyond  credence.  There  was  no  doubt  a  contagious  distemper  ravaging  the 
city  and  neighbourhood;  for  nearly  all  the  witches  are  accused  of  having  pro- 
duced  the  same  effects  upon  their  victims—"  The  one  half  day  rossin  [roasting] 
as  in  a  fiery  furnace,  with  an  extraordinary  kind  of  drought  that  she  could  not 
be  slockit  [slaked],  and  the  other  half  day  in  an  extraordinary  kind  of  sweat- 

437 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE 

ing,  melting  and  consuming  her  body  as  a  white  burning  candle,  which  kind 
of  sickness  is  a  special  point  of  witchcraft."  Still  this  is  not  essentially  a  super 
stition  of  the  north.  -Bishop  Jewell,  preaching  before  the  Queen  previous  to 
the  revived  statute  against  witchcraft,  says,  "  Your  grace's  subjects  pine  away 
even  unto  the  death.  Their  colour  fadeth,  their  flesh  rotteth,  their  speech  is 
benumbed,  their  sense  is  bereft."  But  there  is  a  superstition  alluded  to  in 
Macbeth  which  we  do  not  find  in  the  south.  Banquo  addresses  the  weird 
sisters, — 

"If  you  can  look  into  the  seeds  of  time, 
And  say,  which  grain  will  grow,  and  which  will  not, 
Speak  then  to  me." 

This  may  be  metaphorical,  but  the  metaphor  is  identical  with  an  Aberdeen 
delusion.  In  the  accusation  against  Johnnet  Wischert  there  is  this  item, — 
"  Indicted  for  passing  to  the  green  growing  corn  in  May,  twenty-two  years 
since  or  thereby,  sitting  thereupon  tymous  in  the  morning  before  the  sun-rising, 
and  being  there  found  and  demanded  what  she  was  doing,  thou  answered,  I  shall 
tell  thee,  I  have  been  piling  [peeling]  the  blades  of  the  corn,  I  find  it  will  be 
one  dear  year,  the  blade  of  the  corn  grows  withersones  [contrary  to  the  course 
of  the  sun],  and  when  it  grows  sonegatis  about  [with  the  course  of  the  sun]  it 
will  be  good  cheap  year." 

The  witches'  dance  can  scarcely  be  distinctly  found  in  any  superstition  of  the 
south.     In  Macbeth  the  first  witch  says, — 

"I'll  charm  the  air  to  give  a  sound 
While  you  perform  your  antique  round." 

The  Aberdeen  trials  abound  with  charges  against  those  who  partook  in  such 
fearful  merriment.  They  danced  early  in  the  morning  upon  St.  Catherine's 
Hill ;  they  danced  at  twelve-hours  at  even  round  the  Fish  Cross  of  the  borough. 
The  devil,  their  master,  was  with  them,  playing  on  his  form  of  instruments. 
Marion  Grant  is  thus  accused :  "  Thou  confessed  that  the  devil  thy  master, 
whom  thou  termest  Christsonday,  caused  thee  dance  sundry  times  with  him, 
and  with  Our  Lady,  who,  as  thou  sayest,  was  a  fine  woman,  clad  in  a  white 
walicot,  and  sundry  others  of  Christsonday's  servants  with  thee  whose  names 
thou  knowest  not,  and  that  the  devil  played  on  his  form  of  instruments  very 
pleasantly  unto  you."*  Here  is  something  like  the  poetry  of  witchcraft  opening 
upon  us.  Here  are  dances  something  approaching  to  those  of  Hecate, 

"  Like  elves  and  fairies  in  a  ring." 


•  The  reader  cannot  fail  to  observe  that  this  article  of  the  witch-belief  lingered  in  Scotland  until 
the  period  when  Burns  preserved  it  for  all  time  in  '  Tarn  o'  Shanter :'—  t 

"  Warlocks  and  witches  in  a  dance : 
Nae  cotillon  brent  new  frae  France, 
But  hornpipes,  jigs,  strathspeys,  and  reels, 
Put  life  and  mettle  in  their  heels. 
A  winnock-bunker  in  the  east, 

There  sat  auld  Nick  in  shape  o'  beast;  A  towzia 

433 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 

Here  is  what  the  editor  of  the  '  Witchcraft  Trials '  so  justly  calls  a  display  of 
"imagination."  What  if  we  here  should  find  the  very  character  of  Hecate 
herself, — something  higher  than  the  Dame  Hecate  of  Ben  Jonson,— more  de 
finite  in  her  attributes  than  the  Hecate  of  the  mythology  ?  Andro  Man  is  thus 
indicted : — "  Thou  art  accused  as  a  most  notorious  witch  and  sorcerer,  in  so  far 
as  thou  confessest  and  affirmest  thyself  that  by  the  space  of  threescore  years 
since  or  thereby  the  devil  thy  master  came  to  thy  mother's  house  in  the  like 
ness  and  shape  of  a  woman,  whom  thou  callest  the  Queen  of  Elphen."  The 
Queen  of  Elphen,  with  others,  rode  upon  white  hackneys.  She  and  her  com 
pany  have  shapes  and  clothes  like  men,  and  yet  they  are  but  shadows,  but  are 
starker  [stronger]  than  men ;  "  and  they  have  playing  and  dancing  when  they 
please,  and  also  that  the  Queen  is  very  pleasant,  and  will  be  old  and  young 
when  she  pleases."  The  force  of  imagination  can  scarcely  go  farther  than  in 
one  of  the  confessions  of  this  poor  old  man : — "  Thou  affirmest  that  the  Queen 
of  Elphen  has  a  grip  of  all  the  craft,  but  Christsonday  is  the  good  man,  and  has 
all  power  under  God,  and  that  thou  kennest  sundry  dead  men  in  their  com 
pany,  and  that  the  king  who  died  in  Flodden  and  Thomas  Rymour  is  there." 
There  is  here  almost  imagination  enough  to  have  suggested  the  scene  of  that 
vision  of  the  dead  of  which  Macbeth  exclaimed, 

"  Now  I  see  't  is  true : 
For  the  blood-bolter'd  Bauquo  smiles  upon  me." 

When  Johnson  produced  the  '  Masque  of  Queens 'at  Whitehall,  in  1609,  he 
did  not  hesitate  to  allude  to  the  opinions  of  James  as  an  authority  for  some  of 
the  imagery  of  his  witch-scenes.  In  his  note  upon  the  goat  which  the  witch 
Dame  was  to  ride,  he  says — "  His  Majesty  also  remembers  the  story  of  the 
devil's  appearance  to  those  of  Calicut,  in  that  form,  Dsemonol.  lib.  ii.  cap.  3." 
But  the  witch  Dame  of  Jonson  was  a  being  not  to  be  found  in  the  popular 
superstitions  of  Scotland,  or  in  the  King's  confiding  description  of  the  super 
natural  evils  with  which  that  country  was  afflicted.  Jonson  says — "This 
Dame  I  make  to  bear  the  person  of  Ate,  or  Mischief,  for  so  I  interpret  it  out  of 
Homer's  description  of  her."  The  precision  with  which  the  poet  describes  this 
personage  leaves  nothing  doubtful  for  a  proper  conception  of  his  idea : — "  At 
this  the  Dame  entered  to.  them,  naked-armed,  bare-footed,  her  frock  tucked,  her 
hair  knotted,  and  folded  with  vipers  ;  in  her  hand  a  torch  made  of  a  dead  man's 
arm,  lighted,  girded  with  a  snake.  To  whom  they  all  did  reverence,  and  she 
spake,  uttering,  by  way  of  question,  the  end  wherefore  they  came."  The  Dame 
of  Ben  Jonson  is  thus  entirely  unconnected  with  the  popular  superstitions  of 
his  own  time  and  country.  But  King  James  had  associated  the  belief  in  fairies 
and  in  witches :  "  Witches  have  been  transported  with  the  pharie  to  a  hill, 


A  towzie  tyke,  black,  grim,  and  large, 
To  gi'e  them  music  was  his  charge  : 
He  screw'd  the  pipes,  and  gart  them  skirl, 
yiU  roof  and  rafters  a'  did  dirl." 

439 


WII.I.IAM    SIIAKSI'KIM'  : 

which  opening  they  went  in  and  there  saw  a  fairie  queen."  But  James  also 
especially  says,  that  the  spirits  whom  the  Gentiles  called  Diana  and  her 
wandering  court  were  known  by  the  name  of  pharie.  It  would  scarcely  be 
necessary  for  Shakspere  to  go  farther  for  his  Hecate.  "  We  find  the  elves  occa 
sionally  arrayed  in  the  costume  of  Greece  and  Rome,  and  the  Fairy  Queen  and 
her  attendants  transformed  into  Diana  and  her  nymphs,  and  invested  with  their 
attributes  and  appropriate  insignia. — (Delrius,  pp.  168,  807.)  According  to 
the  same  author,  the  Fairy  Queen  was  also  called  Habundia.  Like  Diana, 
who,  in  one  capacity,  was  denominated  Hecate,  the  goddess  of  enchantment, 
the  Fairy  Queen  is  identified,  in  popular  tradition,  with  the  Gyre-Carline, 
Gay  Carline,  or  mother-witch  of  the  Scottish  peasantry."*  But  nothing,  as  it 
appears  to  us,  so  distinctly  associates  the  popular  superstition  in  witchcraft  and 
in  fairies, — so  distinctly  makes  the  Queen  of  the  Fairies  to  be  also  the  Queen 
of  the  Witches, — as  the  extraordinary  matters  revealed  in  the  Aberdeen  trials. 
Accustomed  to  the  stage  representations  of  Shakspere's  witches,  we  shape  our 
notion  of  his  Hecate  somewhat  according  to  this  statement  of  Jonson  :  "  Amongst 
our  vulgar  witches,  the  honour  of  Dame  is  given  with  a  kind  of  pre-eminence 
to  some  special  one  at  their  meetings."  Upon  the  stage,  Hecate  is  a  personage 
with  a  somewhat  longer  broom,  and  a  somewhat  gayer  dress,  than  the  inferior 
witches;  but  still  one  of  skinny  lip  and  beard.  But  shut  out  these  attributes 
of  the  tiring-room,  and  regard  alone  what  Shakspere  has  set  down  for  his 
Hecate,  and  we  behold  quite  another  being.  She  denounces  the  witches  as 
beldams ;  she  proclaims  herself  the  mistress  of  their  charms ;  she  admits  their 
participation  with  her  in  all  harms — ("the  glory  of  our  art") — but  she  lays 
her  commands  upon  them  with  an  authority  before  which  they  tremble.  She 
is  surrounded  with  no  vulgar  accessaries,  of  a  green  cock,  a  goat,  or  a  horse  of 
wood,  such  as  even  the  Dame  Ate  of  Jonson  rode  upon ;  but  she  communes 
with  spirits  who  wait  for  her  in  clouds.  When  she  again  appears  she  gives 
praise  and  promises  reward  ;  and  amidst  the  gloomy  solemnities  of  the  witch- 
incantation  she  brings  music  and  dancing  ; — 

"  And  now  about  the  caldron  sing 
Like  elves  and  fairies  in  a  ring." 

She  was  unquestionably  meant  to  be  an  evil  spirit,  a  mischievous  one,  some 
thing  essentially  different  from  the  gentle  and  benevolent  Titania,  but  never 
theless  brilliant  and  beautiful.  The  Queen  of  Elphen  of  poor  Andro  Man  had 
"the  likeness  and  shape  of  a  woman;"  she  and  her  troop  rode  upon  white 
hackneys;  she  delighted  in  "playing  and  dancing;"  she  was  "very  pleasant, 
and  will  be  old  and  young  when  she  pleases."  And  yet,  according  to  the  wild 
imagination  of  the  same  poor  wizard,  she  held  her  unhallowed  rites  in  company 
with  the  devil,  who  was  called  Christsonday,  and  they  claimed  allegiance 
together  from  their  common  subjects.  Shakspere  certainly  could  not  liave 
found  more  exact  materials  for  drawing  a  Fairy  Queen  essentially  different 
from  the  "lovely  lady"  who  sat  in  the  "spiced  Indian  air"  gossiping  with 

*  Scott's  '  Minstrel  -y  of  the  Scottish  Border,'  vol.  ii.,  p.  279. 

I!') 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

a  votaress  of  her  order,  or  slept  upon  banks  of  flowers  "  lull'd  with  dances 
and  delight." 

We  might  pursue  this  subject  in  tracing  minutely  some  minor  points  of  the 
imagery  of  Macbeth  which  might  have  been  derived  from  the  Scottish  super 
stitions.  It  may  be  sufficient  just  to  mention  one  or  two  of  the  more  striking. 
The  spells  of  the  incantation  scene  are  derived  by  Shakspere  for  the  most  part 
from  the  great  storehouse  of  his  own  imagination.  But  the  last  ingredient  of 
the  caldron — 

"Grease  that's  sweaten 

From  the  murderer's  gibbet,  throw 

Into  the  flame," — 

has  distinct  regard  to  a  special  superstition.  Johnnet  Wischert  is  thus  accused : 
— "  Thou  and  thy  daughter,  Violet  Leys,  desired  thy  woman  to  gang  with  thy 
said  daughter  at  twelve  hours  at  even  to  the  gallows,  and  cut  down  the  dead 
man  hanging  thereon,  and  take  a  part  of  all  his  members  from  him,  and  burn 
the  dead  corpse."  This  comes  nearer  to  the  Shaksperian  spell  than  anything 
which  we  find  in  English  superstitions.  Even  the  glorious  description  of 
Duncan's  horses  might  have  received  some  colouring  from  Aberdeen  delusions. 
In  describing  the  prodigies  which  followed  the  death  of  King  Duff,  Holinshed 
says,  "  Horses  in  Lothian,  being  of  singular  beauty  and  swiftness,  did  eat 
their  own  flesh,  and  would  in  no  wise  taste  any  other  meat."  Shakspere 

has   used  this  : — 

"  'T  is  said,  they  eat  each  other." 

But  he  did  not  find  in  Holinshed  that  they 

"  Turn'd  wild  in  nature,  broke  their  stalls,  flung  out, 
Contending  'gainst  obedience,  as  they  would 
Make  war  with  mankind." 

The  horses  of  King  Duncan  have  a  humble  parallel  in  the  oxen  of  William 
Smith,  in  Tarserhill,  whom  Merjorie  Mutche  is  thus  accused  of  injuring: — 
"Thou  having  discord  for  some  alleged  wrongs  he  did  you,  for  revenge  of  the 
which  thou  earnest  to  his  plough,  he  being  gangand  [going]  and  tilling  the  land 
as  use  is,  and  then  thou  cast  thy  witchcraft  and  sorcery  on  his  oxen,  through 
which  they  instantly  run  all  wod  [mad],  brak  the  plough,  two  thereof  ran  over 
the  hills  to  Deir,  and  other  two  thereof  up  Ithan  Side,  which  could  never  be 
taken  nor  apprehended  again,  which  thou  did  nor  canst  not  deny."  Even  sheep, 
according  to  these  accusations,  "  ran  wod  and  furious,  that  no  man  durst  look 
on  them,  for  fear  and  danger  of  their  lives."  Here  was  material  for  the  poet's 
imagination  to  work  upon.  Or  had  he  heard  of  the  wonderful  incident  at  the 
storm  of  Jedburgh,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  when  fifteen  hundred  horses 
were  "  so  mad  that  they  ran  like  wild  deer  into  the  field,"  throwing  themselves 
over  rocks,  and  rushing  into  the  flames  of  the  burning  town  ?  Lord  Surrey,  who 
writes  of  these  wonders  to  the  King,  says,— "  Universally  all  their  company 
say  plainly  the  devil  was  that  night  among  them  six  times."  : 

*  See  Scott's  'Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,'  vol.  i.,  p.  243. 

441 


WILLIAM   >iiAKM'i:i;r. : 

Othello  was  acted  before  Queen  Elizabeth,  at  Harefield,  the  mansion  of  her 
Lord  Keeper  Ellesmere,  in  August,  1602.*  We  have  no  evidence  that  it  was 
then  acted  for  the  first  time,  but  it  was  in  all  probability  a  new  play.  Coming 
BO  closely  upon  Shakspere's  probable  visit  to  Scotland,  in  the  autumn  of  1601, 
does  Othello  exhibit  any  marks,  however  slight,  of  Scottish  associations  ?  lago's 

song, 

"  King  Stephen  was  a  worthy  peer," 

is,  according  to  Percy,  "supposed  to  have  been  originally  a  Scotch  ballad." 
We  may  observe  that  "  lotvne"  as  given  in  the  first  folio  edition,  rhyming  to 
"crowne,"  is  not  an  English  word.  It  is  the  same  word  that  we  find  in 
Macbeth,  thus  printed  in  the  same  folio  : — 

"  The  diueil  damne  thee  blacke,  thou  cream-faced  loone." 

It  is  the  Scotch  loon,  rhyming  in  lago's  song  to  croon.  In  the  same  edition  of* 
Othello,  printed  no  doubt  from  Shakspere's  manuscript,  the  last  line  of  lago's 
song  is  thus  given ; — 

."  And  take  thy  awFd  cloake  about  thee." 

A  Scotticism  is  here  clearly  intended.  But,  if  it  be  not  to  inquire  "  too  curiously," 
may  we  not  trace  one  of  the  most  striking  passages  in  Othello  to  the  humble 
source  of  an  Aberdeen  superstition  ? 

"  That  handkerchief 
Did  an  Egyptian  to  my  mother  give ; 
She  was  a  charmer,  and  could  almost  read 
The  thoughts  of  people :  she  told  her,  while  she  kept  it 
'T  would  make  her  amiable,  and  subdue  my  father 
Entirely  to  her  love." 

In  the  information  against  Isobell  Straquhan,  it  is  alleged  that  "the  said  Iso- 
bell  came  to  Elspet  Mutray  in  Wodheid,  she  being  a  widow,  and  asked  of  her  if 
she  had  a  penny  to  lend  her,  and  the  said  Elspet  gave  her  the  penny ;  and 
the  said  Isobell  took  the  penny  and  bowit  [bent]  it,  and  took  a  clout  and  a  piece 
red  wax,  and  sewed  the  clout  with  a  thread,  the  wax  and  the  penny  being 
within  the  clout,  and  gave  it  to  the  said  Elspet  Mutray,  commanding  her  to  use 
the  said  clout  to  hang  about  her  crag  [neck],  and  when  she  saw  the  man  whom 
she  loved  best,  take  the  clout,  with  the  penny  and  the  wax,  and  stroke  her  face 
therewith,  and  she  so  doing,  she  should  attain  in  to  the  marriage  of  that  man 
whom  she  loved."  The  "clout"  sewed  "with  a  thread"  wants,  indeed,  the 
poetical  colouring  of  the  "handkerchief  "  of  Othello ;  but  still 

"  There's  magic  in  the  web  of  it." 

More  curious  in  the  effects  produced  is  another  example  of  the  "  prophetic 
fury  "  of  the  "  Sibyl,"  Isobell  Straquhan.  She  could  not  only  produce  love,  but 

*  '  Egerton  Papers,'  published  by  the  Camden  Society,  p.  343. 
442 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 

remove  hatred :  "  Walter  Ronaldsone  had  use  to  strike  his  wife,  who  took  con 
sultation  with  Scudder  [alias  Straquhan],  and  she  did  take  pieces  of  paper,  and 
sew  them  thick  with  thread  of  divers  colours,  and  did  put  them  in  the  barn 
amongst  the  corn,  and  from  henceforth  the  said  Walter  did  never  strike  his 
wife,  neither  yet  once  found  fault  with  her,  whatsomever  she  did."  He  was 
subdued,  "entirely  to  her  love." 


\\1LL1AM  SHAKSPERL  : 


NOTE  ON  THE  QUEEN  OF  ELPHEN. 


IN  the  highly  interesting  collection  of  '  Criminal  Trials  before  the  High  Court  of  Justiciary  in 
Scotland,'  published  from  original  records  by  Robert  Pitcairn,  the  learned  editor  says  of  the  trial  of 
Bessie  Dunlop  for  witchcraft,  in  1576,  that  "it  ia  in  every  view  extremely  interesting,  but  more 
particularly  on  account  of  the  very  minute  and  graphic  details  given  by  Bessie  of  many  circumstances 
connected  with  the  prevailing  superstition,  especially  in  relation  to  the  Court  of  Faerie ;  which,  so  far 
as  the  editor  knows,  are  not  elsewhere  to  be  found."  This  was  published  in  1829,  when  the  records  of  the 
Aberdeen  trials  were  undiscovered.  The  Fairy  superstition  of  Bessie. Dunlop  varies  considerably  from 
that  of  Andro  Man.  Bessie  describes  many  of  her  meetings  with  "  Thorn  Reid,"  a  name  by  which  the 
evil  spirit  was  known  to  her.  He  brought  her  into  the  company,  on  one  occasion,  of  "  twelve  persons, 
eight  women  and  four  men.  The  men  were  clad  in  gentlemen's  clothing,  and  the  women  had  all  plaids 
round  about  them,  and  were  very  seemly  like  to  see."  When  she  asked  Thorn  who  they  were,  he  said, 
"  they  were  the  good  witches  that  wynnit  [dwelt]  in  the  Court  of  Elfame.*  Again,  Bessie  was  asked 
by  Thorn  Reid  if  she  did  not  remember  that  after  the  birth  of  a  child,  "  a  stout  woman  came  in  to  her, 
and  sat  down  on  the  form  beside  her,  aud  asked  a  drink  at  her,  and  she  gave  her ;  who  also  told  her 
that  that  bairn  would  die,  and  that  her  husband  should  mend  of  his  sickness.  The  Eaid  Bessie  answered, 
that  she  remembered  well  thereof ;  and  Thorn  said,  that  was  the  Queen  of  Elfame,  his  mistress,  who 
had  commanded  him  to  wait  upon  her  and  to  do  her  good."  In  1588  Alisoun  Peirsoun  is  also  indicted 
"  for  haunting  and  repairing  with  the  good  neighbours  and  the  Queen  of  Elfame."  But  this  Queen  of 
Elfame  [Elf-holm]  has  not  such  a  specific  connection  with  witches  and  witchcraft  as  the  Oueen  of 
Elphen  of  Andro  Man,  who  "  haa  a  grip  of  all  the  craft." 


444 


A  BIOGRAPHY 


§    II. 

THE  fortieth  volume  of  the  registers  of  the  Town  Council  of  Aberdeen  contains  the 
following  entries : — 

"  Nono  Octobris  1601. 
"  Ordinance  to  the  dean  of  gild. 

"  The  samen  day  The  prouest  Bailleis  and  counsall  ordanis  the  svme  of  threttie  tua  merkis  to  be 
gevin  to  the  Kingis  serwandes  presently  in  this  burcht  .  .  quha  playes  comedeis  and  staige  playes 
Be  reasoun  they  ar  recoramendit  be  his  majesties  speciall  letter  and  hes  played  sum  of  their  comedies 
in  this  burcht  and  ordanis  the  said  svme  to  be  payit  to  tham  be  the  dean  of  gild  quhilk  salbe  allowit 
in  his  comptis." 

"220ct'1601. 

"  The  quhilk  day  Sir  Francis  Hospitall  of  Haulszie  Knycht  Frenschman  being  recommendit  be  his 
majistie  to  the  Prouest  Bailleis  and  Counsall  of  this  brocht  to  be  favorablie  Interteneit  with  the 
gentilmen  his  majesties  seruanda  efter  specifeit  quha  war  direct  to  this  burcht  be  his  majestic  to 
accumpanie  the  said  Frenshman  being  ane  nobillman  of  France  cumming  only  to  this  burcht  to 
sie  the  towne  and  cuntrie  the  said  Frenshman  with  the  knightis  and  gentillmen  folowing  wer  all 
ressauit  and  admittit  Burgesses  of  Gild  of  this  burcht  quha  gawe  thair  aithis  in  common  form 
folowis  the  names  of  thame  that  war  admittit  burgesses 

Sir  Francis  Hospitall  of  halzie  knycht 

Sir  Claud  Hamiltoun  of  Schawfeild  knycht 

Sir  John  Grahame  of  orkill  knycht 

Sir  John  Ramsay  of  Ester  Baronie  knycht 

James  Hay    James  Auchterlony    Robert  Ker    James  Schaw    Thomas  foster    James 

Gleghorne    Dauid  Drummond    Seruitors  to  his  Majestie 
Monsieur  de  Scheyne    Monsieur  la  Bar    Seruitours  to  the  said  Sir  Francis 
James  Law 

James  Hamiltoun  seruitour  to  the  said  Sir  Claud 
Archibald  Sym  Trumpeter 
Laurence  Fletcher  comediane  to  his  majestic. 
.     Mr  Dauid  Wod 

Johne  Bronderstamis  " 

These  documents  present  something  more  than  the  facts,  that  a  company  of 
players,  specially  recommended  by  the  King,  were  paid  a  gratuity  from  the 
Corporation  of  Aberdeen  for  their  performances  in  that  town,  one  of  them  sub 
sequently  receiving  the  freedom  of  the  borough.  The  provost,  baillies,  and 
council  ordain  that  thirty-two  marks  should  be  given  to  the  King's  servants 
then  in  that  borough,  who  played  comedies  and  stage-plays.  The  circumstance 
that  they  are  recommended  by  the  King's  special  letter  is  not  so  important  as 
the  description  of  them  as  the  King's  servants.  Thirteen  days  after  the  entry 
of  the  9th  of  October,  at  which  first  period  these  servants  of  the  King  had 
played  some  of  their  comedies,  Lawrence  Fletcher,  comedian  to  his  Majesty,  is 
admitted  a  burgess  of  Guild  of  the  borough  of  Aberdeen — the  greatest  honour 

which  the  Corporation  could  bestow.     He  is  admitted  to   this  honour,  in  com- 

445 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPElvE. 

pany  with  a  nobleman  of  France  visiting  Aberdeen  for  the  gratification  of  his 
curiosity,  and  recommended  by  the  King  to  be  favourably  entertained ;  as  well 
as  with  three  men  of  rank,  and  others,  who  were  directed  by  his  Majesty  to 
accompany  "  the  said  Frenchman."  All  the  party  are  described  in  the  docu 
ment  as  knights  and  gentlemen.*  We  have  to  inquire,  then,  who  was  Law- 
rence  Fletcher,  comedian  to  his  Majesty?  Assuredly  the  King  had  not  in  his 
service  a  company  of  Scotch  players.  In  1599  he  had  licensed  a  company  of 
English  comedians  to  play  at  Edinburgh.  Fond  as  James  was  of  tneatrical  ex 
hibitions,  he  had  not  the  means  of  gratifying  his  taste,  except  through  the  visits 
of  English  comedians.  Scotland  had  no  drama.  Before  the  Reformation  she 
had  her  Mysteries,  as  England  had.  The  Moralities  of  Lyndsay,  of  which 
'  The  Satyre  of  the  three  Estaitis '  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable,  were  indeed 
dialogues,  but  in  no  sense  of  the  word  dramas.  The  biting  humour,  the  fierce 
invectives,  the  gross  obscenity  which  we  find  in  'The  Satyre  of  the  three  Es 
taitis,'  were  no  doubt  the  characteristics  of  other  popular  exhibitions  of  the 
same  period.  But,  taking  that  singular  production  as  a  specimen,  they  were 
scarcely  so  dramatic  in  their  form  and  spirit  as  the  contemporary  productions  in 
England  of  John  Hey  wood,  of  which  'The  four  P's'  is  a  favourable  example. 
'  Philotus ' — "  Ane  verie  excellent  and  delectabill  Treatise  intitulit  Philotvs, 
qvhairin  we  may  persave  the  greit  inconveniences  that  fallis  out  in  the  Mar 
riage  betvvene  age  and  zouth  " — belongs  to  a  later  period.  It  was  first  printed 
in  1603,  and  again  in  1612,  when  it  was  entitled  'a  Comedy.'  The  plot  is 
founded  upon  one  of  the  stories  of  Barnaby  Rich,  told  by  him  in  the  collection 
from  which  Shakspere  is  supposed  to  have  derived  some  hints  for  the  conduct  of 
the  action  in  Twelfth  Night.  The  dialogue  of  '  Philotus '  is  in  verse,  not  deficient 
in  spirit  and  harmony,  but  utterly  undramatic — sometimes  easy  and  almost  refined, 
at  others  quaint  and  gross  beyond  all  conception.  The  stanza  with  which  the  play 
opens  will  furnish  some  notion  of  the  prevailing  metre,  and  of  the  poetical  tone, 
of  this  singular  performance  : 

"  0  lustie  luifsome  lamp  of  licht, 
Your  bonynes,  your  bewtie  bricht, 
Your  staitly  stature  trym  and  ticht, 

With  gesture  graue  and  gude : 
Your  countenance,  your  cullour  cleir, 
Your  lauching  lips,  your  smyling  cheir, 
Your  properties  doin  all  appear, 

My  senses  to  illude." 

Until  William  Alexander  appeared  in  1603  with  his  tragedy  of  '  Darius/  Scotland 
possessed  no  literature  that  could  be  called  dramatic ;  and  it  may  be  doubted  if 
even  Alexander's  '  Historical  Dialogues '  can  be  properly  called  dramas.  We  may 
safely  conclude  that  King  James  would  have  no  Scottish  company  of  players, 
because  Scotland  had  no  dramas  to  play. 

•  Archibald  Sym,  trumpeter,  was  a  person  of  dignified  'occupation.     He  was  no  doubt  the  state- 
trumpeter,  whose  business  it  was  to  assist  in  proclaiming  the  royal  commands  to  the  people.     In 
Soottish  annals  we  find  constant  notices  of  certain  acts  of  authority  notified  at  Edinburgh  "  by  open 
proclamation  and  sound  of  trumpet  at  the  Cross." 
448 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

"  Lawrence  Fletcher,  comedian  to  his  Majesty,"  was  undoubtedly  an  English- 
man  ;  and  "  the  King's  servants  presently  in  this  borough  who  play  comedies 
and  stage-plays"  were  as  certainly  English  players.  There  are  not  many  facts 
known  by  which  we  can  trace  the  history  of  Lawrence  Fletcher.  He  is  not  men- 
tioned  amongst  "  the  names  of  the  principal  actors  in  all  these  plays,"  which  list 
is  given  in  the  first  folio  edition  of  Shakspere  ;  but  he  undoubtedly  belonged  to 
Shakspere's  company.  Augustine  Phillipps,  who,  by  his  will,  in  1605,  bequeathed 
a  thirty-shilling  piece  of  gold  to  his  "fellow"  William  Shakspere,  also  be- 
queathed  twenty  shillings  to  his  "  fellow "  Lawrence  Fletcher.  But  there  is 
more  direct  evidence  than  this  of  the  connection  of  Fletcher  with  Shakspere's 
company.  The  patent  of  James  I.,  dated  at  Westminster  on  the  nineteenth  of 
May,  1603,  in  favour  of  the  players  acting  at  the  Globe,  is  headed  "Pro  Lau- 
rentio  Fletcher  et  Willielmo  Shakespeare  &  aliis ;  "  and  it  licenses  and  autho 
rises  the  performances  of  "  Laurence  Fletcher,  William  Shakespeare,  Richard 
Burbage,  Augustine  Phillippes,  John  Hemings,  Henrie  Condel,  William  Sly, 
Robert  Armin,  Richard  Cowly,  and  the  rest  of  their  associates."  The  connec 
tion  in  1603  of  Fletcher  and  Shakspere  cannot  be  more  distinctly  established 
than  by  this  document.  Chalmers  says  that  Fletcher  "  was  placed  before  Shak- 
speare  and  Richard  Burbage  in  King  James's  licence  as  much  perhaps  by  acci 
dent  as  by  design."  *  The  Aberdeen  Register  is  evidence  against  this  opinion. 
Lawrence  Fletcher,  comedian  to  his  Majesty,  is  admitted  to  honours  which  are 
not  bestowed  upon  the  other  King's  servants  who  had  acted  plays  in  the  bo 
rough  of  Aberdeen  in  1601.  Lawrence  Fletcher  is  first  named  in  the  letters 
patent  of  1603.  It  is  evident,  we  think,  that  he  was  admitted  a  burgess 
of  Aberdeen  as  the  head  of  the  company,  and  that  he  was  placed  first  in 
the  royal  licence  for  the  same  reason.  But  there  is  a  circumstance,  we  ap 
prehend,  set  forth  in  the  Aberdeen  Registers  which  is  not  only  important 
with  reference  to  the  question  of  Shakspere  having  visited  Scotland,  but  which 
explains  a  remarkable  event  in  the  history  of  the  stage.  The  company 
rewarded  by  the  Corporation  of  Aberdeen  on  the  9th  of  October,  1601,  were 
not  only  recommended  by  his  Majesty's  special  letter,  but  they  were  the 
King's  servants.  Lawrence  Fletcher,  according  to  the  second  entry,  was  co 
median  to  his  Majesty.  This  English  company,  then,  had  received  an  honour 
from  the  Scottish  King,  which  had  not  been  bestowed  upon  them  by  the 
English  Queen.  They  were  popularly  termed  the  Queen's  players  about  1590  ; 
but,  subsequently,  we  find  them  invariably  mentioned  in  the  official  entries 
as  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants.  As  the  servants  of  the  first  officer  of 
the  Court,  they  had  probably  higher  privileges  than  the  servants  of  other 
noblemen ;  but  they  were  not  formally  recognised  as  the  Queen's  servants 
during  the  remainder  of  Elizabeth's  reign.  In  Gilbert  Dugdale's  'The  Time 
Triumphant;  declaring  in  briefe  the  arival  of  our  Soveraigne  Leidge  Lord 
King  James  into  England/  printed  in  1604,  the  author,  after  noticing  that  the 
King  "  dealt  honours  as  freely  to  our  nations  as  their  hearts  could  wish,"  adds, 
"  not  only  to  the  indifferent  of  worth  and  the  worthy  of  honour  did  he  freely 

*  '  Apology,'  p.  422. 


WILLIAM    SIIAKSPERE  : 

deal  about  these  causes  ;  but  to  the  mean  gave  grace  :  as  taking  to  him  the  late 
Lord  Chamberlain's  servants,  now  the   King's  actors  ;    the  Queen    taking  to   her 
the  Earl  of  Worcester's  servants,  that  are  now  her  actors ;  the  Prince  their   son, 
Henry  Prince  of  Wales,  full  of  hope,  took  to  him  the  Earl  of   Nottingham    his 
servants,  who  are  now  his  actors  ;  so  that  of  Lords'  servants  they  are  now   the 
servants    of   the    King,    the   Queen,  and    Prince."      Mr.  Collier,  in  noticing  the 
licence   '  Pro  Laurentio   Fletcher   et   Willielmo    Shakespeare   et   aliis,'    says   that 
the  Lord  Chamberlain's  company   "  by  virtue  of  this  instrument,  in  which  they 
are  termed  '  our  servants/  became   the    King's   players,   and   were  so  afterwards 
constantly   distinguished."  *      But    the    instrument    did    not    create     Lawrence 
Fletcher,    William    Shakspere,    and    others,    the    King's   servants ;    it   recognises 
them  as  the  King's  servants  already  appointed  :  f    "  Know  you  that  we,  of  our 
special  grace,  certain  knowledge,  and  mere  motion,  have  licensed  and  authorised, 
and  by  these  presents  do  license  and  authorise,  these  our  servants,"  &c.     They 
are  licensed  to  use  and  exercise  their  art  and   faculty  "  as  well  for  the  recreation 
of  our  loving  subjects  as  for  our  solace  and  pleasure,  when  we  shall  think  good 
to   see   them."     They  are   "  to  show  and  exercise   publicly   to   their  best  com 
modity  when  the  infection  of  the  plague  shall  decrease,  within  their  now  usual 
house  called  the  Globe,"  as  in  all  other  places.     The  justices,  mayors,  sheriffs, 
and  others  to  whom  the  letters  patent  are  addressed,  are  called  upon  to  aid  and 
assist  them,   and  to    do   them   courtesies ;    and   the   instrument   thus   concludes  •. 
'  And  also  what  further  favour  you    shall   show   to   these   our   servants   for   our 
sake  we   shall   take   kindly  at  your   hands."     The  terms  of   this   patent  exhibit 
towards   the   players   of  the   Globe  a   favour  and  countenance,  almost  an  affec 
tionate  solicitude  for  their  welfare,   which   is  scarcely  reconcilable   with   a   belief 
that  they  first  became  the   King's   players  by  virtue  of  this  instrument.     James 
arrived  in  London,  at  the  Charter  House,  on  the  7th  of  May,  1603.     He  then 
removed   to   the   Tower,   and   subsequently   to    Greenwich    on    the     13th.     The 
Privy   Seal,  directing   the   letters   patent   to   Fletcher,  Shakspere,  and   others,  is 
dated  from  Greenwich  on  the  17th  of   May;    and  in  that  document  the   exact 
words  of   the  patent  are  prescribed.     The  words  of  the  Privy  Seal  and  of  the 
patent   undoubtedly   imply    some   previous    appointment    of    the   persons   therein 
named    as   the    King's   servants.      It   appears    scarcely   possible   that   during   the 
three  days  which  elapsed  between  James  taking  up  his  residence  at  Greenwich, 
and  the  day  on   which   the   Privy  Seal   is  issued,  the   Lord  Chamberlain's   ser 
vants,  at  the  season  of  the  plague,  should  have  performed  before  the  King,  and 
have  so   satisfied  him   that  he  constituted  them  his  own  servants.     It   would   at 
first  seem  improbable   that   amidst   the  press   of  business   consequent   upon  the 
accession,  the  attention  of  the  King  should  have  been  directed  to  the  subject  of 
players  at  all,  especially  in  the  selection  of  a  company  as  his  own  servants,  con 
trary  to    the    precedent    of   the    former   reign.     If   these   players    had    been    the 
servants   of   Elizabeth,   their   appointment  as  the    servants  of   James  might  have 
been  asked  as  a  matter  of  course ;   but  certain  players  were  at  once  to  be  placed 

*  'Annals  of  the  Stage,'  vol.  i.,  p.  348. 
t  The  proper  place  for  this  document  will  be  in  a  subsequent  chapter. 


A    BIOGKAPHY. 

above  all  their  professional  brethren,  by  the  King's  own  act,  carried  into  effect 
within  ten  days  after  his  arrival  within  his  new  metropolis.  But  all  these  ob 
jections  are  removed  when  we  refer  to  the  facts  opened  to  us  by  the  council 
registers  of  Aberdeen.  King  James  the  Sixth  of  Scotland  had  recommended 
his  servants  to  the  magistrates  of  Aberdeen ;  and  Lawrence  Fletcher,  there  can 
be  no  doubt,  was  one  of  those  servants  so  recommended.  The  patent  of  James 
the  First  of  England  directed  to  Lawrence  Fletcher,  William  Shakspere,  and 
others,  eighteen  months  after  the  performances  at  Aberdeen,  is  directed  to 
those  persons  as  "our  servants."  It  does  not  appoint  them  the  King's  servants, 
but  recognises  the  appointment  as  already  existing.  Can  there  be  a  reasonable 
doubt  that  the  appointment  was  originally  made  by  the  King  in  Scotland,  and 
subsisted  -when  the  same  King  ascended  the  English  throne  ?  Lawrence 
Fletcher  was  admitted  a  burgess  of  Guild  of  the  borough  of  Aberdeen  as  come 
dian  to  his  Majesty,  in  company  with  other  persons  who  were  servitors  to 
his  Majesty.  He  received  that  honour,  we  may  conclude,  as  the  head  of  the 
company,  also  the  King's  servants.  We  know  not  how  he  attained  this  distinc 
tion  amongst  his  fellows,  but  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  that  accident  so 
favoured  him  in  two  instances.  The  King's  servant  who  was  most  favoured  at 
Aberdeen  and  the  King's  servant  who  is  first  in  the  patent  in  1603,  was  surely 
placed  in  that  position  by  the  voice  of  his  fellows,  the  other  King's  servants. 
William  Shakspere  is  named  with  him  in  a  marked  manner  in  the  heading  of 
the  patent.  Seven  of  their  fellows  are  also  named,  as  distinguished  from  "  the 


[James  the  Sixth  of  Scotland  and  First  oi  KnyJaud 


LIFE. 


2G 


4  il 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPKia.  : 

rest  of  their  associates."  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  identity  of  the  Law. 
rence  Fletcher,  the  servant  of  James  VI.  of  Scotland,  and  the  Lawrence 
Fletcher,  the  servant  of  James  I.  of  England.  Can  we  doubt  that  the  King's 
servants  who  played  comedies  and  stage  plays  in  Aberdeen,  in  1601,  were,  taken 
as  a  company,  the  King's  servants  who  were  licensed  to  exercise  the  art  and 
faculty  of  playing,  throughout  all  the  realm,  in  1603?  If  these  points  are 
evident,  what  reason  have  we  to  doubt  that  William  Shakspere,  the  second 
named  in  the  licence  of  1603,  was  amongst  the  King's  servants  at  Aberdeen  in 
1601  ?  Every  circumstance  concurs  in  the  likelihood  that  he  was  of  that 
number  recommended  by  the  King's  special  letter;  and  his  position  in  the 
licence,  even  before  Burbage,  was,  we  may  well  believe,  a  compliment  to  him 
who  in  1601  had  taught  "our  James"  something  of  the  power  and  riches  of 
the  English  drama. 

The  circumstances  which  we  have  thus  detailed  give  us,  we  think,  warranty 
to  conclude  that  the  story  of  Macbeth  might  have  been  suggested  to  Shakspere 
upon  Scottish  ground  ;  that  the  accuracy  displayed  in  the  local  descriptions  and 
allusions  might  have  been  derived  from  a  rapid  personal  observation ;  that 
some  of  the  peculiarities  of  his  witchcraft  imagery  might  have  been  found  in 
Scottish  superstitions,  and  more  especially  in  those  which  we  have  shown  may 
have  been  rife  at  Aberdeen  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Is 
there  anything  whatever  to  contradict  the  inferences  which  are  justly  to  be 
deduced  from  the  records  which  we  have  described  and  commented  upon? 
It  cannot  be  denied,  we  apprehend,  that  Shakspere's  company  was  at  Aberdeen 
in  the  autumn  of  1601.  There  is  nothing  that  we  have  found  which  can  be 
opposed  to  the  fair  and  natural  inferences  that  belong  to  the  registers  of  the 
Town  Council.  The  records  of  the  Presbytery  of  Aberdeen  are  wholly  silent 
upon  the  subject  of  this  visit  of  a  company  of  players  to  their  city.  These 
records,  on  the  25th  of  September,  1601,  contain  an  entry  regarding  Lord 
Glamis — an  entry  respecting  one  of  the  many  deeds  of  violence  for  which  Scot 
land  was  remarkable,  when  the  strong  hand  so  constantly  attempted  to  defy  the 
law  :  Mr.  Patrick  Johnson,  it  seems,  had  been  killed  by  Lord  Glamis,  and  the  fact 
is  here  brought  under  the  cognizance  of  the  Presbytery.  An  entry  of  the  9th  of 
October  deals  with  Alexander  Ceath  [Keith],  on  a  charge  of  adultery.  Another 
of  the  23rd  of  October  relates  to  John  Innis.  Beyond  the  5th  of  November,  when 
there  is  another  record,  it  would  be  unnecessary  to  seek  for  any  minute  regarding 
the  players  who  were  rewarded  and  honoured  by  the  Town  Council.  There  is 
no  entry  whatever  on  the  subject.*  If  Shakspere's  company  were  at  Aberdeen 
— and  to  disprove  it,  it  must  be  shown  that  Lawrence  Fletcher,  who  was  the 
King  of  Scotland's  comedian  in  1601,  was  not  the  Lawrence  Fletcher  who  was 
associated  with  Shakspere  in  the  patent  granted  by  James  upon  his  accession 


*  We  consulted  these  documents,  which  are  preserved  in  the  fine  library  of  the  Advocates  at 
Edinburgh.  We  were  assisted  by  very  kind  friends — William  Spalding,  Esq.,  Professor  of  Rhetoric 
in  the  University  of  Edinburgh  (who  very  early  distinguished  himself  as  a  critic  on  Shakspere), 
and  John  Hill  Burton,  Esq.  (who  possesses  the  most  complete  knowledge  of  the  treasures  of  that 
vnluable  library) — in  searching  for  documents  that  could  illustrate  this  question. 
450 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

In  1603 — what  possible  reason  can  there  be  for  supposing  that  Shakspere  was 
absent  from  his  company  upon  so  interesting  an  occasion  as  a  visit  to  the  Scot 
tish  King  and  Court?  The  extraordinary  merits  of  the  dramas  of  Shakspere 
might  Hve  been  familiar  to  the  King  through  books.  Previous  to  1601,  there 
have  been  nine  undoubted  plays  of  Shakspere's  published,  which  might  readily 
have  reached  Scotland.*  Essex  and  Southampton  were  in  the  habit  of  corre 
spondence  with  James ;  and  at  the  very  hour  when  James  officially  knew  of  his 
accession  to  the  crown  of  England,  he  dispatched  an  order  from  Holyrood  House 
to  the  Council  of  State  for  the  release  of  Southampton  from  the  Tower.  It  is 
not  likely  that  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  would  have  taken  the  long 
journey  to  Scotland  upon  the  mere  chance  of  being  acceptable  to  the  Court. 
If  they  were  desired  to  come,  it  is  not  probable  that  Shakspere  would  have 
been  absent.  It  was  probably  his  usual  season  of  repose  from  his  professional  pur 
suits  in  London.  The  last  duties  to  his  father's  memory  might  have  been  per 
formed  on  the  8th  of  September,  leaving  abundant  time  to  reach  the  Court, 
whether  at  Holyrood,  or  Stirling,  or  Linlithgow,  or  Falkland ;  to  be  enrolled 
amongst  the  servants  who  performed  before  the  King;  and  subsequently  to 
have  been  amongst  those  his  fellows  who  received  rewards  on  the  9th  of  October 
for  their  comedies  and  stage -plays  at  Aberdeen. 

In  the  summer  of  1618  Ben  Jonson  undertook  the  extraordinary  task  of 
travelling  to  Edinburgh  on  foot.  Bacon  said  to  him  with  reference  to  his  pro 
ject,  "  He  loved  not  to  see  poesy  go  on  other  feet  than  poetical  Dactylus  and 
Spondeeus/'t  Jonson  seems  to  have  been  proud  of  his  exploit,  for  in  his  '  News 
from  the  New  World  discovered  in  the  Moon,'  a  masque  presented  at  Court  in 
1620,  he  makes  a  printer  say,  "One  of  our  greatest  poets  (I  know  not  how 
good  a  one)  went  to  Edinburgh  on  foot,  and  came  back."  According  to  Drum- 
mond  he  was  "  to  write  his  foot  pilgrimage  hither,  and  call  it  a  discovery." 
We  have  no  traces  of  Jonson  in  this  journey,  except  what  we  derive  from  the 
'  Conversations  with  Drummond,'  and  the  notice  of  honest  John  Taylor  in  his 
'  Pennilesse  Pilgrimage : '  "  I  went  to  Leith,  where  I  found  my  long-approved 
and  assured  good  friend,  Master  Benjamin  Jonson,  at  one  Master  John  Stuart's 
house."  Jonson  remained  long  enough  in  Scotland  to  become  familiar  with  its 
hospitable  people  and  its  noble  scenery.  He  wrote  a  poem  in  which  he  called 
Edinburgh 

"The  heart  of  Scotland,  Britain's  other  eye." 

"  He  hath  intention,"  saith  Drummond,  •"  to  write  a  fisher  or  pastoral  play,  and 
set  the  stage  of  it  in  the  Lomond  Lake."  After  his  return  to  London,  he 
earnestly  solicits  Drummond,  by  letter,  to  send  him  "some  things  concerning 
the  Loch  of  Lomond."  We  find  nothing  in  Jonson's  poetry  that  gives  us  an 
impression  that  he  had  caught  any  inspiration  from  the  country  of  mountains 
and  lakes.  We  have  no  internal  evidence  at  all  that  he  had  been  in  Scotland, 

*  There  is  a  beautiful  copy  of  the  first  edition  of  Love's  Labour's  Lost,  1598,  amongst  Drum- 
mond's  books,  preserved  apart  in  the  library  of  the  University  of  Edinburgh, 
f  '  Conversations  with  Drummond.' 

2  G  2  4*1 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPERE  : 

We  have  no  token  of  the  impress  of  its  mountain  scenery  upon  his  mind  at  all 
approaching  to  the  distinctness  of  a  famous  passage  in  Shakspere — a  solitary 
passage  in  a  poet  who  rarely  indeeed  describes  any  scenery,  but  one  which  could 
scarcely  have  been  written  without  accurate  knowledge  of  the  realities  to  which 
"  black  vesper's  pageants  "  have  resemblance  : — 

"  Sometime  we  see  a  cloud  that's  dragouish ; 
A  vapour,  sometime,  like  a  bear  or  lion, 
A  tower'd  citadel,  a  pendant  rock, 
A  forked  mountain,  or  blue  promontory 
With  trees  upon  it,  that  nod  unto  the  world 
And  mock  our  eyes  with  air."  * 

John  Taylor,  homely  as  he  is,  may  better  enable  us  to  trace  Shakspere's  pro 
bable  course.  Taylor,  also  travelling  on  foot,  was  a  week  in  reaching  Lich- 
lield  passing  through  Coventry.  He  was  another  week  filling  up  some  time 
with  over-much  carousing,  before  he  got  out  of  Manchester.  Preston  detained 
him  three  days  with  its  jollity ;  and  it  was  another  week  before,  passing  ove; 
the  hills  of  Westmoreland,  he  reached  Carlisle.  Shakspere,  setting  out  or 
horseback  from  Stratford,  would  reach  Carlisle  by  easy  stages  in  six  days 
Taylor  stops  not  to  describe  the  merry  city.  It  was  more  to  his  purpose  to 
enjoy  the  "good  entertainment"  of  which  he  there  "found  store,"  than  to 
survey  its  castle  and  its  cathedral ;  or  to  look  from  its  elevated  points  upon 
fertile  meadows  watered  by  the  Eden,  or  the  broad  Frith,  or  the  distant  sum 
mits  of  Crossfell  and  Skiddaw.  Would  he  had  preserved  for  us  some  of  the 
ballads  that  he  must  have  heard  in  his  revelries,  that  told  of  the  wondrous 
feats  of  the  bold  outlaws  who  lived  in  the  greenwood  around 

"  Carlisle,  in  the  north  countree." 

Assuredly  Shakspere  had  heard  of  Adam  Bell,  the  brave  archer  of  Inglewood  : 
"  He  that  hits  me,  let  him  be  clapped  on  the  shoulder  and  called  Adam."t  It 
is  pleasant  to  believe  that  some  snatches  of  old  minstrelsy  might  have  recreated 
his  solitary  journey  as  he  rode  near  the  border-land. 

Sir  Walter  Scott,  in  the  delightful  introduction  to  his  '  Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border,'  says,  "  The  accession  of  James  to  the  English  crown  converted 
the  extremity  into  the  centre  of  his  kingdom."  The  Scottish  poet  would  seem 
to  have  borrowed  the  idea  from  a  very  humble  English  brother  of  the  craft : — 

"  For  now  those  crowns  are  both  in  one  combin'd, 
Those  former  borders  that  each  one  confin'd 
Appears  to  me  (as  I  do  understand) 
To  be  almost  the  centre  of  the  land : 
This  was  a  blessed  heaven-expounded  riddle 
To  thrust  great  kingdoms'  skirts  into  the  middle.":}: 

John   Taylor   trudges   from    Carlisle   into    Annandale,  wading   through   the   Esk 
and  wondering  that  he  saw  so  little  difference  between  the  two  countries,  seeing 

*  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  one  of  Shakspere's  later  plays. 

t  Much  Ado  about  Nothing.  £  Taylor's  '  Pennilesse  Pilgrimags.' 

452 


[Carlisle.] 

that  Scotland  had  its  sun  and  sky,  its  sheep,  and  corn,  and  good  ale.  But  he 
tells  us  that  in  former  times  this  border-land 

"  Was  the  curs'd  climate  of  rebellious  crimes." 

According  to  him,  and  he  was  not  far  wrong,  pell-mell  fury  and  hurly-burly, 
spoiling  and  wasting,  sharking,  shifting,  cutting  throats,  and  thieving,  con 
stituted  the  practice  both  of  Annandale  and  Cumberland.  When  Taylor  made 
his  pilgrimage,  the  existing  generation  would  have  a  very  fresh  recollection  of 
these  outrages  of  former  times.  If  Shakspere  travelled  over  this  ground,  he 
would  be  more  familiar  with  the  passionate  hatreds  of  the  borderers,  and  would 
hear  many  a  song  which  celebrated  their  deadly  feuds,  and  kept  alive  the  spirit 
of  rapine  and  vengeance.  As  recently  as  1596  the  famous  Raid  of  Carlisle  had 
taken  place,  when  the  Lord  of  Buccleuch,  then  Warden  of  Liddesdale,  sur 
prised  the  Castle  of  Carlisle,  and  carried  off  a  daring  Scotch  freebooter,  Kin- 
mont  Willie,  who  had  been  illegally  seized  by  the  Warden  of  the  West  Marches 
of  England,  Lord  Scrope.  The  old  ballad  which,  forty  years  ago,  was  preserved 
by  tradition  on  the  western  borders  of  Scotland,  was  perhaps  sung  by  many  a 
sturdy  clansman  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century  :— 

"  Wi'  coulters,  and  wi'  forehammers, 
We  garr'd  the  bars  bang  merrilie, 
Until  we  came  to  the  inner  prison, 
Where  Willie  o'  Kinmont  he  did  lie. 

453 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE. 

And  when  we  cam*  to  the  lower  prison, 

Where  Willie  o"  Kinmont  he  did  lie — 
'  0  Bleep  ye,  wake  ye,  Kinmont  Willie,* 

Upon  the  morn  that  thou's  to  die  ? "'  f 

But  the  feuds  of  the  Scotch  and  English  borderers  were  not  the  only  causes  of 
insecurity  on  the  western  frontier.  If  the  great  dramatic  poet,  who  has  painted 
so  vividly  the  desolation  of  civil  war  in  his  own  country,  had  passed  through 
Annandale  in  1601,  he  would  have  seen  the  traces  of  a  petty  civil  war  which 
was  then  raging  between  the  clans  of  Maxwell  and  Johnstone,  who  a  few  years 
before  had  met  in  deadly  conflict  on  the  very  ground  over  which  he  would 
pass.  The  Lord  of  Maxwell,  with  a  vast  band  of  followers,  had  been  slain 
without  quarter.  This  was  something  different  from  the  quiet  security  of 
England — a  state  of  comparative  blessedness  that  Shakspere  subsequently 
described  in  Cranmer's  prophecy  of  the  glories  of  Elizabeth  : — 

"  In  her  days  every  man  shall  eat  in  safety, 
Under  hia  own  vine,  what  he  plants ;  and  sing 
The  merry  songs  of  peace  to  all  his  neighbours."  J 

The  penniless  pilgrim  travelled  over  this  ground  when  the  security  of  Eng 
land  had  been  extended  to  Scotland ;  and  he  found  no  greater  dangers  than 
wading  through  the  Esk  and  the  Annan,  and  no  severer  evils  than  sleeping  in 
a  poor  hut  upon  the  hard  ground,  with  dirty  pigeons  roosting  around  him.§ 

Place  the  poet  safely  in  Edinburgh,  after  he  has  made  his  solitary  journey  of 
three  hundred  miles,  through  unaccustomed  scenery,  partly  amongst  foreign 
people  and  strange  manners.  A  new  world  has  been  opened  to  him.  He  has 
Lft  behind  him  his  old  fertile  midland  counties,  their  woods,  their  corn-fields 
now  ripe  for  the  harvest,  to  pass  over  wild  moorlands  with  solemn  mountains 
shutting  in  the  distance,  now  following  the.  course  of  a  brawling  stream  through 
a  fertile  valley,  cultivated  and  populous,  and  then  again  climbing  the  summit  of 
some  gloomy  fell,  from  which  he  looks  around,  and  may  dream  he  is  in  a  land 
where  man  has  never  disturbed  the  wild  deer  and  the  eagle.  He  looks  at  one 
time  upon 

"  Turfy  mountains,  where  live  nibbling  sheep, 
And  flat  meads  thatch'd  with  stover," 

and  he  may  say  with  the  Water  Poet,  "I  thought  myself  in  England  still." 
He  is  presently  in  the  gorge  of  the  mountains,  and  there  are  fancies  awakening 
in  him  which  are  to  shape  themselves  not  into  description,  but  into  the  deli 
neations  of  high  passions  which  are  to  be  created  out  of  lofty  moods  of  the 
mind.  In  Edinburgh  he  meets  his  fellows.  The  probability  is  that  the  Court 

•  The  snatch  of  melody  in  Lear,  in  all  likelihood  part  of  an  English  song,  will  occur  to  the 
reader: — 

"  Sleepest  or  wakest  thou,  jolly  shepherd  ? 

f  'Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,'  vol.  ii.,  p.  58. 
J  Henry  VIII.,  Act  v. 

§  Taylor  tells  several  portions  of  his  adventures  in  plain  prose ;  and  we  know  of  no  better  picture 
of  the  country  and  its  manners  than  his  simple  descriptions  furnish. 
454 


[Holyroo'J  House.] 


is  not  there,  for  it  is  the  hunting  season.  Holyrood  is  a  winter  palace ;  and 
Edinburgh  is  not  then  a  city  particularly  attractive  to  the  Scottish  King,  who  has 
not  forgotten  the  perils  and  indignities  he  has  endured  through  the  influence 
of  the  stern  and  uncompromising  ministers  of  religion,  who  would  have  made 
the  temporal  power  wholly  submissive  to  the  spiritual.  The  timid  man  has 
conquered,  but  all  his  actions  are  there  viewed  with  jealousy  and  malevolence; 
and  the  English  players  may  afford  him  safer  pleasures  in  other  places  than 
where  their  "unruliness  and  immodest  behaviour"  are  uncharitably  denounced 
duly  from  the  pulpit.  Shakspere  may  rest  at  Edinburgh  a  day  or  two;  and 
the  impressions  of  that  city  will  not  easily  be  forgotten  : — a  town  in  which  the 
character  of  the  architecture  would  seem  to  vie  with  the  bold  scenery  in  which 
it  is  placed,  full  of  historical  associations,  the  seat  of  Scottish  learning  and 
authority,  built  for  strength  and  defence  as  much  as  for  magnificence  and  comfort, 
whose  mansions  are  fastnesses  that  would  resist  an  assault  from  a  rival  chief  or 
a  lawless  mob.  He  looks  for  a  short  space  upon  the  halls  where  she  who  fell 
before  the  arbitrary  power  of  his  own  Queen  lived  in  her  days  of  beauty  and 
youthfulness,  surrounded  by  false  friends  and  desperate  enemies,  weak  and 
miserable.  He  sees  the  pulpits  from  which  Knox  thundered,  the  University  which 
James  had  founded,  and  the  Castle  for  whose  possession  Scotch  and  English 
had  fought  with  equal  bravery,  but  varying  success.  He  has  gained  materials 

for  future  reflection. 

455 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPKIM:  : 

The  country  palaces  of  the  Scottish  Kings  inhabited  at  that  period  \u  re 
Linlithgow,  Stirling,  and  Falkland.  The  gentle  lake,  the  verdant  park  of 
Linlithgow  were  suited  for  a  summer  palace.  It  was  the  favourite  residence  of 
Mary  of  Guise,  Queen  of  James  V.  "  Gude  Schir  David  Lindsay,"  Lion  King  at 
Anns  under  James  V.,  here  presented  to  the  Court  and  people  his  '  Satyre  of  the 
Three  Estaitis;'  and,  whatever  be  his  defects,  no  one  can  doubt  that  he  possessed 
a  strong  vein  of  humour,  and  had  the  courage  to  speak  out  boldly  of  public  vice 
and  private  immorality,  as  a  poet  ought  to  speak.  The  conclusion  of  the  drama 
offers  a  pleasant  sample  of  the  freedom  with  which  these  old  writers  could  address 
even  a  courtly  audience  : — 

"  Now,  let  ilk  man  his  way  avance, 
Let  sum  ga  drink,  and  sum  ga  dance : 
Menstrell,  blaw  up  ane  brawll  of  France, 

Let  se  quha  hobbils  best : 

For  1  will  rin,  incontinent, 

To  the  tavern,  or  ever  I  stent : 

And  pray  to  God,  omnipotent, 

To  send  you  all  gude  rest" 

If  the  halls  of  Linlithgow  had  witnessed  the  performance  of  one  of  Shakspere's 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

comedies  by  the  company  of  Lawrence  Fletcher,  no  changes  in  taste  during 
half  a  century  could  be"  more  striking  than  such  a  contrast  of  the  new  drama  of 
England  with  the  old  drama  of  Scotland.  But  we  apprehend  that  Lawrence 
Fletcher  went  m  another  direction. 

The  English    comedians,    servants    to    James   VI.,    might  have   contributed  to 
the  solace  and  recreation  of  the   King  in  the  noble  castle  where  he   was  born 
Seven  years  before,  Stirling  had  been  the  scene  of  rare  festivities,  on  the  occa- 


[Stirllng.] 

sion  of  the  baptism  of  Prince  Henry.  It  was  a  place  fit  for  a  monarch's  resi 
dence.  From  these  walls  he  could  look  at  once  upon  the  fertility  and  the 
grandeur  of  his  dominions — its  finest  river,  its  boldest  mountains,  the  vale  of 
the  Forth,  and  the  summits  of  Ben  Lomond.  He  could  here  cherish  the 
proudest  recollections  of  his  country's  independence.  Stirling  must  have  been 
dear  to  James  as  the  residence  of  his  boyhood,  where  he  learnt  to  make  Latin 
verses  from  Buchanan,  the  most  elegant  of  pedagogues.  He  would,  perhaps, 
be  prouder  of  his  school-room  in  the  old  castle  than  of  its  historical  associations, 
and  would  look  with  greater  delight  upon  the  little  valley  where  he  had  once 
seen  a  gentle  tournament,  than  upon  the  battle-fields  of  Cambuskenneth  and 
Bannockburn  Stirling  was  better  fitted  for  the  ceremonial  displays  of  the 

457 


WILLIAM   S1IAK8PERK: 

Scottish  Court  than  the  quiet  residence  of  a  monarch  like  James  VI.     We  have 
seen  no  record  of  such  displays  in  the  autumn  of  1601. 

Dunfermline  was  the  jointure  house  of  Anne  of  Denmark,  and  her  son  Charles 
was  here  born  in  November,  1600.  It  was  a  quiet  occasional  retreat  from  the 
turmoil  of  Edinburgh.  But  the  favourite  residence  of  James  in  the  "latter 
summer"  and  autumn  was  Falkland.  The  account  published  by  authority  of 
the  Gowrie  conspiracy  opens  with  a  distinct  picture  of  the  King's  habits :  "  His 
Majesty  having  his  residence  at  Falkland,  and  being  daily  at  the  buck-hunting 
(as  his  use  is  in  that  season),  upon  the  fifth  day  of  August,  being  Tuesday,  he 
rode  out  to  the  park,  between  six  and  seven  of  the  clock  in  the  morning,  the 
weather  being  wonderful  pleasant  and  seasonable."  A  record  in  Melville's 
Diary,*  within  three  weeks  of  this  period,  gives  us  another  picture  of  the 
King  and  the  Court :  "  At  that  time,  being  in  Falkland,  I  saw  a  fuscambulus 
Frenchman  play  strong  and  incredible  praticks  upon  stented  [stretched]  tackle 
in  the  palace-close  before  the  King,  Queen,  and  whole  Court.  This  was  po 
liticly  done  to  mitigate  the  Queen  and  people  for  Gowrie's  slaughter ;  even 
then  was  Henderson  tried  before  us,  and  Gowrie's  pedagogue  who  had  been 
buted  [booted,  tortured]."  In  the  great  hall  of  the  palace  of  Falkland,  of  which 
enough  remains  to  show  its  extent  and  magnificence,  we  think  it  probable  that 
Lawrence  Fletcher  and  his  fellows  exhibited  very  different  performances  in  the 
following  autumn.  They  would  have  abundant  novelties  to  present  to  the 
Scottish  Court,  for  all  would  be  new.  At  the  second  Christmas  after  James 
had  ascended  the  English  throne,  the  early  plays  of  Shakspere  were  as  much  in 

•  Quoted  iu  Pitcairn's  '  Trials,'  vol.  ii.,  p.  238. 


(Falkland. 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

request  at  the  Court  as  those  which  belong  to  a  later  period.  The  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor,  The  Comedy  of  Errors,  Love's  Labour's  Lost,  Henry  V., 
The  Merchant  of  Venice,  all  the  productions  of  the  previous  century,  were  pro 
duced  at  Court,  and  the  King  commanded  The  Merchant  of  Venice  a  second 
time.  The  constant  performance  of  Shakspere's  plays,  as  shown  by  the  accounts 
of  the  Revels,  at  this  early  period  after  James's  accession,  would  seem  to  indi 
cate  something  like  a  previous  acquaintance  with  them;  and  this  acquaint 
ance  we  may  justly  assume  took  place  upon  the  visit  of  Lawrence  Fletcher 
and  his  company  to  Scotland  in  the  autumn  of  1601. 

From  Falkland  to  Aberdeen  would  be  a  considerable  journey  in  those  days 
of  neglected  roads,  when  rivers  had  to  be  forded,  and  mountains  crossed  by 
somewhat  perilous  paths.  It  is  not  improbable  that  the  company  halted  at 
Perth,  which  was  within  a  morning's  ride  of  Falkland.  The  Presbytery  of  that 
town,  as  we  have  seen,  were  more  favourably  disposed  some  twelve  years  before 
to  theatrical  performances  than  the  ministers  of  religion  at  Edinburgh;  they 
tolerated  them  under  wise  restrictions.  The  King,  in  1601,  was  anxious  to 
stand  well  with  the  people  of  Perth,  and  he  became  a  burgess  of  the  city,  and 
banqueted  with  the  citizens.  It  "was  politicly  done,"  as  Melville  says  of  the 
French  rope-dancer.  He  might  venture  in  that  city  to  send  his  servants  the 
players  to  amuse  the  people ;  for  those  who  had  supported  his  leanings  towards 
Episcopalian  Church  government  were  strong  there,  and  would  gladly  embrace 
any  occasion  to  cultivate  amusements  that  were  disagreeable  to  their  ascetic 
opponents.  The  same  feelings  would  prevail  still  more  strongly  at  Aberdeen. 
The  young  citizens  of  Bon  Accord,  as  it  was  called,  clung  to  the  amusements  of 
the  older  times,  the  Robin  Hoods  and  Queens  of  May,  in  spite  of  the  pro 
hibitions  of  their  magistrates.  The  Kirk  Session  prohibited  maskers  and  dancers, 
but  the  people  still  danced ;  and  upon  the  solemn  occasion  when  the  popish 
Earls  of  Huntley  and  Errol  were  received  into  the  bosom  of  the  Kirk,  upon 
renouncing  their  errors,  there  was  music  and  masking  around  the  Cross,  and 
universal  jollity  was  mingled  with  the  more  solemn  ceremonials.  The  people 
of  Aberdeen  were  a  loyal  people,  and  we  are  not  surprised  that  they  welcomed 
the  King's  players  with  rewards  and  honours. 

There  is  preserved,  in  the  Library  of  Advocates,  a  very  curious  description 
of  Aberdeen  in  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  written  originally  in 
Latin  by  James  Gordon,  parson  of  Rothemay,  with  a  contemporary  translation. 
The  latter  has  been  lately  printed  by  the  Spalding  Club.  The  changes  during 
half  a  century  would  not  be  very  considerable;  and  the  English  players  would 
therefore  have  sojourned  in  a  city  which,  according  to  this  authority,  "exceeds 
not  only  the  rest  of  the  towns  in  the  north  of  Scotland,  but  likewise  any  city 
whatsomever  of  that  same  latitude,  for  greatness,  beauty,  and  frequency  of 
trading."  Gordon's  description  is  accompanied  by  a  large  and  well-executed 
plan,  which  has  also  been  published;  and  certainly  the  new  and  old  towns  of 
Aberdeen,  as  they  existed  in  those  days,  were  spacious,  and  judiciously  laid 
out,  with  handsome  public  buildings  and  well-arranged  streets,  backed  by 
wooded  gardens, — a  pleasant  place  to  look  upon,  with  fruitful  fields  immedi 
ately  around  it,  though  "anywhere  you  pass  a  mile  without  the  town  the 


468 


- 


country  is  barren  like,  the  hills  scraggy,  the  plains  full  of  marshes  and  mosses." 
The  parson  of  Rothemay,  with  a  filial  love  for  his  native  place,  says,  "  The 
air  is  temperate  and  healthful  about  it,  and  it  may  be  that  the  citizens  owe 
the  acuteness  of  their  wits  thereunto,  and  their  civil  inclinations."  This, 
indeed,  was  a  community  fitted  to  appreciate  the  treasures  which  Lawrence 
Fletcher  and  his  fellows  would  display  before  them ;  and  it  is  to  the  honour  of 
Aberdeen  that,  in  an  age  of  strong  prejudices,  they  welcomed  the  English 
comedians  in  a  way  which  vindicated  their  own  character  for  "  wisdom,  learn 
ing,  gallantry,  breeding,  and  civil  conversation."  It  is  not  to  those  who  so 
welcomed  them  that  we  .must  chiefly  lay  the  charge  of  the  witch  persecutions. 
In  almost  every  case  these  atrocities  were  committed  under  the  sanction  of  the 
Kirk  Session ;  and  in  the  same  way,  when  a  stern  religious  asceticism  became 
the  dominant  principle  in  England,  the  feeling  of  religious  earnestness,  lofty 
as  it  was  in  many  essentials,  too  often  was  allied  with  superstitious  enthusiasm, 
which  blinded  the  reason  and  blunted  the  feelings  as  fearfully  as  the  worst 
errors  of  the  ancient  Church.  The  tolerant  Shakspere  would  have  listened  to 
the  stories  of  these  persecutions  with  the  same  feelings  with  which  he  regarded 
the  ruins  of  the  great  Dominican  convent  at  Aberdeen,  which  was  razed  to  the 
ground  in  1560.  A  right  principle  was  in  each  case  wrongly  directed:  "There 
is  some  soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil." 

We  have  thus,  upon  evidence  that  we  cannot  doubt  of  Shakspere's  company 

400 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

being  at  Aberdeen  in  October,  1601,  assumed  that  Shakspere  would  naturally  be  of 
the  number ;  having  endeavoured  previously  to  show  that  his  tragedy  of  Macbeth, 
especially,  exhibits  traces  of  local  knowledge  which  might  have  been  readily 
collected  by  him  in  the  exact  path  of  such  a  journey.  We  have  attempted  very 
slightly  to  sketch  the  associations  with  which  he  might  have  been  surrounded  during 
this  progress,  putting  these  matters,  of  course,  hypothetically.  as  materials  for  the 
reader  to  embody  in  his  own  imagination.  We  may  conclude  the  subject  by  very 
briefly  tracing  his  path  homeward. 

Honest  John  Taylor,  who  seems  to  have  been  ready  for  every  kindness  that 
fortune  could  bestow  upon  him,  left  Edinburgh  in  better  guise  than  he  came 
thither:  "Within  the  port,  or  gate,  called  the  Netherbow,  I  discharged  my 
pockets  of  all  the  money  I  had  :  and  as  I  came  penniless  within  the  walls  of 
that  city  at  my  first  coming  thither,  so  now,  at  my  departing  from  thence,  I 
came  moneyless  out  of  it  again."  But  he  soon  found  a  worthy  man  ready  to 
help  him  in  his  straits  :  "  Master  James  Acmootye,  coming  for  England,  said, 
that  if  I  would  ride  with  him,  that  neither  I  nor  my  horse  should  want  betwixt 
that  place  and  London."  If  we  take  Taylor  as  our  guide,  we  may  see  how 
Shakspere  journeyed  with  his  fellows  upon  the  great  high  road  between  Edin 
burgh  and  London.  On  the  first  day  they  would  ride  to  Dunbar ;  on  the 
second  day  they  would  reach  Berwick.  They  might  lodge  at  an  inn,  but  the 
exuberance  of  the  ancient  Scotch  hospitality  would  probably  afford  them  all 
welcome  in  the  stronghold  of  some  wealthy  laird.  Taylor  thus  describes  the 
hospitality  of  his  hosts  at  Cober-spath  [Cockburns-path] ,  between  Dunbar  and 
Berwick:  "Suppose  ten,  fifteen,  or  twenty  men  and  horses  come  to  lodge  at 
their  house,  the  men  shall  have  flesh,  tame  and  wild  fowl,  fish,  with  all  variety 
of  good  cheer,  good  lodging,  and  welcome  ;  and  the  horses  shall  want  neither 
hay  nor  provender  :  and  at  the  morning  at  their  departure  the  reckoning  is  just 
nothing.  This  is  this  worthy  gentleman's  use,  his  chief  delight  being  only  to 
give  strangers  entertainment  gratis."  His  description  of  the  hospitality  "in 
Scotland  beyond  Edinburgh "  is  more  remarkable : — "  I  have  been  at  houses 
like  castles  for  building ;  the  master  of  the  house  his  beaver  being  his  blue 
bonnet,  one  that  will  wear  no  other  shirts  but  of  the  flax  that  grows  on  his 
own  ground,  and  of  his  wife's,  daughters',  or  servants'  spinning ;  that  hath  his 
stockings,  hose,  and  jerkin  of  the  wool  of  his  own  sheep's  backs  ;  that  never 
(by  his  pride  of  apparel)  caused  mercer,  draper,  silk- man,  embroiderer,  or 
haberdasher  to  break  and  turn  bankrupt;  and  yet  this  plain  homespun  fellow 
keeps  and  maintains  thirty,  forty,  fifty  servants,  or  perhaps  more,  every  day 
relieving  three  or  four  score  poor  people  at  his  gate  ;  and,  besides  all  this,  can 
give  noble  entertainment,  for  four  or  five  days  together,  to  five  or  six  Earls  and 
Lords,  besides  Knights,  Gentlemen,  and  their  followers,  if  they  be  three  or  four 
hundred  men  and  horse  of  them,  where  they  shall  not  only  feed  but  feast,  and  not 
feast  but  banquet ;  this  is  a  man  that  desires  to  know  nothing  so  much  as  his  duty 
U>  God  and  his  King,  whose  greatest  cares  are  to  practise  the  works  of  piety, 
charity,  and  hospitality  :  he  never  studies  the  consuming  art  of  fashionless  fashions, 
he  never  tries  his  strength  to  bear  four  or  five  hundred  acres  on  his  back  at  once 
his  legs  are  always  at  liberty-not  being  fettered  with  golden  garters,  and  manacl. 


461 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPEKE: 

with  artificial  roses,  whose  weight  (sometime)  is  the  relics  of  some  decayed 
lordship.  Many  of  these  worthy  housekeepers  there  are  in  Scotland :  amongst 
some  of  them  I  was  entertained  ;  from  whence  I  did  truly  gather  these  aforesaid 
observations." 

The  Water  Poet  passes  through  Berwick  without  a  word.     The  poet  of  Henry 
IV.  would  associate  it  with  vivid  recollections  of  his  own  Hotspur  : — 

"  He  had  byn  a  march-man  all  hys  dayea, 
And  kepte  Barwyke  upon  Twede."  • 

He  was  now  in  the  land  of  old  heroic  memories,  which  had  reached  the  ear  of  his 
boyhood  in  his  own  peaceful  Stratford,  through  the  voice  of  the  wandering  harper ; 
and  which  Froissart  had  recorded  in  a  narrative  as  spirited  as  the  fancies  of 
"  the  old  song  of  Percy  and  Douglas."  The  dark  blue  Cheviots  lifted  their 
summits  around  him,  and  beneath  them  were  the  plains  which  the  Douglas  wasted, 
who 

"  Boldely  brente  Northomberlonde, 
And  haryed  many  a  towyn." 

He  was  in  the  land  which  had  so  often  been  the  battle-field  of  Scotch  and 
English  in  the  chivalrous  days,  when  war  appeared  to  be  carried  on  as  much  for 
sport  as  for  policy,  and  a  fight  and  a  hunting  were  associated  in  the  same  song. 
The  great  battle  of  Otterbourn,  in  1388,  "was  as  valiantly  foughten  as  could 
be  devised,"  says  Froissart;  "for  Englishmen  on  the  one  party,  and  Scots  on 
the  other  party,  are  good  men  of  war :  for  when  they  meet  there  is  a  hard  fight 
without  sparring ;  there  is  no  love  between  them  as  long  as  spears,  axes,  or 
daggers  will  endure,  but  lay  on  each  upon  other ;  and  when  they  be  well 
beaten,  and  that  the  one  part  hath  obtained  the  victory,  they  then  glorify  so 
in  their  deeds  of  arms  and  are  so  joyful,  that  such  as  be  taken  they  shall  be 
ransomed  or  they  go  out  of  the  field,  so  that  shortly  each  of  them  is  so  content 
with  other,  that  at  their  departing  courteously  they  will  say,  God  thank  you ;  but 
in  fighting  one  with  another  there  is  no  play  nor  sparring."  The  spirit  that  moved 
the  Percy  and  Douglas  at  Otterbourn  animated  the  Percy  and  another  Douglas 
at  Holmedon  in  1402. 

"  On  Holy-rood  day,  the  gallant  Hotspur  there, 
Young  Harry  Percy,  and  brave  Archibald, 
That  ever  valiant  and  approved  Scot, 
At  Holmedon  met, 
Whoro  they  did  spend  a  sad  and  bloody  hour."  f 

The  scene  of  this  conflict  was  not  many  miles  from  Berwick.  A  knowledge  of 
these  localities  was  not  necessary  for  Shakspere,  to  produce  his  magnificent 
creation  of  Hotspur.  But  in  a  journey  through  Northumberland  the  recollec 
tions  of  Hotspur  would  be  all  around  him.  At  Alnwick,  he  would  ride  by  the 


*  '  The  Battle  of  Otterbourne.'  +  Henry  IV.,  Part  I.,  Act  I.,  Scene  t 

462 


[Berwick.] 


gate  which  Hotspur  built,  and  look  upon  the  Castle  in  which  the  Percies  dwelt. 
Two  centuries  had  passed  since  Hotspur  fell  at  Shrewsbury ;  but  his  memory 
lived  in  the  ballads  of  his  land,  and  the  dramatic  poet  had  bestowed  upon  it  a 
more  lasting  glory.  The  play  of  Henry  IV.  was  written  before  the  union  of 
England  and  Scotland  under  one  crown,  and  when  the  two  countries  had  con 
stant  feuds  which  might  easily  have  broken  out  into  actual  war.  But  Shak- 
spere,  at  the  very  time  when  the  angry  passions  of  England  were  excited  by  the 
Raid  of  Carlisle,  thus  made  his  favourite  hero  teach  the  English  to  think  ho 
nourably  of  their  gallant  neighbours  : — 

"  P.  Henry.  The  noble  Scot,  lord  Douglas,  when  he  saw 
The  fortune  of  the  day  quite  turn'd  from  him, 
The  noble  Percy  slain,  and  all  his  men 
Upon  the  foot  of  fear,  fled  with  the  rest; 
And,  falling  from  a  hill,  he  was  so  bruis'd     . 
That  the  pursuers  took  him.     At  my  tent 
The  Douglas  is ;  and  I  beseech  your  grace 
I  may  dispose  of  him. 

K.  Hen.  With  all  my  heart. 

P.  Hen.  Then,  brother  John  of  Lancaster,  to  you 
This  honourable  bounty  shall  belong : 
Go  to  the  Douglas,  and  deliver  him 
Up  to  his  pleasure,  ransomless,  and  free : 
His  valour,  shown  upon  our  crests  to-day, 

4(33 


WILLIAM    SHAKSFKltE  : 

Hath  taught  us  how  to  cheriah  such  high  d< 
Even  in  the  bosom  of  our  adversaries"  * 

John  Taylor  contrived  to  be  eighteen  days  on  the  road  riding  from  Edin 
burgh  to  London  :  he  was  fifteen  days  in  his  progress  from  Berwick  to  Islington. 
Lawrence  Fletcher  and  his  fellows  would  make  greater  speed,  and  linger  not  so 
recklessly  over  the  good  cheer  of  the  inns  and  mansions  that  opened  their  gates 
to  them.  "  The  way  from  Berwick  to  York  and  so  to  London "  is  laid  down 
very  precisely  in  Harrison's  '  Description  of  England  ; '  and  the  several  stages 
present  a  total  of  260  miles.  The  route  thus  given  makes  a  circuit  of  several 
miles  at  Tadcaster;  and  yet  it  is  82  miles  shorter  than  the  present  distance 
from  Berwick  to  London.  Taylor  says,  "The  Scots  do  allow  almost  as  large 
measure  of  their  miles  as  they  do  of  their  drink."  So  it  would  appear  they 
did  also  in  England  in  the  days  of  Shakspere.  Sir  Robert  Carey  crept  out  of 
the  Palace  of  Richmond,  where  Elizabeth  had  just  died,  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning  of  Thursday  the  24th  of  March,  and  he  reached  Edinburgh  on  the 
night  of  Saturday  the  26th.  He  had  of  course  relays  of  horses.  Lawrence 
Fletcher  and  his  fellows  without  this  advantage  would  be  ten  or  twelve  days 
on  the  same  road. 

'  Henry  IV.,  Part  I.,  Act  v.,  Scene  v. 


LHall  of  the  Middle  Temple.] 

CHAPTER  IX. 

LABOURS  AND  REWARDS. 


"AT  our  feast  we  had  a  play  called  Twelve  Night;  or,  What  you  Will,  much 
like  the  Comedy  of  Errors,  or  Menechmus  in  Plautus,  but  most  like  and 
neere  to  that  in  Italian  called  Inganni.  A  good  practise  in  it  to  make  the 
steward  believe  his  lady  widdowe  was  in  love  with  him,  by  counterfayting  a 
letter,  as  from  a  lady,  in  generall  terrnes  telling  him  what  shee  liked  best  in 
him,  and  prescribing  his  gestures,  inscribing  his  apparaile,  &c.,  and  then  when 
he  came  to  practise,  making  him  beleeve  they  tooke  him  to  be  mad."  The 
student  of  the  Middle  Temple,  whose  little  diary,  after  snugly  lying  amongst  the 
Harleian  Manuscripts,  now  in  the  British  Museum,  unnoticed  for  two  centuries 
and  a  quarter,  luckily  turned  up  to  give  us  one  authentic  memorial  of  a  play 
of  Shakspere's,  is  a  facetious  and  gossiping  young  gentleman,  who  appears  to 
have  mixed  with  actors  and  authors,  recording  the  scandal  which  met  his  ear 
with  a  diligent  credulity.  The  2nd  of  February,  1602,  was  the  Feast  of  the 
LIFE.  2  H  465 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPEHE  : 

Purification,  which  feast  and  AU-Hallown  Day,  according  to  Dugdale,  "  are 
the  only  feasts  in  the  whole  year  made  purposely  for  the  Judges  and  Serjeants 
of  this  Society,  but  of  later  time  divers  noblemen  have  been  mixed  with  them." 
The  order  of  entertainment  on  these  occasions  is  carefully  recorded  by  the 
same  learned  antiquary.*  The  scarlet  robes  of  the  Judges  and  Serjeants,  the 
meat  carried  to  the  table  by  gentlemen  of  the  house  under  the  bar,  the  solemn 
courtesies,  the  measures  led  by  the  Ancient  with  his  white  staff,  the  call  by 
the  reader  at  the  cupboard  "  to  one  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  bar,  as  he  is  walk 
ing  or  dancing  with  the  rest,  to  give  the  Judges  a  song,"  the  bowls  of  hypocras 
presented  to  the  Judges  with  solemn  congees  by  gentlemen  under  the  bar, — 
all  these  ceremonials  were  matter  of  grave  arrangement  according  to  the  most 
exact  precedents.  But  Dugdale  also  tells  us  of  "  Post  Revels  performed  by  the 
better  sort  of  the  young  gentlemen  of  the  Society,  with  galliards,  corantos, 
and  other  dances;  or  else  with  stage  plays."  The  historian  does  not  tell  us 
whether  the  stage  plays  were  performed  by  the  young  gentlemen  of  the 
Society,  or  by  the  professional  players.  The  exact  description  which  the 
student  gives  of  the  play  of  Twelfth  Night  would  lead  us  to  believe  that  it 
had  not  been  previously  familiar  to  him.  It  was  not  printed.  The  probability 
therefore  is  that  it  was  performed  by  the  players,  and  by  Shakspere's  company. 
The  vicinity  of  the  Blackfriars  would  necessarily  render  the  members  of  the 
two  Societies  well  acquainted  with  the  dramas  of  Shakspere,  and  with  the  poet 
himself.  There  would  be  other  occasions  than  the  feast  days  of  the  Society 
that  Shakspere  would  be  found  amidst  those  Courts.  Amongst  "  the  solemn 
temples "  which  London  contained,  no  one  would  present  a  greater  interest  than 
that  ancient  edifice  in  which  he  might  have  listened,  when  a  young  man,  to 
the  ablest  defender  of  the  Church  which  had  been  founded  upon  the  earlier 
religion  of  England ;  one  who  did  not  see  the  wisdom  of  wholly  rejecting  all 
ceremonials  consecrated  by  habit  and  tradition ;  who  eloquently  wrote — "  Of 
Law  there  can  be  no  less  acknowledged  than  that  her  seat  is  the  bosom  of  God, 
her  voice  the  harmony  of  the  world :  all  things  in  heaven  and  earth  do  her 
homage,  the  very  least  as  feeling  her  care,  and  the  greatest  as  not  exempted 
from  her  power."  f  It  was  in  the  spirit  of  this  doctrine  that  Shakspere  himself 
wrote — 

"  The  heavens  themselves,  the  planets,  and  this  centre, 
Observe  degree,  priority,  and  place, 
Insisture,  course,  proportion,  season,  form, 
Office,  and  custom,  in  all  line  of  order."  J 

Dugdale's  '  Origines '  was  published  six  years  after  the  Restoration.  He 
speaks  of  the  solemn  revels  of  the  Inns  of  Court,  with  reference  to  their  past 
and  to  their  existing  state.  They  had  wont  to  be  entertained  with  Post  Revels, 
which  had  their  dances  and  their  stage  plays.  This  was  before  the  domina 
tion  of  the  Puritans,  when  stage  plays  and  dancing  were  equally  denounced, 
as  "the  very  works,  the  pomps,  inventions,  and  chief  delights  of  the  devil. "§ 

*  'Origines  Juridiciales,'  p.  205.  f  Hooker's  'Ecclesiastical  Polity,'  Book  I. 

t  Troilus  and  Cressida,  Act  t.,  Scene  in.  §  Prynne's  '  Hiatrio-Mastix.' 

466 


[Interior  of  the  Temple  Church.] 

There  is  a  passage  in  Dugdale  which  shows  how  the  revels  at  the  Inns  of 
Court  gradually  changed  their  character  according  to  the  prevailing  opinions : 
— "When  the  last  measure  is  dancing,  the  Reader  at  the  Cupboard  calls  to 
one  of  the  Gentlemen  of  the  Bar,  as  he  is  walking  or  dancing  with  the  rest,  to 
give  the  Judges  a  song :  who  forthwith  begins  the  first  line  of  any  psalm  as  he 
thinks  fittest;  after  which  all  the  rest  of  the  company  follow,  and  sing  with 
him."  This  is  very  like  the  edifying  practice  of  the  Court  of  Francis  I.,  where 
the  psalms  of  Clement  Marot  were  sung  to  a  fashionable  jig,  or  a  dance  of 
Poitou.*  Shakspere  had  good  authority  when  he  made  the  clown  say  of  his 
three-man  song-rnen,  "  They  are  most  of  them  means  and  basses :  but  one 
Puritan  amongst  them,  and  he  sings  psalms  to  hornpipes."  f  This  is  one  of 
the  few  allusions  which  Shakspere  has  to  that  rising  sect,  which  in  a  few  years 
was  to  become  the  dominant  power  in  the  state.  Ben  Jonson  attacks  them 
again  and  again  with  the  most  bitter  indignation  and  the  coarsest  satire. J 
The  very  hardest  gird  which  Shakspere  has  at  them  is  contained  in  the  gentle 
reproof  of  Sir  Toby  to  the  steward,  "  Dost  thou  think,  because  thou  art  vir 
tuous,  there  shall  be  no  more  cakes  and  ale  ?  "  In  this  very  scene  of  Twelfth 
Night  he  ridicules  the  unreasoning  hostility  with  which  the  Puritans  them 
selves  were'  assailed  by  the  ignorant  multitude.  Sir  Toby  asks  to  be  told 
something  of  the  steward  : — 

*  See  War-ton's  '  History  of  English  Poetry,'  Section  xlv. 

t  Winter's  Tale,  Act  IT.  Scene  n.  J  See  'The  Alchymist,'  and  'Bartholomew  Fair.' 

467 


WILLIAM  BHAKSPERE: 


"  Afar.  Many,  sir,  sometimes  he  ia  a  kind  of  Puritan. 
Sir  And.  0,  if  I  thought  that,  I  'd  beat  him  like  a  dog. 
Sir  Toby.  What,  for  being  a  Puritan  ?  thy  exquisite  reason,  dear  knight  t 
Sir  And.  I  have  no  exquisite  reason  for  't,  but  I  have  reason  good  enough  " 

This  is  in  the  best  spirit  of  toleration,  which  cannot  endure  that  any  body  of 
men  should  be  persecuted  for  their  opinions,  and  especially  by  those  who  will 
show  no  reason  for  their  persecution  but  that  they  "  have  reason  good  enough." 

In  May,  1602,  Shakspere  made  a  large  addition  to  his  property  at  Stratford 
by  the  purchase,  from  William  and  John  Combe,  for  the  sum  of  three  hundred 
and  twenty  pounds,  of  one  hundred  and  seven  acres  of  arable  land  in  the  town 
of  Old  Stratford.  The  indenture,  which  was  in  the  possession  of  the  late 
Mr.  Wheler  of  Stratford,  but  is  now  in  the  Stratford  Museum,  is  dated  the  1st  of 
May,  1602.*  The  conveyance  bears  the  signatures  of  the  vendors  of  the  property, 

But  although  it  concludes  in  the  usual 


of  which  the  following  are  fac-similes. 


V   -~% 


to^QQ, 


form,  "The  parties  to  these  presents  having  interchangeably  set  to  their  hands  and 
seals,"  the  counterpart  has  not  the  hand  and  seal  of  the  purchaser  of  the  property 
described  in  the  deed  as  "  William  Shakespere,  of  Stratford-upon-Avon,  in  the 
countie  aforesaid,  Gentleman."  The  counterpart  is  not  signed,  and  the  piece  of 
wax  which  is  affixed  to  it  is  unimpressed  with  any  seal.  The  acknowledgment  of 
possession  is,  however,  thus  recorded  : — 


The  document,  which  contains  nothing  remarkable  in  its  clauses,  is  given  in  Mr.  Wheler*8  History 
of  Stratford-upon-Avon. 
468 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

Tlie  property  is  delivered  to  Gilbert  Shakspere  to  the  use  of  William.  Gilbeit 
was  two  years  and  a  half  younger  than  William,  and  in  all  likelihood  was  the 
cultivator  of  the  land  which  the  poet  thus  bought,  or  assisted  their  father  in 
the  cultivation. 

We  collect  from  this  document  that  William  Shakspere  was  not  at  Stratford 
on  the  1st  of  May,  1602,  and  that  his  brother  Gilbert  was  his  agent  for  the 
payment  of  the  three  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  paid  "  at  and  before  the 
sealing "  of  the  conveyance.  In  the  following  August  the  Lord  Chamberlain's 
company  performed  Othello  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  Keeper  at  Harefield. 
The  accounts  of  the  large  expenditure  on  this  occasion,  in  the  handwriting  of 
Sir  Arthur  Mainwaring,  were  discovered  by  Mr.  Collier  amongst  the  Egerton 
Papers,  and  they  contain  the  following  entry  : — 

"  6  August,  1602.     Rewardes  to  the  vaulters,  players,  and  dauncers.     Of 
this  xu  to  Burbidge's  players  for  Othello,  Ixiiij1'  xviij'.  xd."  * 

The  Queen  came  to  Harefield  on  the  31st  of  July,  and  remained  there  during 
the  1st  and  2nd  of  August.  In  those  days  Harefield  Place  was  "a  fair 
house  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  hill,  the  river  Coin  passing  near  the  same 
through  the  pleasant  meadows  and  sweet  pastures  yielding  both  delight  and 
profit."  This  is  Norden's  description,  a  little  before  the  period  of  Elizabeth's 
visit.  The  Queen  was  received,  after  the  usual  quaint  fashion  of  such  enter 
tainments,  with  a  silly  dialogue  between  a  bailiff  and  a  dairymaid,  as  she 
entered  the  domain  ;  and  the  house  welcomed  her  with  an  equally  silly  colloquy 
betwpen  Place  and  Time.  The  Queen  must  have  been  somewhat  better  pleased 
when  a  copy  of  verses  was  delivered  to  her  in  the  morning,  beginning 

"  Beauty's  rose,  and  virtue's  book, 
Angel's  mind,  and  angel's  look." 

The  weather,  we  learn  from  the  same  verses,  was  unpropitious  : 

"  Only  poor  St.  Swithin  now 
Doth  hear  you  blame  his  cloudy  brow." 

Some  great  poet  was  certainly  at  work  upon  this  occasion,  but  not  Shakspere.  r 
It  was  enough  for  him  to  present  the  sad  story  of 

"  The  gentle  lady  married  to  the  Moor." 
Another  was    to   come   within   some   thirty  years   who   should  sing  of   Harefield 

*  This  important  entry  was  first  published  by  Mr.  Collier  in  his  'New  Particulars  regarding  the 
Works  of  Shakespeare,'  1836.     Mr.  Collier  in  the  same  tract  publishes  "a  poetical  relic,"  of  which  lu 
says,  "Although  I  believe  it  to  be  his,  I  have  some  hesitation  in  assigning  it  to  Shakespeare, 
copy  of  verses,  without  date  or  title,  found  amongst  the  same  papers,  bears  the  .signature  W.  Sh.  o 
W.  Sk.  (Mr.  Collier  is  doubtful  which).     If  the  verses  contained  a  single  line  which  could 
produced  by  any  one  of  the  "mob  of  gentlemen  who  write  with  ease,"  we  would  venture  t 
a  specimen. 

t  These  verses,  with  other  particulars  of  the  entertainment,  were  first  pubhshed  from 
manuscript  in  Nicholls's-  '  Progresses  of  Queen  Elizabeth.' 


WILLIAM   SITAKSPERE  : 

with  the  power  of  a  rare  fancy  working  upon  classical  models,  and  who  thus 
makes  the  Genius  of  the  Wood  address  a  noble  audience  in  that  sylvan 
scene  ;  — 

.  "  For  know,  by  lot  from  Jove  I  am  the  Power 
Of  this  fair  wood,  and  live  in  oaken  bower, 
To  nurse  the  saplings  tall,  and  curl  the  grove 
With  ringlets  quaint,  and  wanton  windings  wove. 
And  all  my  plants  I  save  from  nightly  ill 
Of  noisome  winds,  and  blasting  vapours  chill 
And  from  the  boughs  brush  off  the  evil  dew, 
And  heal  the  harms  of  thwarting  thunder  blue, 
Or  what  the  cross  dire-looking  planet  smites, 
Or  hurtful  worm  with  canker'd  venom  bites. 
When  evening  gray  doth  rise,  I  fetch  my  round 
Over  the  mount,  and  all  this  hallow'd  ground ; 
And  early,  ere  the  odorous  breath  of  morn 
Awakes  the  slumb'ring  leaves,  or  tassel'd  horn 
Shakes  the  high  thicket,  haste  I  all  about, 
Number  my  ranks,  and  visit  every  sprout 
With  puissant  words,  and  murmurs  made  to  bless." 

Doubly  honoured  Harefield !  Though  thy  mansion  has  perished,  yet  are  thy 
groves  still  beautiful.  Still  thy  summit  looks  out  upon  a  fertile  valley,  where 
the  gentle  river  wanders  in  silent  beauty.  But  thy  woods  and  lawns  have  a 
charm  which  are  wholly  their  own. — Here  the  Othello  of  William  Shakspere 


[Harefield.] 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 


was   acted   by  his   own   company;    here  is  the   scene   of   the  Arcades  of  John 
Milton. 

Amongst  the  few  papers  rescued  from  "  time's  devouring  maw "  which  enable 
us  to  trace  Shakspere's  career  with  any  exactness,  there  is  another  which 
relates  to  the  acquisition  of  property  in  the  same  year.  It  is  a  copy  of 
Court  Roll  for  the  Manor  of  Rowington,  dated  the  28th  of  September,  1602, 
containing  the  surrender  by  Walter  Getley  to  the  use  of  William  Shaks'pere  of 
a  house  in  Stratford,  situated  in  Walker  Street.  This  tenement  was  opposite 
Shakspere's  house  of  New  Place.  It  is  now  taken  down  ;  it  was  in  existence  a  few 


vears  aero. 


This  document,  which  was  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Hunt,  the  worthy  town-clerk  of 
Stratford,  but  has  been  presented  by  him  to  the  Museum  formed  at  the  Shakspere 
House,  shows  that  at  the  latter  end  of  September,  1602,  William  Shakspere,  the 
purchaser  of  this  property,  was  not  at  Stratford.  It  could  not  legally  pass  to  him, 
being  a  copyhold,  till  he  had  done  suit  and  service  in  the  Lord's  Court ;  and  the 
surrender,  therefore,  provides  that  it  should  remain  in  the  possession  of  the  lord  till 
he,  the  purchaser,  should  appear. 

In  the  September  of  1602  the  Earl  of  Worcester,  writing  to  the  Earl  of 
Shrewsbury,  says,  "  We  are  frolic  here  in  Court,  much  dancing  in  the  Privy 
Chamber  of  country-dances  before  the  Queen's  Majesty,  who  is  exceedingly 
pleased  therewith."  In  the  December  she  was  entertained  at  Sir  Robert  Cecil's 
house  in  the  Strand,  and  some  of  the  usual  devices  of  flattering  mummery 
were  exhibited  before  her.  A  few  months  saw  a  period  to  the  frolic  and  the 
flattery.  The  last  entry  in  the  books  of  the  Treasurer  of  the  Chamber  during 
the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  which  pertains  to  Shakspere,  is  the  following ;— melan 
choly  in  the  contrast  between  the  Candlemas-Day  of  1603,  the  2nd  of  February, 
and  the  following  24th  of  March,  when  Elizabeth  died :— "  To  John  Hemynges 
and  the  rest  of  his  companie,  servaunts  to  the  Lorde  Chamberleyne,  uppon  the 
Councells  Warraunte,  dated  at  Whitehall  the  xxth  of  Aprill,  1603,  for  their 
paines  and  expences  in  presentinge  before  the  late  Queenes  Mtie  twoe  playes, 
the  one  uppon  St.  Stephens  day  at  nighte,  and  thother  upon  Candlemas  day 
at  night,  for  ech  of  which  they  were  allowed,  by  way  of  her  Mats  rewarde. 


WILLIAM   S11AK8PERE  : 

tcnne  pounaes,  amounting  in  all  to  xxu."  The  late  Queen's  Majesty !  Before 
she  had  seen  the  play  on  Candlemas -day,  at  night,  she  had  taken  Sir  Robert 
Carey  by  the  hand,  and  wrung  it  hard,  saying,  "  Robin,  I  am  not  well."  At 
the  date  of  the  Council's  warrant  to  John  Hemings,  Elizabeth  had  not  been 
deposited  in  the  resting-place  of  Kings  at  Westminster.  Her  pomp  and  glory 


were  now  to  be  limited  to  the  display  of  heralds  and 
banners  and  officers  of  state ;  and,  to  mark  especially  the 
nothingness  of  all  this,  "  The  lively  picture  of  her  Majesty's 
whole  body,  in  her  Parliament-robes,  with  a  crown  on  her 
head,  and  a  sceptre  in  her  hand,  lying  on  the  corpse  en 
shrined  in  lead,  and  balmed ;  covered  with  purple  velvet ; 
borne  in  a  chariot,  drawn  by  four  horses,  trapped  in  black 
velvet." 

King  James  I.  of  England  left  his  good  city  of  Edinburgh  on  the  5th  ol 
April,  1603.  He  was  nearly  five  weeks  on  the  road,  banqueting  wherever  he 
rested ;  at  one  time  releasing  prisoners,  "  out  of  his  princely  and  Christian 
commiseration,"  and  at  another  hanging  a  cut-purse  taken  in  the  fact.  He 
entered  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  London  in  a  way  that  certainly 

472 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

monarch  never  entered  before  or  since  : — "  From  Stamford  Hill  to  London  was 
made  a  train  with  a  tame  deer,  that  the  hounds  could  not  take  it  faster  than 
his  Majesty  proceeded."  On  the  7th  of  May  he  was  safely  lodged  at  the 
Charter-House  ;  and  one  of  his  first  acts  of  authority  in  the  metropolis,  after 
creating  four  new  peers,  and  issuing  a  proclamation  against  robbery  on  the 
Borders,  was  to  order  the  Privy  Seal  for  the  patent  to  Lawrence  Fletcher, 
William  Shakspere,  and  others.*  We  learn  from  the  patent  itself  that  the 
King's  servants  were  to  perform  publicly  "  when  the  infection  of  the  plague 
shall  decrease."  It  is  clear  that  the  King's  servants  were  not  at  liberty  then 
to  perform  publicly.  How  long  the  theatres  were  closed  we  do  not  exactly 
know  ;  but  a  document  is  in  existence,  dated  April  9th,  1604,  directing  the 
Lord  Mayor  of  London,  and  Justices  of  Middlesex  and  Surrey,  "to  permit  and 
suffer  the  three  companies  of  players  to  the  King,  Queen,  and  Prince  to  exer 
cise  their  plays  in  their  several  and  usual  houses. "f  On  the  20th  of  October, 
1603,  Joan,  the  wife  of  the  celebrated  Edward  Alleyn,  writes  to  her  husband 
from  London, — "  About  us  the  sickness  doth  cease,  and  likely  more  and  more, 
by  God's  help,  to  cease.  All  the  companies  be  come  home,  and  well,  for  aught 
we  know."  Her  husband  is  hawking  in  the  country,  and  Henslow,  his  partner, 
is  at  the  Court.  Another  letter  has  been  found  from  Mrs.  Alleyn  to  her  husband, 
which,  if  rightly  interpreted,  would  show  that  not  only  was  Shakspere  in  London  at 
this  time,  but  went  abo'ut  pretty  much  like  other  people,  calling  common  things  by 
their  common  names,  giving  advice  about  worldly  matters  in  the  way  of  ordinary 
folk,  and  spoken  of  by  the  wife  of  his  friend  without  any  wonder  or  laudation,  just 
as  if  he  had  written  no  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  or  Othello  : — "  About  a  weeke 
a  goe  there  came  a  youthe,  who  said  he  was  Mr.  Francis  Chaloner,  who  would  have 

borrowed  x"  to  have  bought  things  for and  said  he  was  known  unto  you 

and  Mr.  Shakespeare  of  the  Globe,  who  came  ....  said  he  knewe  hym  not,  onely 

he  herde  of  hym  that  he  was  a  roge so  he  was  glade  we  did  not  lend  him 

the  monney Richard  Johnes  [went]  to  seeke  and  inquire  after  the  fellow, 

and  said  he  had  lent  hym  a  horse.  I  feare  me  he  gulled  hym,  thoughe  he  gulled 
not  us.  The  youthe  was  a  prety  youthe,  and  hansome  in  appayrell :  we  knowe  not 
what  became  of  hym."  J  The  authority  of  this  letter  has  been  thus  disputed  by 
Mr.  Halliwell : — "  It  has  been  stated  that  Shakspeare  was  in  London  in  October, 
1603,  on  the  strength  of  a  letter  printed  in  Mr.  Collier's  Memoirs  of  Alleyn,  p.  63 : 
but  having  carefully  examined  the  original,  I  am  convinced  it  has  been  misread. 
The  following  is  now  all  that  remains,"  And  then  Mr.  Halliwell  prints  "  all  that 
remains,"  which  does  not  contain  the  name  of  Shakspere  at  all.  Mr.  Collier  avers 
that  he  saw  the  words  which  he  for  the  first  time  published  ;  though  the  letter  was 
much  damaged  by  the  damp,  and  was  falling  to  pieces. 

Whether  or  not  Shakspere  was  in  London  on  the  20th  of  October,  1603,  it  is 
tolerably  clear  that  the  performances  at  the  public  theatres  were  not  resumed 

*  See  the  Patent  at  the  end  of  this  Chapter. 

t  Malone's  •  Inquiry/  p.  215.  Mr.  Collier  prints  the  document  m  his  L.fe  of  Alleyn,  by  which 
appears  that  there  had  been  letters  of  prohibition  previously  issued  that  had  reference  to  the  c 
tinuance  of  the  plague,  and  that  it  still  partially  continued.  f 

J  From  the  Papers  in  Dulwich  College  printed  in  Mr.  Collier's  '  Memoirs  of  Edward  Alleyn. 


WILLIAM   SIIAKSPERK  : 

after  the  order  of  the  9th  of  April,  1604.  In  the  Office  Books  of  the  Treasurer 
of  the  Chamber  there  is  an  entry  of  a  payment  of  thirty-two  pounds  upon  the 
Council's  warrant  dated  at  Hampton  Court,  February  8th,  1604,  "by  way  of 
his  Majesty's  free  gift"  to  Richard  Burbage,  one  of  his  Majesty's  comedians, 
"  for  the  maintenance  and  relief  of  himself  and  the  rest  of  his  company,  being 
prohibited  to  present  any  plays  publicly  in  or  near  London,  by  reason  of  great 
peril  that  might  grow  through  the  extraordinary  concourse  and  assembly  ot 
people,  to  a  new  increase  of  the  plague,  till  it  shall  please  God  to  settle  the  city 
in  a  more  perfect  health."*  But  though  the  public  playhouses  might  be  closed 
through  the  fear  of  an  "  extraordinary  concourse  and  assembly  of  people,"  the 
King,  a  few  months  previous,  had  sent  for  his  own  players  to  a  considerable 
distance  to  perform  before  the  Court  at  Wilton.  There  is  an  entry  in  the  same 
Office  Book  of  a  payment  of  thirty  pounds  to  John  Hemings  "  for  the  pains  and 
expenses  of  himself  and  the  rest  of  his  company  in  coming  from  Mortlake  in 
the  county  of  Surrey  unto  the  Court  aforesaid,  and  there  presenting  before  his 
Majesty  one  play  on  the  2nd  of  December  last,  by  way  of  his  Majesty's  reward."f 
Wilton  was  the  seat  of  William  Herbert,  Earl  of  Pembroke,  to  whom  it  has  been 
held  that  Shakspere's  Sonnets  were  addressed.  We  do  not  yield  our  assent  to  this 
opinion. J  But  we  know  from  good  authority  that  this  nobleman,  "the  most 
universally  beloved  and  esteemed  of  any  man  of  that  age,"  (according  to  Claren 
don,)  befriended  Shakspere,  and  that  his  brother  joined  him  in  his  acts  of 
kindness.  The  dedication  by  John  Heminge  and  Henry  Condell,  prefixed  to 
the  first  collected  edition  of  the  works  of  Shakspere,  is  addressed  "  To  the  most 

*  Cunningham's  '  Revels  at  Court,'  p.  xxxv.  f  Id.  p.  xxxiv. 

J  See  our  Illustrations  of  the  Sonnets, 


William  Herbert,  Earl  of  Pembroke.1 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

noble  and  incomparable  pair  of  brethren,  William  Earl  of  Pembroke,  and 
Philip  Earl  of  Montgomery."  In  the  submissive  language  of  poor  players  to 
their  "  singular  good  lords  "  they  say,  "  When  we  value  the  places  your  Honours 
sustain,  we  cannot  but  know  their  dignity  greater  than  to  descend  to  the  read 
ing  of  these  trifles ;  and  while  we  name  them  trifles,  we  have  deprived  ourselves 
of  the  defence  of  our  dedication.  But  since  your  Lordships  have  been  pleased 
to  think  these  trifles  something,  heretofore  ;  and  have  prosecuted  both  them, 
and  their  author  living,  with  so  much  favour  :  we  hope  that  (they  out-living 
him,  and  he  not  having  the  fate,  common  with  some,  to  be  executor  to  his  own 
writings)  you  will  use  the  like  indulgence  toward  them  you  have  done  unto  their 
parent."  They  subsequently  speak  of  their  Lordships  liking  the  several  parts 
of  the  volume  when  they  were  acted  ;  but  their  author  was  the  object  of  their 
personal  regard  and  favour.  The  call  to  Wilton  of  Shakspere's  company 
might  probably  have  arisen  from  Lord  Pembroke's  desire  to  testify  this  favour. 
It  would  appear  to  be  the  first  theatrical  performance  before  James  in  England. 
The  favour  of  the  Herberts  towards  Shakspere  thus  began  early.  The  testi 
mony  of  the  player-editors  would  imply  that  it  lasted  during  the  poet's  life. 
The  young  Earl  of  Pembroke,  upon  whom  James  had  just  bestowed  the  Order  of 


[Philip  Herbert,  Earl  of  Montgomery.] 

the   Garter,  would  scarcely,  we  think,  have  been  well  pleased  to  have  welcomed 
the  poet  to  Wilton  who  had  thus  addressed  him  :— 

"  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  !  "* 


*  Sonnet  xcv. 


475 


[Wolsey'a  Hall,  Hampton  Court.) 


At  the  Christmas  of  the  same  year  the  King  had  taken  up  his  residence  at 
Hampton  Court.  It  was  here,  a  little  before  the  period  when  the  Conference 
on  Conformity  in  Religion  was  began,  that  the  Queen  and  eleven  ladies  of 
honour  were  presenting  Daniel's  Masque  ;  and  Shakspere  and  his  fellows  per 
formed  six  plays  before  the  King  and  Prince,  receiving  twenty  nobles  for  each 
play.*  The  patronage  of  the  new  King  to  his  servants  players  acting  at  the 
Globe  seems  to  have  been  constant  and  liberal.  To  Shakspere  this  must  have 
been  a  season  of  prosperity  and  of  honour.  The  accession  of  the  King  gave  him 
something  better.  His  early  friend  and  patron  Southampton  was  released  from 
a  long  imprisonment.  Enjoying  the  friendship  of  Southampton  and  Pembroke, 
who  were  constantly  about  the  King,  their  tastes  may  have  led  the  monarch  to 
a  just  preference  of  the  works  of  Shakspere  before  those  of  any  other  drama 
tist.  The  six  plays  performed  before  the  King  and  Prince  in  the  Christmas 


470 


*  Cunningham's  '  Revela  at  Court,'  p.  xxxv. 


A   BIOGKAP1IY. 

of  1603-4  at  Hampton  Court,  were  followed  at  the  succeeding  Christmas  by 
performances  "at  the  Banqueting-House  at  Whitehall,"  in  which  the  plays  of 
Shakspere  were  preferred  above  those  of  every  other  competitor.  There  were 
eleven  performances  by  the  King's  players,  of  which  eight  were  plays  of  Shak 
spere.  Jonson  shared  this  honour  with  him  in  the  representation  of  '  Every 
One  in  his  Humour,'  and  '  Every  One  out  of  his  Humour.'  A  single  play  by 
Heywood,  another  by  Chapman,  and  a  tragedy  by  an  unknown  author,  com 
pleted  the  list  of  these  revels  at  Whitehall.  It  is  told,  Malone  says,  "  upon 
authority  which  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt,  that  King  James  bestowed  especial 
honour  upon  Shakspere."  The  story  is  told  in  the  Advertisement  to  Lintot's 
edition  of  Shakpere's  Poems — "  That  most  learned  Prince,  and  great  Patron  of 
learning,  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.  Davenant,  as  a  credible  person  now  living  can 
testify."  Was  the  honour  bestowed  as  a  reward  for  the  compliment  to  the 
King  in  Macbeth,  or  was  the  compliment  to  the  King  a  tribute  of  gratitude  for 
the  honour  ? 

'  The  Accompte  o/  the  Office  of  the  Reuelles  of  this  whole  yeres  Charge, 
in  An0  1604,'  which  was  discovered  through  the  zealous  industry  of  Mr. 
Peter  Cunningham,  is  a  most  interesting  document :  first,  as  giving  the  names 
of  the  plays  which  were  performed  at  Court,  and  showing  how  pre-eminently 
attractive  were  those  of  Shakspere;  secondly,  as  exhibiting  the  undimmished 
charm  of  Shakspere's  early  plays,  such  as  The  Comedy  of  Errors,  and  Love's 
Labour's  Lost;  and,  thirdly,  as  fixing  the  date  of  one  of  our  poets  dramas, 


[Banqueting-House,  WhitehallJ 


WILLIAM    SIIAKSI'KUF.  : 

which  has  generally  been  assigned  to  a  later  period — Measure  for  Measure. 
The  worthy  scribe  who  keeps  the  accounts  has  no  very  exact  acquaintance 
with  "  the  poets  wch  mayd  the  plaies,"  as  he  heads  the  margin  of  his  entries : 
for  he  adds  another  variety  to  the  modes  of  spelling  the  name  of  the  greatest 
of  those  poets — "  Shaxberd."  The  list  gives  us  no  information  as  to  the  actors 
which  acted  the  plays,  in  addition  to  the  poets  which  made  them.  We  learn, 
indeed,  from  the  corresponding  accounts  in  the  Office  Books  of  the  Treasurer  of 
the  Chamber,  that  on  the  21st  of  January,  1605,  sixty  pounds  were  paid  "To 
John  Hemynges,  one  of  his  Mats  players,  for  the  paines  and  expences  of  him- 
selfe  and  the  reste  of  his  companie,  in  playinge  and  presentinge  of  sixe  Enter- 
ludes,  or  plaies,  before  his  Matie."  The  name  of  Shakspere  is  found  amongst 
the  names  of  the  performers  of  Ben  Jonson's  '  Sejanus,'  which  was  first  acted 
at  the  Globe  in  1603.  Burbage,  Lowin,  Hemings,  Condell,  Phillipps,  Cooke, 
and  Sly  had  also  parts  in  it.  In  Jonson's  '  Volpone/  brought  out  at  the  Globe 
in  1605,  the  name  of  Shakspere  does  not  occur  amongst  the  performers.  It 
has  been  conjectured,  therefore,  that  he  retired  from  the  stage  between  1603 
and  1605.  But,  appended  to  the  letter  from  the  Council  to  the  Lord  Mayor 
and  other  Justices,  dated  April  the  9th,  1604  (which  we  have  already  noticed) 
there  has  been  found  the  following  list  of  the  "  King's  Company  : "  * — 
"  Burbidge  Armyn, 

Shakspeare,  Slye, 

Fletcher,  Cowley, 

Phillips,  Hostler, 

Condle,  Day." 

Hemminges, 

It  is  thus  seen  that  in  the  spring  of  1604  Shakspere  was  still  an  actor,  and  still 
held  the  same  place  in  the  company  which  he  held  in  the  patent  of  the  pre 
vious  year.  Lawrence  Fletcher,  the  first  named  in  that  patent,  has  changed 
places  with  Burbage.  The  probable  explanation  of  these  changes  is,  that  the 
shareholders  periodically  chose  one  of  their  number  as  their  chairman,  or 
official  head;  that  Lawrence  Fletcher  filled  this  office  at  Aberdeen  in  1601, 
and  at  London  in  1603,  Burbage  succeeding  to  his  rank  and  office  in  1604. 
In  the  mean  time  the  reputation  of  Shakspere  as  a  dramatic  poet  must  have 
secured  to  him  something  higher  than  the  fame  of  an  actor,  and  something 
better  than  courtly  honours  and  pecuniary  advantages.  He  must  have  com 
manded  the  respect  and  admiration  of  the  most  distinguished  amongst  his 
contemporaries  for  taste  and  genius.  Few,  indeed,  comparatively  of  his  plays 
were  printed.  The  author  of  Othello,  for  example,  must  have  been  content 
with  the  fame  which  the  theatre  afforded  him.  But  in  1604,  probably  to  vin 
dicate  his  reputation  from  the  charge  of  having,  in  his  mature  years,  written 
his  Hamlet,  such  as  it  appeared  in  the  imperfect  edition  of  1603,  was  pub 
lished  '  The  Tragicall  Historic  of  Hamlet,  Prince  of  Denmarke.  By  William 
Shakespeare.  Newly  imprinted  and  enlarged  to  almost  as  much  againe  as  it 
was,  according  to  the  true  and  perfect  coppie.'  Edition  after  edition  was 

*  Collier's  '  Memoirs  of  Alkyn/  p.  68. 
478 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

called  for ;  and  assuredly  that  wonderful  tragedy,  whose  true  power  can  only 
be  adequately  felt  by  repeated  study,  must  have  carried  its  wonderful  philo 
sophy  into  the  depths  of  the  heart  of  many  a  reader  who  was  no  haunter  of 
play-houses,  and  have  most  effectually  vindicated  plays  and  play-books  from 
the  charge  of  being  nothing  but  "  unprofitable  pleasures  of  sin,"  to  be  denounced 
in  common  with  "  Love-locks,  periwigs,  women's  curling,  powdering  and 
cutting  of  the  hair,  bonfires,  New-year's  gifts,  May-games,  amorous  pastorals, 
lascivious  effeminate  music,  excessive  laughter,  luxurious  disorderly  Christmas 
keeping,  mummeries."*  From  the  hour  of  the  publication  of  Hamlet,  in  1604, 
to  these  our  days,  many  a  solitary  student  must  have  closed  that  wonderful 
book  with  the  application  to  its  author  of  something  like  the  thought  that 
Hamlet  himself  expresses, — "  What  a  piece  of  work  is  man !  How  noble  in 
reason,  how  infinite  in  faculty  !" 

*  Prynne's  '  Hiatrio-Mastbt.' 


479 


WILLIAM    .-IIAKS1  i:i,K  : 


NOTE  ON  THE  PATENT  TO  THE  COMPANY  ACTING  AT 

THE  GLOBE. 


MALONE,  in  his  'Historical  Account. of  the  English  Stage,"  prints  the  ''licence  to  the  company  at 
the  Globe,  which  is  found  in  Rymer's  'Foxlera.'"  Mr.  Collier,  in  his  'Annals  of  the  Stage,' 
publishes  the  document  "from  the  Privy  Seal,  preserved  in  the  Chapter  House,  Westminster,  and  not 
from  Rymer's  '  Fcedera,'  whence  it  has  hitherto  been  inaccurately  quoted."  The  Patent  as  given  in 
Rymer,  and  the  Privy  Seal  as  given  by  Mr.  Collier,  do  not  differ  hi  the  slightest  particular,  except 
in  the  orthography,  and  the  use  of  capital  letters.  These  matters  in  Rymer  are  so  wholly  arbitrary, 
that  in  printing  the  document  we  modernize  the  orthography.  Malone  adheres  to  it  only  partially, 
and  this  possibly  constitutes  the  principal  charge  of  inaccuracy  brought  against  him.  He  has, 
however,  three  errors  of  transcription,  but  not  of  any  consequence  to  the  sense.  At  line  9  he  has 
"  like  other"  instead  of  "  others  like  ; "  at  line  18  "our  pleasure"  instead  of  "  our  said  pleasure ;"  and 
at  the  same  line,  "  aiding  or  assisting"  instead  of  "  aiding  and  assisting." 

"  Pro  Laurentio  Fletcher  &  Willielmo  Shakespeare  &  aliis.    A.D.  1603.     Pat. 

"  1  Jac.  p.  2,  m.  4.  James  by  the  grace  of  God,  &c.,  to  all  justices,  mayors,  sheriffs,  constables, 
headboroughs,  and  other  our  officers  and  loving  subjects,  greeting.  Krow  you  that  we,  of  our 
special  grace,  certain  knowledge,  and  mere  motion,  have  licensed  and  authorised,  and  by  these 
presents  do  license  and  authorise,  these  our  servants,  Laurence  Fletcher,  William  Shakespeare, 
Richard  Burbage,  Augustine  Philippes,  John  Hemings,  Henry  Condel,  William  Sly,  Robert 
Armyn,  Richard  Cowly,  and  the  rest  of  their  associates,  freely  to  use  and  exercise  the  art  and 
faculty  of  playing  comedies,  tragedies,  histories,  interludes,  morals,  pastorals,  stage-plays,  and  such 
others  like  as  they  have  already  studied,  or  hereafter  shall  use  or  study,  as  well  for  the  recreation 
of  our  loving  subjects,  as  for  our  solace  and  pleasure  when  we  shall  think  good  to  see  them, 
during  our  pleasure :  and  the  said  comedies,  tragedies,  histories,  interludes,  morals,  pastorals,  stage- 
plays,  and  such  like,  to  show  and  exercise  publicly  to  their  best  commodity,  when  the  infection  of  the 
plague  shall  decrease,  as  well  within  their  now  usual  house,  called  the  Globe,  within  our  county  of 
Surrey,  as  also  within  any  town-halls  or  moot-halls,  or  other  convenient  places  within  the  liberties 
and  freedom  of  any  other  city,  university,  town,  or  borough  whatsoever  within  our  said  realms  and 
dominions.  Willing  and  commanding  you  and  every  of  you,  as  you  tender  our  pleasure,  not  only 
to  permit  and  suffer  them  herein,  without  any  your  lets,  hindrances,  or  molestations,  during  our 
said  pleasure,  but  also  to  be  aiding  and  assisting  to  them  if  any  wrong  be  to  them  offered,  and  to 
allow  them  such  former  courtesies  as  hath  been  given  to  men  of  their  place  and  quality ;  and  also 
what  further  favour  you  shall  show  to  these  our  servants  for  our  sake,  we  shall  take  kindly  at  your 
hands.  In  witness  whereof,  &c. 

"  Witness  ourself  at  Westminster,  the  nineteenth  day  of  Mjy. 
"  Por  Breve  de  privato  sigillo." 


[The  Garden  of  New  Place.] 

CHAPTER   X. 
II  E  S  T. 


WE  have  seen  that  in  the  year  1602  Shakspere  was  investing  the  gains  of  his 
profession  in  the  purchase  of  property  at  Stratford.  It  appears  from  the  origi 
nal  Fines  of  the  Court  of  King's  Bench,  preserved  in  the  Chapter-house,  that  a 
little  before  the  accession  of  James,  in  1603,  Shakspere  had  also  purchased  a 
messuage  at  Stratford,  with  barns,  gardens,  and  orchards,  of  Hercules  Underbill", 
for  the  sum  of  sixty  pounds.*  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  this  continued 
acquisition  of  property  in  his  native  place  had  reference  to  the  ruling  desire  of 
the  poet  to  retire  to  his  quiet  fields  and  the  placid  intercourse  of  society  at 
Stratford,  out  of  the  turmoil  of  his  professional  life  and  the  excitement  of  the 


*  The  document  was  first  published  in  Mr.  Coilier's  '  New  Facts.' 
LIFE.          2  I 


481 


WILLIAM  BHAKSPEBE: 

companionship  of  the  gay  and  the  brilliant.  And  yet  it  appears  highly  probable 
that  he  was  encouraged,  at  this  very  period,  through  the  favour  of  those  who 
rightly  estimated  his  merit,  to  apply  for  an  office  which  would  have  brought 
him  even  more  closely  in  connexion  with  the  Court.  As-  one  of  the  King's 
servants  he  received  the  small  annual  fee  of  three  pounds  six  and  eight-pence. 

On  the  30th  of  January,  1604,  Samuel  Daniel  was  appointed  by  letters 
patent  to  an  office  which,  though  not  so  called,  was  in  fact  that  of  Master  of  the 
Queen's  Revels.  In  a  letter  from  Daniel  to  Lord  Ellesmere,  he  expresses  his 

thanks  for  a  "new,  great,  and   unlocked    for   favour I  shall  now  be 

able  to  live  free  from  those  cares  and  troubles  that  hitherto  have  been  my  con 
tinual  and  wearisome  companions I  cannot  but  know  that  I  am  less 

deserving  than  some  that  sued  by  other  of  the  nobility  unto  her  Majesty 
for  this  room  :  if  M.  Drayton,  my  good  friend,  had  been  chosen,  I  should  not 
have  murmured,  for  sure  I  am  he  would  have  filled  it  most  excellently ;  but 
it  seemeth  to  mine  humble  judgment  that  one  who  is  the  author  of  plays  now 
daily  presented  on  the  public  stages  of  London,  and  the  possessor  of  no  small 
gains,  and  moreover  himself  an  actor  in  the  King's  Company  of  Comedians, 
could  not  with  reason  pretend  to  be  Master  of  the  Queen's  Majesty's  Revels, 
forasmuch  as  he  would  sometimes  be  asked  to  approve  and  allow  of  his  own 
writings.  Therefore  he,  and  more  of  like  quality,  cannot  justly  be  disappointed 
because  through  your  honour's  gracious  interposition  the  chance  was  haply 
mine."  *  It  appears  highly  probable  that  Shakspere  was  pointed  at  as  the 
author  of  popular  plays,  the  possessor  of  no  small  gains,  the  actor  in  the  King's 
company.  It  is  not  impossible  that  Shakspere  looked  to  this  appointment  as  a 
compensation  for  his  retirement  from  the  profession  of  an  actor,  retaining  his 
interest,  however,  as  a  theatrical  proprietor.  Be  that  as  it  may,  he  still  carried 
forward  his  ruling  purpose  of  the  acquisition  of  property  at  Stratford.  In 
1605  he  accomplished  a  purchase  which  required  a  larger  outlay  than  any  pre 
vious  investment.  On  the  24th  of  July,  in  the  third  year  of  James,  a  convey 
ance  was  made  by  Ralph  Huband,  Esq.,  to  William  Shakspere,  gentleman,  of  a 
moiety  of  a  lease  of  the  great  and  small  tithes  of  Stratford,  for  the  remainder  of 
a  term  of  ninety-two  years,  and  the  amount  of  the  purchase  was  four  hundred 
and  forty  pounds.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  he  was  the  cultivator  of  his 
own  land,  availing  himself  of  the  assistance  of  his  brother  Gilbert,  and,  in  an 
earlier  period,  probably  of  his  father.  An  account  in  1597  of  the  stock  of  malt 
in  the  borough  of  Stratford,  is  said  to  exhibit  ten  quarters  in  the  possession  of 
William  Shakspere,  of  Chapel  Street  Ward.  New  Place  was  situated  in  Chapel 
Street.  The  purchase  of  a  moiety  of  the  tithes  of  so  large  a  parish  as  Stratford 
might  require  extensive  arrangements  for  their  collection.  Tithes  in  those 
days  were  more  frequently  collected  in  kind  than  by  a  modus.  But  even  if  a 
modus  was  taken,  it  would  require  a  knowledge  of  the  value  of  agricultural 
produce  to  farm  the  tithes  with  advantage.f  But  before  the  date  of  this  pur- 


•  This    letter,   found    amongst   the   Egerton   Papers,   is   published   by   Mr.  Collier  in   his  '  N"\v 
Fact*.' 

t  There  »  »  document  dated  the   28th  of  October.  1614,  in  which  William  Replingham  cove- 
482 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 


chase  it  is  perfectly  clear  that  William  Shakspere  was  in  the  exercise  of  the 
trading  part  of  a  farmer's  business.  He  bought  the  hundred  and  seven  acres  of 
land  of  John  and  William  Combe  in  May,  1602.  In  1604  a  declaration  was 
entered  in  the  Borough  Court  of  Stratford,  on  a  plea  of  debt,  William  Shak 
spere  against  Philip  Rogers,  for  the  sum  of  thirty-five  shillings  and  ten-pence, 
for  corn  delivered.  The  precept  was  issued  in  the  usual  form  upon  this  decla 
ration,  the  delivery  of  the  corn  being  stated  to  have  taken  place  at  several  times 
in  the  first  and  second  years  of  James.  There  cannot  be  more  distinct  evidence 
that  William  Shakspere,  at  the  very  period  when  his  dramas  were  calling  forth 
the  rapturous  applause  of  the  new  Sovereign  and  his  Court,  and  when  he  him 
self,  as  it  would  seem,  was  ambitious  of  a  courtly  office,  did  not  disdain  to 
pursue  the  humble  though  honourable  occupation  of  a  farmer  in  Stratford,  and 
to  exercise  his  just  rites  of  property  in  connexion  with  that  occupation.  We 
must  believe  that  he  looked  forward  to  the  calm  and  healthful  employment  of  the 
evening  of  his  days,  as  a  tiller  of  the  land  which  his  father  had  tilled  before 
him,  at  the  same  time  working  out  noble  plans  of  poetical  employment  in  his 
comparative  leisure,  as  the  best  scheme  of  life  in  his  declining  years.  The 
exact  period  when  he  commenced  the  complete  realization  of  these  plans  is 
somewhat  doubtful.  He  had  probably  ceased  to  appear  as  an  actor  before 
1605.*  If  the  date  1608  be  correctly  assigned  to  a  letter  held  to  be  written 
by  Lord  Southampton,!  it  is  clear  that  Shakspere  was  not  then  an  actor,  for  he 
is  there  described  as  "  till  of  late  an  actor  of  good  account  in  the  company,  now 
a  sharer  in  the  same."  His  partial  freedom  from  his  professional  labours  certainly 
preceded  his  final  settlement  at  Stratford. 

In  the  conveyance  by  the  Combes  to  Shakspere  in  1602,  he  is  designated  as 
William  Shakspere  of  Stratford-upon-Avon.  The  same  designation  holds  in 
subsequent  legal  documents  connected  with  Stratford ;  but  there  is  no  doubt 
that,  at  the  period  of  the  conveyance  from  the  Combes,  he  was  an  actor  in  the 
company  performing  at  the  Blackfriars  and  at  the  Globe ;  and  in  tracing  there 
fore  the  "  whereabout "  of  Shakspere,  from  the  imperfect  records  which  remain 
to  us,  we  have  assumed  that  where  the  fellows  of  Shakspere  are  to  be  found, 
there  is  he  to  be  also  located.  But  in  the  belief  that  before  1608  he  had  ceased 
to  be  an  actor,  we  are  not  required  to  assume  that  he  was  so  constantly  with  his 
company  as  before  that  partial  retirement.  His  interest  would  no  doubt  require 
his  occasional  presence  with  them,  for  he  continued  to  be  a  considerable  pro 
prietor  in  their  lucrative  concerns.  That  prudence  and  careful  management 
which  could  alone  have  enabled  him  to  realize  a  large  property  out  of  his  pro 
fessional  pursuits,  and  at  the  same  time  not  to  dissipate  it  by  his  agricultural 
occupations,  appears  to  have  been  founded  upon  an  arrangement  by  which  he 
secured  the  assistance  of  his  family,  and  at  the  same  time  made  a  provision  for 
them.  We  have  seen  that  in  1602  his  brother  Gilbert  was  his  representative 


nauts  with  William  Shakspere  to  make  recompense  for  any  loss  and  hindrance,  upon  arbitration,  for 
and  in  respect  to  the  increasing  value  of  tithea, 

*  See  Chapter  IX.,  p.  478. 

t  See  Note  at  the  end  of  this  Chapter. 
21  2 


WILLIAM  SHAKSI'I:I:I:: 

at  Stratford.  Richard,  who  was  ten  years  his  junior,  and  who,  dying  a  year 
before  him,  was  buried  at  Stratford,  would  also  appear  to  have  been  resident 
there.  His  youngest  brother  Edmund,  sixteen  years  his  junior,  was,  there  can 
be  little  question,  associated  with  him  in  the  theatre ;  and  he  probably  looked 
to  him  to  attend  to  the  management  of  his  property  in  London,  after  he  retired 
from  any  active  attention  to  its  conduct.  But  Edmund  died  early.  He  lived 
in  the  parish  of  St.  Saviour's,  in  all  probability  at  his  brother's  house  in  the 
liberty  of  the  Clink ;  and  the  register  of  burials  of  that  parish  has  the  following 
record:  —  "1607,  December  31st,  Edmond  Shakespeare,  a  player,  in  the 
church."  *  The  death  of  his  brother  might  probably  have  had  a  considerable 
influence  upon  the.  habits  of  his  life,  and  might  have  induced  him  to  dispose  of 
all  his  theatrical  property,  as  there  is  reason  to  believe  he  did,  several  years 
before  his  death.  The  value  of  a  portion  of  this  property  has  been  ascertained, 
as  far  as  it  can  be,  upon  an  estimate  for  its  sale ;  and  by  this  estimate  the 
amount  of  his  portion,  as  compared  with  that  of  his  co-proprietors,  is  distinctly 
shown.  The  original  establishment  of  the  theatre  at  the  Blackfriars  in  1574 
was  in  opposition  to  the  attempt  of  the  Corporation  of  London  to  subject  the 
players  to  harsh  restrictions.  Within  the  city  the  authority  of  the  Lord 
Mayor  and  Aldermen  appears  to  have  been  powerful  enough  to  resist  the  pro 
tection  which  was  given  to  the  players  by  the  Court.  Burbage  therefore  built 
his  theatre  at  a  convenient  place,  just  out  of  the  jurisdiction  of  the  city.f  In 
1579  the  Corporation  were  defeated  in  some  attempt  to  interfere  with  the 
players  at  the  Blackfriars  Theatre,  by  a  peremptory  order  in  Council  that  they 
should  not  be  restrained  nor  in  anywise  molested  in  the  exercise  of  their  quality. 
The  players  at  a  subsequent  period  occasionally  exercised  freedoms  towards  the 
dignitaries  of  the  city,  not  so  much  in  the  regular  drama,  as  in  those  merri 
ments  or  jigs  with  which  the  comic  performers  amused  the  groundlings.  In 
1605  the  worshipful  magistrates  took  this  freedom  so  greatly  to  heart  that  they 
brought  the  matter  before  the  Privy  Council : — "  Whereas  Kemp,  Armin,  and 
others,  players  at  the  Blackfriars,  have  again  not  forborne  to  bring  upon  their 
stage  one  or  more  of  the  worshipful  Aldermen  of  the  City  of  London,  to  their 
great  scandal  and  to  the  lessening  of  their  authority ;  the  Lords  of  the  right 
honourable  the  Privy  Council  are  besought  to  call  the  said  players  before  them 
and  to  inquire  into  the  same,  that  order  may  be  taken  to  remedy  the  abuse, 
either  by  putting  down  or  removing  the  said  theatre."  J  It  was  probably  with 
reference  to  such  satirizers,  often  extemporal,  whose  licentiousness  dates  back 
as  far  as  the  days  of  Tarleton,  that  Hamlet  said,  "  After  your  death  you  had 
better  have  a  bad  epitaph  than  their  ill  report  while  you  lived."  Nothing  was. 
done  by  the  Privy  Council  in  consequence  of  the  complaint  of  1605;  but  it 
appears  that  in  1608  the  question  of  the  jurisdiction  of  the  City  in  the  Black 
friars,  and  especially  with  reference  to  the  playhouse,  was  again  brought  before 
Lord  Ellesrnere.  The  proprietors  of  the  theatre  remained  in  undisturbed 
possession.  Out  of  this  attempt  a  negociation  appears  to  have  arisen  for  the 
purchase  of  the  property  by  the  City ;  for  amongst  the  documents  connected 

*  See  p.  282.  t  See  p.  :'.<H.  J  Collier'*  'New  Facta. 

4S4 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

with  this  attempt  of  the  Corporation  is  found  a  paper  headed,  "  For  avoiding 
of  the  playhouse  in  the  precinct  of  the  Blackfriars."  The  document  states,  in 
conclusion,  that  "  in  the  whole  it  will  cost  the  Lord  Mayor  and  the  citizens  at 'the 
least  7000/."  Richard  Burbage  claims  WOOL  for  the  fee,  and  for  his  four  shares 
933/.  6s.  8d.  Laz.  Fletcher  owns  three  shares,  which  he  rates  at  700/.,  that  is, 
at  seven  years'  purchase.  "  W.  Shakespeare  asketh  for  the  wardrobe  and  pro 
perties  of  the  same  playhouse  500U,  and  for  his  four  shares,  the  same  as  his 
fellowes  Burbidge  and  Fletcher,  viz.  933U  6»  8V  Heminge  and  Condell  have 
each  two  shares,  Taylor  and  Lowin  each  a  share  and  a  half ;  four  more  players 
each  a  half  share  ;  which  they  all  value  at  the  same  rate.  The  hired  men  of  the 
company  also  claim  recompense  for  their  loss ;  "  and  the  widows  and  orphans 
of  players  who  are  paid  by  the  sharers  at  divers  rates  and  proportions."*  It 
thus  appears  that,  next  to  Richard  Burbage,  Shakspere  was  the  largest  pro 
prietor  in  the  theatre  ;  that  Burbage  was  the  exclusive  owner  of  the  real  pro 
perty,  and  Shakspere  of  the  personal.  We  see  that  Fletcher  s  the  next  largest 
shareholder.  Fletcher's  position,  both  at  Aberdeen  and  in  the  licence  of  1603, 
did  not  depend,  we  conclude,  upon  the  amount  of  his  proprietary  interest.  In 
the  same  way  that  we  find  in  the  accounts  of  the  Treasurer  of  the  Chamber 
payments  to  Heminge,  when  he  was  a  holder  of  a  smaller  number  of  shares 
than  Burbage,  or  Shakspere,  or  Fletcher  (he  probably  being  then  paid  as  the 
man  of  business  representing  the  company),  so  Fletcher  in  1601  and  1603  stood 
at  their  head  by  some  choice  independenc  of  his  proprietorship.  There  is  a 
precision  in  Fletcher's  valuation  of  his  shares  which  shows  that  he  possessed 
the  qualities  necessary  for  representing  the  pecuniary  interests  of  his  fellows : — 
"Three  shares  which  he  rateth  at  700/.,  that  is  at  seven  years'  purchase  for 
each  share,  or  thirty-three  pounds  six  shillings  and  eight-pence  one  year  with 
another."  Shakspere  founds  the  valuation  of  his  share  upon  the  valuation  of 
Burbage  and  Fletcher.  If  the  valuation  be  correct,  Shakspere's  annual  income 
derived  from  his  shares  in  the  Blackfriars  alone,  was  133/.  6s.  8d.  His  ward 
robe  and  properties,  being  perishable  matters,  were  probably  valued  at  five 
years'  purchase,  giving  him  an  additional  income  of  lOOl.  This  income  was 
derived  from  the  Blackfriars  alone.  His  property  in  the  Globe  Theatre  was  in 
all  likelihood  quite  equal.  He  would,  besides,  derive  additional  advantages 
as  the  author  of  new  plays.  With  a  professional  income,  then,  of  400/.  or  500/. 
per  annum,  which  may  be  held  to  be  equal  to  six  times  the  amount  in  our 
present  money,  it  is  evident  that  Shakspere  possessed  the  means  not  only  of  a 
liberal  expenditure  at  his  houses  in  London  and  at  Stratford,  but  from  the 
same  source  was  enabled  to  realize  considerable  sums,  which  he  invested  in  real 
property  in  his  native  place.  We  can  trace  his  purchase  of  his  "  capital  mes 
suage"  in  1597;  of  his  hundred  and  seven  acres  of  land  and  of  a  tenement  in 
1602;  of  another  tenement  in  1603;  and  of  a  moiety  of  the  tithes  of  Stratford 
in  1605.  He  had  previously  invested  capital  in  the  building  of  the  Globe  and 
the  repairs  of  the  Blackfriars.  His  unprofessional  purchases  during  a  period  of 

•  This  valuable  document  was   discovered  by   Mr.  Collier,  and   published   by  him  in   his  '  New 
Facts.' 


WILLIAM   SHAKSrr.lM    : 

ten  years  establish  the  fact  that  he  improved  his  \vnrldly  advantages  with  that 
rare  good  sense  which  formed  so  striking  a  feature  in  the  whole  character  of  his 
mind.  That  he  acquired  nothing  by  unfair  dealings  with  his  fellow-labourers, 
authors  or  actors,  we  may  well  believe,  even  without  the  testimony  of  Henry 
Chettle  in  the  early  period  of  his  career,  that  "divers  of  worship  have  reported 
his  uprightness  of  dealing,"  and  of  Heminge  and  Condell  after  his  death,  \\lio 
speak  in  their  Dedication  with  deep  reverence  of  "  so  worthy  a  friend  and 
fellow."  It  would  seem,  however,  that  his  prosperity  was  envied.  Mr.  Collier 
supposes  that  a  passage  in  an  anonymous  tract  called  '  Ratsey's  Ghost,'  applies 
to  Shakspere  :  "  When  thou  feelest  thy  purse  well  lined,  buy  thee  some  place  of 
lordship  in  the  country,  that,  growing  weary  of  playing,  thy  money  may  there 

bring  thee  to  high  dignity  and  reputation for,  I   have  heard  indeed  of 

some  that  have  gone  to  London  very  meanly,  and  have  come  in  time  to  be 
exceeding  wealthy."  If  the  application  be  correct,  we  still  cannot  hold  with 
Mr.  Collier  that  the  "  gone  to  London  very  meanly "  of  this  writer  implies  that 
"  Shakespeare  came  to  London  a  penniless  fugitive."*  Mr.  Collier  has  shown 
that  in  1589  Shakspere  was  a  shareholder  in  the  Blackfriars,  taking  precedence 
of  the  most  popular  actors,  Kempe  and  Armin,  and  also  of  William  Jonson,  a 
shareholder  of  fifteen  years'  standing.  If  Shakspere  won  this  position  out  of 
the  depths  of  that  poverty  which  it  is  the  fashion  to  surround  him  with,  abso 
lutely  without  a  tittle  of  evidence,  the  success  of  the  first  four  or  five  years  of 
his  professional  career  must  have  been  greater  than  that  of  any  subsequent 
period.  All  the  records  of  Shakspere's  professional  life,  and  the  results  of  his 
success  as  exhibited  in  the  accession  of  property,  indicate,  on  the  contrary,  a 
steady  and  regular  advance.  They  show  us  that  perseverance  and  industry 
were  as  much  the  characteristics  of  the  man  as  the  greatness  of  his  genius ;  that 
he  held  with  constancy  to  the  course  of  life  which  he  had  early  adopted ;  that 
year  by  year  it  afforded  him  increased  competence  and  wealth ;  and  that  if  he 
had  the  rare  privilege  of  pursuing  an  occupation  which  called  forth  the  highest 
exercise  of  his  powers,  rendering  it  in  every  essential  a  pleasurable  occupation, 
he  despised  not  the  means  by  which  he  had  risen  :  he  lived  in  a  free  and  genial 
intercourse  with  his  professional  brethren,  and  to  the  last  they  were  his  friends  and 
fellows. 

Aubrey  says  of  Shakspere,  "  He  was  wont  to  go  to  his  native  country  once 
a-year."  This  statement,  which  there  is  no  reason  to  disbelieve,  has  reference 
to  the  period  when  Shakspere  was  engaged  as  an  actor.  There  is  another 
account  of  Shakspere's  mode  of  life,  which  does  not  contradict  Aubrey,  but 
brings  down  his  information  to  a  later  period.  In  the  '  Diary  of  the  Rev.  John 
Ward,  Vicar  of  Stratford-upon-Avon,'  the  manuscript  of  which  was  discovered 
in  the  library  of  the  Medical  Society  of  London,  we  find  the  following  curious 
record  of  Shakspere's  later  years  : — "  I  have  heard  that  Mr.  Shakspeare  was  a 
natural  wit,  without  any  art  at  all ;  hee  frequented  the  plays  all  his  younger 
time,  but  in  his  elder  days  lived  at  Stratford,  and  supplied  the  stage  with  two 
plays  every  year,  and  for  itt  had  an  allowance  so  large,  that  hee  spent  att  the 

*  '  New  Facts,'  p.  31. 
486 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

rate  of  WOOL  a-year,  as  I  have  heard."  The  Diary  of  John  Ward  extends 
from  1648  to  1679;  and  it  is  in  many  respects  interesting,  from  the  circum 
stance  that  he  united  the  practice  of  medicine  to  the  performance  of  his  duties 
as  a  parish  priest.  Amidst  the  scanty  rural  population  such  a  combination  was 
not  unusual,  the  bishop  of  the  diocese  granting  a  licence  to  an  incumbent  to 
practise  medicine  in  the  diocese  where  he  dwelt.  Upon  the  removal  from  the 
vicarage  of  Stratford-upon-Avon  of  Alexander  Beane,  who  had  held  the  living 
from  1648  to  the  Restoration,  John  Ward,  A.M.,  was  appointed  his  successor  in 
1662.*  It  is  evident  that,  although  forty-six  years  had  elapsed  since  the  death 
of  Shakspere,  his  memory  was  the  leading  association  with  Stratford-upon- 
Avon.  After  noticing  that  Shakspere  had  two  daughters,  we  find  the  entry 
presented  above.  It  is  just  possible  that  the  new  vicar  of  Stratford  might  have 
seen  Shakspere's  younger  daughter  Judith,  who  was  born  in  1585,  and,  having 
married  Thomas  Quiney  in  1616,  lived  to  the  age  of  seventy-seven,  having  been 
buried  on  the  9th  of  February,  1662.  The  descendants  of  Shakspere's  family 
and  of  his  friends  surrounded  the  worthy  vicar  on  every  side ;  and  he  appears 
to  have  thought  it  absolutely  necessary  to  acquire  such  a  knowledge  of  the  pro 
ductions  of  the  great  poet  as  might  qualify  him  to  speak  of  them  in  general 
society : — "  Remember  to  peruse  Shakespeare's  plays,  and  bee  much  versed  in 
them,  that  I  may  not  bee  ignorant  in  that  matter."  The  honest  vicar  was  not 
quite  certain  whether  the  fame  of  Shakspere  was  only  a  provincial  one,  for  he 

adds "Whether   Dr.  Heylin   does   well,    in   reckoning   up   the   dramatick   poets 

which  have  been  famous  in  England,  to  omit  Shakespeare  ?" f  The  good  man 
is  not  altogether  to  be  blamed  for  having  previously  to  1662  been  "  ignorant " 
of  Shakspere's  plays.  He  was  only  thirty-three  years  of  age;  and  his  youth 
had  been  passed  in  the  stormy  period  when  the  Puritans  had  well  nigh  banished 
all  literature,  and  especially  dramatic  literature,  from  the  minds  of  the  people, 
in  their  intolerant  proscription  of  all  pleasure  and  recreation.  At  any  rate  we 
may  accept  the  statements  of  the  good  vicar  as  founded  upon  the  recollections 
of  those  with  whom  he  was  associated  in  1662.  It  is  wholly  consistent  with 
what  we  otherwise  know  of  Shakspere's  life,  that  "He  frequented  the  plays  all 
his  younger  time."  It  is  equally  consistent  that  he  "  in  his  elder  days  lived  at 
Stratford."  There  is  nothing  improbable  in  the  belief  that  he  "  supplied  the 
stage  with  two  plays  every  year."  The  last  clause  of  the  sentence  is  somewhat 
startling :— "  And  for  it  had  an  allowance  so  large,  that  he  spent  at  the  rate  of 
WOOL  a-year,  as  I  have  heard."  And  yet  the  assertion  must  not  be  considered 
wholly  an  exaggeration.  "He  spent  at  the  rate  of  WOOL  a-year,"  must  mean 
the  rate  of  the  time  when  Mr.  Ward  is  writing.  During  the  half  century 
which  had  preceded  the  Restoration,  there  had  been  a  more  important  decrease 
in  the  value  of  money  than  had  even  taken  place  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth. 
During  that  reign  the  prices  of  all  commodities  were  constantly  rising ;  but 
after  the  reduction  of  the  legal  rate  of  interest  from  ten  per  cent,  to  eight 
1624,  and  from  eight  to  six  in  1651,  the  change  was  still  more  rer 

*  See  the  list  of  incumbents  in  Wheler'a  'History  of  Stratford-upon-Avon,'  p.  32. 
t  See  'Diary,'  &c.,  1839,  p.  183. 

487 


WILLIAM    Sll  \K>l'l  I.I 

Josias  Child,  in  1688,  says  that  five  hundred  pounds  with  a  daughter,  sixty 
years  before,  was  esteemed  a  larger  portion  than  two  thousand  pounds  now.  It 
would  appear,  therefore,  that  the  thousand  a-year  in  1662  was  not  more  than 
one-third  of  the  amount  in  1612:  and  this  sum,  from  300/.  to  400/.,  was,  as 
near  as  may  be,  the  amount  which  Shakspere  appears  to  have  derived  from  his 
theatrical  property.  In  all  probability  he  held  that  property  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  period  when  he  "supplied  the  stage  with  two  plays  every  year;" 
and  this  indirect  remuneration  for  his  poetical  labours  might  readily  have  been 
mistaken,  fifty  years  afterwards,  as  "an  allowance  so  large"  for  authorship  that 
the  good  vicar  records  it  as  a  memorable  thing. 

It  is  established  that  Othello  was  performed  in  1602;  Hamlet,  greatly 
enlarged,  was  published  in  1604;  Measure  for  Measure  was  acted  before  the 
Court  on  St.  Stephen's  night  in  the  same  year.  If  we  place  Shakspere's  partial 
retirement  from  his  professional  duties  about  this  period,  and  regard  the  plays 
whose  dates  up  to  this  point  have  not  been  fixed  by  any  authentic  record,  or 
satisfactory  combination  of  circumstances,  we  have  abundant  work  in  reserve 
for  the  great  poet  in  the  maturity  of  his  intellect.  Lear,  Macbeth,  Timon  of 
Athens,  Troilus  and  Cressida,  Cymbeline,  The  Winter's  Tale,  The  Tempest, 
Henry  VIII.,  Coriolanus,  Julius  Caesar,  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  eleven  of  the 
noblest  productions  of  the  human  intellect,  so  varied  in  their  character, — the 
deepest  passion,  the  profoundest  philosophy,  the  wildest  romance,  the  most 
comprehensive  history, — what  a  glorious  labour  to  fill  the  nine  or  ten  remaining 
years  of  the  life  of  the  man  who  had  left  his  native  fields  twenty  years  before 
to  seek  for  advancement  in  doubtful  and  perilous  paths, — in  a  profession  which 
was  denounced  by  some  and  despised  by  others, — amongst  companions  full  of 
genius  and  learning,  but  who  had  perished  early  in  their  pride  and  their  self- 
abandonment  !  And  he  returns  wealthy  and  honoured  to  the  bosom  of  those 
who  are  dearest  to  him — his  wife  and  daughters,  his  mother,  his  sisters  and 
brothers.  The  companions  of  his  boyhood  are  all  around  him.  They  have 
been  useful  members  of  society  in  their  native  place.  He  has  constantly  kept 
up  his  intercourse  with  them.  They  have  looked  to  him  for  assistance  in  their 
difficulties.  He  is  come  to  be  one  of  them,  to  dwell  wholly  amongst  them,  to 
take  a  deeper  interest  in  their  pleasures  and  in  their  cares,  to  receive  their  sym 
pathy.  He  is  come  to  walk  amidst  his  own  fields,  to  till  them,  to  sell  their 
produce.  His  labour  will  be  his  recreation.  In  the  activity  of  his  body  will 
the  energy  of  his  intellect  find  its  support  and  its  rest.  His  nature  is  eminently 
fitted  for  action  as  well  as  contemplation.  Were  it  otherwise,  he  would  have 
"  bad  dreams,"  like  his  own  Hamlet.  Morbid  thoughts  may  have  come  over 
him  "like  a  passing  cloud;"  but  from  this  time  his  mind  will  be  eminently 
healthful.  The  imagination  and  the  reason  henceforth  will  be  wonderfully 
balanced.  Much  of  this  belongs  to  the  progressive  character  of  his  understand 
ing  ;  something  to  his  favourable  position. 

To  a  mind  which  habitually  dwells  amongst  high  thoughts, — familiar  with 
the  greatness  of  the  past,  the  littleness  of  the  present,  and  the  vastness  of  the 
future, — the  petty  jealousies,  the  envies,  the  heart-burnings,  that  have  ever 

488 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

belonged  to  provincial  society  can  only  present  themselves  under  the  aspect  of 
the  ludicrous.  William  Shakspere  was  no  doubt  pointed  out  by  some  of  his 
neighbours  as  the  rich  player  that  had  "gone  to  London  very  meanly."  It 
appears  to  us  that  we  can  trace  the  workings  of  this  jealousy  in  a  small  matter 
which  lias  hitherto  been  viewed  somewhat  differently.  The  father  and  mother 
of  Shakspere  were  of  good  family,— a  circumstance  more  regarded  in  those  days 
than  wealth.  We  never  have  attempted  to  show  that  John  Shakspere  was  a 
wealthy  man;  but  we  have  contended  that  the  evidence  by  which  it  has  been 
sought  to  prove  that  he  was  "steeped  up,  to  the  very  lips  in  poverty  "  did  not 
support  the  allegation.*  On  the  grant  of  arms  to  John  Shakspere  made  in 
1596,  which  is  preserved  in  the  Herald's  College,  f  there  is  a  memorandum 
which  appears  to  have  been  made  as  an  explanation  of  the  circumstances  con 
nected  with  the  grant.  It  recites  that  John  Shakspere  showed  a  previous 
patent ;  that  he  had  been  chief  officer  of  Stratford ;  "  that  he  hath  lands  and 
tenements,  of  good  wealth  and  substance,  five  hundred  pounds ;  that  he  married 
a  daughter  and  heir  of  Arden,  a  gentleman  of  worship."  Malone,  who  pub 
lished  this  document,  holds  that  the  assertion  that  he  was  worth  five  hundred 
pounds  is  incompatible  with  the  averment  of  a  bill  in  Chancery,  filed  by  John 
Shakspere  and  Mary  his  wife,  against  John  Lamberte,  who  had  foreclosed  upon 
the  estate  of  Asbies,  mortgaged  to  his  father  in  1578.  The  concluding  petition 
of  this  bill  in  Chancery  says  :  —  "  And  for  that  also  the  said  John  Lamberte  is 
of  great  wealth  and  ability,  and  well  friended  and  allied  amongst  gentlemen 
and  freeholders  of  the  country  in  the  said  county  of  Warwick,  where  he  dwell - 
eth,  and  your  said  orators  are  of  small  wealth  and  very  few  friends  and  alliance 
in  the  said  county."  Malone  calls  this  "the  confession  of  our  poet's  father 
himself "  of  his  poverty,  and  even  of  his  insolvency.  The  averments  of  the 
petition  and  the  replication  afford  a  proof  to  the  contrary ;  for  these  documents 
state  that  the  mortgagee  wrongfully  held  possession  of  the  premises,  although 
the  mortgage-money  was  tendered  in  1580.  The  complainant  says  that  he  is  a 
man  of  small  wealth, — the  man  against  whom  he  complains  is  one  of  great 
wealth.  The  possessor  of  five  hundred  pounds  was  not,  even  in  those  days,  a 
man  of  great  wealth ;  but  it  was  a  reason,  according  to  the  heralds,  for  such  a 
grant  of  arms  as  belonged  to  a  gentleman.  But  he  had  "  very  few  friends  and 
alliance  in  the  said  county."  This  was  a  motive  probably  for  some  one  of 
higher  wealth  and  greater  friends  making  an  attempt  to  disturb  the  honours 
which  the  heralds  had  confirmed  to  John  Shakspere.  It  appears  that  some 
charges  were  made  against  Garter  and  Clarencieux,  Kings  at  Arms  (which  offices 
were  then  held  by  Dethick  and  Camden),  that  they  had  wrongfully  given  arms 
to  certain  persons,  twenty-three  in  number.  The  answer  of  Garter  and  Claren 
cieux,  preserved  in  the  Herald's  College,  was  presented  on  the  10th  of  May. 
1602  ;  and  it  appears  that  John  Shakspere  was  one  of  those  named  in  the 
"libellous  scroll,"  as  the  heralds  call  it.  Their  answer  as  regards  Shakspere  is 
as  follows:  "  Shakespere.— It  may  as  well  be  said  that  Hareley,  who  beareth 
gould  a  bend  between  two  cotizes  sables,  and  all  other  that  [bear]  or  and  argent 

*  See  p.  108.  t  See  p.  6. 

489 


WILLIAM  SHAKSIT.IM:  : 

a  bend  sables,  usurpe  tbe  coat  of  Lo.  Manley.  As  for  tbe  speare  in  bend,  [it]  is  a 
patible  difference ;  and  the  person  to  whom  it  was  granted  hath  borne  mages- 
tracy,  and  was  justice  of  peace  at  Stratford-upon-Avon.  He  married  the  daughter 
and  heire  of  Arderne,  and  was  able  to  maintain  that  estate."  The  information, 
or  "libellous  scroll,"  was  heard  before  Lord  Howard  and  others  on  the  1st  of 
May,  1602.  At  that  time  John  Shakspere  had  been  dead  six  months.  The 
answer  of  the  heralds  points  to  the  position  of  the  person  to  whom  the  arms 
were  granted  in  1599,  when  the  shield  of  Shakspere  was  impaled  with  the  an 
cient  arms  of  Arden  of  Wellingcote.*  In  May,  1602,  William  Shakspere  bore 
these  joint  arms  of  his  father  and  mother  by  virtue  of  the  grant  of  1599;  and 
against  him,  therefore,  was  the  "  libellous  scroll "  directed.  He  had  bought  a 
"  place  of  lordship "  in  the  county  of  Warwick ;  he  vras  written  down  in  all 
indentures,  gentleman  and  generosus ;  he  had  a  new  coat  of  arms,  it  is  true,  but 
he  claimed  it  through  a  gentle  ancestry.  Was  there  any  one  in  his  immediate 
neighbourhood,  a  rich  and  proud  man,  who  looked  upon  the  acquisition  of  lands 
and  houses  by  the  poor  player  with  a  self-important  jealousy?  Sir  Thomas 
Lucy — he  who  possessed  Charlcote  in  the  days  of  William  Shakspere's  youth — 
was  dead.  He  died  on  the  6th  of  July,  1600;  and  it  is  probable  that  he  who 
had  looked  with  reverence  upon  the  worthy  knight  when,  as  a  boy,  he  was  un 
familiar  with  greatness,  might  have  dropped  a  tear  upon  his  grave  in  the 
parish  church  of  Charlcote.  But  another  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  who  had  just  suc 
ceeded  to  large  possessions,  might  have  thought  it  necessary  to  make  an 
attempt  to  lower,  in  the  eyes  of  his  neighbours,  the  importance  of  the  presump 
tuous  man  who,  being  nothing  but  an  actor  and  a  poet,  had  presumed  to  write 
himself  gentleman.  In  the  first  copy  of  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  there  is 


ul  Sir  1  homos  Lucy.j 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

not  a  word  about  the  dignities  of.  Justice  Shallow,  his  old  coat,  or  his  quarters 
Those  passages  first  appeared  in  the  folio  of  1623.  They  probably  existed  when 
the  play  was  acted  before  James  in  November,  1604  : 

«  Shallow  Sir  Hugh,  persuade  me  not ;  I  will  make  a  Star-chamber  matter  of  it :  if  he  were  twenty 
Sir  John  Falstaffs,  he  shall  not  abuse  Robert  Shallow,  esquire. 

Slender.  In  the  county  of  Gloster,  justice  of  peace,  and  coram. 

Shal.  Ay,  cousin  Slender,  and  cugt-alorum. 

Slen.  Ay,  and  ratolorum  too;  and  a  gentleman  born,  master  parson;  who  writes  himself  armi- 
gero  ;  in  any  bill,  warrant,  quittance,  or  obligation,  armigero. 

Shal,  Ay,  that  I  do  :  and  have  done  any  time  these  three  hundred  years. 

Slen.  All  his  successors,  gone  before  him,  have  done't;  and  all  his  ancestors,  that  come  after  him, 
may  :  they  may  give  the  dozen  white  luces  in  their  coat. 

Shal.  It  is  an  old  coat. 

Evans.  The  dozen  white  louses  do  become  an  old  coat  well ;  it  agrees  well,  passant :  it  is  a  familiar 
beast  to  man,  and  signifies  love. 

Shal.  The  luce  is  the  fresh  fish ;  the  salt  fish  is  an  old  coat." 

The  allusion  of  the  dozen  white  luces  cannot  be  mistaken.  "Three  luces 
hauriant,  argent,"  are  the  arms  of  the  Lucys.  The  luce  is  a  pike — "  the  fresh 
nsh," — but  the  pike  of  the  Lucys,  as  shown  in  their  arms  in  the  church  window 
of  Charlcote,*  are  hauriant,  springing, — the  heraldic  term  applied  to  fish ;  saltant 
being  the  term  applied  to  quadrupeds  in  the  same  attitude.  This  is  the  salt  or 
saltant  fish  of  Shallow.  The  whole  passage  is  a  playful  satire  upon  the  solemn 
pretensions  of  one  with  three  hundred  years  of  ancestry  boasting  of  his  "  old 
coat."  The  "  dozen  white  louses"  (the  vulgarism  Covered  by  the  Welshman's 
pronunciation)  points  the  application  of  the  satire  with  a  personality  which, 
coming  from  one  whose  habitual  practice  was  never  to  ridicule  classes  or  indi 
viduals,  shows  that  it  was  a  smart  return  for  some  insult  or  injury.  The  old 
coat,  we  believe,  could  not  endure  the  neighbourhood  of  the  new  coat.  The 
"dozen  white  luces"  could  not  leap  in  the  same  atmosphere  in  which  the 
"spear  in  bend"  presumed  to  dwell.  We  can  understand  the  ridicule  of  the 
old  coat  in  the  second  copy  of  The  Merry. Wives  of  Windsor,  without  connecting 
it  with  the  absurd  story  of  the  prosecution  for  deer-stealing  by  the  elder  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy.  The  ballad  attributed  to  Shakspere  is  clearly  a  modern  forgery, 
founded  upon  the  passage  in  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  f  If  the  ridicule 
of  the  "  old  coat "  had  been  intended  to  mark  Shakspere's  sense  of  early  injuries, 
it  would  have  appeared  in  the  first  copy  of  that  play,  when  the  feeling  which 
prompted  the  satire  was  strong,  because  the  offence  was  recent.  It  finds  a 
place  in  the  enlarged  copy  of  that  comedy,  produced,  there  can  be  little  doubt, 
at  a  period  when  some  one  had  prompted  an  attack  upon  the  validity  of  the 
armorial  honours  which  were  granted  to  his  father;  attacking  himself,  in  all 
likelihood,  in  the  insolent  spirit  of  an  aristocratic  provinciality.  The  revenge  is 
enduring ;  the  subject  of  the  revenge  is  forgotten.  The  antiquarian  microscope 
has  discovered  that,  in  1602,  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  (not  the  same  who  punished 
Shakspere  "for  stealing  his  deer,"  because  he  died  in  1600J)  sent  Sir  Thomas 

*  See  Dugdale's  '  Warwickshire,'  p.  401.  t  See  p.  230. 

t  See  Egerton  Papers,  published  by  the  Camden  Society,  p.  350,  in  which  this  fact  is  overlooked. 


WILLIAM  SIIAKSPERE: 

Egerton  the  present  of  a  buck,  on  the  very  occasion  when  the  Othello  of  Shak 
spere  was  presented  before  Queen  Elizabeth  at  Harefield.  Whatever  might  be 
the  comparative  honours  of  William  Shakspere  and  the  Knight  of  Charlcote  at 
the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century,  this  fact  furnishes  a  precise  estimate 
of  their  relative  importance  for  all  future  times.  Posterity  has  settled  che 
debate  between  the  new  coat  and  the  old  coat  by  a  very  summary  arbitrement. 

With  the  exception  of  this  piece  of  ridicule  in  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor, 
we  know  not  of  a  single  personality  which  can  be  alleged  against  Shakspere, 
in  an  age  when  his  dramatic  contemporaries,  especially,  bespattered  their  rivals 
and  their  enemies  as  fiercely  as  any  modern  paragraph  writer.  But  vulgar 
opinion,  which  is  too  apt  most  easily  to  recognise  the  power  of  talent  in  its 
ability  to  inflict  pain — which  would  scarcely  appreciate  the  sentiment, 

"  0,  it  is  excellent 

To  have  a  giant's  strength ;  but  it  is  tyrannous 
To  use  it  like  a  giant " — 

has  assigned  to  Shakspere  a  performance  which  has  the  quality,  extraordinary 
as  regards  himself,  of  possessing  scurrility  without  wit.  It  is  something  lower 
in  the  moral  scale  even  than  the  fabricated  ballad  upon  Sir  Thomas  Lucy;  for 
it  exhibits  a  wanton  and  unprovoked  outrage  upon  an  unoffending  neighbour, 
in  the  hour  of  convivial  intercourse.  Rowe  tells  the  story  as  if  he  thought  he 
were  doing  honour  to  the  genius  of  the  man  whose  good  qualities  he  is  at  the 
same  moment  recording :  "  The  latter  part  of  his  life  was  spent,  as  all  men  of 
good  sense  will  wish  theirs'  may  be — in  ease,  retirement,  and  the  conversation 
of  his  friends.  He  had  the  good  fortune  to  gather  an  estate  equal  to  his  occa 
sion,  and  in  that,  to  his  wish  ;  and  is  said  to  have  spent  some  years  before  his 
death  at  his  native  Stratford.  His  pleasurable  wit  and  good  nature  engaged 
him  in  the  acquaintance,  and  entitled  him  to  the  friendship,  of  the  gentlemen  of 
the  neighbourhood.  Amongst  them,  it  is  a  story  still  remembered  in  that 
country  that  he  had.  a  particular  intimacy  with  Mr.  Combe,  an  old  gentleman 
noted  thereabouts  for  his  wealth  and  usury  :  it  happened,  that  in  a  pleasant 
conversation  amongst  their  common  friends,  Mr.  Combe  told  Shakspeare,  in  a 
laughing  manner,  that  he  fancied  he  intended  to  write  his  epitaph,  if  he  hap 
pened  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  Shak 
speare  gave  him  these  four  lines  : — 

'  Ten  in  tho  hundred  lies  here  ingrav'd ; 
'T  is  a  hundred  to  ten  his  soul  is  not  sav'd  : 
If  any  man  ask,  Who  lies  in  this  tomb  ? 
Oh  !  Oh  I  quoth  the  devil,  't  is  my  John-a-Combe.' 

But  the  sharpness  of  the  satire  is  said  to  have  stung  the  man  so  severely,  that 
he  .never  forgave  it."  Certainly  this  is  an  extraordinary  illustration  of  Shak- 
spere's  "pleasurable  wit  and  good  nature" — of  those  qualities  which  won  for 
him  the  name  of  the  "gentle  Shakspere;"  which  made  Jonson,  stern  enough  to 
most  men,  proclaim — "  He  was  honest,  and  of  an  open  and  free  nature,"  and 
that  his  "mind  and  manners"  were  reflected  in  his  "well-turned  and  true- 
492 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

filed  lines."  John-a-Combe  never  forgave  the  sharpness  of  the  satire  !  And 
yet  he  bequeathed  by  his  last  will  "  To  Mr.  William  Shakspere,  five  pounds." 
Aubrey  tells  the  story  with  a  difference  :— "  One  time,  as  he  was  at  the  tavern 
at  Stratford-upon-Avon,  one  Combes,  an  old  rich  usurer,  was  to  be  buryed,  he 
makes  there  this  extemporary  epitaph;"  and  then  he  gives  the  lines  with  a  varia 
tion,  in  which  "  vows  "  rhymes  to  "  allows,"  instead  of  "  sav'd"  to  "  ingrav'd." 

Of  course,  following  out  this  second  story,  the  family  of  John  Combe  resented 
the  insult  to  the  memory  of  their  parent,  who  died  in  1614  ;  and  yet  an  intimacy 
subsisted  between  them  even  till  the  death  of  Shakspere,  for  in  his  own  will  he 
bequeaths  to  the  son  of  the  usurer  a  remarkable  token  of  personal  regard,  the 
badge  of  a  gentleman : — "  To  Mr.  Thomas  Combe  my  sword."  The  whole  story 
is  a  fabrication.  Ten  in  the  hundred  was  the  old  name  of  opprobrium  for  one 
who  lent  money.  To  receive  interest  at  all  was  called  usury.  "  That  ten  in  the 
hundred  was  gone  to  the  devil,"  was  an  old  joke,  that  shaped  itself  into  epigrams 
long  before  the  death  of  John  Combe  ;  and  in  the  '  Remains  of  Richard  Brath- 
waite,'  printed  in  1618,  we  have  the  very  epitaph  assigned  to  Shakspere,  with 
a  third  set  of  variations,  given  as  a  notable  production  of  this  voluminous 
writer  :  "  Upon  one  John  Combe,  of  Stratford-upon-Avon,  a  notable  usurer, 
fastened  upon  a  Tombe  that  he  had  caused  to  be  built  in  his  Lifetime."  The 
lie  direct  is  given  by  the  will  of  John  Combe  to  this  third  version  of  the  lines 
against  him ;  for  it  directs  that  a  convenient  tomb  shall  be  erected  one  year 
after  his  decease.  John  Combe  was  the  neighbour  and  without  doubt  the 
friend  of  Shakspere.  His  house  was  within  a  short  distance  of  New  Place, 
being  upon  the  site  of  the  ancient  College,  and  constructed  in  part  out  of 
the  offices  of  that  monastic  establishment.*  It  was  of  John  Combe  and  his 

*    Tim  fine  old  building,  we  regret  to  say,  was  taken  down  in  1799. 


[The  College.] 


[Ancient  Hail  in  tlir  College.] 


brother  that  Shakspere  made  a  large  purchase  of  land  in  1602.  The  better 
tradition  survived  the  memory  of  Rowe's  and  Aubrey's  epitaph;  and  before  the 
mansion  was  pulled  down,  the  people  of  Stratford  delighted  to  look  upon  the 
Hall  where  John  Combe  had  listened  to  the  "  very  ready  and  pleasant  smooth 
wit "  *  of  his  friend  "  the  immortal  Shakspere,"  as  the  good  folks  of  Stratford 
always  term  their  poet.  It  was  here  that  the  neighbours  would  talk  of  "pip 
pins  "  of  their  "  own  graffing," — of  a  fine  "  dish  of  leathercoats," — "  how  a  good 
yoke  of  bullocks  at  Stamford  Fair ?" — "how  a  score  of  ewes  now?"  The  poet 
had  brought  with  him  from  London  a  few  of  the  new  mulberry  plants.  There 
was  one  at  New  Place,  and  one  at  the  College.  Which  throve  best  ?  Should 
they  ever  raise  silk-worms  upon  the  leaves,  and  give  a  new  manufacture  to 
Stratford?  The  King  was  sanguine  about  the  success  of  his  mulberry-tree  pro 
ject,  for  he  procured  plants  from  France,  and  dispersed  them  through  the  king 
dom  ;  but  they  doubted. f  The  poet  planted  his  mulberry-tree  for  the  ornament 


*  Aubrey. 
494 


f  See  Howe's  Continuation  of  Stow's  'Chronicle,'  p.  804. 


A  BIOGRAPHV. 

of  his  "curious  knotted  garden;"    little  dreaming  that  his  very  fame  in  future 
times  should  accelerate  its  fall. 

It  would  be  something  if  we  could  now  form  an  exact  notion  of  the  house  in 
which  Shakspere  lived;  of  its  external  appearance,  its  domestic  arrangements. 
Dugdale,  speaking  of  Sir  Hugh  Clopton,  who  built  the  bridge  at  Stratford  and 
repaired  the  chapel,  says—"  On  the  north  side  of  this  chapel  was  a  fair  house  built 
of  brick  and  timber,  by  the  said  Hugh,  wherein  he  lived  in  his  later  days,  and  died." 
This  was  nearly  a  century  before  Shakspere  bought  the  "  fair  house,"  which,  in  the 
will  of  Sir  Hugh  Clopton,  is  called  "  the  great  house."  Theobald  says  that  Shak 
spere,  "  having  repaired  and  modelled  it  to  his  own  mind,  changed  the  name  to 
New  Place."  Malone  holds  that  this  is  an  error :— "  I  find  from  ancient  docu 
ments  that  it  was  called  New  Place  as  early  at  least  as  1565."  The  great  house, 
having  been  sold  out  of  the  Clopton  family,  was  purchased  by  Shakspere  of  William 
Underbill,  Esq.  Shakespere  by  his  will  left  it  to  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Hall,  with 
remainder  to  her  heirs  male,  or,  in  default,  to  her  daughter  Elizabeth  and  her  heirs 
male,  or  the  heirs  male  of  his  daughter  Judith.  Mrs.  Hall  died  in  1649  ;  surviving 
her  husband  fourteen  years.  There  is  little  doubt  that  she  occupied  the  hoise 
when  Queen  Henrietta  Maria,  in  1643,  coming  to  Stratford  in  royal  state  with  a 
large  army,  resided  for  three  weeks  under  this  roof.  The  property  descended  to  her 
daughter  Elizabeth,  first  married  to  Mr.  Thomas  Nash  and  afterwards  to  Sir  Thomas 
Barnard.  She  dying  without  issue,  New  Place  was  sold  in  1675,  and  was  ulti 
mately  repurchased  by  the  Clopton  family.  Sir  Hugh  Clopton,  in  the  middle  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  resided  there.  The  learned  knigfot,  according  to  some  of  the 
local  historians,  thoroughly  repaired  and  beautified  the  place,  and  built  a  modern 
front  to  it.  But  it  is  evident,  from  recent  excavations,  that  he  did  much  more. 
Malone  says  that  he  "  pulled  down  our  poet's  house,  and  built  one  more  elegant  on 
the  same  spot."  After  the  death  of  Sir  Hugh,  in  1751,  it  was  sold  to  the  Rev. 
Francis  Gastrell,  in  1753. 

The  total  destruction  of  New  Place  in  1757,  by  its  new  possessor,  is  difficult  to 
account  for  upon  any  ordinary  principles  of  action.  Malone  thus  relates  the 
story : — "  The  Rev.  Mr.  Gastrell,  a  man  of  large  fortune,  resided  in  it  but  a  few 
years,  in  consequence  of  a  disagreement  with  the  inhabitants  of  Stratford.  Every 
house  in  that  town  that  is  let  or  valued  at  more  than  40s.  a-year  is  assessed  by  the 
overseers,  according  to  its  worth  and  the  ability  of  the  occupier,  to  pay  a  monthly 
rate  toward  the  maintenance  of  the  poor.  As  Mr.  Gastrell  resided  part  of  the  year 
At  Lichfield,  he  thought  he  was  assessed  too  highly ;  but  being  very  properly  com 
pelled  by  the  magistrates  of  Stratford  to  pay  the  whole  of  what  was  levied  on  him, 
on  the  principle  that  his  house  was  occupied  by  his  servants  in  his  absence,  he 
peevishly  declared  that  that  house  should  never  be  assessed  again ;  and  soon  after 
wards  pulled  it  down,  sold  the  materials,  and  left  the  town.  Wishing,  as  it  should 
seem,  to  be  '  damn'd  to  everlasting  fame,'  he  had  some  time  before  cut  down  Shak- 
speare's  celebrated  mulberry-tree,  to  save  himself  the  trouble  of  showing  it  to  those 
whose  admiration  of  our  great  poet  led  them  to  visit  the  poetic  ground  on  which  it 

495 


WILUAM    .SHAKsri:i;i:  : 

stood."  The  cutting  down  of  the  mulberry-tree  seems  to  have  been  regarded  as 
a  great  oflence  in  Mr.  Gastrell's  own  generation.  His  wife  was  a  sister  of  John 
son's  correspondent,  Mrs.  Aston.  After  the  death  of  Mr.  Gastrell,  his  widow 
resided  at  Lichfield  ;  and  in  1776,  Boswell,  in  company  with  Johnson,  dined  with 
the  sisters.  Boswell  on  this  occasion  says — "  I  was  not  informed,  till  afterwards, 
that  Mrs.  Gastrell's  husband  was  the  clergyman  who,  while  he  lived  at  Stratford- 
upon-Avon,  with  Gothic  barbarity  cut  down  Shakspeare's  mulbe'rry-tree,  and,  as 
Dr.  Johnson  told  me,  did  it  to  vex  his  neighbours.  His  lady,  I  have  reason  to 
believe  on  the  same  authority,  participated  in  the  guilt  of  what  the  enthusiasts  of 
our  immortal  bard  deem  almost  a  species  of  sacrilege."  The  mulberry-tree  was  cut 
down  in  1756;  was  sold  for  firewood;  and  the  bulk  of  it  was  purchased  by  a 
Mr.  Thomas  Sharp,  of  Stratford-upon-Avon,  clock  and  watch  maker,  who  made  a 
solemn  affidavit,  some  years  afterwards,  that  out  of  a  sincere  veneration  for  the 
memory  of  its  celebrated  planter  he  had  the  greater  part  of  it  conveyed  to  his  own 
premises,  and  worked  it  into  curious  toys  and  useful  articles.  The  destruction  of 
the  mulberry-tree,  which  the  previous  possessor  of  New  Place  used  to  show  with 
pride  and  veneration,  enraged  the  people  of  Stratford  ;  and  Mr.  Wheler  tells  us  that 
he  remembers  to  have  heard  his  father  say  that,  when  a  boy,  he  assisted  in  the 
revenge  of  breaking  the  reverend  destroyer's  windows.  The  hostilities  were  put  an 
end  to  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Gastrell  quitting  Stratford  in  1757  ;  and,  upon  the  principle 
oi  tiding  what  he  liked  with  his  own,  pulling  the  house  to  the  ground. 

We -may  charitably  believe,  not  only  that  this  reverend  person  had  no  enthu 
siastic  reverence  for  the  spot  hallowed  by  associations  with  the  memory  of 
Shakspere ;  but  that  he  thought  nothing  of  Shakspere  in  the  whole  course 
of  his  proceedings.  He  bought  a  house,  and  paid  for  it.  He  wished  to  enjoy 
it  in  quiet.  People  with  whom  he  could  not  sympathise  intruded  upon  him 
to  see  the  gardens  and  the  house.  In  the  gardens  was  a  noble  mulberry-tree. 
Tradition  said  it  was  planted  by  Shakspere ;  and  the  professional  enthusiasts  ot 
Shakspere,  the  Garricks  and  the  Macklins,  had  sat  under  its  shade,  during  the  cccu- 
pation  of  one  who  felt  that  there  was  a  real  honour  in  the  ownership  of  such  a 
place.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Gastrell  wanted  the  house  and  the  gardens  to  himself.  He 
had  that  strong  notion  of  the  exclusive  rights  of  property  which  belongs  to  most 
Englishmen,  and  especially  to  ignorant  Englishmen.  Mr.  Gastrell  was  an  ignorant 
man,  though  a  clergyman.  We  have  seen  his  diary,  written  upon  a  visit  to 
Scotland  tnree  years  after  the  pulling  down  of  New  Place.  His  journey  was  connected 
with  some  electioneering  intrigues  in  the  Scotch  boroughs.  He  is  a  stranger  in 
Scotland,  and  he  goes  into  some  of  its  most  romantic  districts.  The  scenery  makes 
no  impression  upon  him,  as  may  be  imagined  ;  but  he  is  scandalized  beyond  measure 
when  he  meets  with  a  bad  dinner,  and  a  rough  lodging.  He  has  just  literature 
enough  to  know  the  name  of  Shakspere ;  but  in  passing  through  Forres  and  Glamis 
he  has  not  the  slightest  association  with  Shakspere's  Macbeth.  A  Captain  Gordon 
informs  his  vacant  mind  upon  some  abstruse  subjects,  as  to  which  we  have  the 
following  record  : — "  He  assures  me  that  the  Duncan  murdered  at  Forres  was  the 
same  person  that  Shakspeare  writes  of."  There  scarcely  requires  any  further 
496 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 


evidence  of  the  prosaic  character  of  his  mind ;  and  if  there  be  some  truth  in  the 
axiom  of  Shakspere,  that 

"  The  man  that  hath  no  music  iu  himself, 
Nor  is  not  mov'd  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 
Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils," 

we  hold,  upon  the  same  principle,  that  the  man  who  speaks  in  this  literal  way  of 
the  "person  that  Shakspere  writes  of/5  was  a  fit  man  to  root  up  Shakspere's 
mulberry-tree ;  pull  down  the  house  which  had  some  associations  with  the  mere 
ancient  structure  in  which  the  author  of  some  of  the  greatest  productions  of  the 
human  intellect  had  lived  and  died ;  and  feel  not  the  slightest  regret  in  abandoning 
the  gardens  which  the  matchless  man  had  cultivated. 

It  is  a  singular  fact  that  no  drawings  or  prints  exist  of  New  Place  as  Shakspere  left 
it,  or  at  any  period  before  the  new  house  was  built  by  Sir  Hugh  Clopton.  It  is  a  more 
singular  fact  that  although  Garrick  had  been  there  only  fourteen  years  before  the 
destruction,  visiting  the  place  with  a  feeling  of  veneration  that  might  have  led  him 
and  others  to  preserve  some  memorial  of  it,  there  is  no  trace  whatever  existing  of 


what  New  Place  was  before  1757.  The  wood-cut  here  given  is  a  fac  simile  of  an 
engraving,  first  published  by  Malone,  and  subsequently  appended  to  the  variorum 
editions,  which  is  thus  described  :— "  New  Place,  from  a  drawing  in  the  margin  of 
an  Ancient  Survey,  made  by  order  of  Sir  George  Carew  (afterwards  Baron  Carew  of 
Clopton,  and  Earl  of  Totnes),  and  found  at  Clopton,  near  Stratford-upon-Avon,  in 
1786."  A  person  resident  at  Stratford  at  the  period  mentioned  as  that  of  the 
finding  of  the  drawing— Poet  Jordan,  as  he  was  called— an  ignorant  person,  but 
ready  enough  to  impose  upon  antiquarian  credulity— an  instrument  perhaps  in  the 
hands  of  others— he  sent  to  Malone  this  drawing  of  New  Place  from  the  margin  of 
an  ancient  survey.  If  it  was  a  survey  found  at  Clopton,  it  was  a  survey  of  the 
Clopton  property  in  the  possession  of  the  Earl  of  Totness,  who  was  a  contemporary 
LIFE.  2  K  497 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE: 

of  Shakspere.  New  Place,  as  Malone  knew,  had  been  out  of  the  Clopton  family 
tifty  years  when  Shakspere  bought  it.  The  drawing  is  found  on  the  margin  of  an 
ancient  survey.  It  is  not  described  in  the  margin,  or  elsewhere,  as  New  Place. 
Immediately  opposite  New  Place  is  a  house  which,  though  altered,  is  still  a  very 
old  house.  The  gables  have  been  concealed  by  a  parapet,  the  windows  have  been 
modernized  ;  but  the  gables  are  still  to  be  traced  upon  ascending  the  roof.  Restore 
the  gables  and  windows  to  their  primitive  state,  and  we  have  the  very  house  repre 
sented  upon  "  the  margin  of  an  ancient  survey."  That  house,  which  is  now 
occupied  by  Mr.  Hunt,  the  town-clerk  of  Stratford,  did  belong  to  the  Earl  of 
Totness.  But  look  at  Shakspere's  arms  over  the  door,  the  "  spear  in  bend."  How 
do  we  account  for  this?  There  is  a  letter  written  by  Malone  on  the  15th  of  April, 
1790,  to  his  convenient  friend  at  Stratford,  "good  Mr.  Jordan,"  in  which  the 
following  passage  occurs  :  —  "  Mr.  Malone  would  be  glad  to  have  Shakspeare's  house 
on  the  same  scale  as  that  of  Sir  Hugh  Clopton's.  He  thinks  the  arms  of  Shakspere 
a  very  proper  ornament  over  the  door,  and  very  likely  to  have  been  there  ;  and  neat 
wooden  pales  may  be  placed  with  propriety  before  the  house."  And  yet  this  man  was 
the  most  bitter  denouncer  of  the  Ireland  forgeries  ;  and  shows  up,  as  he  had  a  just 
right  to  do,  the  imposition  of  the  "  View  of  my  Masterre  Irelande's  House,"  with 
two  coats-of-arms  beneath  it.  Good  Mr.  Jordan,  when,  in  the  pride  of  his  heart  at 
having  such  a  correspondent,  he  gave  a  copy  of  Malone's  letter  to  a  gentleman  at 
Stratford,  admitted  that  he  had,  of  his  own  accord,  added  the  porch  to  the  house 
represented  "  in  the  margin  of  an  ancient  survey  "  * 

The  register  of  marriages  at  Stratford-upon-Avon,  for  the  year  1607,  contains 
the  following  entry  :  — 


H, 


Susanna,  the  eldest  daughter  of  William  Shakspere,  was  now  twenty-four  years 
of  age.  John  Hall,  gentleman,  a  physician  settled  at  Stratford,  was  in  his  thirty- 
second  year.  This  appears  in  every  respect  to  have  been  a  propitious  alliance. 
Shakspere  received  into  his  family  a  man  of  learning  and  talent.  Dr.  Hall 
lived  at  a  period  when  medicine  was  throwing  off  the  empirical  rules  by  which 
it  had  been  too  long  directed  ;  and  a  school  of  zealous  practitioners  were  begin 
ning  to  rise  up  who  founded  their  success  upon  careful  observation.  It  was  the 
age  which  produced  the  great  discoveries  of  Harvey.  Shakspere's  son-in-law 
belonged  to  this  school  of  patient  and  accurate  observers.  He  kept  a  record  of 
the  cases  which  came  under  his  care ;  and  his  notes,  commencing  in  the  year 
1617,  still  exist  in  manuscript.  The  minutes  of  his  earlier  practice  are  probably 
lost.  The  more  remarkable  of  the  cases  were  published  more  than  twenty  years 

*  See  Note  at  the  end  of  the  Volume. 
498 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

after  his  death,  being  translated  from  the  original  Latin  by  James  Cooke,  and 
given  to  the  world  under  the  title  of  '  Select  Observations  on  English  Bodies, 
or  Cures  in  desperate  Diseases.'  This  work  went  through  three  editions. 


[Signature  of  Dr.  Hall.] 


The  season  at  which  the  marriage  of  Shakspere's  elder  daughter  took  place 
would  appear  to  give  some  corroboration  to  the  belief  that,  at  this  period,  he 
had  wholly  ceased  to  be  an  actor.  It  is  not  likely  that  an  event  to  him  so 
deeply  interesting  would  have  taken  place  during  his  absence  from  Stratford. 


House  in  the  High  Street.Stratford.] 

It  was  the  season  of  performances  at  the  Globe  ;  when  the  eager  multitude  who 
crowded  the  pit  might  look  up  through  the  open  roof  upon  a  brilliant  sky ; 
when  the  poet,  whose  productions  were  the  chief  attraction  of  that  stage,  n 
2  K2 


WILLIAM    SIIAKSI'ERE: 

rejoice  that   he  could  wander  in  the  free  woods,  and  the  fresh   fields,  from    the 
spring  time, 

"  When  proud-pied  April,  dress'd  in  all  bis  trim, 
Hath  put  a  spirit  of  youth  in  everything," 

to  the  last  days  of  autumn,  when  he  saw 

"  The  summer's  green  all  girded  up  in  sheaves, 
Borne  on  the  bier  with  white  and  bristly  beard." 

A  pleasanter  residence  than  Stratford,  independent  of  all  the  early  associ 
ations  which  endeared  it  to  the  heart  of  Shakspere,  would  have  been  diffi 
cult  to  find  as  a  poet's  resting-place.  It  was  a  town,  as  most  old  English  towns 
were,  of  houses  amidst  gardens.  Built  of  timber,  it  had  been  repeatedly  devas 
tated  by  fires.  In  1594  and  1595  a  vast  number  of  houses  had  been  thus 
destroyed ;  but  they  were  probably  small  tenements  and  hovels.  New  houses 
arose  of  a  better  order  ;  and  one  still  exists,  bearing  the  date  on  its  front  of 
1596,  which  indicates  something  of  the  picturesque  beauty  of  an  old  country 
town  before  the  days  arrived  which,  by  one  accord,  were  to  be  called  elegant 
and  refined — their  elegance  and  refinement  chiefly  consisting  in  sweeping  away 
our  national  architecture,  and  our  national  poetry,  to  substitute  buildings  and 
books  which,  to  vindicate  their  own  exclusive  pretensions  to  utility,  rejected 
every  grace  that  invention  could  bestow,  and  in  labouring  for  a  dull  uniformity, 
lost  even  the  character  of  proportion.  Shakspere's  own  house  was  no  doubt  one 
of  those  quaint  buildings  which  were  pulled  down  in  the  last  generation,  to  set 
up  four  walls  of  plain  brick,  with  equi-distant  holes  called  doors  and  windows. 
His  garden  was  a  spacious  one.  The  Avon  washed  its  banks ;  and  within  its 


rBMiopton  Chapel.] 

enclosures  it  had  its  sunny  terraces  and  green  lawns,  its  pleached  alleys  and 
honeysuckle  bowers.  If  the  poet  walked  forth,  a  few  steps  brought  him  into 
the  country.  Near  the  pretty  hamlet  of  Shottery  lay  his  own  grounds  of 
Bishopton,  then  part  of  the  great  common  field  of  Stratford.  Not  far  from  the 
ancient  chapel  of  Bishopton,  of  which  Dugdale  has  preserved  a  representation 
000 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

and  the  walls  of  which  still  remain,  would  he  watch  the  operation  of  seed-time 
and  harvest.  If  he  passed  the  church  and  the  mill,  he  was  in  the  pleasant  mea 
dows  that  skirted  the  Avon  on  the  pathway  to  Ludington.  If  he  desired  to 
cross  the  river,  he  might  now  do  so  without  going  round  by  the  great  bridge ; 
for  in  1599,  soon  after  he  bought  New  Place,  the  pretty  foot-bridge  was  erected 
which  still  bears  that  date.  His  walks  and  his  farm-labours  were  his  recrea 
tions.  But  they  were  not  his  only  pleasures.  It  is  at  this  period  that  we  can 
fix  the  date  of  Lear.  That  wonderful  tragedy  was  first  published  in  1608;  and 
the  tide-page  recites  that  "  It  was  plaid  before  the  King's  Majesty  at  White- 
Hall,  uppon  S.  Stephen's  Night;  in  Christmas  Hollidaies."  This  most  extra 
ordinary  production  might  well  have  been  the  first  fruits  of  a  period  of  com 
parative  leisure ;  when  the  creative  faculty  was  wholly  untrammelled  by  petty 
cares,  and  the  judgment  might  be  employed  in  working  again  and  again  upon 
the  first  conceptions,  so  as  to  produce  such  a  masterpiece  of  consummate  art 
without  after  labour.  The  next  season  of  repose  gave  birth  to  an  effort  of 
genius  wholly  different  in  character ;  but  almost  as  wonderful  in  its  profound 
sagacity  and  knowledge  of  the  world,  as  Lear  is  unequalled  for  its  depth  of 
individual  passion.  Troilus  and  Cressida  was  published  in  1609.  Both  these 
publications  were  probably  made  without  the  consent  of  the  author;  but  it 
would  seem  that  these  plays  were  first  produced  before  the  Court,  and  there 


li'oot-briUge  alKive  tne  Mill.J 


might  have  been  circumstances  which  would  have  rendered  it  difficult  or   ira- 
possible  to  prevent  their  publication,  in  the  same  way  that  the  publication  was 
prevented  of  any  other  plays   after   1603,  and    during  the    authors   life-time. 
We  may  well  believe  that  the  Sonnets  were  published  in  1609,  without  the  con 
sent  of  their  author.      That  the  appearance  of  those  remarkable    lyrics    should 


See  Introductory  Notice  to  Troilus  and  Cressida. 

501 


A    HIOaRAPHY. 

have  annoyed  him,  by  exposing,  as  they  now  appear  in  the  eyes  of  some  to  do, 
the  frailties  of  his  nature,  we  do  not  for  a  moment  believe.  They  would  be 
received  by  his  family  and  by  the  world  as  essentially  fictitious,  and  ranked 
with  the  productions  of  the  same  class  with  which  the  age  abounded.* 

The  year  1608  brought  its  domestic  joys  and  calamities  to  Shakspere.  In 
the  same  font  where  he  had  been  baptized,  forty-three  years  before,  was  bap 
tized,  on  the  21st  of  February,  his  grand-daughter,  "  Elizabeth,  daughter  of 
John  Hall."  In  the  same  grave  where  his  father  was  laid  in  1601,  was  buried 
his  mother,  "Mary  Shakspere,  widow,"  on  the  9th  of  September,  1608.  She 


LStratford  Church. 

was  the  youngest  daughter  of  Robert  Arden,  who  died  in  1556.  She  was  pro- 
bably,  therefore,  about  seventy  years  of  age  when  her  sons  followed  her  to  the 
"house  of  all  living."  Whatever  had  been  the  fortunes  of  her  early  married 
life,  her  last  years  must  have  been  happy,  eminently  happy.  Her  eldest  son, 
by  the  efforts  of  those  talents  which  in  their  development  might  have  filled  her 
with  apprehension,  had  won  his  way  to  fame  and  fortune.  Though  she  had 
parted  with  him  for  a  season,  he  was  constant  in  his  visits  to  the  home  of  his 
childhood.  His  children  were  brought  up  under  her  care ;  his  wife,  in  all 
likelihood,  dwelt  in  affection  with  her  under  the  same  roof.  And  now  he  was 


502 


*  See  Illustration  of  tho  Sonnet*. 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

come  to  be  seldom  absent  from  her;  to  let  her  gaze  as  frequently  as  she  might 
upon  the  face  of  the  loved  one  whom  all  honoured  and  esteemed ;  whose  fame 
she  was  told  was  greater  than  that  of  any  other  living  man.  And  this  was  the 
child  of  her  earliest  cares,  and  of  her  humble  hopes.  He  had  won  for  himself  a 
distinction,  and  a  worldly  recompense,  far  above  even  a  mother's  expectations. 
But  in  his  deep  affection  and  reverence  he  was  unchangeably  her  son-  In  all 
love  and  honour  did  William  Shakspere,  in  the  autumn  of  1608,  lay  the  head 
of  his  venerable  mother  beneath  the  roof  of  the  chancel  of  his  beautiful  parish 
church.* 

*  Shakspere  was  at  Stratford  later  in  the  autumn  of  1 603.  In  his  will  he  makes  a  bequest  to 
his  godson,  William  Walker.  The  child  to  whom  he  was  sponsor  was  baptized  at  Stratford, 
October  16,  1608. 


WILLIAM  MIAKH-I;RE: 


NOTE  ON  THE  COPY  OF  A  LE'JTER  SIGNED  H.  S.,  PRESERVED  AT 

BRIDGEWATER  HOUSE. 


IN  the  valuable  little  volume,  by  Mr.  Collier,  entitled  'New  Facts  regarding  the  Life  of  Shake 
speare,'  published  in  1835,  the  most  interesting  document  that  had  ever  been  discovered  in  con 
nection  with  the  life  of  Shakspere  was  first  given  to  the  world.  Mr.  Collier  thus  describes  it : — 
"  It  is  the  copy  of  a  letter  signed  H.  S.,  and  addressed,  as  we  must  conclude,  to  Lord  Ellesmere, 
in  order  to  induce  him  to  exert  himself  on  behalf  of  the  players  at  Blackfriars,  when  assailed  by 
the  Corporation  of  London.  It  has  no  date,  but  the  internal  evidence  it  contains  shows  that,  in 
nil  probability,  it  refers  to  the  attempt  at  dislodgement  made  in  the  year  1608,  and  it  was  in  the 
same  bundle  as  the  paper  giving  a  detail  of  the  particular  claims  of  Burbage,  Fletcher,  Shake 
speare,  and  the  rest The  initials,  H.  S.,  at  the  end,  I  take  to  be  those  of  Henry 

Southampton,  who  was  the  noble  patron  of  Shakespeare,  and  who  in  this  very  letter  calls  the  poet 

hio  '  especial  friend.' It  has  no  direction,  and  the  copy  was  apparently  made  on  half  a 

sheet  of  paper;  but  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  original  was  placed  in  the  hands  of  Lord 
Ellesmere  by  Burbage  or  by  Shakespeare,  when  they  waited  upon  the  Lord  Chancellor  in  com 
pany."  We  can  sympathize  with  the  enthusiasm  of  Mr.  Collier  when  he  discovered  this  paper : — 
"  When  I  took  up  the  copy  of  Lord  Southampton's  letter,  and  glanced  over  it  hastily,  I  could 
scarcely  believe  my  eyes,  to  see  such  names  as  Shakespeare  and  Burbage  in  connection  in  a  manu 
script  of  the  time.  There  was  a  remarkable  coincidence  also  in  the  discovery,  for  it  happened  on 
the  anniversary  of  Shakespeare's  birth  and  death.  I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  my  joy  and 
surprise."  But  for  some  considerations  to  which  we  shall  presently  advert,  we  should  scarcely  feel 
justified  in  printing  this  letter  at  length ;  for  the  tract  in  which  it  was  originally  published  was  limited 
to  a  small  number  of  copies,  and  Mr.  Collier  has  the  best  claim  to  an  extended  publicity.  The 
document  is  as  follows  : — 

"My  verie  honored  Lord, — The  manie  good  offices  I  haue  received  at  your  Lordships  hands, 
which  ought  to  make  me  backward  in  asking  further  favors,  onely  imbouldens  me  to  require  more 
in  the  same  kinde.  Your  Lordship  will  be  warned  howe  hereafter  you  graunt  anie  Bute,  seeing  it 
draweth  on  more  and  greater  demaunds.  This  which  now  presseth  is  to  request  your  Lordship,  in 
all  you  can,  to  be  good  to  the  poore  players  of  the  Black  Fryers,  who  call  them  selues  by  authoritie 
the  Seruaunts  of  his  Majestie,  and  aske  for  the  protection  of  their  most  graceous  Maister  and 
Sovereigue  in  this  the  tyme  of  their  treble.  They  are  threatened  by  the  Lord  Maior  and  Alder 
men  of  London,  never  friendly  to  their  calling,  with  the  distinction  of  their  meanes  of  livelihood, 
by  the  pulling  downe  of  theire  plaiehouse,  which  is  a  private  Theatre,  and  hath  neuer  giuen  ocasion 
of  anger  by  anie  disorders.  These  bearers  are  two  of  the  chiefe  of  the  companie ;  one  of  them  by 
name  Richard  Burbidge,  who  humblie  sueth  for  your  Lordships  kinde  helpe,  for  that  he  is  a  man 
famous  as  our  English  Roscius,  one  who  fitteth  the  action  to  the  word,  and  the  word  to  the  action 
most  admirably.  By  the  exercise  of  his  qualitye,  industry  and  good  behaviour,  he  hath  be  come 
possessed  of  the  Black  Fryers  playhouse,  which  hath  bene  imployed  for  playes  sithence  it  was 
builded  by  his  Father  now  nere  50  yeres  agone.  The  other  is  a  man  no  whitt  lesse  deserving 
favor,  and  my  especiall  friende,  till  of  late  an  actor  of  good  account  in  the  cumpanie,  now  a  sharer 
in  the  same,  and  writer  of  some  of  our  best  English  playes,  which  as  your  Lordship  knoweth  were 
most  singularly  liked  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  when  the  cumpanie  was  called  uppon  to  performe  before 
her  Matie  at  Court  at  Christmas  and  Shrovetide.  His  most  gracious  Matie  Kiug  James  alsoe, 
since  his  coming  to  the  crowne,  hath  extended  his  royall  favour  to  the  companie  in  divers  waiea 
and  at  sundrie  tyrnes.  This  other  hath  to  name  William  Shakespeare,  and  they  are  both  of  one 
countie,  and  indeede  almost  of  one  towne :  both  are  right  famous  in  their  qualityes,  though  it 
504 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

L.ngeth  not  to  your  Lo.  gravitie  and  wisedome  to  resort  unto  the  places  where  they  are  wont 
to  delight  the  pubhqueeare.  Their  trunt  and  Bute  nowe  is  not  to  be  mooted  in  their  wave  o 
lite  whereby  they  maintame  themselves  and  their  wives  and  families  (being  both  maried  and  oi 
good  reputation)  as  well  as  the  widowes  and  orphanes  of  some  of  their  dead  fellows. 

"  Your  Lo.  most  bounden  at  com. 

"  Copia  vera." 

An  opinion  has  arisen,  which  we  are  bound  to  state,  that  the  letter  signed  H.  S.  is  not  genuine 
The  objection  was  made  to  us  a  year  and  a  half  ago  by  a  gentleman  of  great  critical  sagacity.  No 
thing  can  be  more  complete  than  the  evidence  connected  with  its  discovery.  The  high  character  of 
the  gentleman  by  whom  it  was  discovered  renders  this  evidence  of  its  authenticity,  as  far  as  it  goes 
entirely  unexceptionable.  It  is  beyond  all  possibility  of  doubt  that  this  was  a  "document  preserved 
at  Bridgewater  House  ;  "  found  amongst  "  large  bundles  of  papers,  ranging  in  point  of  date  between 
1581,  when  Lord  Ellesmere  was  made  Solicitor-General,  and  1616,  when  he  retired  from  the  office 
of  Lord  Chancellor."  This  letter,  Mr.  Collier  says,  "  was  in  the  same  bundle  as  the  paper  giving  a 
detail  of  the  particular  claims  of  Burbage,  Fletcher,  Shakespeare,  and  the  rest."  But  he  does  not 
inform  us  whether  this  individual  bundle  was  of  the  number  of  those  which  "remained  unex 
plored  "—whether  it  belonged  to  the  class  of  bundles  of  which  he  says,  "It  was  evident  that  many 
of  them  had  never  been  opened  from  the  time  when,  perhaps,  his  own  hands  [Lord  Ellesmere's]  tied 
them  together."  Some  of  the  bundles  had  previously  been  examined  for  purposes  of  antiquarian 
research  :  "The  Rev.  H.  J.  Todd  had  been  there  before  me,"  says  Mr.  Collier,  "and  had  classed  some 
of  the  documents  and  correspondence."  It  is  beyond  all  doubt  that  if  any  addition  were  made 
to  these  papers,  it  must  have  been  at  a  period  quite  distinct  from  that  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Todd's 
examination  of  them ;  and  in  all  probability  that  gentleman  did  not  open  the  bundle  which  con 
tained  the  estimate  of  the  property  at  the  Blackfriars.  Was  there  any  previous  antiquarian  critic 
who  had  access  to  the  papers  preserved  in  Bridgewater  House?  One  of  the  most  elaborate  for 
geries  of  modern  times,  that  of  '  The  English  Mercuric,'  of  1588,  was  insinuated  into  the  manu 
scripts  of  Dr.  Birch  in  the  British  Museum,  which  were  purchased  in  1766.  For  half  a  century, 
upon  that  authority  alone,  we  went  on  proclaiming  that  to  the  wisdom  of  Elizabeth  and  the 
prudence  of  Burleigh  we  owed  the  first  English  newspaper.  In  1840  it  was  discovered,  through 
the  sagacity  of  Mr.  Watts  of  the  Museum,  that  the  first  English  newspaper  was  a  palpable  forgery. 
How  did  it  get  amongst  the  papers  of  Dr.  Birch,  himself  above  suspicion  ?  The  question  has  not 
been  solved.  But  the  circumstance  is  sufficient  to  justify  any  inquiry  into  the  genuineness  of  a 
document  in  the  slightest  degree  questionable,  although  it  be  found  tied  up  amongst  other  undoubted 
documents.  The  external  evidence  relating  to  its  discovery  requires  to  be  compared  with  the 
external  evidence  of  the  genuineness  of  the  document ;  as  well  as  with  that  portion  of  the  external 
evidence  which  is  necessary  to  complete  the  chain,  but  which  is  not  supplied  by  the  discoverer. 

In  the  controversy  respecting  the  Ireland  Papers  in  1796,  a  good  deal  of  the  argument  turned 
upon  a  letter  from  Shakspere  to  the  Earl  of  Southampton,  and  the  Earl's  answer.  W.  H.  Ireland, 
in  his  '  Authentic  Account  of  the  Shakspere  Manuscripts,'  says,  "  Having  heard  of  the  Lord 
Southampton's  bounty  to  Shakspere  I  determined  on  writing  the  correspondence  between  them  on 
that  subject ;  but,  on  inquiry,  could  not  learn  that  any  signature  of  his  Lordship's  was  in  existence  : 
I  accordingly  formed  his  mode  of  writing,  merely  from  myself."  The  forger  would  have  more 
readily  got  over  the  difficulty  had  he  purported  that  the  letter  was  a  copy.  The  danger  of  detec 
tion  would  have  been  less ;  but  the  supposed  authenticity  of  the  document  would  have  been 
impaired.  It  would  have  been  said,  these  papers  purport  to  have  belonged  to  Shakspere ;  how  is  it 
that  the  original  is  not  found  ?  So  may  it  be  asked  of  the  copia  vera  of  the  letter  of  H.  S.  That 
the  document  is  a  copy  is  the  great  defect  in  the  external  evidence  of  the  genuineness.  It  could 
not  be  received  in  any  legal  inquiry,  unless  the  date  of  the  copy,  the  circumstances  under  which  it 
\vas  made,  the  proofs  of  its  authenticity  derived  from  the  hand-writing,  the  ink,  the  paper,  were 
exhibited.  All  these  proofs  are  wanting  in  Mr.  Collier's  account  of  the  discovery.  But  we  cannot 
here  adopt  a  legal  precision.  We  receive  the  copy  as  evidence,  however  imperfect.  But  we  have 
first  to  ask,  did  the  copyist  omit  the  date  and  the  superscription  ?  If  so,  it  was  not  a  copia 
vera.  If  they  were  omitted  in  the  original,  the  omission,  although  not  without  a  precedent, 
is  an  exception  to  the  ordinary  practice  of  those  days.  A  letter  from  Southampton  to  the 
Lord  Keeper  Williams  (preserved  in  the  Harleian  MSS.  is  superscribed  "  To  the  right  honorable  my 
very  good  lo  :  the  lo :  Keeper  of  the  great  Scale  of  England."  It  is  subscribed,  "  Your  Lo  :  most 
assured  frend  to  do  you  service,  H  Southampton."  But  it  was  the  more  necessary  that  the  super- 

505 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPKKi:  : 

scription  should  not  have  been  omitted  on  the  occasion  of  the  letter  of  H.  S.,  because  the  letter  was  for 
the  purpose  of  introducing  two  persons  to  ask  a  favour  of  a  nobleman  high  in  office.  Without  such 
a  superscription,  the  nobleman  to  whom  it  was  presented  might  have  doubted  whether  it  was  intended 
for  his  hands.  It  might  have  been  a  current  letter  of  recommendation  for  the  Lord  Chamberlain  or 
the  Lord  Chancellor.  How  do  we  know  that  the  letter  was  addressed  to  Lord  Ellesmere  at  all?  It 
contains  not  the  slightest  allusion  to  his  high  legal  office,  unless  the  sentence  "  It  longeth  not  to  your 
Lo.  gravitie  and  wisedom  to  resort  unto  the  places  where  they  are  wont  to  delight  the  publique 
eare,"  may  be  especially  meant  for  a  Lord  Chancellor.  The  letter  is  certainly  of  a  very  peculiar 
nature.  Mr.  Collier  says,  "  I  do  not  recollect  any  instances  of  letters  of  a  precisely  similar  kind  of 
BO  old  a  date,  but  they  no  doubt  exist."  If  the  letter  were  addressed  to  Lord  Ellesmere  in  1608,  aa 
Mr.  Collier  holds,  it  would  appear  from  legal  documents  found  at  Bridgewater  House  that  the  question 
then  before  the  Chancellor  was  the  claim  by  the  City  of  London  to  jurisdiction  within  the 
Black  friars.  A  legal  opinion  in  favour  of  the  claim,  and  proofs  against  it,  are  amongst  these 
papers.  But  the  letter  of  H.  S.  deals  with  a  very  different  question.  It  asks  his  very  honoured 
Lord  "to  be  good  to  the  poor  players  of  the  Blackfriars,"  who  "are  threatened  by  the  Lord  Maior 
and  Aldermen  of  London,  never  friendly  to  their  calling,  with  the  distruction  of  their  meanes  of 
livelihood  by  the  pulling  downe  of  theire  plaiehouse."  If  the  Lord  Mayor  and  Aldermen  had  even 
established  their  jurisdiction,  it  was  utterly  impossible  that  they  could  have  pulled  down  the 
playhouse  of  the  Servants  of  his  Majesty.  The  players  could  have  had  no  fear  of  such  an  issue.  A 
quarter  of  a  century  before,  the  authorities  of  the  City  had  pulled  down  the  temporary  scaffolds  for 
theatrical  performances  erected  in  the  yards  of  the  Cross  Keys,  the  Bull,  and  the  Belle  Savage ;  but 
even  then,  and  much  less  in  1608,  they  could  no  more  pull  down  the  substantial  private  theatre  of 
the  Blackfriars  Company,  the  fee  of  which  we  have  seen  was  valued  at  a  thousand  pounds,  than  they 
could  pull  down  Lord  Ellesmere's  own  mansion.  To  avert  this  evil,  the  poor  players  "  aske  for  the 
protection  of  their  most  graceous  Maister  and  Sovereigne  hi  this  the  tyme  of  their  troble."  They 
needed  not  that  protection;  they  already  had  it.  A  patent  was  issued  to  them  in  1603,  in  virtue 
of  a  writ  of  Privy  Seal,  directed  to  Lord  Ellesmere  himself,  in  which  all  justices,  mayors,  &c.,  were 
called  upon  in  all  places  not  to  offer  them  hindrance ;  to  aid  and  assist  them  ;  to  render  them  favours. 
In  the  following  year,  this  very  theatre  of  the  Blackfriars  was  expressly  recognised  in  a  patent  for  the 
performances  of  the  Children  of  the  Revels.  But  even  if  the  protection  of  the  King  were  needed  by 
the  King's  servants,  it  would  scarcely  be  asked  through  the  Lord  Chancellor.  Pembroke  and 
Southampton  were  immediately  about  the  King's  person ;  Pembroke  was  the  Lord  Chamberlain. 
H.  S.  sets  out  by  acknowledging  the  good  offices  he  has  received  at  the  hands  of  his  very  honoured 
Lord.  These  civilities  presume  a  freedom  of  intercourse  between  two  equals  in  rank,  if  it  is 
Southamptan  who  writes  the  letter,  and  Lord  Ellesmere  to  whom  it  is  written.  But  how  do  we  know 
that  Southampton  wrote  the  letter  ?  The  subscription  is  H.  S.  In  the  Ireland  controversy  Malone 
asserted  that  Southampton  signed  his  name  H.  Southampton.  Chalmers  contended  that  he  had 
written  Southampton  without  the  H.  But  no  one  pretended  that  he  had  ever  signed  a  letter  or  a 
document,  with  his  initials  only.  The  formality  of  that  age  was  entirely  opposed  to  such  a  practice. 
"  Your  Lordship's  most  bound  en  at  command,"  is  not  the  way  in  which  an  Earl  and  a  Knight  of  the 
Garter  would  subscribe  himself  to  an  equal  and  an  intimate.  "  Affectionate  friend,"  "  assured  friend," 
"  loving  friend,"  is  the  mode  in  which  noblemen  subscribe  themselves  in  their  familiar  correspondence 
with  each  other.  But  "  most  bounden,"  "  most  obedient,"  "  most  humbly  bounden,"  is  the  mode 
in  which  a  commoner  addresses  a  nobleman.  "  Most  bounden  at  command"  is  a  humility  of  which 
we  scarcely  find  a  precedent  except  in  the  letter  of  a  servant.  Such  are  the  points  of  objection 
which  first  present  themselves  upon  the  face  of  the  letter. 

But  there  is  a  peculiarity  in  this  letter  which  is  very  deserving  of  notice ;  and  which  would  lead 
us  to  wish,  especially,  that  no  possible  suspicion  could  rest  upon  its  authenticity.  It  contains  a 
great  deal  that  is  highly  interesting  to  us  at  the  present  day,  but  which  must  have  been  considered 
somewhat  impertinent  by  a  great  officer  of  state  in  his  own  times.  Richard  Burbage,  according  to 
the  letter,  is  "  our  English  Roscius,  one  who  fitteth  the  action  to  the  word  and  the  word  to  the 
action  most  admirably."  It  is  pleasant  to  believe  that  Lord  Southampton  was  so  familiar  with 
Hamlet  that  he  had  the  very  words  of  the  play  at  his  tongue's  end.  Alleyn  in  his  own  day  was 
called  "  Roscius  for  a  tongue,"  and  Fuller  says  "  He  was  the  Roscius  of  our  age."  But  H.  S.  claims 
the  honour  for  Burbage.  This,  however,  is  not  a  material  point  in  the  question  about  pulling  down 
the  playhouse.  It  is  more  pleasant  to  have  Lord  Southampton  calling  Shakspere  "  my  especial 
friend."  The  description  might  startle  the  proud  Chancellor;  but,  passing  that,  he  would  scarcely 
want  to  know  that  he  was  "  of  late  an  actor  of  good  accompte  in  the  company."  The  nobleman, 
who  had  himself  sent  for  Shakspere's  company  to  perform  Othello  before  the  Queen  at  Hareficld, 

Mfl 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

could  scarcely  require  to  be  told  that  Shakspere  was  the  "writer  of  some  of  our  best  EnRli.h 
plays;",  that  "they  wore  most  singularly  liked  of  Queen  Elizabeth;"  that  the  players  performed 
before  the  Court  at  Christmas  and  Shrovetide.  The  Chancellor  to  King  James,  who  issued  the 
patent  to  the  company  within  a  few  weeks  after  the  accession,  could  scarcely  require  to  be  told  that 
the  King  had  extended  his  royal  favour  to  them.  Interesting  as  the  fact  is  to  us,  it  seems  remarkable 
that  a  great  law  officer  should  be  informed,  as  to  two  persons  whom  his  gravity  and  wisdom  must 
hold  somewhat  cheap,  '  they  are  both  of  one  countie  and  indeede  almost  of  one  towne  "  It  is  scarcely 
complimentary  to  the  nobleman  who  is  addressed,  be  he  Lord  EHesmere  or  not,  to  assume  that  he 
could  only  judge  of  the  qualities  of  these  men,  the  poet  and  the  actor,  unless  he  resorted  "unto  the 
places  where  they  are  wont  to  delight  the  publique  eare."  Was  the  nobleman  addressed  never  at  the 
Court  of  James  during  the  performances  at  Christmas  and  at  Shrovetide  ?  The  writer  of  the  letter, 
whoever  he  be,  had  not  a  very  logical  perception.  He  contradicts  what  he  has  assumed,  disjoins  what 
has  a  connexion,  and  associates  what  is  essentially  distinct.  A  real  man,  telling  a  real  story,  scarcely 
does  this.  H.  S.  assumes  that  Lord  EHesmere  knows  nothing  about  the  poor  players.  He  describes 
them,  therefore,  with  a  curious  minuteness.  One  is  "writer  of  some  of  our  best  English  plays;" 
and  it  is  added,  these  plays,  "  as  your  Lordship  Icnoweth,  were  most  singularly  liked  of  Queen 
Elizabeth."  With  such  a  knowledge  on  the  part  of  his  Lordship,  it  would  have  been  sufficient  to 
mention  the  name  of  one  of  the  men  who  delivered  the  letter.  And  yet  his  Lordship  is  left  for  some 
time  to  guess  who  the  man  is  whose  plays,  as  he  knows,  were  singularly  liked  of  Queen  Elizabeth  ;  and 
other  matters  are  gone  into  before  he  is  told  that  his  name  is  William  Shakespeare ;  which  he  did  not 
want  to  know  if  he  knew  that  his  plays  were  so  liked.  When  he  is  told  the  name,  it  is  assumed  that 
he  has  forgotten  all  his  former  knowledge ;  and  he  is  also  told  that  William  Shakespeare  is  right 
famous,  though  it  longeth  not  to  his  Lordship's  wisdom  to  know  anything  about  him,  as  he  could  only 
attain  that  knowledge  by  resorting  to  public  playhouses.  And  yet  he  could  not  so  attain  this 
knowledge,  because  the  writer  has  ceased  to  be  an  actor,  and  is  no  longer  "wont  to  delight  the 
publique  eare."  The  especial  friend,  late  an  actor,  is  "  now  a  sharer."  This  would  imply  that  when  he 
was  an  actor  he  was  not  a  sharer ;  and  yet  we  know  that  he  was  a  sharer  twenty  years  before  this. 
Perhaps  there  is  no  positive  error  here ;  but  there  is  that  looseness  of  construction  which  seldom 
accompanies  an  actual  knowledge  of  present  facts ;  which  indeed  is  characteristic  of  an  attempt  to 
fabricate  a  document  which  should  deal  safely  with  remote  and  minute  circumstances.  Certainly  there 
are  several  indications  of  vagueness  and  inconsistency,  which  would  render  us  unwilling  wholly  to  rely 
upon  this  document,  interesting  as  it  is,  for  any  material  fact. 

But  what  fact  does  it  tell  us  that  we  did  not  know  from  other  sources  ?  The  evidence  as  to  the 
writer  is  not  distinct.  The  person  to  whom  it  is  written  is  not  defined.  The  time  at  which  it  is 
written  can  only  be  inferred.  Is  there  any  fact  that  could  not  be  known,  or  assumed,  by  a  person 
writing  so  vague  a  letter,  some  half  century  ago,  with  the  intention  to  deceive,  and  calling  it  a  copy, 
to  get  over  the  difficulty  of  imitating  a  known  handwriting  ?  We  know  that  there  was  a  man  then 
living  who  perpetrated  such  deceptions ;  who,  moving  in  good  society,  might  readily  have  had  access 
to  the  papers  at  Bridgewater  House,  and  have  dropped  his  cuckoo  egg  in  the  sparrow's  nest.  The 
failure  of  William  Henry  Ireland  in  the  fabrication  of  a  letter  from  Southampton,  might  have  set  a 
cleverer  and  more  learned  man  upon  trying  his  hand  upon  some  fabrication  more  consistent  than  that 
of  the  unlettered  forger  of  the  Shakspere  Manuscripts,  and  which  should  have  the  safe  quality  of 
assuming  nothing  that  was  opposed  to  the  belief  of  those  who  had  written  upon  Shakspere.  If  the 
letter  be  genuine,  it  is  a  singular  circumstance  that  it  so  entirely  corroborates  many  points  of  his  life 
with  which  we  had  previously  been  familiar,  and  tells  us  so  little  that  was  not  previously  known.  It  is 
of  a  different  character  in  this  respect  from  the  important  document  discovered  by  Mr.  Collier  amongst 
the  same  papers,  showing  that  Shakspere  was  a  shareholder  in  the  Blackfriars  in  1589; — wholly 
different  also  from  the  paper  entitled  "For  avoiding  of  the  Playhouse  in  the  Precinct  of  the 
Blacke  Friers." 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are  some  facts  in  the  letter  of  H.  S.  which  have  only  been  brought  to 
light  in  very  recent  times.  We  did  not  know,  until  the  discovery  of  the  Estimate  for  avoiding  the 
Theatre,  that  Burbage  had  "  become  possessed  of  the  Blacke  Fryers  playhouse."  We  did  not  know  till 
Mr.  Collier  published  a  document  in  his  '  Annals  of  the  Stage,'  found  in  the  State  Paper  Office,  that 
"it  was  builded  by  his  Father."  The  statement  that  it  was  builded  "now  nere  50  yeres  agone"  is 
contrary  to  the  precise  information  conveyed  in  that  document.  We  did  not  know  that  the  company 
at  the  Blackfriars  maintained  "the  widowes  and  orphanes  of  some  of  their  dead  fellows"  till  we  learnt 
from  the  Estimate  for  avoiding  the  Playhouse  that  "  the  Widowes  and  Orphanes  of  Playeres  are  paido 
by  the  Sharers  at  divers  rates  and  proportions."  We  subjoin,  in  parallel  columns,  some  coincidences 
of  statement,  and  some  resemblances  of  style,  which  may  assist  our  readers  in  judging  for  themselves; 

507 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPKIM:. 

in  a  question  in  which  it  ia  exceedingly  difficult  to  discriminate  between  the  imitations  of  forgery,  and 
the  habitual  phrases  and  current  knowledge  of  a  real  person  : — 

[Paisayei  from  old  and  modern  writingt.] 

"  I  have  found  your  Lordship  already  so  favourable  and 
affectionate  unto  me,  that  I  shall  be  still  hereafter  desiroui 
to  acquaint  you  with  what  concerns  me,  and  bold  to  ask 
your  advice  and  counsel." — Southampton's  Letter  to  Lord 
Keeper  Williams :  Malone't  Inquiry,  1796. 

"The  time  of  trouble."— Pialm  xxvii. 

"Never  given  cause  of  displeasure." — Petition,  1589: 
Collier1 1  ffeio  Facli. 

"  The  Roscius  of  our  age."— F ullrr. 

"  When  Roscius  was  an  actor  at  Rome." — Hamlet. 

"  Suit  the  action  to  the  word,  the  word  to  the  action."— 
Hamlet. 

"  Clepe  to  your  conseil  a  few  of  youre  frendes  that  ben 
especial." — Chaucer. 

"  Dearest  Friend." — Ireland' 'i  forged  Letter  of  Southamp 
ton  to  Shakapere. 

"  At  sundrie  times  and  in  divers  manners."— Ep.  to  He 
brew*. 

"  I  suspect  that  both  he  [lleninges]  and  Burbage  were 
Shakspeare's  countrymen." — Malone't  Hitlory  of  the  Stage. 

"  Who  have  no  other  means  whereby  to  maintain  their 
wives  and  families."— Petition  of  1596:  Collier' 't  Annal*. 

"  The  widows  and  orphans  of  players,  who  are  paid  by 
the  sharers."— Estimate,  &c. :  Collier'i  Kew  Fact$. 

We  have  stated  frankly  and  without  reserve  the  objections  to  the  authenticity  of  this  document  which 
have  presented  themselves  to  our  mind.  It  is  better  to  state  these  fully  and  fairly  than  to  "  hint  a 
doubt."  Looking  at  the  decided  character  of  the  external  evidence  as  to  the  discovery,  and  taking  into 
consideration  the  improbability  of  a  spurious  paper  having  been  smuggled  into  the  company  of  the 
Bridgewater  documents,  we  are  inclined  to  confide  in  it.  But,  apart  from  the  interesting  character  of 
the  letter,  and  the  valuable  testimony  which  it  gives  to  the  nature  of  the  intercourse  between 
Southampton  and  Shakspere — "  my  especial  friend" — we  might  lay  it  aside  with  reference  to  its 
furnishing  any  new  materials  for  the  life  of  the  poet,  with  the  exception  of  the  statement  that  he  and 
Burbage  were  "both  of  one  county."  Confiding  in  it,  as  we  are  anxious  to  do,  we  accept  it  as 
a  valuable  illustration  of  that  life.  We  have  on  several  occasions  referred  to  the  letter  of  H.  S. ;  and 
in  this  examination  we  can  have  no  wish  to  neutralize  our  own  inferences  from  its  genuineness.  These, 
however,  in  this  Biography,  have  reference  only  to  the  assertion,  1st,  That  Burbage  and  Shakspere 
were  of  one  county  and  almost  of  one  town :  this  was  a  conjecture  made  by  Malone.  2nd.  That 
there  was  deep  friendship  between  Southampton  and  Shakspere :  this  is  an  old  traditionary  belief 
supported  by  the  dedications  of  Venus  and  Adonis  and  the  Lucrece.  3rd.  That  Shakspere  left  the 
stage  previous  to  1608  :  this  differs  little  from  the  prevailing  opinion,  that  he  quitted  it  before  160& 
founded  upon  his  name  not  appearing  to  a  play  of  Ben  Jonson  in  that  year. 


[Peuiagei  from  the  Letter  of  H.  S.] 

"  The  many  good  offices  I  have  received  at  your  Lordship's 
hands,  which  ought  to  make  me  backward  in  asking  further 
favours,  only  emboldens  me  to  require  more  in  the  same 
kind." 

"  The  time  of  their  trouble." 

"  Never  given  occasion  of  anger." 

"  Our  English  Roscius." 

"  One  who  fltteth  the  action  to  the  word  and  the  word  to 
he  action." 
"  My  especial  friend." 


"  In  divers  ways  and  at  sundry  times." 

"They  are  both  of  one  county,  and  indeed  almost  of  one 
town  " 

"  Whereby  they  maintain  themselves  and  their  wives  and 
families." 

"  The  widows  and  orphans  of  some  of  their  dead  fellows." 


508 


[The  Bear  Garden. j 


CHAPTER   XL 


GLIMPSES   OF  LONDON. 


THERE  is  a  memorandum  existing  (to  which  we  shall  hereafter  more  particu 
larly  advert),  by  Themas  Greene,  a  contemporary  of  Shakspere,  residing  at  Strat 
ford,  which,  under  the  date  of  November  17th,  1614,  has  this  record  : — "  My 
cousin  Shakspeare  coming  yesterday  to  town,  I  went  to  see  him  how  he  did." 
We  cite  this  memorandum  here,  as  an  indication  of  Shakspere's  habit  of  occa 
sionally  visiting  London  ;  for  Thomas  Greene  was  then  in  the  capital,  with  the 
intent  of  opposing  the  project  of  an  inclosure  at  Stratford.  The  frequency  of 
Shakspere's  visits  to  London  would  essentially  depend  upon  the  nature  of  his 
connexion  with  the  theatres.  He  was  a  permanent  shareholder,  as  we  have 
seen,  at  the  Blackfriars  ;  and  no  doubt  at  the  Globe  also.  His  interests  as  a 
sharer  might  be  diligently  watched  over  by  his  fellows ;  and  he  might  only 

509 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPKI.T  : 

have  visited  London  when  he  had  a  new  play  to  bring  forward,  the  fruit  of  his 
leisure  in  the  country.  But  until  he  disposed  of  his  wardrobe  and  other  pro 
perties,  more  frequent  demands  might  be  made  upon  his  personal  attendance 
than  if  he  were  totally  free  from  the  responsibilities  belonging  to  the  charge  of 
such  an  embarrassing  stock  in  trade.  Mr.  Collier  has  printed  a  memorandum  in 
the  handwriting  of  Edward  Alleyn,  dated  April  1612,  of  the  payment  of  various 
sums  "  for  the  Blackfryers,"  amounting  to  599/.  6s.  8d.  Mr.  Collier  adds,  "  To 
whom  the  money  was  paid  is  nowhere  stated  ;  but,  for  aught  we  know,  it  was  to 
Shakespeare  himself,  and  just  anterior  to  his  departure  from  London."  The 
memorandum  is  introduced  with  the  observation,  "  It  seems  very  likely,  from 
evidence  now  for  the  first  time  to  be  adduced,  that  Alleyn  became  the  purchaser 
of  our  great  dramatist's  interest  in  the  theatre,  properties,  wardrobe,  and  stock  of 
the  Blackfriars."  Certainly  the  document  itself  says  nothing  about  properties 
wardrobe,  and  stock.  It  is  simply  as  follows  :— 

"April  1612. 

Money  paid  by  me  E.  A.  for  the  Blackfryera         .  160  li 

More  for  the  Blackfryers 1 26  li 

More  againe  for  the  Leawe 310  li 

The  writinges  for  the  same,  and  ether  small  charges         3  li  6s.  8d." 

More  than  half  of  the  entire  sum  is  paid  "again  for  the  lease."  If  the  estimate 
"  For  avoiding  of  the  Playhouse,"  &c.*  be  not  rejected  as  an  authority,  the 
conjecture  of  Mr.  Collier  that  the  property  purchased  by  Alleyn  belonged  to 
Shakspere  is  wholly  untenable ;  for  the  Fee,  valued  at  a  thousand  pounds,  was  the 
property  of  Burbage,  and  to  the  owner  of  the  Fee  would  be  paid  the  sum  for  the 
lease.  Subsequent  memoranda  by  Alleyn  show  that  he  paid  rent  for  the  Black 
friars,  and  expended  sums  upon  the  building — collateral  proofs  that  it  was  not 
Shakspere's  personal  property  that  he  bought  in  April  1612.  There  is  distinct 
evidence  furnished  by  another  document  that  Shakspere  was  not  a  resident  in 
London  in  1613  ;  for  in  an  indenture  executed  by  him  on  the  10th  of  March  in 
that  year,  for  the  purchase  of  a  dwelling-house  in  the  precinct  of  the  Blackfriars, 
he  is  described  as  "  William  Shakespeare  of  Stratforde  Upon  Avon  in  the  countie 
of  Warwick,  gentleman ; "  whilst  his  fellow  John  Hemyng,  who  is  a  party  to  the 
same  deed,  is  described  as  "  of  London,  gentleman."  From  the  situation  of  the 
property  it  would  appear  to  have  been  bought  either  as  an  appurtenance  to  the 
theatre,  or  for  some  protection  of  the  interests  of  the  sharers.  In  the  deed  of 
1602,  Shakspere  is  also  described  as  of  Stratford-upon-Avon.  It  is  natural  that  he 
should  be  so  described,  in  a  deed  for  the  purchase  of  land  at  Stratford ;  but  upon 
the  same  principle,  had  he  been  a  resident  in  London  in  1613,  he  would  have  been 
described  as  of  London  in  a  deed  for  the  purchase  of  property  in  London.  Yet  we 
also  look  upon  this  conveyance  as  evidence  that  Shakspere  had  in  March  1613  not 
wholly  severed  himself  from  his  interest  in  the  theatre. f  He  is  in  London  at  the 
signing  of  the  deed,  attending,  probably,  to  the  duties  which  still  devolved  upon 
him  as  a  sharer  in  the  Blackfriars.  He  is  not  a  resident  in  London  ;  he  has  come 

See  page  485.  f  Sea  Note  at  the  end  of  this  Chapter. 


[Edward  Allcyn.] 

to  town,  as  Thomas  Greene  describes,  in  1614.  But  we  have  no  evidence  that  he 
sold  his  theatrical  property  at  all.  Certainly  the  evidence  that  he  sold  it  to  Edward 
Alleyn  may  be  laid  aside  in  any  attempt  to  fix  the  date  of  Shakspere's  departure 
from  London. 

In  the  November  of  1611  two  of  Shakspere's  plays  were  acted  at  Whitehall. 
The  entries  of  their  performance  are  thus  given  in  the  '  Book  of  the  Revels  : ' — 

"  By  the  Kings  Hallomas  nyght  was  presented  att  Whithall  before  ye  Kinge 

Players :  Ma"e  a  play  called  the  Tempest. 

The  Kings  The  5th  of  Nouember;   A  play  called  ye  winters  nighte 

Players :  Tayle." 

That  The  Tempest  was  a  new  play  when  thus  performed,  it  would  be  difficult 
to  affirm,  upon  this  entry  alone.  In  the  earlier  part  of  the  reign  of  James  we 
have  seen  that  old  plays  of  Shakspere  were  performed  before  the  King ;  but  at 
that  period  all  his  plays  would  be  equally  novel  to  the  Monarch  and  to  the 
Court.  According  to  the  accounts  of  the  Treasurer  of  the  Chamber,  the  per 
formances  at  Court  of  the  King's  players  appear  to  have  been  so  numerous  after 
the  year  of  the  accession,  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  add  the  attraction  of 

511 


WILLIAM    SIIAKSPEKE  : 

novelty  even  to  Shakspere's  stock  plays.  At  the  Christmas  and  Shrovetide  of 
1604-5  there  were  thirteen  performances  by  Shakspere's  company;  in  1605-6, 
ten  plays  by  the  same;  in  October,  1606,  upon  the  occasion  of  the  visit  of  the 
King  of  Denmark,  three  plays;  in  1606-7,  twenty-two  plays;  in  1607-8  there 
is  no  record  of  payments,  but  in  1608-9  there  are  twelve  plays;  in  1610-11 
fifteen  plays;  and  in  1611-12  (the  holidays  to  which  we  are  now  more  par- 
ticularly  referring)  there  were  six  performances  by  Shakspere's  company  before 
the  King,  and  sixteen  by  the  same  company  "  before  the  Prince's  Highness." 
But,  however  probable  it  may  be  that  the  players  would  be  ready  with  novelties 
for  the  Court,  especially  when  other  companies  performed  constantly  before  the 
royal  family,  we  have  a  distinct  record  that  the  plays  of  Shakspere  held  their 
ground,  even  though  the  Court  was  familiar  with  them.  At  the  Easter  of  1618, 
Twelfth  Night  and  The  Winter's  Tale  were  performed  before  the  King.  We 
are  not,  therefore,  warranted  in  concluding  that  in  1611  The  Tempest  was  a 
new  play ;  although  we  have  evidence  that  The  Winter's  Tale  was  then  a  new 
play.  Dr.  Forman  saw  The  Winter's  Tale  at  the  Globe  on  the  15th  of  May, 
1611  ;  and  he  describes  it  with  a  minuteness  which  would  make  it  appear  that 
he  had  not  seen  it  before.  This  is  not  conclusive  ;  but  in  1623  The  Winter's 
Tale  is  entered  in  the  Office-Book  of  the  Master  of  the  Revels  as  an  old  play, 
"  formerly  allowed  of  by  Sir  George  Bucke."  Sir  George's  term  of  office  com 
menced  in  1610.  This  fixes  the  date  with  tolerable  accuracy,  and  shows  that 
it  was  not  an  old  play  when  performed  at  Court  on  the  5th  of  November,  1611. 
There  is  a  passage  in  the  play  which  might  be  implied  to  refer  to  the  great 
event  of  which  that  day  was  the  anniversary  :— 

"  If  I  could  find  example 
Of  thousands  that  had  struck  anointed  kings 
And  flourish'd  after,  I  'd  not  do 't :  but  since 
Nor  brass,  nor  stone,  nor  parchment,  bears  not  one, 
Let  villainy  itself  forswear 't." 

But  there  was  a  more  recent  example  of  the  fate  of  one  who  had  struck  an 
anointed  king.  Henry  the  Fourth  of  France  was  stabbed  by  Ravaillac  on  the 
14th  of  May,  1610;  and  certainly  the  terrible  end  of  the  assassin  was  a  warning 
for  "villainy  itself "  to  forswear  such  a  crime.  If  The  Tempest  and  The  Win 
ter's  Tale,  and  probably  Cymbeline  also,  belong  to  this  epoch — and  we  believe 
that  they  were  separated  by  a  veiy  short  interval— we  have  the  most  delightful 
evidence  of  the  perfect  Uealthfulness  of  Shakspere's  mind  at  this  period  of  his 
life.  To  the  legendary  tales  upon  which  the  essentially  romantic  drama  is 
built,  he  brought  all  the  graces  of  his  poetry  and  all  the  calm  reflectiveness  of 
his  mature  understanding.  Beauty  and  wisdom  walked  together  as  twin 
sisters. 

The  Book  of  the  Revels,  1611-12,  which  thus  shows  us  that  the  graces  of 
Perdita  and  the  charms  of  Prospero  had  shed  their  influence  over  the  courtly 
throngs  of  Whitehall,  also  informs  us  that  on  Twelfth  Night  the  '  Prince's 
Masque '  was  performed.  In  the  margin  there  is  this  entry :  "  This  day  the 
King  and  Prince  with  divers  of  his  noblemen  did  run  at  the  ring  for  a  prize.' 
512 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

There  was  a  magnificence  about  the  Court  of  James  at  this  period  which  pro- 
bably  had  some  influence  even  upon  the  productions  which  Shakspere  presented 
to  the  Court  and  the  people.  The  romantic  incidents  of  The  Winter's  Tale 
and  The  Tempest,  the  opportunities  afforded  by  the  construction  of  their  plots 
for  gorgeous  scenery,  the  masque  so  beautifully  interwoven  with  the  loves  of  Fer 
dinand  and  Miranda,  all  was  in  harmony  with  the  poetical  character  of  the  royal 
revels.  Prince  Henry  in  his  premature  manhood  was  distinguished  for  his  skill 
in  all  noble  exercises.  The  tournaments  of  this  period  were  attempts  on  the 
part  of  the  Prince  to  revive  the  spirit  of  chivalry.  The  young  man  was  him 
self  of  a  high  and  generous  nature  ;  and  if  he  was  surrounded  by  some  favourites 
whose  embroidered  suits  and  glittering  armour  were  the  coverings  of  heartless 
profligacy  and  low  ambition,  there  were  others  amongst  the  courtiers  who 
honestly  shared  the  enthusiasm  of  Henry,  and  invoked  the  genius  of  chivalry, 
"  Possess'd  with  sleep,  dead  as  a  lethargy," 

to  awake  at  the  name  Meliadus.*  The  'Prince's  Masque'  was  one  of  those 
elegant  productions  of  Ben  Jonson  which  have  given  an  immortality  to  the 
fleeting  pleasures  of  the  nights  of  Whitehall.  Jonson's  own  descriptions  of  the 
scenery  of  these  masques  show  how  mucn  that  was  beautiful  as  well  as  surpris 
ing  was  attempted  with  imperfect  materials.  The  effects  were  perhaps  very 
inferior  to  the  scenic  displays  of  the  modern  stage,  though  Inigo  Jones  was  the 
machinist.  But  the  descriptions  of  these  wonders  —  rocks,  and  moons,  and 
transparent  palaces,  and  moving  chariots — are  as  vivid  as  if  the  genius  of  Stan- 
field  had  realized  the  poet's  conceptions.!  It  was  probably  on  some  one  of  these 
occasions  that  Jonson  became  known  to  Drummond,  who  had  succeeded  to  his 

*  The  name  adopted  by  the  Prince.     Drummond  called  him  Mosliades,  an  anagram  of  Miles  &  Deo. 
"T  See  Mr.  Peter  Cunningham's  '  Lifn  of  Inigo  Jones;' — one  of  those  performances  in  •which  is  shown 
hmv  accuracy  and  dulness  are  not  essential  companions ;  how  taste  and  antiquarianism  may  co-exist. 


[William  Drummoud.]  _.„ 

LIFE.     2  L 


WILLIAM  BHAKSFBB1  : 

inheritance,  and  was  seeking  in  the  excitement  of  travel  some  relief  to  that 
melancholy  which  was  produced  by  the  sudden  bereavement  of  his  betrothed 
mistress — a  loss  which  embittered  his  life,  but  gave  to  his  genius  much  of  its 
delicacy  and  tenderness.  The  mind  of  Drummond  was  too  refined  for  the  rough 
work  which  belongs  to  a  court,  even  amongst  its  glittering  . 

"  0  how  more  sweet  ia  bird's  harmonious  moan, 
Or  the  hoarse  sobbings  of  the  widow'd  dove, 
Than  those  smooth  whisp'rings  near  a  prince's  throne, 
Which  good  make  doubtful,  do  the  evil  approve." 

There  was  another  maker  of  verses — a  Scot — in  the  Court  of  James,  who,  though 
not  without  talent,  would  in  his  inmost  heart  despise  the  "  love  of  peace  and  lonely 
musing "  which  were  characteristic  of  the  poet  of  Hawthornden.  William 


[William  Alexander,  Earl  of  Stirling.] 

Alexander  had  essentially  a  prosaic  mind ;  though  he  did  accomplish  four  monarchic 
tragedies,  which  some  wise  critics  have  put  in  the  same  class  with  the  Roman 
plays  of  Shakspere.  Whether  he  was  engaged  in  the  manufacture  of  plays  or 
copper  money,  he  had  essentially  an  eye  to  his  own  advancement ;  and  if  James 
called  him  his  philosophical  poet,  we  may  still  believe  that  the  King  thought  there 
was  more  true  philosophy  in  Alexander's  money-making  scheme  for  a  new  order  of 
baronets  than  in  the  many  thousand  lines  of  laborious  writing  and  reading  which 
by  courtesy  were  called  '  Recreations  with  the  Muses/  We  may  without  much 
want  of  charity  suspect  that  Jonson's  '  Prince's  Masque'  and  Shakspere's  Winter's 
514 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 

Tale  might  be  regarded  by  the  Earl  of  Stirling  as  Pepys  regarded  the  Midsummei 
Night's  Dream — "  It  is  the  most  insipid,  ridiculous  play  that  ever  I  saw  in  my 
life." 

The  refinements  of  the  Court  extended  to  the  people.  The  Bear- Garden 
was  adapted  to  theatrical  performances ;  and  rendered  "  convenient  in  all  things 
both  for  players  to  play  in,  and  for  the  game  of  bears  and  bulls  to  be  baited  in 
the  same."*  The  gorgeousness  of  the  scenic  displays  of  Whitehall  became  at 
this  period  a  subject  of  imitation  at  the  public  theatres.  Sir  Henry  Wotton 
thus  writes  to  his  nephew  on  the  6th  of  July,  1613: — "Now  to  let  matters  of 
state  sleep,  I  will  entertain  you  at  the  present  with  what  happened  this  week 
at  the  Bankside.  The  King's  players  had  a  new  play,  called  'All  is  True,' 
representing  some  principal  pieces  of  the  reign  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  which 
was  set  forth  with  many  extraordinary  circumstances  of  pomp  and  majesty, 
even  to  the  matting  of  the  stage ;  the  knights  of  the  order,  with  their  Georges 
and  Garter,  the  guards  with  their  embroidered  coats  and  the  like ;  sufficient,  in 
truth,  within  a  while  to  make  greatness  very  familiar,  if  not  ridiculous."  This 
description,  as  we  believe,  applies  to  the  original  representation  of  Shakspere's 
play  of  Henry  VIII. f  We  believe  also  that  Shakspere  on  this  occasion  intro 
duced  such  a  compliment  to  the  government  of  the  King  as  was  consistent  with 
the  independence  of  his  character  and  that  genuine  patriotism  that  was  a  part  of 
his  nature  : — 

"  Wherever  the  bright  sun  of  heaven  shall  shine, 
His  honour,  and  the  greatness  of  his  name, 
Shall  be,  and  make  new  nations." 

This  is  somewhat  different  from  Jonson's  compliment  to  the  man  : — 

"  His  meditations,  to  his  height,  are  even  : 
All,  all  their  issue  is  akin  to  heaven— . 
He  ia  a  god  o'er  kings."  £ 

And  yet  it  has  been  said,  either  that  Shakspere  condescended  to  be  a  flatterer,  or 
that  he  did  not  write  the  compliment  to  James  implied  in  Cranmer's  prophecy. 
We  believe  that  he  did  write  the  lines ;  that  they  are  not  an  interpolation ;  and 
that,  although  they  may  have  been  written  in  the  spirit  of  gratitude  for  personal 
favours,  it  is  gratitude  of  the  loftiest  kind,  honourable  alike  to  the  giver  and  to  the 
receiver,  because  wholly  free  from  adulation. 

There  was  a  catastrophe  at  this  representation  of  the  new  play  of  Henry  VIII. 
which  may  possibly  have  had  some  influence  upon  the  future  life  of  Shakspere. 
1  Sir  Henry  Wotton  thus  describes  the  burning  of  the  Globe  theatre:  —  "Now 
King  Henry,  making  a  mask  at  the  Cardinal  Wolsey's  house,  and  certain  can 
nons  being  shot  off  at  his  entry,  some  of  the  paper,  or  other  stuff  wherewith 
one  of  them  was  stopped,  did  light  on  the  thatch,  where,  being  thought  at  first 
but  an  idle  smoke,  and  their  eyes  being  more  attentive  to  the  show,  it  kindled 
inwardly,  and  ran  round  like  a  train,  consuming,  within  less  than  an  hour,  the 
whole  house  to  the  very  ground."  The  Globe  was  re-built  in  the  ensuing 

*  Collier's  '  Annals  of  the  Stage,'  vol.  iii.,  p.  285. 

f  See  Introductory  Notice  to  Henry  VIII.  J  Masque  of  Oberon. 

2  L  2  515 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE  : 

spring.  The  conflagration  was  so  rapid  that  Prynne  wished  to  show  it  was  a 
judgment  of  Providence  upon  players — "  The  sudden  fearful  burning  even  to 
the  ground."  Jonson,  in  his  '  Execration  upon  Vulcan,'  says  the  Globe  was 

"  Kaz'd,  ere  thought  could  urge,  this  might  have  been." 

It  appears  likely  that  this  calamity  terminated  the  direct  and  personal  connexion 
of  Shakspere  with  the  London  stage.  We  do  not  find  him  associated  with 
the  rebuilding  of  the  Globe,  nor  with  any  of  the  schemes  for  new  theatres  with 
which  Alleyn  and  Henslow  were  so  busy.  We  have  no  record  whatever  of  any 
new  play  of  Shakspere's  being  produced  after  this  performance  of  Henry  VIII. 
at  the  Globe.  Was  he  wholly  idle  as  a  writer?  We  apprehend  not.  Of  the 
three  Roman  plays  we  have  yet  to  speak.  In  the  meanwhile  let  us  take  a  rapid 
survey  of  the  state  of  dramatic  poetry,  and  of  the  later  disciples  of  the  school  of 
Shakspere.  We  have  already  given  a  sketch  of  the  more  remarkable  of  the 
contemporaries  with  whom  he  would  necessarily  be  associated  in  the  last  years 
of  the  previous  century. 

In  the  Address  to  the  Reader  prefixed  to  the  first  edition,  published  in  1612, 
of  '  The  White  Devil,  or  Vittcria  Corombona,'  of  John  Webster,  is  the  following 
passage  : — "  Detraction  is  the  sworn  friend  to  ignorance  :  for  mine  own  part,  I 
have  ever  truly  cherished  my  good  opinion  of  other  men's  worthy  labours, 
especially  of  that  full  and  heightened  style  of  Master  Chapman  ;  the  laboured 
and  understanding  works  of  Master  Jonson  ;  the  no  less  worthy  composures  of 
the  both  worthily  excellent  Master  Beaumont  and  Master  Fletcher ;  and  lastly 
(without  wrong  last  to  be  named),  the  right  happy  and  copious  industry  of 
Master  Shakespeare,  Master  Dekker,  and  Master  Heywood,  wishing  what  I 
write  may  be  read  by  their  light ;  protesting  that,  in  the  strength  of  mine  own 
judgment,  I  know  them  so  worthy,  that  though  I  rest  silent  in  my  own  work, 
yet  to  most  of  theirs  I  dare  (without  flattery)  fix  that  of  Martial : 

1  Non  norunt  hsec  monuments  mori.' " 

Webster  was  formed  upon  Shakspere.  He  had  no  pretensions  to  the  inex 
haustible  wit,  the  all -penetrating  humour  of  his  master ;  but  he  had  the  power 
of  approaching  the  terrible  energy  of  his  passion,  and  the  profoundness  of  his 
pathos,  in  characters  which  he  took  out  of  the  great  muster-roll  of  humanity, 
and  placed  in  fearful  situations,  and  sometimes  with  revolting  imaginings 
almost  beyond  humanity.  Those  who  talk  of  the  carelessness  of  Shakspere 
may  be  surprised  to  find  that  his  praise  is  that  of  a  "  right  happy  and  copious 
industry."  It  is  clear  what  dramatic  writers  were  the  objects  of  Webster's 
love.  He  did  not  aspire  to  the  "  full  and  heightened  style  of  Master  Chap 
man,"  nor  would  his  genius  be  shackled  by  the  examples  of  "  the  laboured  and 
understanding  works  of  Master  Jonson."  He  belonged  to  the  school  of  the 
romantic  dramatists.  Master  Beaumont  and  Master  Fletcher  are  "  worthily 
excellent;"  but  his  aspiration  was  to  imitate  "the  right  happy  and  copious 
industry  of  Master  Shakespeare,  Master  Dekker,  and  Master  Heywood,  wishing 
what  I  write  may  be  read  by  their  light."  There  were  critics,  then,  who 
516 


A    RTOGRAPHY. 

regarded  the  romantic  drama  as  a  diversion  for  the  multitude  only  ;  and  Web- 
ster  thinks  it  necessary  to  apologize  for  his  deliberate  choice — "Willingly  and 
not  ignorantly  in  this  kind  have  I  faulted."  He  says—"  If  it  be  objected  this 
is  no  true  dramatic  poem,  I  shall  easily  confess  it,  non  potes  in  nugas  dicere 
plura  meas,  ipse  ego  quam  dixi ;  willingly,  and  not  ignorantly,  in  this  kind 
have  I  faulted  :  for  should  a  man  present,  to  such  an  auditory,  the  most  senten 
tious  tragedy  that  ever  was  written,  observing  all  the  critical  laws,  as  height 
of  style,  and  gravity  of  person,  enrich  it  with  the  sententious  Chorus,  and,  as  it 
were,  'liven  death,  in  the  passionate  and  weighty  Nuntias ;  yet,  after  all  this 
divine  rapture,  O  dura  messorum  ilia,  the  breath  that  comes  from  the  uncapable 
multitude  is  able  to  poison  it ;  and,  ere  it  be  acted,  let  the  author  resolve  to  fix 
to  every  scene  this  of  Horace — 

'  Hsec  porcis  hodie  comedenda  relinques." " 

As  early  as  1602,  Webster  was  a  writer  for  Henslow's  theatre,  in  conjunction 
with  Dekker,  Drayton,  Middleton,  Chettle,  Heywood,  and  Wentworth  Smith. 
At  a  later  period  he  was  more  directly  associated  with  Dekker  alone  His 
great  tragedies  of  '  The  White  Devil '  and  '  The  Duchess  of  Malfi '  were  pro 
duced  at  the  period  when  Shakspere  had  almost  ceased  to  write  ;  and  it  is  pro 
bably  to  this  circumstance  we  owe  these  original  and  unaided  efforts  of  Web 
ster's  genius.  There  was  a  void  to  be  filled  up,  and  it  was  worthily  filled  up. 


[Thoir.a-  Uekkt-r.] 


Webster  has  placed  his  coadjutor  Dekker  n«t  to  Shakspere.     We  have  before 
pointed   attention  to  this  remarkable  man's  early  career       As  he  advar 
years  he  was   wielding  greater  powers,  and    dealing   with    higher   thmgs 
belonged  to  the  satirist.     In  his  higher  walk  he  is  of  the  school  of  nature  and 


WILLIAM    SHAKSPEKE: 

simplicity.  Hazlitt  speaks  of  one  of  his  plays,  perhaps  the  best,  with  true 
artistical  feeling : — "  The  rest  of  the  character  is  answerable  to  the  beginning. 
The  execution  is,  throughout,  as  exact  as  the  conception  is  new  and  masterly. 
There  is  the  least  colour  possible  used ;  the  pencil  drags ;  the  canvas  is  almost 
seen  through :  but  then,  what  precision  of  outline,  what  truth  and  purity  of 

tone,  what  firmness  of  hand,  what  marking  of  character ! It  is  as  if 

there  were  some  fine  art  to  chisel  thought,  and  to  embody  the  inmost  move 
ments  of  the  mind  in  every-day  actions  and  familiar  speech."*  Dekker  acquired 
some  of  his  satirical  propensities,  but  the  tenderness  of  his  heart  was  also  called 
forth,  in  the  crooked  ways  and  dark  places  of  misfortune.  Almost  the  first  record 
of  his  life  is  a  memorandum  by  Henslow  of  the  loan  of  forty  shillings,  "  to  dis 
charge  Mr.  Dicker  out  of  the  Counter  in  the  Poultry."  Oldys,  in  his  manu 
script  notes  upon  Langbaine,  affirms  that  he  was  in  the  King's  Bench  Prison 
from  1613  to  1616.  His  own  calamities  furnish  a  commentary  to  the  tender 
ness  of  many  such  passages  as  the  following,  in  which  a  father  is  told  of  the 
miseries  of  his  erring  daughter  : — 

"  I  'm  glad  you  are  wax,  not  marble ;  you  are  made 
Of  man's  best  temper ;  there  are  now  good  hopes 
That  all  these  heaps  of  ice  about  your  heart, 
By  which  a  father's  love  was  frozen  up, 
Are  thaw'd  in  these  sweet  show*rs  fetch'd  from  your  eyes  : 
We  are  ne'er  like  angels  till  our  passion  dies. 
She  is  not  dead,  but  lives  under  worse  fate ; 
I  think  she's  poor."  f 

The  praise  of  industry  belongs  to  Dekker,  though  its  fruits  were  poverty. 
He  lived  to  a  considerable  age,  and  he  laboured  to  the  last  at  play  or  pamphlet. 
But  the  amount  of  his  productions  becomes  almost  insignificant  when  compared 
with  the  more  than  "copious  industry"  of  Thomas  Heywood.  He  was  a 
scholar,  having  been  educated  at  Cambridge — at  Peterhouse,  it  is  said ;  but  he 
oecame  an  actor  as  early  as  1598,  being  then  a  sharer  in  Henslow's  company. 
In  1633  he  claimed  for  himself  the  authorship,  entirely  or  in  part,  of  two  hun 
dred  and  twenty  dramas.  We  have  expressed  an  opinion  that  Heywood  might 
have  been  the  writer  of  'The  Yorkshire  Tragedy.'  Many  of  his  two  hundred 
and  twenty  dramas  were  probably  such  short  pieces  as  that  clever  performance. 
Heywood  had  the  power  of  stirring  the  affections,  of  moving  pity  and  terror 
by  true  representations  of  the  course  of  crime  and  misery  in  real  life.  Charles 
Lamb  has  summed  up  the  character  of  his  writings  in  three  lines : — "  Heywood 
is  a  sort  of  prose  Shakspeare.  His  scenes  are  to  the  full  as  natural  and  affecting. 
But  we  miss  the  poet,  that  which  in  Shakspeare  always  appears  out  and  above 
the  surface  of  the  nature."  Winstanley,  not  a  very  trustworthy  authority, 
speaking  of  Hey  wood's  wonderful  fertility,  says — "  He  not  only  acted  himself 
almost  every  day,  but  also  wrote  each  day  a  sheet;  and  that  he  might  lose  no 
time,  many  of  his  plays  were  composed  in  the  tavern,  on  the  back  side  of  tavern 
bills ;  which  may  be  an  occasion  that  so  many  of  them  are  lost." 


*  'Dramatic  Literature  of  the  Age  of  Elizabeth.' 
t  '  The  Honest  Whore,'  Second  Part,  Act  r.,  Scene  i. 


518 


A   BIOGRAPHY 

Francis  Beaumont  was  a  boy  at  the  period  to  which  our  slight  notice  of  his 
great  coadjutor  Fletcher  belongs.  At  the  epoch  we  are  now  describing  he  is 
within  three  years  of  the  termination  of  his  short  race.  The  poetical  union  of 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher  has  given  birth  to  stories,  such  as  Aubrey  delights  in 
telling,  that  their  friendship  extended  even  to  a  community  of  lodging  and 
clothes,  with  other  matters  in  common  that  are  held  to  belong  to  the  perfection 
of  the  social  system.  We  neither  believe  these  things  entirely,  nor  do  we  quite 
receive  the  assertion  of  Dr.  Earle,  that  Beaumont's  "  main  business  was  to  cor 
rect  the  overflowings  of  Mr.  Fletcher's  wit."  Edward  Phillips  repeats  this 
assertion.  They  first  came  before  the  world  in  the  association  of  a  title-page  in 
1607-  The  junior  always  preceded  the  elder  poet  in  such  announcements  of 
their  works ;  and  this  was  probably  determined  by  the  alphabetical  arrange 
ment.  We  have  many  indications  that  Beaumont  was  regarded  by  his  contem 
poraries  as  a  man  of  great  and  original  power.  It  was  not  with  the  exaggeration 
of  a  brother's  love  that  Sir  John  Beaumont  wrote  his  affecting  epitaph  upon 
the  death  of  Francis : — 

"  Thou  shouldst  have  follow'd  me,  but  death  to  blame 
Miscounted  years,  and  measur'd  age  by  fame." 

He    was  buried  by  the   side   of    Chaucer  and   Spenser,  in  the  hallowed  earth 
where  it  was  wished  that  Shakspere  should  have  been  laid  : — 

"  Renowned  Spenser,  lie  a  thought  more  nigh 
To  learned  Chaucer ;  and,  rare  Beaumont,  lie 
A  little  nearer  Spenser,  to  make  room 
For  Shakespear  in  your  threefold,  fourfold  tomb. 
To  lodge  all  four  in  one  bed  make  a  shift, 
For,  until  doomsday  hardly  will  a  fifth, 
Betwixt  this  day  and  that,  by  fates  be  slain, 
For  whom  your  curtains  need  be  drawn  again."  * 
*  '  Ele^y  on  Shakespear,'  by  "W.  Basse. 


[Francis  Beaumont 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPEKE  : 

When  Shakspere's  company  performed  at  Wilton,  in  December,  1603,  it  is 
more  than  p^bable  that  there  was  a  young  man  present  at  those  performances 
perhaps  familiar  with  Shaksperc  himself,  whose  course  of  life  might  have  been 
determined  by  the  impulses  of  those  festive  hours.  Philip  Massinger,  who  in 
1603  was  nineteen  years  of  age,  was  the  son  of  a  gentleman  filling  a  service  of 
trust  in  the  household  of  the  Earls  of  Pembroke.  At  this  period  Philip  was  a 
commoner  of  St.  Alban  Hall,  Oxford.  "  Being  sufficiently  famed  for  several 
specimens  of  wit,  he  betook  himself  to  making  plays."  This  is  Anthony  Wood's 
account  of  the  dedication  of  Massinger  to  a  pursuit  which  brought  him  little 
but  hopeless  poverty.  Amongst  Henslow's  papers  was  found  an  undated  letter, 
addressed  to  him  by  Nathaniel  Field,  with  postscripts  signed  by  Robert  Da- 
borne  and  Philip  Massinger.  Malone  conjectures  that  the  letter  was  written 
between  1612  and  1615,  Henslow  having  died  in  January,  1616.  The  letter, 
which  is  a  melancholy  illustration  of  the  oft-told  tale  of  the  misfortunes  of 
genius,  was  first  given  in  the  additions  to  Malone's  '  Historical  Account  of  the 
English  Stage  •  ' — 


[I'lulip  Massinger.] 


"  To  our  most  loving  friend,  Mr.  Philip  Hinchlow,  Esquire,  These. 

"Mr.  Hinchlow, 

"You  understand  our  unfortunate  extremity,  and  I  do  not  think  you  so  void  of  Christianity  b 
that  you  would  throw  so  much  money  into  the  Thames  as  we  request  now  of  you  rather  than 
danger  *»  many  innocent  lives.     You  know  there  is  xL  more  at  least  to  be  receded  of  you  for  the 


A    BIOGRAPHY. 

™t  you  Tt°1lend  U8  * of  that;  which  sha11  *  allowed  to  y«;  without  which  w0 

cannot  be  bailed  nor  I  play  any  more  till  this  be  dispatched.  It  will  lose  you  xx*.  ere  the  end  <* 
the  next  week,  besides  the  hinderance  of  the  next  new  play.  Pray,  Sir,  consider  our  cases  with 
humanity,  and  now  give  us  cause  to  acknowledge  you  our  true  friend  in  time  of  need.  We  have 
entreated  Mr.  Davison  to  deliver  this  note,  as  well  to  witness  your  love  as  our  promises,  and  alway8 
acknowledgment  to  be  ever 

"  Your  most  thankful  and  loving  friends, 

"  NAT.  FIELD. 

The  money  shall  be  abated  out  of  the  money  remains  for  the  play  of  Mr.  Fletcher  and  ours. 

"EGBERT  DABORNE. 

"  I  have  ever  found  you  a  true  loving  friend  to  me,  and  in  so  small  a  suit,  it  being  honest,  I  hope  you 
will  not  fail  us. 


"  Pun  IP  MASSINGER." 


f.Vathaniel  Field.] 

By  an  indorsement  on  the  letter  it  is  shown  that  Henslow  made  the  advance 
which  these  unfortunate  men  required.  But  how  was  it  that  Massinger,  who 
was  brought  up  under  the  patronage  of  a  family  distinguished  for  their 
encouragement  of  genius,  was  doomed  to  struggle  for  many  years  with  abject 
penury,  and  when  he  died  in  1640  was  left  alone  in  the  world,  to  have  his 
name  inscribed  in  the  burial  register  of  St.  Saviour's  as  "  Philip  Massinger, 
a  stranger "  ?  Gifford  conjectures  that  he  became  a  Roman  Catholic  early  in 
life,  and  thus  gave  offence  to  the  noble  family  with  whom  his  father  had  been 
so  intimately  connected.  In  1623  Massinger  published  his  'Bondman/ 
dedicating  it  to  the  second  of  the  Herberts,  Philip  Earl  of  Montgomery.  The 
dedication  shows  that  he  had  been  an  alien  from  the  house  in  the  service  of 
which  his  father  lived  and  died  :  "  However  I  could  never  arrive  at  the  hap 
piness  to  be  made  known  to  your  Lordship,  yet  a  desire,  born  with  me.  to  make 
a  tender  of  all  duties  and  service  to  the  noble  family  of  the  Herberts,  descended 
to  me  as  an  inheritance  from  my  dead  father,  Arthur  Massinger.  Many  years 
he  happily  spent  in  the  service  of  your  honourable  house,  and  died  a  servant  to 
it."  There  is  something  unintelligible  in  all  this ;  though  we  may  well  believe 
with  Gifford  that  "  whatever  might  be  the  unfortunate  circumstance  which 

621 


WILLIAM   SHAKSPERE. 

depnved  the  author  of  the  patronage  and  protection  of  the  elder  branch  of  the 
Herberts,  he  did  not  imagine  it  to  be  of  a  disgraceful  nature ;  or  he  would  not, 
in  the  face  of  the  public,  have  appealed  to  his  connexions  with  the  family."* 
It  is  difficult  to  trace  the  course  of  Massinger's  poetical  life.  '  The  Virgin 
Martyr,'  in  which  he  was  assisted  by  Dekker,  was  the  first  printed  of  his  plays ; 
and  that  did  not  appear  till  1622.  But  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  it  belongs 
to  an  earlier  period;  for  in  1620  a  fee  was  paid  to  the  Master  of  the  Revels  on 
the  occasion  of  '  New  reforming  The  Virgin  Martyr."  The  '  Bondman '  was 
printed  within  a  year  after  it  was  produced  upon  the  stage;  and  from  that 
period  till  the  time  of  his  death  several  of  his  plays  were  published,  but  at  very 
irregular  intervals.  It  would  appear  that  during  the  early  portion  of  his 
career  Massinger  was  chiefly  associated  with  other  writers.  To  the  later  period 
belong  his  great  works,  such  as  '  The  Duke  of  Milan,'  '  The  City  Madam,'  and 
the  '  New  Way  to  pay  Old  Debts.'  Taken  altogether,  Massinger  was  perhaps 
the  worthiest  successor  of  Shakspere ;  and  this  indeed  is  praise  enough. 

Nat  Field,  the  writer  of  the  letter  to  Henslow,  was  a  player,  as  we  learn  by 
that  letter.  The  same  document  shows  that  he  was  a  player  in  the  service  of 
Henslow.  But  he  is  mentioned  in  the  first  folio  edition  of  Shakspere's  plays, 
as  one  of  the  principal  actors  in  them.  The  best  evidence  of  the  genius  of 
Field  is  his  association  with  Massinger  in  the  noble  play  of  '  The  Fatal  Dowry.' 
He  probably  was  not  connected  with  Shakspere's  company  during  Shakspere's 
life ;  but  he  is  named  in  a  patent  to  the  actors  at  the  Blackfriars  and  Globe  in 
1620.  Robert  Daborne,  who  was  associated  with  Field  and  Massinger  in  their 
"  extremity,"  was  either  at  this  period,  or  subsequently,  in  holy  orders. 

Thomas  Middleton  was  a  contemporary  of  Shakspere.  We  find  him  early 
associated  with  other  writers,  and  in  1602  was  published  his  comedy  of  "Blurt 
Master- Constable."  Edward  Phillips  describes  him  as  "  a  copious  writer  for 
the  English  stage,  contemporary  with  Jonson  and  Fletcher,  though  not  of  equal 

*  Introduction  to  the  Works  of  Massinger. 


[Thomas  Middlcion.] 


A  BIQGIiAPHy 


repute,  and  yet  on  the  other  side  not  altogether  contemptible."  He  continued 
to  write  on  till  the  suppression  of  the  theatres,  and  the  opinion  of  Phillips  was 
the  impression  as  to  his  powers  at  the  period  of  the  Restoration.  Ford  —who 
has  truly  been  called  "of  the  first  order  of  poets  "—Rowley,  Wilson,  Hathway 
Porter,  Houghton,  Day,  Tourneur,  Taylor,  arose  as  the  day-star  of  Shakspere 
was  setting.  Each  might  have  been  remarkable  in  an  age  of  mediocrity,  some 
are  still  illustrious.  The  great  dramatic  literature  of  England  was  the  creation 
of  half  a  century  only ;  and  in  that  short  space  was  heaped  up  such  a  prodigality 
of  riches  that  we  regard  this  wondrous  accumulation  with  something  too  much 
of  indifference  to  the  lesser  gems,  dazzled  by  the  lustre  of  the 

"  One  entire  and  perfect  chrysolite." 


NOTE  ON  THE  CONVEYANCE  TO  SHAKSPERE  IN  1613. 


THE  counterpart  of  the  original  conveyance,  and  a  mortgage-deed  connected  with  it,  in  addition 
to  the  information  which  they  furnish  us  as  to  Shakspere's  life,  exhibit  two  out  of  the  six 
undoubted  examples  of  his  autograph.*  The  person  disposing  of  the  property  is  "Henry 
Walker,  citizain  of  London  and  minstrel  of  London."  William  Shakspere  is  the  purchaser,  for  the 
sum  of  140Z. ;  but  there  are  other  parties  to  the  deed,  namely,  William  Johnson,  John  Jackson, 
and  John  Heminge.  It  appears,  by  an  assignment  executed  after  Shakspere's  death  by  these 
parties,  that  they  held  this  property  in  trust,  and  surrendered  it  to  the  uses  of  Shakspere's  will.  It 
seems  to  us  probable  that  this  tenement  was  purchased  by  Shakspere  for  some  object  connected  with 
the  property  in  the  theatre,  for  this  reason :  On  the  day  after  the  purchase,  the  llth  of  March,  he 
and  the  other  parties  execute  a  mortgage-deed  to  Henry  Walker,  the  vendor  (in  the  form  of  a  lease 
of  a  hundred  years  at  a  pepper-corn  rent)  of  the  property  so  purchased,  with  a  covenant  that  if 
William  Shakspere  shall  pay  the  sum  of  601.  on  the  29th  of  September  next  coming,  to  the  said 
Henry  Walker,  the  lease  shall  be  null  and  void.  It  thus  appears  that  Shakspere  was  not  in  a  con 
dition  on  the  10th  of  March  to  pay  the  whole  of  this  purchase-money;  but  that  he  could  rely  upon 
the  receipt  of  the  difference  within  the  next  six  months.  It  would  appear  unlikely  that  he  would 
purchase  a  tenement  in  London,  being  straitened  in  the  means  of  paying  for  it,  if  he  had  disposed 
of  his  theatrical  property  in  the  Blackfriars  the  year  previous ;  or  that  he  would  have  bought  it  at 
all  unless  with  some  reference  to  the  advantage  of  that  theatrical  property.  At  the  date  of  the  in 
denture  the  premises  appear  to  have  been  untenanted.  They  were  "  now  or  late  in  the  occupation 
of  one  William  Ireland."  But  according  to  Shakspere's  will,  three  years  afterwards,  "  one  John 
Robinson"  dwelt  in  the  messuage  "in  the  Blackfriars  in  London,  near  the  Wardrobe."  Richard 
Robinson  was  one  of  the  principal  actors  in  Shakspere's  plays — the  "Dick  Robinson"  of  Ben 
Jonson.  John  Robinson  was  probably  also  connected  with  the  theatre. 

•  See  Note  on  Shakspere's  Autographs  at  the  end  of  Chapter  XII. 


523 


(Chancel  of  Stratford  Cburcn.  j 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE    LAST    BIETHDAY. 


EVERY  one  agrees  that  during  the  last  three  or  four  years  of  his  life  Shakspere 
ceased  to  write.  Yet  we  venture  to  think  that  every  one  is  in  error.  The 
opinion  is  founded  upon  a  belief  that  he  only  finally  left  London  towards  the 
close  of  1613.  We  have  shown,  from  his  purchase  of  a  large  house  at  Strat 
ford,  his  constant  acquisition  of  landed  property  there,  his  active  engagements 
in  the  business  of  agriculture,  the  interest  which  he  took  in  matters  connected 
with  his  property  in  which  his  neighbours  had  a  common  interest,  that  he 
524 


A   BIOGHAPHY. 

must  have  partially  left  London  before  this  period.  There  were  no  circum- 
stances,  as  far  as  we  can  collect,  to  have  prevented  him  finally  leaving  London 
several  years  before  1613.  But  his  biographers,  having  fixed  a  period  for  the 
termination  of  his  connexion  with  the  active  business  of  the  theatre,  assume 
that  he  became  wholly  unemployed;  that  he  gave  himself  up,  as  Rowe  has 
described,  to  "  ease,  retirement,  and  the  conversation  of  his  friends."  His 
income  was  enough,  they  say,  to  dispense  with  labour;  and  therefore  he  did 
not  labour.  They  have  attained  to  "  a  perfect  conviction,  that  when  Shakspere 
bade  adieu  to  London,  he  left  it  predetermined  to  devote  the  residue  of  his 
days  exclusively  to  the  cultivation  of  social  and  domestic  happiness  in  the 
shades  of  retirement."  These  are  Dr.  Drake's  words,  who  repeats  what  he  has 
found  in  Malone  and  the  other  commentators.  Mr.  De  Quincey,  a  biographer 
of  a  higher  mark,  gives  a  currency  to  a  very  similar  opinion: — "From  1591  to 
1611  are  just  twenty  years,  within  which  space  lie  the  whole  dramatic  creations 
of  Shakspeare,  averaging  nearly  one  for  every  six  months.  In  1611  was 
written  The  Tempest,  which  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  last  of  all  Shak- 
speare's  works."*  The  Tempest  has  been  held  by  some  to  be  Shakspere's 
latest  work ;  as  Twelfth  Night  was  held  by  others  to  be  the  latest.  'The  con- 
elusion  in  the  case  of  the  Twelfth  Night  has  been  proved  to  be  far  wide  of  the 
truth.  There  was  poetry,  at  any  rate,  in  the  belief  that  he  who  wrote 

"  I  '11  break  my  staff, 
Bury  it  certain  fathoms  in  the  earth, 
And  deeper  than  did  ever  plummet  sound 
I'll  drown  my  book," 

was  "  inspired  to  typify  himself ;  "f — for  ever  to  renounce  the  spells  by  which 
he  had  bound  the  subject  mind.  This  is,  indeed,  poetical ;  but  it  is  opposed  to 
all  the  experience  of  the  course  of  a  great  intellect.  Shakspere  had  to  abjure 
no  "rough  magic,"  such  as  his  Prospero  abjured.  His  "potent  art"  was  built 
on  the  calm  and  equal  operations  of  his  surpassing  genius.  More  than  half  of 
his  life  had  been  employed  in  the  habitual  exercise  of  this  power.  The  strong 
spur,  first  of  necessity,  and  secondly  of  his  professional  duty,  enabled  him  to 
wield  this  power,  even  amidst  the  distractions  of  a  life  of  constant  and  variable 
occupation.  But  when  the  days  of  pleasure  arrived,  is  it  reasonable  to  believe 
that  the  mere  habit  of  his  life  would  not  assert  its  ordinary  control ;  that  the 
greatest  of  intellects  would  suddenly  sink  to  the  condition  of  an  every-day 
man — cherishing  no  high  plans  for  the  future,  looking  back  with  no  desire  to 
equal  and  excel  the  work  of  the  past?  At  the  period  of  life  when  Chaucer 
began  to  write  the  '  Canterbury  Tales,'  Shakspere,  according  to  his  biographers, 
was  suddenly  and  utterly  to  cease  to  write.  We  cannot  believe  it.  Is  there  a 
parallel  case  in  the  career  of  any  great  artist  who  had  won  for  himself  competence 
and  fame  ?  Is  the  mere  applause  of  the  world,  and  a  sufficiency  of  the  goods  of 
life,  "the  end-all  and  the  be-all"  of  the  labours  of  a  mighty  mind?  These 
attained,  is  the  voice  of  his  spiritual  being  to  be  heard  no  more  ?  Are  the 

*  ' Encyclopaedia  Britannica '—Article,  'Shakspeare.' 
+  Campbell— Preface  to  Moxon's  Edition  of  Shakspeare. 

525 


WILLIAM    SIIAKSPERE  : 

thoughts  with  which  he  daily  wrestles  to  have  no  utterance  ?  Is  he  to  come 
down  from  the  mountain  from  which  he  had  a  Pisgah-view  of  life,  and  what  is 
beyond  life,  to  walk  on  the  low  shore  where  the  other  children  of  humanity 
pick  up  shells  and  pebbles,  from  the  first  hour  of  their  being  to  the  last?  If 
those  who  reason  thus  could  present  a  satisfactory  record  of  the  dates  of  all 
Shakspere's  works,  and  especially  of  his  later  works,  we  should  still  cling  to 
the  belief  that  some  fruits  of  the  last  years  of  his  literary  industry  had  wholly 
perished.  It  is  unnecessary,  as  it  appears  to  us,  to  adopt  any  such  theory. 
Without  the  means  of  fixing  the  precise  date  of  many  particular  dramas,  we 
have  indisputable  traces,  up  to  this  period,  of  the  appearance  of  at  least  five- 
sixths  of  all  Shakspere's  undoubted  works.  The  mention  by  contemporaries, 
the  notices  of  their  performance  at  Court,  the  publications  through  the  press, 
enable  us  to  assign  epochs  to  a  very  large  number  of  these  works,  whether  the 
labours  of  his  youth,  his  manhood,  or  his  full  and  riper  years.  It  is  not  a 
fanciful  theory  that  these  works  were  produced  in  cycles  ;  that  at  one  period 
he  saw  the  capabilities  of  the  English  history  for  dramatic  representation  ;  at 
another  poured  forth  the  brilliancy  of  his  wit  and  the  richness  of  his  humour 
in  a  succession  of  heart-inspiriting  comedies ;  at  another  conceived  those  great 
tragic  creations  which  have  opened  a  new  world  to  him  who  would  penetrate 
into  the  depths  of  the  human  mind;  taking  a  loftier  range  even  in  his  lighter 
efforts,  at  another  time  shedding  the  light  of  his  philosophy  and  the  richness  of 
his  poetry  over  the  regions  of  romantic  fiction,  while  other  men  would  have 
been  content  to  amuse  by  the  power  of  a  well-constructed  plot  and  a  rapid  suc 
cession  of  incidents.  Are  there  any  dramas  which  belong  to  a  class  not  yet 
described — dramas  whose  individual  appearance  is  not  accounted  for  by  those 
who  have  attempted  to  fix  the  exact  chronology  of  other  plays  ?  There  is  such 
a  class.  It  is  formed  of  the  three  great  Roman  plays  of  Coriolanus,  Julius 
Caesar,  and  Antony  and  Cleopatra.  In  our  Introductory  Notices  to  those  plays 
we  have  stated  every  circumstance  by  which  Malone  and  others  attempted  to 
fix  their  date  as  between  1607  and  1610.  There  is  not  one  atom  of  evidence 
upon  the  subject  beyond  the  solitary  fact  that  "  A  book  called  Antony  and 
Cleopatra,"  without  the  name  of  Shakspere  as  its  author,  was  entered  at 
Stationers'  Hall  on  the  20th  of  May,  1608.  Every  other  entry  of  a  play  by 
Shakspere  has  preceded  the  publication  of  the  play,  whether  piratical  or  other 
wise.  The  Antony  and  Cleopatra  of  Shakspere  was  not  published  till  fifteen 
years  afterwards;  it  was  entered  in  1623  by  the  publishers  of  the  folio  as  one 
of  the  copies  "  not  formerly  entered  to  other  men."  And  yet  we  are  told  that 
the  entry  of  1608  is  decisive  as  to  the  date  of  Shakspere's  Antony  and  Cleopatra. 
The  conjectures  of  Malone  and  Chalmers,  which  would  decide  the  date  of  these 
great  plays  by  some  fancied  allusion,  are  more  than,  usually  trivial.  What  they 
are  we  need  not  here  repeat. 

The  lines  prefixed  by  Leonard  Digges  to  the  first  collected  edition  of  Shak 
spere's  works  would  seem  to  imply  that  Julius  Caesar  had  been  acted,  and  was 
popular : — 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 

"  Nor  fire  nor  cank'ring  age,  as  Naso  said 
Of  his,  thy  wit-fraught  book  shall  once  invade ; 
Nor  shall  I  e'er  believe  or  think  thee  dead 
(Though  miss'd)  until  our  bankrout  stage  be  sped 
(Impossible  !)  with  some  new  straiu'd  t'  outdo, 
Passions  of  Juliet  and  her  Romeo ; 
Or  till  I  hear  a  scene  more  nobly  take 
Than  when  thy  half-sword  parleying  Romans  spake." 

The  "half-sword  parleying  Romans"  alludes,  there  can  be  little  doubt,  to  the 
quarrel  between  Brutus  and  Cassius ;  and  this  is  evidence  that  the  play  was 
performed  before  the  publication  of  Digges's  verses.  We  believe  that  it  was 
performed  during  Shakspere's  lifetime.  Malone  says,  "  It  appears  by  the 
papers  of  the  late  Mr.  George  Vertue,  that  a  play  called  Caesar's  Tragedy  was 
acted  at  Court  before  the  10th  of  April,  in  the  year  1613."  We  agree  with 
Malone  that  this  was  probably  Shakspere's  Julius  Caesar.  That  noble  tragedy 
is  in  every  respect  an  acting  play.  It  is  not  too  long  for  representation ;  it  has 
no  scenes  in  which  the  poet  seems  to  have  abandoned  himself  to  the  inspiration 
of  his  subject,  postponing  the  work  of  curtailment  till  the  necessities  of  the 
stage  should  demand  it.  Not  so  was  Coriolanus ;  not  so  especially  was  Antony 
and  Cleopatra.  They  each  contain  more  lines  than  any  other  of  Shakspere's 
plays ;  they  are  each  nearly  a  third  longer  than  Julius  Caesar.  It  is  our  belief 
that  they  were  not  acted  in  Shakspere's  lifetime;  and  that  his  fellows,  the 
editors  of  the  folio  in  1623,  had  the  honesty  to  publish  them  from  the  posthu 
mous  manuscripts,  uncurtailed.  In  their  existing  state  they  are  not  only  too 
long  for  representation,  but  they  exhibit  evidence  of  that  exuberance  which 
characterizes  the  original  execution  of  a  great  work  of  art,  when  the  artist, 
throwing  all  his  vigour  into  the  conception,  leaves  for  a  future  period  the 
rejection  or  compression  of  passages,  however  splendid  they  may  be,  which 
impede  the  progress  of  the  action,  and  destroy  that  proportion  which  must 
never  be  sacrificed  even  to  individual  beauty.  We  know  that  this  was  the 
principle  upon  which  Shakspere  worked  in  the  correction  of  his  greatest  efforts 
— his  Hamlet,  his  Lear,  his  Othello.  We  believe  that  Coriolanus  and  Antony 
and  Cleopatra  have  come  down  to  us  uncorrected;  that  they  were  posthumous 
works ;  that  the  intellect  which  could  not  remain  inactive  conceived  a  mighty 
plan,  of  which  these  glorious  performances  were  the  commencement ;  that 
Shakspere,  calmly  meditating  upon  the  grandeur  of  the  Roman  story,  seeing 
how  fitted  it  was,  not  only  for  the  display  of  character  and  passion,  but  for  pro 
found  manifestations  of  the  aspects  of  social  life,  ever  changing  and  ever  the 
same,  had  conceived  the  sublime  project  of  doing  for  Rome  what  he  had  done 
for  England.  He  has  exhibited  to  us  the  republic  in  her  youthfulness,  and  her 
decrepitude ;  her  struggle  against  the  sovereignty  of  one ;  the  great  contest  for 
a  principle  terminating  in  ruin;  an  empire  established  by  cunning  and  pro 
scription.  There  were,  behind,  the  great  annals  of  Imperial  Rome;  a  story 
perhaps  unequalled  for  the  purposes  of  the  philosophical  dramatist,  but  one 
which  the  greatest  who  had  ever  attempted  to  connect  the  actions  and  motives  of 
public  men  and  popular  bodies  with  lofty  poetry,  not  didactic  but  "ample  and 

0-7 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPEKE: 

tiue  with  life,"  was  not  permitted  to  touch.  The  marvellous  accuracy,  the  real 
substantial  learning,  of  the  three  Roman  plays  of  Shakspere,  present  the  most 
complete  evidence  to  our  minds  that  they  were  the  result  of  a  profound  study  of 
the  whole  range  of  Roman  history,  including  the  nicer  details  of  Roman  manners, 
not  in  those  days  to  be  acquired  in  a  compendious  form,  but  to  be  brought  out  by 
diligent  reading  alone.  It  is  pleasant  to  believe  that  the  last  years  of  Shakspere's 
life  were  those  of  an  earnest  student.  We  confidently  ask  if  the  belief  is  not 
a  reasonable  one  ? 

The  happy  quiet  of  Shakspere's  retreat  was  not  wholly  undisturbed  by 
calamity,  domestic  and  public.  His  brother  Richard,  who  was  ten  years  his 
junior,  was  buried  at  Stratford  on  the  4th  of  February,  1613.  Of  his  father's 
family  his  sister  Joan,  who  had  married  Mr.  William  Hart  of  Stratford,  was 
probably  the  only  other  left.  There  is  no  record  of  the  death  of  his  brother 
Gilbert ;  but  as  he  is  not  mentioned  in  the  will  of  William,  in  all  likelihood  he 
died  before  him.  Oldys,  in  his  manuscript  notes  upon  Langbaine,  has  a  story 
of  "One  of  Shakspeare's  younger  brothers,  who  lived  to  a  good  old  age,  even 
some  years,  as  I  compute,  after  the  restoration  of  King  Charles  II."  Gilbert 
was  born  in  1566;  so  that  if  he  had  lived  some  years  after  the  restoration  of 
Charles  II.,  it  is  not  surprising  that  "his  memory  was  weakened,"  as  Oldys 
reports,  and  that  he  could  give  "  the  most  noted  actors "  but  "  little  satisfaction 
in  their  endeavours  to  learn  something  from  him  of  his  brother."  The  story  of 
Oldys  is  clearly  apocryphal,  as  far  as  regards  any  brother  of  Shakspere's. 
They  were  a  short-lived  race.  His  sister,  indeed,  survived  him  thirty  years. 
The  family  at  New  Place,  at  this  period,  would  be  composed  therefore  of  his 
wife  only,  and  his  unmarried  daughter  Judith ;  unless  his  elder  daughter  and 
his  son-in-law  formed  a  part  of  the  same  household,  with  their  only  child 
Elizabeth,  who  was  born  in  1608.  The  public  calamity  to  which  we  have 
alluded  was  a  great  fire,  which  broke  out  at  Stratford  on  the  9th  of  July,  1614; 
and  "  within  the  space  of  two  hours  consumed  and  burnt  fifty  and  four  dwelling- 
houses,  many  of  them  being  very  fair  houses,  besides  barns,  stables,  and  other 
houses  of  office,  together  with  great  store  of  corn,  hay,  straw,  wood,  and  timber 
therein,  amounting  to  the  value  of  eight  hundred  pounds  and  upwards ;  the 
force  of  which  fire  was  so  great  (the  wind  setting  full  upon  the  town),  that  it 
dispersed  into  so  many  places  thereof,  whereby  the  whole  town  was  in  very 
great  danger  to  have  been  utterly  consumed."*  That  Shakspere  assisted  with 
all  the  energy  of  his  character  in  alleviating  the  miseries  of  this  calamity,  and 
in  the  restoration  of  his  town,  we  cannot  doubt.  In  the  same  year  we  find  him 
taking  some  interest  in  the  project  of  an  inclosure  of  the  common-fields  of 
Stratford.  The  inclosure  would  probably  have  improved  his  property,  and 
especially  have  increased  the  value  of  the  tithes,  of  the  moiety  of  which  he  held 
a  lease.  The  Corporation  of  Stratford  were  opposed  to  the  inclosure.  They 
held  that  it  would  be  injurious  to  the  poorer  inhabitants,  who  were  then  deeplv 
suffering  from  the  desolation  of  the  fire ;  and  they  appear  to  have  been  solicitous 

•  Brief  granted  for  the  relief  of  the  inhabitants,  on  the  llth  of  May,  1615,  quoted  from  Wheler'a 
History  of  Stratford,  p.  15. 
528 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 


that  Shakspere  should  take  the   same  view  of   the   matter   as    themselve*       His 
friend  William  Combe,  then  high  sheriff  of  the   county,   was  a  princit 
engaged    in   forwarding    the    inclosure.     The    Corporation    sent    their    cornr 


friend  William  Combe,  then  high  sheriff  of  the  county,  was  a  principal  person 
engaged  in  forwarding  the  inclosure.  The  Corporation  sent  their  common 
clerk,  Thomas  Greene,  to  London,  to  oppose  the  project;  and  a  memorandum  in 


his  hand-writing,  which  still  remains,  exhibits  the  business-like  manner  in 
which  Shakspere  informed  himself  of  the  details  of  the  plan.  The  first  memo 
randum  is  dated  the  17th  of  November,  1614,  and  is  as  follows:— "My  Cosen 
Shakspeare  comyng  yesterday  to  town,  I  went  to  see  how  he  did.  He  told  rne 
that  they  assured  him  they  ment  to  inclose  no  further  than  to  Gospel  Bush, 
and  so  upp  straight  (leaving  out  pt.  of  the  Dyngles  to  the  field)  to  the  gate  hi 
Clopton  hedg,  and  take  in  Salisbury's  peece ;  and  that  they  mean  in  Aprill  to 
svey.  the  land  and  then  to  gyve  satisfaccion,  and  not  before :  and  he  and 
Mr.  Hall  say  they  think  yr.  will  be  nothyng  done  at  all."  Mr.  Greene  appears 
to  have  returned  to  Stratford  in  about  a  fortnight  after  the  date  of  this  memo 
randum,  and  Shakspere  seems  to  have  remained  in  London  ;  for  according  to  a 
second  memorandum,  which  is  damaged  and  partly  illegible,  an  official  letter 
was  written  to  Shakspere  by  the  Corporation,  accompanied  by  a  private  letter 
from  Mr.  Greene,  moving  him  to  exert  his  influenca  against  this  plan  of  the 
inclosure  : — "  23  Dec.  A.  Hall,  Lres.  wrytten,  one  to  Mr.  Many  ring— another 
to  Mr.  Shakspeare,  with  almost  all  the  company's  hands  to  eyther.  I  also 

wrytte  myself  to  my   Csn.  Shakspear,  the  coppyes  of  all  our then  also 

a  note  of  the  inconvenyences  wold  ...  by  the  inclosure."  Arthur  Mannering,  to 
whom  one  of  these  letters  was  written  by  the  Corporation,  was  officially  con 
nected  with  the  Lord  Chancellor,  and  then  residing  at  his  house ;  and  from  the 
letter  to  him,  which  has  been  preserved,  "  it  appears  that  he  was  apprized  of 
the  injury  to  be  expected  from  the  intended  inclosure  ;  reminded  of  the  damage 
that  Stratford,  then  '  lying  in  the  ashes  of  desolation,'  had  sustained  from  recent 
fires;  and  entreated  to  forbear  the  inclosure."*  The  letter  to  Shakspere  has 
not  been  discovered.  The  fact  of  its  having  been  written  leaves  no  doubt  of 
the  importance  which  was  attached  to  his  opinion  by  his  neighbours.  Truly 
•n  his  later  years  he  had 

"  Honour,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends." 

John  Combe,  the  old  companion  of  Shakspere,  died  at  the  very  hour  that  the 
great  fire  was  raging  at  Stratford.  According  to  the  inscription  on  his  monu 
ment,  he  died  on  the  10th  of  July,  1614.  Upon  his  tomb  is  a  fine  recumbent 
figure  executed  by  the  same  sculptor  who,  a  few  years  later,  set  up  in  the  same 
Chancel  a  monument  to  one  who,  "  when  that  stone  is  rent,"  shall  still  be 
"fresh  to  all  ages."  Shakspere  was  at  this  period  fifty  years  old.  He  was  in 
all  probability  healthful  and,  vigorous.  His  life  was  a  pure  and  simple  one; 
and  its  chances  of  endurance  were  the  greater,  that  high  intellectual  occupation, 
not  forced  upon  him  by  necessity,  varied  the  even  course  of  his  tranquil  exist 
ence.  His  retrospections  of  the  past  would,  we  believe,  be  eminently  happy. 
His  high  talents  had  been  employed  not  only  profitably  to  himself,  but  for  the 

•  Wheler's  '  Guide  to  Stratford.' 

509 

LIFE         2  M 


[Monument  of  John  Combe.] 


advantage  of  his  fellow- creatures.  He  had  begun  life  obscurely,  the  mem 
ber  of  a  profession  which  was  scarcely  more  than  tolerated.  He  had  found 
the  stage  brutal  and  licentious.  There  were  worse  faults  belonging  to  the 
early  drama  than  its  ignorant  coarseness.  It  was  adapted  only  for  a  rude 
audience  in  its  strong  excitement  and  its  low  ribaldry.  He  saw  that  the 
drama  was  to  be  made  a  great  teacher.  He  saw  that  the  highest  things 
in  the  region  of  poetry  were  akin  to  the  natural  feelings  in  the  commonest 
natures.  He  would  make  the  noblest  dramatic  creations  the  most  popular. 
He  knew  that  the  wit  that  was  unintelligible  to  the  multitude  was  not  true 
wit, — that  the  passion  which  did  not  move  them  to  tears  or  anger  was  not 
real  passion.  He  had  raised  a  despised  branch  of  literature  into  the  highest 
art.  He  must  have  felt  that  he  had  produced  works  which  could  never  die. 
It  was  not  the  applause  of  princes,  or  even  the  breath  of  admiring  crowds,  that 
told  him  this.  He  would  look  upon  his  own  great  creations  as  works  of  art, 
no  matter  by  whom  produced,  to  be  compared  with  the  performances  of  other 
men, — to  be  measured  by  that  high  ideal  standard  which  was  a  better  test  than 
any  such  comparisons.  Shakspere  could  not  have  mistaken  his  own  intellectual 
position ;  for  if  ever  there  was  a  mind  perfectly  free  from  that  self-conscious 
ness  which  substitutes  individual  feelings  for  general  truths,  it  was  Shakspere's 
mind.  To  one  who  is  perfectly  familiar  with  his  works,  they  come  more  and 
more  to  appear  as  emanations  of  the  pure  intellect,  totally  disconnected  from 
030 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

the  personal  relations  of  the  being  which  has  produced  them.  Whatever 
might  have  been  the  worldly  trials  of  such  a  mind,  it  had  within  itself  the 
power  of  rising  superior  to  every  calamity.  Although  the  career  of  Shakspere 
was  prosperous,  he  may  have  felt  "  the  proud  man's  contumely,"  if  not  "  the 
oppressor's  wrong."  If  we  are  to  trust  his  Sonnets,  he  did  feel  these  things. 
But  he  dwelt  habitually  in  a  region  above  these  clouds  of  common  life.  He 
suffered  family  bereavements  ;  yet  he  chronicled  not  his  sorrows  with  that  false 
sentimentality  which  calls  upon  the  world  to  see  how  graceful  it  is  to  weep. 
In  his  impersonations  of  feeling,  he  has  looked  at  death  under  every  aspect 
with  which  the  human  mind  views  the  last  great  change.  To  the  thoughtless 
and  selfish  Claudio, 

"  The  weariest  and  most  loathed  worldly  life 
That  age,  ach,  penury,  and  imprisonment 
Can  lay  on  nature,  is  a  paradise 
To  what  we  fear  of  death." 

To  the  philosophical  Duke  life  is  a  thing 

"  That  none  but  fools  would  keep." 

To  Hamlet,  whose  conscience  [consciousness]  "  puzzles  the  will," 
"  The  dread.of  something  after  death  " 

"makes  cowards  of  us  all/'  To  Prospero  the  whole  world  is  as  perishable  as 
the  life  of  man  : 

"  The  cloud-capt  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit  shall  dissolve ; 
And,  like  this  unsubstantial  pageant  faded, 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind :  "We  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep." 

Shakspere,  when  he  speaks  in  a  tone  approaching  to  that  of  personal  feeling, 
looks  upon  death  with  the  common  eye  of  humanity  : 

"  That  time  of  year  thou  mayst  in  me  behold 
"When  yellow  leaves,  or  none,  or  few  do  hang 
Upon  those  boughs  which  shake  against  the  cold, 
Bare  ruin'd  choirs,  where  late  the  sweet  birds  sang. 
In  me  thou  see'st  the  twilight  of  such  day 
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." 

Sormet  Ixxiii. 

He  dwells  in  the  place  of  his  birth,  and  when  he  asks,    "  the   friends  of  my 
childhood  where  are  they?    an  echo  answers,  where  are  they?"     Some  few  re- 
main  —the  hoary-headed  eld  that  he  remembered  fresh  and  full  of  hope, 
and  anon  as  he  rambles  through  the  villages  where  he  rambled  m  his  boyhood. 
2  M  2  5Sl 


[Leicester's  Hospital,  Warwick.] 


tlie  head  of  some  one   is  laid   under  the  turf  whose  name  he  remembers  as  th« 
foremost  at  barley-break  or  foot-ball. 

"To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 
Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day, 
To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time  ; 
And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 
Tha  way  to  dusty  death." 


IWeston  Church.] 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

The   younger  daughter  of   Shakspere  was    married   on    the    .Oth  of  Februa 
1616,  to  Thomas  Qumey,  as  the  register  of  Stratford  shows  : 


Thomas  Qumey  was  the  son  of  Richard  Quiney  of  Stratford,  whom  we  have 
seen  in  1598  soliciting  the  kind  offices  of  his  loving  countryman  Shakspere. 
Thomas,  who  was  born  in  1588,  was  probably  a  well-educated  man.  At  any 
rate  he  was  a  great  master  of  calligraphy,  as  his  signature  attests  : 


Ihe  last  will  of  Shakspere  would  appear  to  have  been  prepared  in  some  de 
gree  with  reference  to  this  marriage.  It  is  dated  the  25th  of  March,  1616 : 
but  the  word  "Januarii"  seems  to  have  been  first  written  and  afterwards 
struck  out,  "  Martii "  having  been  written  above  it.  It  is  not  unlikely,  and 
indeed  it  appears  most  probable,  that  the  document  was  prepared  before  the 
marriage  of  Judith ;  for  the  elder  daughter  is  mentioned  as  Susanna  Hall, — 
the  younger  simply  as  Judith.  To  her  one  hundred  pounds  is  bequeathed, 
and  fifty  pounds  conditionally.  The  life-interest  of  a  further  sum  of  one  hun 
dred  and  fifty  pounds  is  also  bequeathed  to  her,  with  remainder  to  her  children  ; 
but  if  she  died  without  issue  within  three  years  after  the  date  of  the  will,  the 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  was  to  be  otherwise  appropriated.  We  pass  over  the 
various  legacies  to  relations  and  friends*  to  come  to  the  bequest  of  the  great 
bulk  of  the  property.  All  the  real  estate  is  devised  to  his  daughter  Susanna 
Hall,  for  and  during  the  term  of  her  natural  life.  It  is  then  entailed  upon  her 
first  son  and  his  heirs  male  ;  and  in  default  of  such  issue,  to  her  second  son  and 

*  See  the  Will  at  the  end  of  this  Chapter. 


WILLIAM    8IIAKsri.l;i;  : 

his  heirs  male ;  and  so  on :  in  default  of  such  issue,  to  his  grand-daughter 
Elizabeth  Hall  (called  in  the  language  of  the  time  his  "  niece  ")  :  and  in  default 
of  such  issue,  to  his  daughter  Judith,  and  her  heirs  male.  By  this  strict  entail- 
ment  it  was  manifestly  the  object  of  Shakspere  to  found  a  family.  Like  many 
other  such  purposes  of  short-sighted  humanity  the  object  was  not  accomplished. 
His  elder  daughter  had  no  issue  but  Elizabeth,  *and  she  died  childless.  The 
heirs  male  of  Judith  died  before  her.  The  estates  were  scattered  after  the 
second  generation  ;  and  the  descendants  of  his  sister  were  the  only  transmitters 
to  posterity  of  his  blood  and  lineage.* 

"  Item,  I  give  unto  my  wife  my  second-best  bed,  with  the  furniture."  This 
is  the  clause  of  the  will  upon  which,  for  half  a  century,  all  men  believed  that 
Shakspere  recollected  his  wife  only  to  mark  how  little  he  esteemed  her, — to 
"cut  her  off,  not  indeed  with  a  shilling,  but  with  an  old  bed."f  We  had  the 
satisfaction  of  first  showing  the  utter  groundlessness  of  this  opinion ;  and  it  is 
pleasant  to  know,  that  the  statement  which  we  originally  published,  some  twenty 
years  ago,  is  now  fully  acquiesced  in  by  all  writers  on  Shakspere.  But  it  was  once 
very  different.  To  show  the  universality  of  the  former  belief  in  such  a  charge,  we 
will  first  exhibit  it  in  the  words  of  one,  himself  a  poet,  who  cannot  be  suspected  of 
any  desire  to  depreciate  the  greatest  master  of  his  art.  Mr.  Moore,  in  his  "  Life 
of  Byron,"  speaking  of  unhappy  marriages  with  reference  to  the  domestic  mis 
fortune  of  his  noble  friend,  thus  expresses  himself : — 

"  By  whatever  austerity  of  temper,  or  habits,  the  poets  Dante  and  Milton  may 
have  drawn  upon  themselves  such  a  fate,  it  might  be  expected  that,  at  least,  the 
*  gentle  Shakspere '  would  have  stood  exempt  from  the  common  calamity  of  his 
brethren.  But,  among  the  very  few  facts  of  his  life  that  have  been  transmitted  to 
us,  there  is  none  more  clearly  proved  than  the  unhappiness  of  his  marriage.  The 
dates  of  the  births  of  his  children,  compared  with  that  of  his  removal  from  Strat 
ford, — the  total  omission  of  his  wife's  name  in  the  first  draft  of  his  will,  and  the 
bitter  sarcasm  of  the  bequest  by  which  he  remembers  her  afterwards,  all  prove 
beyond  a  doubt  both  his  separation  from  the  lady  early  in  life,  and  his  unfriendly 
feeling  towards  her  at  the  close  of  it.  In  endeavouring  to  argue  against  the  con 
clusion  naturally  to  be  deduced  from  this  will,  Boswell,  with  a  strange  ignorance  of 
human  nature,  remarks, — '  If  he  had  taken  offence  at  any  part  of  his  wife's  conduct, 
I  cannot  believe  he  would  have  taken  this  petty  mode  of  expressing  it.' " 

Steevens,  amongst  many  faults  of  taste,  has  the  good  sense  and  the  good  feeling 
to  deny  the  inferences  of  Malone  in  this  matter  of  the  "  old  bed."  He  considers 
this  bequest  "  a  mark  of  peculiar  tenderness  ;  "  and  he  assumes  that  she  was  pro 
vided  for  by  settlement.  Steevens  was  a  conveyancer  by  profession.  Malone,  who 
was  also  at  the  bar,  says,  "  what  provision  was  made  for  her  by  settlement  does  not 
appear."  A  writer  in  "  Lardner's  Cyclopaedia"  doubts  the  legal  view  of  the  matter 
which  Steevens  charitably  takes  : — "  Had  he  already  provided  for  her  ?  If  so,  he 
would  surely  have  alluded  to  the  fact ;  and  if  he  had  left  her  the  interest  of  a 
specific  sum,  or  the  rent  of  some  messuage,  there  would,  we  think,  have  been  a 
stipulation  for  the  reversion  of  the  property  to  his  children  after  her  decease." 

*  See  note  on  Borne  points  of  Shakflpera'a  Will  at  the  end  of  this  Chapter, 
t  Malone. 
534 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 

Boswell,  a  third  legal  editor,  thus  writes  upon  the  same  subject : — "  If  we  may 
suppose  that  some  provision  had  been  made  for  her  during  his  lifetime,  the  bequest 
of  his  second-best  bed  was  probably  considered  in  those  days  neither  as  uncommon 
or  reproachful."  As  a  somewhat  parallel  example  Boswell  cites  the  will  of  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy,  in  1600,  who  gives  his  son  his  second-best  horse,  but  no  land, 
because  his  father-in-law  had  promised  to  provide  for  him.  We  will  present  our 
readers  with  a  case  in  which  the  parallel  is  much  closer.  In  the  will  of  David 
Cecil,  Esq.,  grandfather  to  the  great  Lord  Burleigh,  we  find  the  following  bequest 
to  his  wife  : — 

"  Item — I  will  that  my  wife  have  all  the  plate  that  was  hers  before  I  married  her; 
and  twenty  kye  and  a  bull."* 

Our  readers  will  recollect  the  query  of  the  Cyclopsedist,— "  Had  he  already  provided 
for  her?  If  so,  he  would  surely  have  alluded  to  the  fact."  Poor  Dame  Cecil, 
according  to  this  interpretation,  had  no  resource  but  that  of  milking  her  twenty  kye, 
kept  upon  the  common,  and  eating  sour  curds  out  of  a  silver  bowl. 

The  "  forgetfulness  "  and  the  "  neglect  "  by  Shakspere  of  the  partner  of  his  for 
tunes  for  more  than  thirty  years  is  good-naturedly  imputed  by  Steevens  to  "  the 
indisposed  and  sickly  fit."  Malone  will  not  have  it  so  : — "  The  various  regulations 
and  provisions  of  our  author's  will  show  that  at  the  time  of  making  it  he  had  the 
entire  use  of  his  faculties."  We  thoroughly  agree  with  Malone  in  this  particular. 
Shakspere  bequeaths  to  his  second  daughter  three  hundred  pounds  under  certain 
conditions ;  to  his  sister  money,  wearing  apparel,  and  a  life  interest  in  the  house 
where  she  lives  ;  to  his  nephews  five  pounds  each ;  to  his  grand -daughter  his  plate  ; 
to  the  poor  ten  pounds ;  to  various  friends,  money,  rings,  his  sword.  The  chief 
bequest,  that  of  his  real  property,  is  as  follows  : — 

"  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  Henley  Street,  within  the  borough  of 
Stratford  aforesaid ;  and  all  my  barns,  stables,  orchards,  gardens,  lands,  tenements, 
hereditaments  whatsoever,  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  Welcombe,  or  in  any  of  them,  in  the  said 
county  of  Warwick ;  and  also  that  messuage  or  tenement,  with  the  appurtenances, 
wherein  one  John  Robinson  dwelleth,  situate,  lying,  and  being  in  the  Blackfriars  in 
London,  near  the  Wardrobe ;  and  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  body  lawfully  issuing,"  &c. 

Immediately  after  this  clause, — by  which  all  the  real  property  is  bequeathed  to 
Susanna  Hall,  for  her  life,  and  then  entailed  upon  her  heirs  male ;  and  in  default  of 
such  issue  upon  his  grand-daughter,  and  her  heirs  male ;  and  in  default  of  such 
issue  upon  his  daughter  Judith  and  her  heirs  male,— comes  the  clause  relating  to 

his  wife  : — 

*  Peck's  '  Desiderata  Curiosa,'  lib.  iii.,  No.  2. 

535 


WILLIAM    SI!  \KSIT.KF.  : 

"Item — I  give  unto  my  wife  my  second-best  bed,  with  the  furniture." 

It  was  the  object  of  Shakspere  by  this  will  to  perpetuate  a  family  estate.  In 
doing  so  did  he  neglect  the  duty  and  affection  which  he  owed  to  his  wife  ?  He 
did  not. 

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,  as 
the  wife  of  David  Cecil  was  provided  for,  who,  without  doubt,  was  not  "  cut  off" 
with  her  own  plate  and  twentv  kye  and  a  bull.  She  was  provided  for  amply,  by  the 
clear  and  undeniable  operation  of  the  English  law.  Of  the  lands,  houses,  and  gardens 
which  Shakspere  inherited  from  his  father,  she  was  assured  of  the  life-interest  of  a 
third,  should  she  survive  her  husband,  the  instant  that  old  John  Shakspere  died. 
Of  the  capital  messuage,  called  New  Place,  the  best  house  in  Stratford,  which 
Shakspere  purchased  in  1597,  she  was  assured  of  the  same  life-interest,  from  the 
moment  of  the  conveyance,  provided  it  was  a  direct  conveyance  to  her  husband. 
That  it  was  so  conveyed  we  may  infer  from  the  terms  of  the  conveyance  of  the 
lands  in  Old  Stratford,  and  other  places,  which  were  purchased  by  Shakspere  in  1602, 
and  were  then  conveyed  "  to  the  onlye  proper  use  and  behoofe  of  the  saide  William 
Shakespere,  his  heires  and  assignes,  for  ever."  Of  a  life-interest  in  a  third  of  these 
lands  also  was  she  assured.  The  tenement  in  Blackfriars,  purchased  in  1614,  was 
conveyed  to  Shakspere  and  three  other  persons ;  and  after  his  death  was  re-conveyed 
by  those  persons  to  the  uses  of  his  will,  "  for  and  in  performance  of  the  confidence 
and  trust  in  them  reposed  by  William  Shakespeare  deceased."  In  this  estate  cer 
tainly  the  widow  of  our  poet  had  not  dower.  The  reason  is  pretty  clear — it  was 
theatrical  property.  It  has  been  remarked  to  us  that  even  the  express  mention  of 
tl.e  second-best  bed  was  anything  but  unkindness  and  insult ;  that  the  best  bed  was 
in  all  probability  an  heir-loom  :  it  might  have  descended  to  Shakspere  himself  from 
his  father  as  an  heir-loom,  and,  as  such,  was  the  property  of  his  own  heirs.  The 
best  bed  was  considered  amongst  the  most  important  of  those  chattels  which  went 
to  the  heir  by  custom  with  the  house.  "  And  note  that  in  some  places  chattels  as 
heir-looms  (as  the  best  bed,  table,  pot,  pan,  cart,  and  other  dead  chattels  moveable) 
may  go  to  the  heir,  and  the  heir  in  that  case  may  have  an  action  for  them  at  the 
common  law,  and  shall  not  sue  for  them  in  the  ecclesiastical  court ;  but  the  heir 
loom  is  due  by  custom,  and  not  by  the  common  law."  * 

It  is  unnecessary  for  us  more  minutely  to  enter  into  the  question  before  us.  It 
is  sufficient  for  us  to  have  the  satisfaction  of  having  first  pointed  out  the  absolute 
certainty  that  the  wife  of  Shakspere  was  provided  for  by  the  natural  operation  of  the 
law  of  England.  She  could  not  have  been  deprived  of  this  provision  except  by 
the  legal  process  of  Fine, — the  voluntary  renunciation  of  her  own  right.  If  her 
husband  had  alienated  his  real  estates  she  might  still  have  held  her  right,  even 
against  a  purchaser.  In  the  event,  which  we  believe  to  be  improbable,  that  she  and 
the  "gentle  Shakspere"  lived  on  terms  of  mutual  unkindness,  she  would  have 
refused  to  renounce  the  right  which  the  law  gave  her.  In  the  more  probable  case, 
that,  surrounded  with  mutual  friends  and  relations,  they  lived  at  least  amicably,  she 
could  not  have  been  asked  to  resign  it.  In  the  most  probable  case,  that  they  lived 

*  '  Cuke  upon  Littleton,"  18  b. 
538 


A.   BIOGRAPHY. 

affectionately,  the  legal  provision  of  dower  would  have  been  regarded  as  the  natural 
and  proper  arrangement  —  so  natural  and  usual  as  not  to  be  referred  to  in  a  will. 
By  reference  to  other  wills  of  the  same  period  it  may  be  seen  how  unusual  it  was  to 
make  any  other  provision  for  a  wife  than  by  dower.  Such  a  provision  in  those  days, 
when  the  bulk  of  property  was  real,  was  a  matter  of  course.  The  solution  which 
we  have  here  offered  to  this  long-disputed  question  supersedes  the  necessity  of  any 
conjecture  as  to  the  nature  of  the  provision  which  those  who  reverence  the  memory 
of  Shakspere  must  hold  he  made  for  his  wife.  Amongst  those  conjectures  the  most 
plausible  has  proceeded  from  the  zealous  desire  of  Mr.  Brown  *  to  remove  an 
unmerited  stigma  from  the  memory  of  our  poet.  He  believes  that  provision  was 
made  for  Shakspere's  widow  through  his  theatrical  property,  which  he  imagines  was 
assigned  to  her.  Such  a  conjecture,  true  as  it  may  still  be,  is  not  necessary  for  the 
vindication  of  Shakspere's  sense  of  justice.  We  are  fortunate  in  having  first  pre 
sented  the  true  solution  of  the  difficulty.  There  are  lines  in  Shakspere  familiar  to 
all,  which  would  have  pointed  to  it  :  — 

"  Now,  fair  Hippolyta,  our  nuptial  hour 
Draws  on  apace  ;  four  happy  days  bring  in 
Another  moon  ;  but,  oh  !  methinks  how  slow 
This  old  moon  wanes  !  she  lingers  my  desires 
Like  to  a  step-dame,  or  a  DOWAGER  f 
Long  withering  out  a  young  man's  revenue." 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  Act  I.  Sc.  I. 

The  will  of  Shakspere  thus  commences  :  —  "  I,  William  Shakspere,  of  Strat- 
ford-upon-Avon,  in  the  county  of  Warwick,  gent.,  in  perfect  health  and  memory, 
(God  be  praised  !)  do  make  and  ordain  this  my  last  will  and  testament."  And 
yet  within  one  month  of  this  declaration  William  Shakspere  is  no  more  : 

OBIIT  ANO.  DOI.   1616.  .dETATJS  53.  DIE  23.  AP. 

Such  is  the  inscription  on  his  tomb.     It  is  corroborated  by  the  register  of  his 
burial  :  — 


a  f- 

Writing  forty-six  years  after  the  event,  the  vicar  of  Stratford  says,  "  Shakspere, 
Drayton,  and  Ben  Jonson  had  a  merry  meeting,  and,  it  seems,  drank  too  hard, 
for  Shakspere  died  of  a  fever  there  contracted."  A  tradition  of  this  nature, 
surviving  its  object  nearly  half  a  century,  is  not  much  to  be  relied  on.  But 
if  it  were  absolutely  true,  our  reverence  for  Shakspere  would  not  be  diminished 
by  the  fact  that  he  accelerated  his  end  in  the  exercise  of  hospitality,  according 
to  the  manner  of  his  age,  towards  two  of  the  most  illustrious  of  his  friends. 
The  "  merry  meeting,"  the  last  of  many  social  hours  spent  with  the  full-hearted 
Jonson  and  the  elegant  Drayton,  may  be  contemplated  without  a  painful  feel- 

*  '  Shakspere's  Autobiographical  Poems.' 

t  Dowager  is  here  used  in  the  original  sense  of  a  widow  receiving  dower  out  of  the  "  revenue  "  which 
has  descended  to  the  heir  with  this  customary  charge. 

537 


\VII.I.1AM     >HAKSIT.I;i:  : 

ing.  Shakspere  possessed  a  mind  eminently  social — "he  was  of  a  free  and 
generous  nature."  But,  says  the  tradition  of  half  a  century,  "he  drank  too 
hard "  at  this  "  merry  meeting."  We  believe  that  this  is  the  vulgar  colouring 
of  a  common  incident.  He  "  died  of  a  fever  there  contracted."  The  fever  that 
is  too  often  the  attendant  upon  a  hot  spring,  when  the  low  grounds  upon  a 
river  bank  have  been  recently  inundated,  is  a  fever  that  the  good  people  of 
Stratford  did  not  well  understand  at  that  day.  The  "  merry  meeting "  rounded 
off  a  tradition  much  more  effectively.  Whatever  was  the  immediate  cause  of 
his  last  illness,  we  may  well  believe  that  the  closing  scene  was  full  of  tranquil 
lity  and  hope ;  and  that  he  who  had  sought,  perhaps  more  than  any  man,  to 
look  beyond  the  material  and  finite  things  of  the*  world,  should  rest  at  last  in 
the  "  peace  which  passeth  all  understanding "  —  in  that  assured  belief  which 
the  opening  of  his  will  has  expressed  with  far  more  than  formal  solemnity : — 
"  I  commend  my  soul  into  the  hands  of  God  my  creator,  hoping,  and  assuredly 
believing,  through  the  only  merits  of  Jesus  Christ,  my  Saviour,  to  be  made 
partaker  of  life  everlasting." 


68* 


Monument  at  Stratford.] 


SHAKSPERE'S    WILL. 


"  Vicesimo  quinto  die  Martii,  Anno  Eegni  Domini  nostri  JacoU  nunc  Regis  Angli<s,  Qrc.  decinio 
quarto,  et  Scotia  quadragesimo  nono.    Anno  Domini  1616. 

"  In  the  name  of  God,  Amen.  I,  William  Shakspere,  of  Stratford-upon-Avon,  in  the  county 
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  following  ;  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  Saviour,  to  be  made  partaker  of  life 
everlasting  ;  and  my  body  to  the  earth  whereof  it  is  made. 

u  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto  my  daughter  Judith  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  of  lawful 
English  money,  to  be  paid  unto  her  in  manner  and  form  following;  that  is  to  say, one  hundred 

539 


WILLIAM    SIIAKSPERE: 

pounds  iu  discharge  of  her  marriage  portion  within  one  year  after  rny  decease,  with  consider 
ation  after  the  rate  of  two  shillings  in  the  pound  for  so  long  time  as  the  same  shall  be  unpaid 
unto  her  after  my  decease  ;  and  the  fifty  pounds  residue  thereof,  upon  her  surrendoiing  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  appurtenances,  lying  and  being  in 
Stratford-upon-Avon  aforesaid,  in  the  said  county  of  Warwick,  being  parcel  or  hoi i' en  of  the 
manor  of  Rowington,  unto  my  daughter  Susanna  Hall,  and  her  heirs  for  ever. 

"  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  unto  my  said  daughter  Judith  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
more,  if  she,  or  any  issue  of  her  body,  be  living  at  the  end  of  three  years  next  ensuing  the  day 
of  the  date  of  this  my  will,  during  which  time  my  executors  to  pay  her  consideration  from 
my  decease  according  to  the  rate  aforesaid :  and  if  she  die  within  the  said  term  without  issue 
of  her  boay,  then  my  will  is,  and  I  do  give  and  bequeath  one  hundred  pounds  thereof  to  my 
niece  Elizabeth  Hall,  and  the  fifty  pounds  to  be  set  forth  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  consideration  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  aasure  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  bo 
paid  to  such  husband  as  shall  make  such  assurance,  to  his  own  use. 

"  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  devis •>. 
unto  her  the  house,  with  the  appurtenances,  in  Stratford,  wherein  she  dwelleth,  for  her  naturla 
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  Elizabeth  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  pounds  ;  and  to  Francis  Collins  of  the  borough 
of  Warwick,  in  the  county  of  Warwick,  gent.,  thirteen  pounds  six  shillings  and  eight-pence,  to 
be  paid  within  one  year  after  my  decease. 

"  Item,  I  give  and  bequeath  to  Hamlet  [Ifamnet]  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  William  Walker,  twenty  shillings  in  gold ;  to  Anthony  Nash,  gent., 
twenty-six  shillings  eight-pence ;  and  to  Mr.  John  Nash,  twenty-six  shillings  eight-pence ;  and 
to  my  fellows,  John  Heinynge,  Richard  Burbage,  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  Henley  Street,  within  the  borough  of  Stratford  aforesaid ;  and  all  my  barns,  stables, 
orchards,  gardens,  lands,  tenements,  and  hereditaments  whatsoever,  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  Welcombe,  or  in  any  of  them, 
in  the  said  county  of  Warwick  ;  and  also  all  that  messuage  or  tenement,  with  the  appurtcn- 
MO 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

ances,  wherein  one  John  Robinson  dwelleth,  situate,  lying,  and  being,  in  the  Blackfriars  in 
London,  near  the  Wardrobe  ;  and  all  other  my  lands,  tenements,  and  hereditaments  what 
soever  ;  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  body  lawfully  issuing,  and  to  the  heirs  males  of  the  body  of  the  said  first  son 
lawfully  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  lawfully  isf  uing,  and  to  the  heirs 
males  of  the  body  of  the  said  third  son.  lawfully  issuing  ;  and  for  default  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  remain  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 
males  of  her  body  lawfully  issuing  ;  and  for  default  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  broad  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  expenses  discharged,  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  will  and  testament.  And  I  do  entreat  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  whereof  I  have 
hereunto  put  my  hand,  the  day  and  year  first  above-written. 

"  By  me,  <8ftilliam  Sfcakspcrt. 

"  Witness  to  the  publishing  hereof, 
FRA.  COLLYNS, 
JULIUS  SHAW, 
JOHN  ROBINSON, 
HAMNET  SADLER, 
ROBERT  WHATTCOAT. 


Probation  Mt  testamentum  suprascriptum  apud  London,  coram  Magistro   William   Byrde,  Leffura 
Doctore,  $c.  mcesimo  secundo  die  mentis  Junii,  Anno  Domini  1616  ;  juramento  Johanms  Ua 
unius  ex.  cui,  $c.  de  bene,  ^c.  jurat.  resenata  potentate,  8fc.  Susanna  Hall,  alt.  ex.  fc.  ea 
cenerit,  8fc.  petitur,  tyc" 


541 


WILLIAM   BHAKSPBRE  : 


NOTE  ON  SOME  POINTS  OF  SHAKSPERE'S  WILL. 


THE  solemn  clause,  "  My  body  to  the  earth  whereof  it  is  made,"  was  carried  into  effect  by  the 
burial  of  William  Shakspere  in  the  chancel  of  his  parish  church.  A  tomb  of  which  we  shall 
presently  speak  more  particularly,  was  erected  to  his  memory  before  1623.  The  following  lines 
are  inscribed  beneath  the  bust : — 

"  JVDICIO  PYLIVM,  GENIO  SOCBATEM,  ARTE  MARONEM, 
TERRA  TEOIT,  POPVLVS  M^.RET,  OLYMPVS  HABET. 

STAY,  PASSENGER,  WHY  GOEST  THOV  BY  so  FAST, 
READ,  IF  THOV  CANST,  WHOM  ENVIOVS  DEATH  HATH  PLAST 
WITHIN  THIS  MONVMENT,  SHAKSPEARE,  WITH  WHOMB 
QVICK  NATVRE  DIDE;  WHOSE  NAME  DOTH  DECK  YS.  TOMBE 
FAR  MORE  THEN  COST ;  SITH  ALL  YT.  HE  HATH  WRITT 
LEAVES  LIVING  ART  BVT  PAGE  TO  SERVE  HIS  WITT. 

OBIIT  ANO.  DOI.  1616.     ^TATIS  53.    DIE  23.  AP." 

Below  the  monument,  but  at  a  few  paces  from  the  wall,  is  a  flat  stone,  with  the  following 
extraordinary  inscription : — 

GOOD  FREND  FOR  JESUS  SAKE  FORBEARS 
To  DIGG  T— E  DUST  ENCLOASED  HE.RE. 
BLESE  BE  T — E  MAN  *  SPARES  T — Es  STONES 
AND  CURST  BE  HE  $  MOVES  MY  BONES. 

In  a  letter  from  Warwickshire,  in  1693,*  the  writer,  after  describing  the  monument  to  Shak 
spere,  and  giving  its  inscription,  says,  "Near  the  wall  where  this  monument  is  erected 
lie  the  plain  free-stone  underneath  which  his  body  is  buried,  with  this  epitaph  made  by 
himself  a  little  before  his  death."  Ho  then  gives  the  epitaph,  and  subsequently  adds, 
"  Not  one  for  fear  of  the  curse  above-said  dare  touch  his  grave-stone,  though  his  wife  and 
daughters  did  earnestly  desire  to  be  laid  in  the  same  grave  with  him."  This  information 
is  given  by  the  tourist  upon  the  authority  of  the  clerk  who  showed  him  the  church,  who  "was 
above  eighty  years  old."  Here  is  unquestionable  authority  for  the  existence  of  this  free-stone 
seventy-seven  years  after  the  death  of  Shakspere.  We  have  an  earlier  authority.  In  a  plate 
to  Dugdale's  '  Antiquities  of  Warwickshire,'  first  published  in  1656,  we  have  a  representation 
of  Shakspere's  tomb,  with  the  following : — "  Neare  the  wall  where  this  monument  is  erected 
lyeth  a  plain  free-stone,  underneath  which  his  body  is  buried,  with  this  epitaph — 

"  Good  frend,"  &c. 

But  it  is  very  remarkable,  we  think,  that  this  plain  free-stone  does  not  bear  the  name  of 
Shakspere — has  nothing  to  establish  the  fact  that  the  stone  originally  belonged  to  his  grave. 
We  apprehend  that  during  the  period  that  elapsed  between  his  death  and  the  setting-up  of 
the  monument,  a  stone  was  temporarily  placed  over  the  grave ;  and  that  the  warning  not  to 
touch  the  bones  was  the  stone-mason's  invention,  to  secure  their  reverence  till  a  fitting  monu 
ment  should  be  prepared,  if  the  stone  were  not  ready  in  his  yard  to  aerve  for  any  grave.  We 
quite  agree  with  Mr.  Do  Quincey  that  this  doggrel  attributed  to  Shakspere  is  "  equally  below 
his  intellect  no  less  than  his  scholarship,"  and  we  hold  with  him  that  "as  a  sort  of  «.»&- 
viator  appeal  to  future  sextons,  it  is  worthy  of  the  grave-digger  or  the  parish  clerk,  who  was 
probably  its  author." 

The  bequest  of  the  second-best  bed  to  his  wife  was  an  interlineation  in  Shakspere's  WilL 
"He  had  forgot  her,"  says  Malone.  There  was  another  bequest  which  was  also  an  interlineation  . 

*  Published  fi  Jin  the  original  manuscript  by  Mr.  Rodd,  1833. 
542 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

"To  my  fellows,  John  Hemynge,  Richard  Burbage,  and  Henry  Cundell  twenty-six  shillings 
eightpence  apiece,  to  buy  them  rings."  It  is  not  unlikely  that  these  companions  of  his  pro 
fessional  life  derived  substantial  advantages  from  his  death,  and  probably  paid  him  an  annuity 
after  his  retirement.  The  bequest  of  the  rings  marked  his  friendship  to  them,  as  the  bequest 
of  the  bed  his  affection  to  his  wife.  She  died  on  the  6th  of  August,  1623,  and  was  buried  on 
the  8th.  according  to  the  register — 

g 

Her  grave-stone  is  next  to  the  stone  with  the  doggrel  inscription,  but  nearer  to  the  north 
wall,  upon  which  Shakspere's  monument  is  placed.  The  stone  has  a  brass  plate,  with  the 
following  inscription  :• — 

"  HEERE  LTETH  INTERRED  THE  BODTE  OP  ANNE,  WIFE  OF  MR.  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE,  WHO 

DEPTED.  THIS  LIFE  THE   6TH  DAY  OF  AvGVST,  1623,  BEING  OF  THE  AGE  OF  67   YEARES." 

"  VBERA,  TU  MATER,  TU  LAO  VITAMQ.  DEDISTI, 

~VjE  MIHI;  PRO  TANTO  MUNERE  SAXA  DABO ! 
QUASI  MALLEM,  AMOUEAT  LAPIDEM,  BONUS  ANGEL*  ORE' 

EXEAT  UT  CHRISTI  CORPUS,  IMAGO  TUA  1 
SED  NIL  VOTA  VALENT,  VENIAS  CITO  CHRISTE  RESURGET, 

CLAUSA  LICET  TUMULO  MATER,  ET  ASTRA  PETET." 

It  is  evident  that  the  epitaph  was  intended  to  express  the  deep  affection  of  her  daughter, 
to  whom  Shakspere  bequeathed  a  life  interest  in  his  real  property,  and  the  bulk  of  his  personal 
The  widow  of  Shakspere  in  all  likelihood  resided  with  this  elder  daughter.  It  is  possible 
that  they  formed  one  family  previous  to  his  death.  That  daughter  died  on  the  llth  of  July, 
1649,  having  survived  her  husband,  Dr.  Hall,  fourteen  years.  She  is  described  as  widow  in 
the  register  of  burials : — 


Ranging  with  the  other  stones,  but  nearer  the  south  wall,  is  a  flat  stone  now  bearing  the 
following  inscription : — 

"  HEERE  LYETH  YE.  BODY  OF  SVSANNA,  WIFE  TO  JOHN  HALL,  GENT.  YE.  DAVGHTER  OF 
WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE,  GENT.  SHE  DECEASED  YE.  HTH  OF  JVLY,  Ao.  1649,  AGED  66." 
On  the  same  stone  is  an  inscription  for  Richard  Watts,  who  had  no  relationship  to  Shakspere 
or  his  descendants.  Fortunately  Dugdale  has  preserved  an  inscription  which  the  masons  of 
Stratford  obliterated,  to  make  room  for  the  record  of  Richard  Watts,  who  has  thus  attained 
a  distinction  to  which  he  had  no  claim: 

"  WITTY  ABOVE  HER  SEXE,  BUT  THAT'S  NOT  ALL, 
WISE  TO  SALVATION  WAS  GOOD  MISTRIS  HALL, 
SOMETHING  OF  SHAKESPERE  WAS  IN  THAT,  BUT  THIS 
WHOLY  OF  HIM  WITH  WHOM  SHE'S  NOW  IN  BLISSE. 

THEN,  PASSENGER,  HA'ST  NE'RE  A  TEARE, 

To  WEEPE  WITH  HER  THAT  WEPT  WITH  ALL? 
THAT  WEPT,  YET  SET  HERSELFE  TO  CHERE 

THEM  UP  WITH  COMFORTS  CORDIALL. 
HER  LOVE  SHALL  LIVE,  HER  MERCY  SPREAD, 
WHEN  THOU  HAST  NE'RE  A  TEARE  TO  SHED." 

Judith,  the  second  daughter  of  Shakspere,  lived  till  1662.    She  was  buried  on  the  9th  of 
February  of  that  year : 

WS 


WILLIAM  SHAKSPERE: 


a 

Her  married  life  must  have  been  one  of  constant  affliction  in  the  bereavement  of  her 
children.  Her  first  son,  who  was  named  Shakspere,  was  born  in  November,  1616,  and  died  in 
May,  1617.  Her  second  son,  Richard,  was  born  in  February,  1 618,  and  died  in  February,  1639. 
Her  third  son,  Thomas,  was  born  in  August,  1619,  and  died  in  January,  1639.  Thus  perished 
all  of  the  second  branch  of  the  heirs  male  of  William  Shakspere.  His  grand-daughter  Elizabeth, 
the  only  child  of  his  daughter  Susanna,  was  married  in  1626,  when  she  was  eighteen  years  of 
age,  to  Mr.  Thomas  Nash,  a  native  of  Stratford.  He  died  in  1647,  leaving  no  children.  She 
remained  a  widow  about  two  years,  having  married,  on  the  5th  of  June,  1649,  Mr.  John  Barnard 
of  Abington,  near  Northampton.  He  was  a  widower  with  a  large  family.  They  were  married 
at  Billesley,  near  Stratford.  Her  husband  was  created  a  knight  by  Charles  II.  in  1661.  The 
grand-daughter  of  Shakspere  died  in  February,  1670,  and  was  buried  at  Abington.  Her 
signature,  with  a  seal,  the  same  as  that  used  by  her  mother,— the  arms  of  Hall  impaled  with 
those  of  Shakspere,  is  affixed  to  a  deed  of  appointment  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Wheler  of 
Stratford.  She  left  no  issue. 


We  have  seen  that  all  the  sons  of  Judith  Quiney  were  dead  at  the  commencement  of  1639. 
Shakspere's  elder  daughter  and  grand-daughter  were  therefore  at  liberty  to  treat  the  property 
as  their  own  by  the  usual  processes  of  law.  The  mode  in  which  they,  in  the  first  instance, 
made  it  subservient  to  their  family  arrangements  is  thus  clearly  stated  by  Mr.  Wheler,  in  an 
interesting  tract  on  the  birth-place  of  Shakspere : — "  By  a  deed  of  the  27th  of  May,  1639,  and 
a  fine  and  recovery  (Trinity  and  Michaelmas  Terms,  15th  Charles  I.),  Mrs.  Susannah  Hall, 
Shakspere's  eldest  daughter,  with  Thomas  Nash,  Esq.,  and  Elizabeth  his  wife  (Mrs.  Hall's  only 
child),  confirmed  this  and  our  bard's  other  estates  to  Mrs.  Hall  for  her  life,  and  afterwards 
settled  them  upon  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Nash,  and  her  issue ;  but  in  the  event  of  her  leaving  no 
family,  then  upon  Mr.  Nash.  As,  however,  Mr.  Nash  died  4th  April,  1647,  without  issue, 
a  resettlement  of  the  property  was  immediately  adopted,  to  prevent  its  falling  to  the  heir  of 
Mr.  Nash,  who  had,  by  his  will  of  the  26th  of  August,  1642,  devised  his  reversionary  interest  in 
the  principal  part  of  Shakspere's  estates  to  his  cousin  Edward  Nash.  By  a  subsequent  settle 
ment,  therefore,  of  the  2nd  of  June,  1647,  and  by  another  fine  and  recovery  (Easter  and 
Michaelmas  Terms,  23rd  Charles  I.),  Shakspere's  natal  place  and  his  other  estates  were  again 
limited  to  the  bard's  descendants,  restoring  to  Mrs.  Nash  the  ultimate  power  over  the 
property."  Upon  the  second  marriage  of  Shakspere's  grand-daughter  other  arrangements 
were  made,  in  the  usual  form  of  fine  and  recovery,  by  which  New  Place,  and  all  the  other 
property  which  she  inherited  of  William  Shakspere,  her  grandfather,  were  settled  to  the  use 
of  John  Barnard  and  Elizabeth  his  wife,  for  the  term  of  their  natural  lives  ;  then  to  the  heirs 
of  the  said  Elizabeth  ;  and  in  default  of  such  issue  to  the  use  of  such  person,  and  for  such 
estate,  as  the  said  Elizabeth  shall  appoint  by  any  writing,  either  purporting  to  be  her  last  will 
or  otherwise.  She  did  make  her  last  will  on  the  29th  of  January,  1669 ;  according  to  which, 
after  the  death  of  Sir  John  Barnard,  the  property  was  to  be  sold.  Thus,  in  half  a  century,  the 
estates  of  Shakspere  were  scattered  and  went  out  of  his  family,  with  the  exception  of  the  two 
houses  in  Henley  Street,  where  he  is  held  to  have  been  born,  which  Lady  Barnard  devised  to  her 
kinsman  Thomas  Hart,  the  grandson  of  Shakspere's  sister  Joan.  Those  who  are  curious  to 
trace  the  continuity  of  the  line  of  the  Harts  will  find  very  copious  extracts  from  the  Stratford 
registers  in  Boswell's  edition  of  Malone. 
544 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 


NOTE  ON  THE  AUTOGRAPHS  OF  SHAKSPERE. 


THE  will  of  Shakspere,  preserved  in  the  Prerogative  Office,  Doctors'  Commons,  is  written  upon 
three  sheets  of  paper.     The  name  is  subscribed  at  the  right-hand  corner  of  the  first  sheet;  at 
the  left-hand  corner  of  the  second  sheet;  and  immediately  before  the  names  of  the  witnesses 
upon  the  third  sheet.    These  signatures,  engraved  from  a  tracing  by  Steevens,  were  first 
published  in  1778.     The  first  signature  has  been  much  damaged  since  it  Was  originally  traced 
by  Steevens.     It  was  for  a  long  time  thought  that  in  the  first  and  second  of  these  signatures 
the  poet  had  written  his  name  Shakspere,  but  in  the  third  Shakspeare;  and  Steevens  and  Malone 
held,  therefore,  that  they  had  authority  in  the  handwriting  of  the  poet  for  uniformly  spelling 
his  name  Shakspeare.   They  rested  this  mode  of  spelling  the  name  not  upon  the  mode  in  which 
it  was  usually  printed  during  the  poet's  life,  and  especially  in  the  genuine  editions  of  his  own 
works,  which  mode  was  Shakespeare,  but  upon  this  signature  to  the  last  sheet  of  his  will, 
which  they  fancied  contained  an  a  in  the  last  syllable.  When  William  Henry  Ireland,  in  1795, 
produced  his  '  Miscellaneous  Papers  and  Legal  Instruments/  it  was  necessary  that  he  should 
fabricate  Shakspere's  name,  and  the  engraving  published  by  Steevens  enabled  him  to  do  so. 
He  varied  the  spelling,  as  he  found  it  said  to  be  varied  ha  the  signatures  to  the  will ;  but  he 
more  commonly  spelt  the  name  with  the  a  in  the  final  syllable.    His  confidence  in  the 
Shakspere  editors  supplied  one  of  the  means  for  his  detection.     Malone,  in  his  'Inquiry,' 
published  in  1796,  has  a  confession  upon  this  subject,  which  is  almost  as  curious  as  any  one 
of  Ireland's  own  confessions:— "In  the  year  1776  Mr. Steevens,  in  my  presence,  traced  with 
the  utmost  accuracy  the  three  signatures  affixed  by  the  poet  to  his  will.     While  two  of  these 
manifestly  appeared  to  us  Shakspere,  we  conceived  that  in  the  third  there  was  a  variation ; 
and  that  in  the  second  syllable  an  a  was  found.     Accordingly  we  have  constantly  so  exhibited  the 
poefs  name  ever  since  that  time.    It  ought  certainly  to  have  struck  us  as  a  very  extraordinary 
circumstance,  that  a  man  should  write  his  name  twice  one  way,  and  once  another,  on  the 
same  paper:  however,  it  did  not;  and  1  had  no  suspicion  of  our  mistake  till,  about  three 
years  ago,  I  received  a  very  sensible  letter  from  an  anonymous  correspondent,  who  showed 
me  very  clearly  that,  though  there  was  a  superfluous  stroke  when  the  poet  came  to  write  the 
letter  r  in  his  last  signature,  probably  from  the  tremor  of  his  hand,  there  was  no  «  discover 
able  in  that  syllable;  and  that  this  name,  like  both  the  other,  was  written  'Shakspere.' 
Revolving  this  matter  in  my  mdnd^,  it  occurred  to  me,  that  in  the  new  fac-simile  of  his  name  which 
I  gave  in  1790,  my  engraver  had  made  a  mistake  in  placing  an  a  over  the  name  which  was  there 
exhibited,  and  that  what  was  supposed  to  be  that  letter  was  only  a  mark  of  abbreviation,  with 
a  turn  or  curl  at  the  first  part  of  it,  which  gave  it  the  appearance  of  a  letter.     ...    If 
Mr.  Steevens  and  I  had  maliciously  intended  to  lay  a  trap  for  this  fabricator  to  fall  into,  we 
eould  not  have  done  the  business  more  adroitly."    The  new  fac-simile  to  which  Malone  here 
alludes  continued  to  be  given  with  the  a  over  the  name,  in  subsequent  editions  ;  and  we  have 
no  alternative  but  to  copy  it  from  the  engraving.    It  was  taken  from  the  mortgage  deed 
executed  by  Shakspere  on  the  1 1th  of  March,  1613  *    When  Malone's  engraver  turned  the  r» 
of  that  signature  into  an  a,  the  deed  was  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Albany  Wallis,  a  sohc: 
It  was  subsequently  presented  to  Garrick ;  but  after  his  death  was  nowhere  to  ^ be  foun 
Malone,  however,  traced  that  the  counterpart  of  the  deed  of  bargain  and  sale  dated  t 
of  March,  1613,  was  also  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Wallis ;  and  he  corrected  his  former  e. 
engraving  the  signature  to  that  deed  in  his  'Inquiry'     He  says,  "Notwithstanding  1 
authority,  I  shall  still  continue  to  write  our  poet's  name  Shakspeare,  for  reasons  whi 

*  See  Note  at  the  end  of  Chapter  XI. 
L™.         2N  B« 


\VI1.1. 1AM 

assigned  in  his  Life.  But  whethei  in  doing  so  I  am  right  or  wrong,  it  is  manifest  that  he  wrot« 
it  himself  Shakxpere;  and  therefor*  if  any  original  Letter  or  other  MS.  of  his  shall  ever  be  dis 
covered,  his  name  will  appear  in  that  form."  This  prophecy  has  been  partly  realized.  The 
autograph  of  Shakspere,  corresponding  in  its  orthography  with  the  other  documents,  was 
found  in  a  small  folio  volume,  the  first  edition  of  Florio's  translation  of  Montaigne,  having 
been  sixty  years  io  the  possession  of  the  Rev.  Edward  Patteson,  minister  of  Smethwick, 
near  Birmingham.  In  1838  the  volume  was  sold  by  auction,  and  purchased  by  the  British 
Museum  for  one  hundred  pounds.  The  deed  of  bargain  and  sale,  the  signature  of  which 
was  copied  by  Maloue  in  1796,  was  sold  by  auction  in  1841,  and  was  purchased  by  the 
Corporation  of  London  for  one  hundred  and  forty-five  pounds.  The  purchase  was  denounced 
in  the  Court  of  Common  Council  as  "a  most  wasteful  and  prodigal  expenditure  ;"  but  it  was 
defended  upon  the  ground  that  "  it  was  not  very  likely  that  the  purchase  of  the  autograph 
would  be  acted  upon  as  a  precedent,  for  Shakspere  stood  alone  in  the  history  of  the  literature 
of  the  world."  Honoured  be  those  who  have  thus  shown  a  reverence  for  the  name  of  Shak 
spere  !  It  is  a  symptom  of  returning  health  in  the  Corporation  of  London,  after  a  long  plethora, 
which  might  have  ended  in  sudden  death.  In  former  ages  she  has  been  the  assertor  of  liberty 
and  the  encourager  of  learning.  She  has  called  in  the  poet  to  her  pageants  and  the  painter  to 
her  high  festivals.  In  later  times  her  state  and  ancientry  have  been  child's  play  and  burlesque 
If  the  altered  spirit  of  the  majority  is  willing  thus  to  reverence  the  symbol  of  the  highest 
literature,  in  Shakspere's  autograph,  that  spirit  will  lead  to  a  wise  employment  of  the  civic 
riches,  in  the  encouragement  of  intellectual  efforts  in  their  own  day.  This  was  written  in 
1843.  There  are  evidences  of  a  better  spirit,  such  as  is  evinced  in  the  City  Library,  a  most 
valuable  institution,  freely  opened  to  men  of  letters. 

We  subjoin  fac-similes  of  the  six  authentic  autographs  of  Shakspere.  That  at  the  head  of 
the  page  is  from  the  Montaigne  of  Florio  ;  the  left,  with  the  seal,  is  from  the  counterpart  of 
the  Conveyance  in  the  possession  of  the  Corporation  of  London  ;  the  right,  with  the  seal,  is 
from  Malone's  fac  simile  of  the  Mortgage-deed  which  has  been  lost ;  the  three  others  are  from 
the  three  sheets  of  the  will . 


\Y1I.I.IA.M    SHAKHT.i;!.: 


JSTRATFGKD    11EG1STEKS. 


BA1TISM3. 

Septeber  15     ....  Joue  Sbakspere  daughter  to  John  Shakapere. 

1562  December  2    ....  Margareta  filia  Johanuis  Shakspere. 

1564  April  26 Qulielmus  films  Johaanes  Shakspere. 

1566  October  13      ....  Gilbertus  filius  Johauuis  Shakspere. 

1569  April  15 lone  tbe  daughter  of  Jobn  Shakspere. 

1571  Septeb  28 Anna  filia  Magistri  Shakspere. 

1573  [1573-4]  March  11  .     .  Richard  sonue  to  Mr.  Johii  Shakspeer. 

1580  May  3 Edmuiid  sonne  to  Mr.  John  Shakepere. 

1583  May  26 Susanna  daughter  to  William  Shakspere. 

1584  [1584-5]  February  2    .  Haiimet  &  ludeth  aonne  &  daughter  to  Willia  Shaksp«sre 

%*  There  are  then  entries  of  Ursula,  1588  ;  Humphrey,  1590 ;  Philippus,  1591 ; — children  ot 

John  Shak.spere  (not  Mr.) 

MABHIAQES. 

1607  Juuii  5 John  Hall  gentlema  &  Susanna  Shaxspere. 

1615  [1615-6]  February  10.     Tho  :  Queeny  tow  Judith  Shakspere. 

BURIALS. 

1563  April  30 Margaret  filia  Johannis  Shakspere. 

1579  April  4 Anne  daughter  to  Mr.  John  Shakspere. 

1596  August  11 Hamuet  filius  William  Shakspere. 

1601  Septemb  8 Mr.  Johaues  Shakspeare. 

1608  Sept  9   ......     Mayry  Shaxspere,  Widowe. 

1612  [1612-13]  February  4  .     Rich.  Shakspeare. 

1616  April  25 Will :  Shakspere,  Gent. 

1623  August  8 Mrs.  Shakspeare. 

1649  July  16 Mrs.  Susanna  Hall,  Widow. 

1661  [1661-2]  Feb.  9  .     .     .     Judith  uxor  Thomas  Quiney. 

%*  It  appears  by  the  Register  of  Burials  that  Dr.  Hall,  one  of  the  sous-in-law  of  William  Shakspere, 
was  buried  on  the  26th  November,  1635.  He  is  described  in  the  entry  as  "  Medicus  peritissiinus." 
The  Register  contains  no  entry  of  the  burial  of  Thomas  Quiney.  Elizabeth,  the  daughter  of  John  and 
Susanna  Hall,  waa  baptized  February  21,  1607  [1607-8];  and  she  is  mentioned  in  her  illustrious 
grandfather's  will.  The  children  of  Judith,  who  was  only  married  two  months  before  the  death  of  her 
father,  appear  to  have  been  three  sons,  all  of  whom  died  before  their  mother. 


NOTE  ON  THE  PORTRAITS  OF  SHAKSPERE. 


THE  title-page  to  this  volume,  which  has  been  engraved  by  Mr.  Thompson  in  a  style  that  carries  the 
powers  of  wood-engraving  as  far  as  they  can  go,  contains  five  portraits  of  Shakspere.  There  are  several 
other  portraits  which  are  held  to  be  authentic ;  and  many  which  bear  the  imputation  of  being  forgeries. 
Volumes  have  been  written  on  the  subject  of  the  genuineness  of  Shakspere's  portraits.  We  shall  only 
attempt  a  very  brief  notice  of  those  which  we  now  publish.  The  design  over  the  title  of  the  volume 
exhibits  the  bust  upon  Shakspere's  Monument  in  three  several  positions.  The  sculptor  of  that 
monument  was  Gerard  Johnson.  .The  tomb  itself  is  accurately  represented  at  the  head  of  Shakspere's 
Will.  We  learn  the  name  of  the  sculptor  from  Dugdale's  correspondence,  published  by  Mr.  Hamper 
in  1827 ;  and  we  collect  from  the  verses  by  Leonard  Digges,  prefixed  to  the  first  edition  of  Shakspere, 
that  it  was  erected  previous  to  1623  :  — 

"  Shakespeare,  at  length  thy  pious  fellows  give 
The  world  thy  works :  thy  works  by  which  outlive 
Thy  tomb  thy  name  must:  when  that  stone  is  rent, 
And  time  dissolves  thy  Stratford  monument, 
Here  we  alive  shall  view  thee  still.    This  book, 
When  brass  and  marble  fade,  shall  make  thee  IOOK 
Fresh  to  all  ages." 

The  fate  of  this  portrait  of  Shakspere,  for  we  may  well  account  it  as  such,  is  a  singular  one.  Mr. 
Britton,  who  has  on  many  occasions  manifested  an  enthusiastic  feeling  for  the  associations  belong- 
ng  to  the  great  poet,  published  in  1816  'Remarks  on  his  Monumental  Bust,'  from  which  we 
vxtract  the  following  passage : — "  The  bust  is  the  size  of  life ;  it  is  formed  out  of  a  block  of  soft 
stone;  and  was  originally  painted  over  in  imitation  of  nature.  The  hands  and  face  were  of  flesh 
colour,  the  eyes  of  a  light  hazel,  and  the  hair  and  beard  auburn ;  the  doublet  or  coat  wa*  scarlet, 
and  covered  with  a  loose  black  gown,  or  tabard,  without  sleeves ;  the  upper  part  of  the  cushion  was 
green,  the  under  half  crimson,  and  the  tassels  gilt.  Such  appear  to  have  been  the  original  features 
of  this  important,  but  neglected  or  insulted  bust.  After  remaining  in  this  state  above  one  hundred 
and  twenty  years,  Mr.  John  Ward,  grandfather  to  Mrs.  Siddons  and  Mr.  Kemble,  caused  it  to  be 
'  repaired/  and  t'he  original  colours  preserved,  in  1748,  from  the  profits  of  the  representation  of 
Othello.  This  was  a  generous,  and  apparently  judicious  act ;  and  therefore  very  unlike  the  next 

549 


WILLIAM  SIIAKSPKIM:: 

alteration  it  was  subjected  to  in  1798.  In  that  year  Mr.  Malone  caused  the  bust  to  be  covered  over 
with  one  or  more  coats  of  white  paint ;  and  thus  at  once  destroyed  its  original  character,  and  greatly 
injured  the  expression  of  the  face."  It  is  fortunate  that  we  live  in  an  age  when  no  such  unscrupulous 
insolence  as  that  of  Malone  can  be  again  tolerated. 

The  small  head  to  the  right  of  the  bust,  engraved  from  the  little  print,  by  WILLIAM  MARSHALL, 
prefixed  to  the  edition  of  Shakspere's  poems  in  1640,  is  considered  amongst  the  genuine  portraits  of 
Shakspere.  It  is  probably  reduced,  with  alterations,  from  the  print  by  MARTIN  DROESHOUT,  which 
is  prefixed  to  the  folio  of  1623.  This  portrait  appears  at  the  bottom  of  our  title.  The  original 
engraving  is  not  a  good  one ;  and  as  the  plate  furnished  the  portraits  to  three  subsequent  editions,  it 
is  not  easy  to  find  a  good  impression.  The  persons  who  published  this  portrait  were  the  friends  of 
Shakspere.  It  was  published  at  a  time  when  his  features  would  be  well  recollected  by  many  of  his 
contemporaries.  The  accuracy  of  the  resemblance  is  also  attested  by  the  following  lines  from  the  pen 
of  Ben  Jonson  : — 

"  This  figure,  that  thou  here  sevst  put, 
It  was  for  gentle  Shakespeare  cut ; 
Wherein  the  graver  had  a  strife 
With  Nature,  to  outdo  the  life : 
O,  could  he  but  have  drawn  his  wit 
As  well  in  brass,  as  he  had  hit 
Hii  face,  the  print  would  then  surpass 
All  that  was  ever  writ  in  brass. 
But,  since  he  cannot,  Reader,  look 
Not  on  his  Picture,  but  his  Book."— B.  J. 

Under  these  circumstances  we  are  inclined  to  regard  it  as  the  most  genuine  of  the  portraits  of 
Shakspere.  It  wants  that  high  art  which  seizes  upon  a  likeness  by  general  resemblance,  and  not 
through  the  merely  accurate  delineation  of  features.  The  draughtsman  from  whom  this  engraving 
was  made,  and  the  sculptor  of  the  bust  at  Stratford,  were  literal  copyists.  It  ia  perfectly  clear  that 
they  were  working  upon  the  same  original. 

The  portrait  on  the  right  of  our  title  is  the  famous  CHAN  DOS  picture,  formerly  preserved  at  Stowe. 
It  has  a  history  belonging  to  it  which  says  much  for  its  authenticity.  It  formerly  belonged  to 
Davenant,  and  afterwards  to  Betterton.  When  in  Better-ton's  possession  it  was  engraved  for  Howe's 
edition  of  Shakspere's  works.  It  subsequently  passed  into  various  hands ;  during  which  transit  it 
was  engraved,  first  by  Vertue  and  afterwards  by  Houbraken.  It  became  the  property  of  the  Duke 
of  Chandos,  by  marriage:  and  thence  descended  to  the  Buckingham  family.  Kneller  copied  this 
portrait  for  Dryden,  and  the  poet  addressed  to  the  painter  the  following  verses  as  a  return  for  hia 
gift:'— 

"  Shakspeare,  thy  gift,  I  place  before  my  sight, 
With  awe  I  ask  his  blessing  as  I  write ; 
With  reverence  look  on  his  majestic  face, 
Proud  to  be  less,  but  of  his  godlike  race. 
His  soul  inspires  me,  while  thy  praise  I  write, 
And  I  like  Teucer  under  Ajax  fight : 
Bids  thee,  through  me,  be  bold ;  with  dauntless  breast 
Contemn  the  bad,  and  emulate  the  best : 
Like  his,  thy  critics  in  the  attempt  are  lost, 
When  most  they  rail,  know  then,  they  envy  most." 

At  the  sale  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham's  effects  it  was  purchased  by  the  Earl  of  Elles^nei-e,  and  was 
presented  by  him  to  the  Tiu*tees  of  the  National  Portrait  Gallery. 

The  portrait  on  the  left  is  held  to  have  been  painted  by  CORNELIUS  JANSEN.  An  engraving  from  it 
was  made  by  Earlom,  and  was  prefixed  to  an  edition  of  King  Lear,  published  in  1770,  edited  by 
Mr.  Jennens.  It  has  subsequently  been  more  carefully  engraved  by  Mr.  Turner,  for  Mr.  Boaden's 
•  Inquiry  into  the  Authenticity  of  the  Portraits  of  Shakspere.'  This  portrait  has  the  inscription, 
"  JE"  46,  1610;"  and  in  a  scroll  over  the  head  are  the  words  "Ut  :  Magus."  Mr.  Boaden  says,  "The 
two  words  are  extracted  from  the  famous  Epistle  of  Horace  to  Augustus,  the  First  of  the  Second 
Book ;  the  particular  passage  this  : — 


•  This  picture,  by  permission  of  the  late  Duke  of  Buckingham,  was  copied  for  the  engraving  In  the  'Gallery  of  Portraits,1 
for  the  first  time  for  forty  yeais;  and  the  copy,  by  Mr.  Witherington,  R.A.,  is  in  our  possession. 
550 


A   BIOGRAPHY. 

'  Ille  per  extentum  funem  mlhi  posse  videtur 
Ire'poeta ;  meum  qui  pectus  inaniter  angit, 
Irritat,  mulcet,  falsis  terroribus  implet, 
lit  Magus ;  et  inodo  me  Tliubin,  modo  ponit  Athenis. 

No  mau  ever  took  this  '  extended  range '  more  securely  than  Shakspere ;  no  man  ever  possessed  s« 
ample  a  control  over  the  passions ;  and  he  transported  his  hearers,  '  as  a  magician,'  over  lands  and 
seas,  from  one  kingdom  to  another,  superior  to  all  circumscription  or  confine."  The  picture  passed 
from  the  possession  of  Mr.  Jennens  into  that  of  the  Duke  of  Somerset. 


[Bust  at  Stratford.J 


SIIAKSPF.RF,  : 


NOTE  ON  THE   SI  I. \Ksl>ERE  HOUSE  AND   NEW  PLACE. 


IN  accordance  with  a  Note  to  Cliap.  III.,  page  33,  we  proceed  to  give  an  account  of  the  present 
stiit.-  of  those  properties  at  Stratford,  connected  with  Shakspere,  which  have  been  purchased  by  public 
subscription.  The  writer  of  this  '  Biography '  has  given,  in  his  '  Passages  of  a  Working  Life,'  some 
particulars  relating  to  the  purchase  of  the  premises  in  Henley  Street,  of  which  the  following  is  an 
abridgment : — 

The  house  in  which  Sbakspere  is  reputed  to  have  been  born  was  for  sale.  The  old  tenement  at 
Stratford-upon-Avon,  in  which  his  father  had  lived,  had  been  an  object  of  curiosity  and  reverence 
during  many  years.  Our  countrymen  went  out  of  their  way  to  look  at  it,  even  in  the  days  before 
railroads.  Foreigners,  and  Americans  especially,  talked  about  it  and  wrote  about  it.  The  freehold 
property  had  descended  to  a  branch  of  Shakspere's  family  of  the  name  of  Hart.  At  the  beginning  of 
1847  it  was  announced  that  it  was  to  be  sold  to  the  highest  bidder.  It  was  determined,  amongst  a  few 
friends,  to  call  a  public  meeting  at  the  Thatched  House  Tavern.  There  were  no  titled  names  paraded 
to  draw  together  a  company ;  yet  there  was  a  full  attendance.  A  Committee  was  nominated,  chiefly  of 
men  of  letters.  One  nobleman  only,  Lord  Morpeth,  was  included  in  the  nomination.  He  was  not  a 
mere  ornamental  adjunct  to  a  working  Committee,  but  laboured  as  strenuously  as  any  of  us  to 
accomplish  the  object  for  which  we  were  associated.  We  raised  a  large  subscription,  though  it  wan 
somewhat  short  of  the  three  thousand  pounds  for  which  we  obtained  the  property.  The  deficiency 
was  subsequently  made  up,  in  some  measure,  by  a  performance  at  Covent  Garden  Thwitre,  in  which 
all  the  great  actors  and  actresses  of  the  time  took  scenes  from  various  plays  of  Shakspere ;  and  partly 
by  the  proceeds  of  gratuitous  Readings  by  Mr.  Macready,  at  the  time  when  he  was  leaving  the  stage. 

When  the  Shakspere  House  had  been  purchased  by  the  London  Committee,  and  when  the  adjoining 
tenements  had  also  been  purchased  by  a  separate  subscription  at  Stratford,  the  necessity  was  apparent 
of  having  the  house  taken  care  of,  and  shown  to  visitors,  by  some  one,  who,  at  the  leswt,  would  not 
cast  an  air  of  ridicule  over  the  whole  thing,  as  was  the  case  with  the  ignorant  women  who  had  made  a 
property  of  it  by  the  receipt  of  shillings  and  sixpences.  Mr.  Charles  Dickens  organized  a  series  of 
Amateur  Performances,  "  in  aid  of  the  Fund  for  the  endowment  of  a  perpetual  Curatorship  of  Shak 
spere's  House,  to  be  always  held  by  some  one  distinguished  in  Literature,  and  more  especially  in 
Dramatic  Literature;  the  profits  of  which  it  is  the  intention  of  the  Shakspere  House  Committee  to 
keep  entirely  separate  from  the  fund  now  raising  for  the  purchase  of  the  House."  In  the  July  of  that 
year  the  same  performances,  with  a  few  variations  of  cast,  were  repeated  at  Edinburgh  and  at  Glasgow. 
The  receipts  of  the  London  nnd  Provincial  performances  were  considerable.  There  were  many  diffi 
culties  in  the  way  of  appointing  a  Curator  of  the  Shakspere  House.  Lord  Morpeth  had  pledged  himself, 
in  his  official  character,  thah  if  the  house  were  vested  in  the  Crown,  it  should  be  preserved  with  reli 
gious  care.  n»  the  property  of  the  British  people,  and  should  be  maintained  ns  the  honoured  residence 
of  some  dramatic  author,  who  should  be  salaried  by  the  Government.  This  project,  defeated  by  the 
retirement  of  Lord  Morpeth  from  office,  would  have  been  in  many  respects  desirable ;  for  we  may 
venture  to  inquire  if  there  is  any  efficient  Trust  for  this  property,  and  whether  the  Act  of  Mortmain 
does  not  interfere  with  any  such  Trust  being  created.  It  was  conveyed  in  fee  by  the  vendors,  in  1847, 
to  two  gentlemen.  Mr.  Dickens  and  his  friends  wisely  determined  to  do  something  useful  with  the 
proceeds  of  their  labours,  and  they  bought  an  annuity  for  one  of  the  most  able  of  our  dramatic  authors, 
Mr.  Sheridan  Knowles. 

A  bequest  made  by  a  gentleman  of  the  same  name  as  the  poet  has  enabled  the  authorities  at  Strat 
ford  to  put  the  premises  in  Henley  Street  in  good  repair;  to  remove  all  nuisances  surrounding 
them ;  and  to  lay  out  the  garden  in  a  style  that  has  pleasing  associations,  for  its  shrubs  and 
flowers  are  of  those  mentioned  by  Shakspere.  In  this  house  a  Library  and  Museum  have  been 
established.  The  admission  here  is  upon  a  payment  of  sixpence. 

In  1862,  certain  premises,  which  could  be  identified  as  part  of  the  old  property  of  New  Place,  were 
conveyed  to  Mr.  Halliwell,  upon  his  payment  of  £3,200.  This  sum  was  raised  by  public  subscription. 

In  September,  1865,  Mr.  Ramsay  visited  Stratford,  at  the  request  of  the  writer  of  this  '  Biography  •>' 
and  has  furnished  him  with  the  following  memorandum  <>f  the  condition  of  New  Plan  :    - 
552 


A  BIOGRAPHY. 

"  The  ground  has  been  excavated  all  over,  and  parts  of  the  foundations  of  Shakspere's  house,  and 
of  Clopton's,  which  succeeded  it,  have  been  laid  bare.  They  are  hollowed  out  from  the  surface]  and 
covered  with  the  coarse  glass  which  is  used  for  paving.  These  foundations  are  of  rude,  almost  unhewn 
stone,  the  same  kind  as  that  of  which  the  neighbouring  Chapel  has  been  built.  A  well  has  been 
cleaned  out,  and  bricked  down  to  the  original  stone  groining,  which  had  given  way  for  about  ten  or 
twelve  feet,  and  the  water  rises  only  to  within  about  a  foot  of  this  groining.  The  adjoining  house  is 
called  Nash's,  and  has  been  bought,  though  it  was  not  Shakspere's  property.  The  outside  is  all 
modernized,  but  inside  is  a  fine  old  oak  staircase,  and  other  work,  probably  coeval  with  Shakspere's 
house,  which  adjoined  it.  The  stones  remain  on  which  the  timber  uprights  for  the  side  of  Shakspere's 
house  rested,  and  the  mark  of  the  old  gable  is  to  be  traced  on  Nash's  house,  which  was  the  higher  of 
the  two.  Nash's  house  had  only  a  narrow  slip  of  garden  ground ;  and  the  foundation  of  the  dividing 
wall  still  remains.  At  the  bottom  of  Shakspere's  Great  Garden  (as  it  was  called)  were  lately  some 
cottages  and  a  barn.  The  latter,  it  was  thought,  might  have  been  Shakspere's,  from  the  appearance  of 
the  timber ;  these  have  been  pulled  down,  but  the  timbers  of  the  barn  have  been  preserved  by  Mr. 
Halliwell,  and  are  stowed  away  in  a  cellar.  An  extremely  ugly  red-brick  building — it  is  a  theatre — is 
thrust  in  upon  the  grounds  of  New  Place,  the  entrance  being  in  Chapel  Lane.  Mr.  Halliwell  wishes  it 
to  be  bought,  and  it  is  certainly  desirable  that  it  should  be,  for  it  is  not  only  ugly  in  itself,  but 
prevents  the  laying  out  of  the  grounds  in  anything  like  symmetry.  The  land  at  present  is  in  a  state 
of  most  admired  disorder  :  money  is  wanted.  Mr.  Hunt  (the  worthy  town-clerk  of  Stratford,  who 
takes  a  great  interest  in  all  relating  to  Shakspere)  thinks  the  proposed  plan  of  making  it  free  to  the 
public  will  not  answer,  as  there  must  be,  in  any  case,  watchers  employed  to  prevent  mischief." 

Mr.  Halliwell  has  published  a  splendid  quarto  volume,  descriptive  of  New  Place.  The  Rev.  G.  C.  M. 
Bellew  has  written  an  agreeable  book,  entitled  '  Shakespere's  Home  at  New  Place.'  In  1863  was 
issued  '  A  Brief  Guide  to  the  Gardens  of  Shakespear,  and  a  Prospectus  of  the  Shakespear  Fund,'  a 
pamphlet  of  sixteen  pages.  The  opening  is  rather  high-flown  for  '  A  Brief  Guide ': — 

"Unless  the  visitor  .  .  .  can  feel  that  he  is  treading  on  ground  hallowed  by  the  fact  that  here 
undoubtedly  the  Poet  himself  walked  and  meditated,  and  breathing  the  very  air  which  was  a  breath  to 
Shakespear,  let  him  pass  on  to  other  scenes.  It  cannot  be,  however,  but  that  interest  will  be  raised, 
in  the  mind  of  every  intelligent  visitor,  when  told  that  these  walls  enclose  the  exact  ground  which 
formed  the  garden  to  the  Poet's  house. 

"  The  evidences  upon  which  this  fact  is  established  are  too  voluminous  to  be  here  introduced. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  they  are  incontrovertible,  and  that  the  exact  boundaries,  on  all  sides  but  one, 
that  to  the  right  on  entering,  have  been  ascertained  to  an  inch." 

The  objects  contemplated  in  the  formation  of  "The  Shakespeare  Fund"  are  perhaps  too  grand  t<> 
be  realized  in  a  country  not  much  disposed  to  "  Fetish  worship." 

"This  fund  was  established  in  October,  1861,  to  accomplish  the  following  objects  :— 1.  The  purchase 
of  the  Gardens  of  Shakespeare,  at  New  Place.  2.  The  purchase  of  the  remainder  of  the  Birth-Place 
Estate.  3.  The  purchase  of  Anne  Hathaway's  Cottage,  with  an  endowment  for  a  custodian.  4.  The 
purchase  of  Getley's  Copyhold,  Stratford-on-Avon.  5.  The  purchase  of  any  other  properties  at  or  near 
Stratford-on-Avon,  that  either  formerly  belonged  to  Shakespeare,  or  are  intimately  connected  with  the 
memories  of  his  life.  6.  The  culendering  and  preservation  of  those  records  at  Stratford-on-Avon 
which  illustrate  the  Poet's  life,  or  the  social  life  and  history  of  Stratford-on-Avon  in  his  time. 
And  7.  The  erection  and  endowment  of  a  Shakespeare  Library  and  Museum  at  Stratford-on-Avon." 


END   OF   THE   BIOGRAPHY. 


"B    CHY     SON,   AND  TAYLOR,    PRINTERS,    BRKAD   STREET   HILL. 

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