bM:-^,*l'-> ■ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS D0D17DDETt.A Class J2^a^A4 Book GopightN" CCE^IGMT OEPOBUi ^ ae^ T^ GREAT CRYPTOGRAM: m FRANQi DACON'i CIPHER inTh? JO-CALLED JHAKESPEARE PLfflfX^Ml B/IGNATIUS DONNELIY, Author of 'Atl2vntiy:The AntediluvidJi VorldrdpJ "Ksi^ndJtifc'ni? A$e of Fire iv^ Grayel'.' %"-rf He>2ry 1 7., ii, 5. s ^//'^ Well that Ends Well, iii, 5. ' Antony and Cleopatra, iii, 2. 6 Coriolanus, iv, i. 20 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. Again: Ln aliquihiis vianctur qtiia non datur reg?rssus. (In some [places] one has to remain because there is no getting back.) ' And in Shakespeare we find: I am in blood Stepped in so far, that, should I wade no more. Returning were as easy as go o'er.'- Again: Erigus adtirit. (Cold parches.) And Shakespeare says: Frost itself as actively doth burn.'^ Again: A7iosi\' teipsiii. (Know thyself.) Shakespeare has: Mistress, know yourself.^ He knows nothing who knows not himself.* That fool knows not himself.'' I could cite many other similar instances, but these will doubt- less be sufficient to satisfy the reader. IT. His Knowledge of the Modern Languages. It furthermore now appears that the writer of the plays was versed in the languages and literature of France, Italy, and even Spain; while he had some familiarity with the annals and tongues of Northern Europe. As to the French, whole pages of the plays are written in that language.' His knowledge of Italian is clearly proved. The story of Othello was taken from the Italian of Cinthio's // Capitano Moro, of which no translation is known to have existed; the tale of Cymbeline was drawn from an Italian novel of Boccaccio, not known to have been translated into English, and the like is true of other plays.* Richard Grant White" conclusively proves that the writer of t'//?)?//^ had read the Orlando Furioso in the original Italian; that the very words are borrowed as well as the thought; and that the J Promiis notes. No. 1361. ^ Macbeth, \\\,i,. ^ Harutc't, iii, 4. * As Vou Lilce It, iv, i. f-Alfs Well that Ends Well, ii, 4. ' Troilus and Cressida, ii, i. Henry V. 8 Holmes, AuthorshiJ> 0/ Shakespeare, p. 58. ' Life and Genius 0/ Shakespeare, p. 33. THE LEARNING REVEALED IN THE PLAYS. 2 1 author adhered to the expressions in the Italian where the only translation then in existence had departed from them. The same high authority also shows that in the famous passage, " Who steals my purse steals trash," etc., the writer of Othello borrowed from the Orlando Innavwrato of Berni, "of which poem to this day there is no English version." The plot of the comedy of Ttvelfth Night ; or, What You Will, is drawn from two Italian comedies, both having the sa^.e title, GVInganni (The Cheats), both published before the date of Shake- speare's play, and which Shakespeare must have read in the original Italian, as there were, I believe, no English translations of them. The Two Gentlemen of Ve?'0}ta is supposed to have been written several years before 1598, the year when Bartholomew Yonge's translation of the Diana of Jorge de Montemayor was published in England; and Halliwell believes that there are similarities between Shakespeare's play and Montemayor's romance "too minute to be accidental." If this is the case we must conclude that Shakespeare either read some translation of the romance in manuscript before 1598, or else that he read it in the original. Says Halliwell: The absolute origin of the entire plot has possibly to be discovered in some Italian novel. The error in the first folio of Padua for Milan, in act ii, scene 5, has perhaps to be referred to some scene in the original novel. Tieck mentions an old German play founded on a tale similar to The Tivo Gentlemen of Verona; but it has not yet been made accessible to English students, and we have no means of ascertaining how far the resemblance extends. It further appears that Shakespeare found the original of The Merchant of Venice in an untranslated Italian novel. Mr. Collier says: In the novel // Pecorone of Giovanni Fiorentino, the lender of the money (under very similar circumstances, and the wants of the Christian borr. .ver arising out of nearly the same events) is a Jew; and there also we have the equal pound Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken In what part of your body pleaseth me. The words in the Italian are '"chel Giudeo gli potesse levare una libra di cante d'addosso di qiialuvique liiogo e' volesse," which are so nearly like those of Shakespeare as to lead us to believe that he followed here some literal translation of the novel in // Peeorone. None such has, however, reached our time, and the version we have printed at the foot of the Italian was made and published in 1765.' Mrs. Pott, in her great work, calls attention to the following 1 Introduction to the Adzienturcs of Gianctta, Shakespeare's Library, part i, vol. i, p. 315. 22 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE FLAYS. Italian proverb, and the parallel passage in Lear. No one can doubt that the former suggested the latter: Non far cib che tti ptioi; Non spender cib che in hai; Non creder cib che tit odi ; Non dir cib che tii sai.'^ (Do less than thou canst; Spend less than thou hast; Believe less than thou hearest; Say less than thou knowest.) While in Shakespeare we have: Have nnore than thou showest, Speak more than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest, Ride more than thou goest, Learn more than thou trowest.'^ And, again, the same author calls attention to the following Italian proverb and parallel passage: II savio fa della nccessita znrtii. (The wise man makes a virtue of necessity.)'* Shakespeare says: Are you content to make a virtue of necessity?'* The same author calls attention to numerous instances where the author of the plays borrowed from Spanish proverbs. I select one of the most striking: Desque naci llore ye cada dia nace porque. (When I was born I cried, and ev^ry day shows why.) Shakespeare has; When we are born we cry, that we are come To this great stage of fools. ^ In Loves Labor Lost^ we find the author quoting part of an Italian proverb: Vinegia, Vinegia, Chi non ti vede ei non ti pregia. The proverb is: Venetia, Venetia, chi non tivede, non (i pregia. Ma chi t'ha troppo vediito ti dispregia. The plot of ILainlet was taken from Saxo Grammaticus, the Danish historian, of whom, says Whately, writing in 1748, "no • Prointts, p. 524. ' Pro»!iis, p. 525. * Lear, iv, 6. ^ Lear, i, 6. * Two Gcntlcinen 0/ I'erona, iv, i. 'Act iv, scene 2. THE LEARNING REVEALED IN THE PLAYS. 23 translation hath yet been made."' So that it would appear the author of Hamlet must have read the Danish chronicle in the orig- inal tongue. Dr. Herman Brunnhofer, Dr. Benno Tschischwitz (in his Shake- speare Forschungeii) and Rev. Bowechier Wrey Savile" all unite in believing that the writer of Hamlet was familiar with the works of Giordano Bruno, who visited England, 1583 to 1586; and that the words of Hamlet,' ''If the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god kissing carrion," etc., are taken from Bruno's Spaccio delta Bestia Trionfante. Furthermore, that the author of Hamlet was familiar with " the atomic theory " of the ancients. And the Rev. Bowechier Wrey Savile says: Inasmuch as neither Bruno's Spaccio, nor the fragments of Parmenides' poem, On Nature, which have come down to us, were known in an English dress at the beginning of the seventeenth century (Toland's translation of Bruno's Spaccio did not appear until 1713), it would seem to show that the author of Hamlet must have been acquainted with both Greek and Italian, as was the case with the learned Francis Bacon. ni. A Scholar Even in His Youth. The evidences of scholarship mark the earliest as well as the latest works of the great poet; in fact, they are more observable in the works of his youth than in those of middle life. Even the writers who have least doubt as to the Shaksperean authorship of the plays admit this fact. White says the early plays show "A mind fresh from academic studies."* Speaking of the early plays, Prof. Dowden finds among their characteristics: Frequency of classical allusions, frequency of puns and conceits, wit and image- ry drawn out in detail to the point of exhaustion. ... In Love' s Labor Lost the arrangement is too geometrical; the groupings are artificial, not organic or vital. Coleridge was of opinion that A young author's first work almost always bespeaks his recent pursuits. And, hence, he concludes that The habits of William Shakespeare had been scholastic and those of a student. The scholarship of the writer of the plays and his familiarity with the Latin language are also shown in the use of odd and ' A « hiqtdry into the Learning of Shakespeare. ^ Act ii, scene i. "^ Shakcspeariana, Oct., 1884, p. 312. ■• White, Shakespeare's Genius, p. 257. 24 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. extraordinary words, many of them coined by himself, and such as would not naturally occur to an untaught genius, familiar with no language but his own. I give a few specimens: Rubrous, Twelfth Night, i, 4. Evitate, Merry Wives of Windsor, v, 5. Pendulous, King Lear, iii, 4. Imbost, Antony and Cleopatra, iv, 3. Abortive, Richard III., i, 2. Disnatured, King Lear, i, 4. [ii, i. Cautelous, y«A«j- Cccsar, ii, i. Inaidable, AlVs Well That Ends Well, Cautel, Hamlet, i, 3. Unsuppressiye,y/////« Cicsar, ii, i. Deracinate, T7vilics and Cressida, \, 3; Oppugnancy, Troilus and Cressida, i, 3. Henry V., v, 2. Enskied, Measure for Measure, \, 5. Surcease, Macbeth, i, 7. Legerity, Henry V., iv, i. Recordation, id Hen>y IV., ii, 3. Propinquity, King Lear, i, i. Enwheel, Othello, ii, l. Credent, Hamlet, i, 3. Armipotent, yiZ/'i- Well That Ends Well, Sluggardised, The Two Gentlemen of iv, 3. Verona, i, \. Knight says, speaking of the word expedient .\ Expedient. The word properly means, "that disengages itself from all entan- glements." To set at liberty the foot which was held fast is exped-ij-e. Shakspere always uses this word in strict accordance with its derivation, as, in truth, he does most words that may be called learned.'- Knight^ also notes the fact that he uses the word reduce in the Latin sense, "to bring back." IV. His Universal Learning. The range of his studies was not confined to antique tongues and foreign languages. He must have read all the books of travel which grew out of that age of sea-voyages and explorations. Dr. Brinton'' points out that the idea of Ariel having been pegged in the knotty entrails of an oak until freed by Prospero was borrowed from the mythology of the Yurucares, a South American tribe of Indians, in which the first men were confined in the heart of an enormous bole, until the god Tiri let them out by cleaving it in twain. He further claims that Caliban is undoubt- edly the word Carib, often spelt Caribani and Calibani in olden writers; and his "dam's god, Setehos" was the supreme deity of the Patagonians, when first visited by Magellan. In The Merchant of Venice we read: Bring them, I pray thee, with imagined speed. Unto the tranect, to the common ferry. ^ » King John, ii, i. 2 Knight's Shak., i History, p. 24. ' Richard III., v, 4. < Myths of the New World, p. 240, note. * Act iii, scene 5. \ THE LEARNING REVEALED IN THE FLAYS. 25 Of this word Knight says: No other example is found of the use of this word in English, and yet there is little doubt that the word is correct. Tranare and trainare are interpreted by Florio not only as to dram, which is the common acceptation, but as to pass 07' swim ever. Thus the tnuit'ct was most probably the tow-boat of the ferry. • In King Joh/i we have: Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot; Some airy devil hovers in the sky, And pours down mischief.- Collier changed airy to fic?y, "which, we may be sure," he says, ^'was the word of the poet." But Knight turns to Burton and shows that he described "aerial spirits or devils, who keep most quarter in the air, and cause many tempests, thunder and light- ning," etc. And he also referred to the fact that " Paul to the Ephesians called them forms of the aii." Knight adds: Shakspere knew this curious learning from the schoolmen, but the correctors knew nothing about it. We have another instance, in the following, where the great poet knew a good deal more than his commentators. In Romeo and Juliet he says: Are you at leisure, holy Father, now; Or shall I come to you at evening mass ? * Upon this Richard Grant White says: If he became a member of the Church of Rome it must have been after he wrote Romeo and Juliet, in which he speaks of " evening mass; " for the humblest member of that church knows that there is no mass at vespers.* But we have the authority of the learned Cardinal Bona that the name mass was given to the morning and evening prayers of the Christian soldiers. Salvazzio states that the name was given to the lectures or lessons in matins. In the " Rule of St. Aurelian " it is stated that at Christmas and on the Epiphany six masses are to be read at matins, from the prophet Isaiah, and six from the gospel; whilst on the festivals of martyrs the first mass is to be read from the acts of the martyrs. In his rule for nuns the same holy Bishop tells them that, as the nights are long, they may recite three masses at the lectern. As the female sex could not act as priests, it is plain that the word mass was formerly the > Knight's Shak. Com., p. 240. ^ Act iv, scene i. ' Act iii, scene 2. ^ Li/e and Genius of Shak., p. 1S7. 2 6 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PI AYS. synonym for prayers, and did not mean, as nowadays, exclusively the great sacrifice of the church; and therefore " evening mass " simply means the evening service. In fact, as Bishop Clifford shows, the word mass or, as it was written in Anglo-Saxon, inu'ssc, came to be regarded as the synonym for feast ; hence, Ca/idlemas, lai/iinas, Michaelmas, etc., are the feast of candles, the feast of loaves, the feast of St. Michael, etc. " Moreover, mass being the chief religious service of the Catholic Church, the word came to be used in the sense of church service in general. Evening- mass means evening service or vespers." What a curious reaching-out for facts, in a day barren of encyclopaedias, is shown in these lines: Adrian. Widow Dido, said you? You make me study of that: she was of Carthage, not of Tunis. Goiiza/o. This Tunis, sir, 'icas Carthage. Adrian. Carthage? Gonzalo, I assure you, Carthage.^ V. Our Conclusion. We commence our argument, therefore, with this proposition: The author of the plays, whoever he may have been, was unques- tionably a profound scholar and most laborious student. He had read in their own tongues all the great, and some of the obscure writers of antiquity; he was familiar with the languages of the principal nations of Europe; his mind had compassed all the learn- ing of his t-itne and of preceding ages; he had pored over the pages of'' French and Italian novelists; he had read the philosoph- ical utterances of the great thinkers of Greece and Rome; and he had closely considered the narrations of the explorers who were just laying bare the secrets of new islands and continents. It has been justly said that the plays could not have been written with- out a library, and cannot, to-day, be studied without one. To' their proper elucidation the learning of the whole world is neces- sary. Goethe says of the writer of the plays: "He drew a sponge over the table of human knowledge." We pass, then, to the qtiestion, Did William Shakspere possess such a vast mass of information? — could he have possessed it? ' Tempest^ ii, i. CHAPTER II. - THE EDUCATION OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. Toiichstonc. Art thou learned ? WilliaDi. No, sir. Touchstone. Then learn this of me : to have is to have. As You Like Jl, v, i. TT must not be forgotten that the world of three hundred years ago was a very different world from that of to-day. A young man, at the present time, can receive in the backwoods of the United States, or Canada, or in the towns of AustraHa, an education which Cambridge and Oxford could not have afforded to the noblemen of England in the sixteenth century. That tre- mendous educator, the daily press, had then no existence. Now it comes to almost every door, bringing not only the news of the whole world, but an abstract of the entire literary and scientific knowledge of the age. I. England in the Sixteenth Century. Three hundred years ago the English-speaking population of the world was confined almost altogether to the island of Great Britain, and the refinement and culture of the island scarcely extended beyond a few towns and the universities. London was the great center, not only of politics, but of literature and courtly manners. The agricultural population and the yeomanry of the smaller towns were steeped to the lips in ignorance, rude and barbarous in their manners, and brutal in their modes of life. They did not even speak the same language. Goadby tells us that, when the militia met from the different counties to organize resistance to the invasioji of the Spaniards, It was hard to catch the words of command, so pronounced were the different dialects.' Simpson says : If cattle-driving was to be interpreted as levying war, all England at harvest tide was in a state of warfare. The disputes about tithes and boundaries were ' Goadby, England of Shak., p. 83. 27 28 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. then usually settled by bands of armed men, and the records of the Star-Chamber swarm with such cases. ^ The cots or dwellings of the humble classes in Shakspere's time were, as the haughty Spaniard wrote, in the reign of Elizabeth's sister, built "of sticks and dirt." "People," says Richard Grant White, "corresponding in posi- tion to those whose means and tastes would now insure them as much comfort in their homes as a king has in his palace, and even simple elegance beside, then lived in houses which in their best estate would seem at the present day rude, cheerless and confined, to any man not bred in poverty. ""■' II. Stratford in the Time of Shakspere. The lives of the people were coarse, barren and filthy. Thorold Rogers says: Iivthe absence of all winter rooj^s and herbs, beyond a few onions, a diet of salted provisions, extending over so long a period, would be sure to engender disease; . . . and, as a matter of fact, scurvy and leprosy, the invariable results of an unwholesome diet, 7itd His Times, vol. i, p. 97. 2 Ibid., p. 12. ■• Ibid., p. 26. 36 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. IX. English not Taught in the Schools of That Day. And it is very doubtful, as we have seen, whether English was taught at all in that Stratford school. It certainly was not in most of the grammar schools of England at that time. Even White is forced to admit this. He says: For book instruction there was the free grammar school of Stratford, well endowed by Thomas Jolyffe, in the reign of Edward IV., where, unless it differed from all others of its kind, he could have learned Latin and some Greek. Some English, too; but not finich, for English was held in scant by the scholars of those days, a7id long after. ' It will readily be conceded that in such a town, among such a people, and with such a school, Shakspere could have learned but little, and that little of the rudest kind. And to this conclusion even so stout a Shaksperean as Richard Grant White is driven. He says, in a recent number of the Atlantic magazine: Shakespeare was the son of a Warwickshire peasant, or very inferior yeoman, by the daughter of a well-to-do farmer. Both his father and mother were so igno- rant that they signed with a mark instead of writing their names. Few of their friends could write theirs. Shakespeare probably had a little instruction in Latin in the Stratford grammar school. When, at twenty-two years of age, he fled from Stratford to London, we may be sure that he had never seen half a dozen books other than his horn-book, his Latin accidence and a Bible. Probably there were not half a dozen others in all Stratford. The notion that he was once an attorney's clerk is blown to pieces. ' Where, then, did he acquire the vast learning demonstrated by the plays? X. Shakspere's Youthful Habits. There can be no doubt that the child is father to the man. While little Francis Bacon's youthful associates were enjoying their game of ball, the future philosopher was at the end of a tunnel experimenting in echoes. Pope "lisped in numbers, for the num- bers came." At nine years of age Charles Dickens (a sort of lesser Shakespeare) knew all about Falstaff, and the robbery at Gad's Hill, and had established the hope in his heart that he might some day own the handsome house in that place in which he afterward resided. It was his habit to creep away to a garret in his father's house, and there, enraptured, pore over the pages of Roderick Random, Peregrine Pickle, Humphrey Clinker, Tom Jones, The Arabian Nights, , ^ Li/e and Centtis o/ Shak.. p. 30. THE EDUCATION OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 37 The Vicar of Wakefield, and Robinson Crusoe. Dr. Glennie tells us of Byron, that in his boyhood "his reading in history and poetry was far beyond the usual standard of his age. . . . He was a great reader and admirer of the Old Testament, and had read it through and through before he was eight years old." At fifteen years of age Robert Burns had read The Spectator, Pope's works, some of Shakespeare's plays, 'Locke.' s Essay on tJie Human Under standifig, Allan Ramsay's works, and a number of religious books, and "had studied the English grammar and gained some knowledge of the French." Genius is a powerful predisposition, so strong that it overrules a man's whole life, from boyhood to the grave. The greatness of a mind is in proportion to its receptivity, its capacity to assimilate a vast mass of food; it is an intellectual stomach that eliminates not muscle but thought. Its power holds a due relation to its greed — it is an eternal and insatiable hunger. In itself it is but an instrument. It can work only upon external material. The writer of the plays recognizes this truth. He says, speaking of Cardinal Wolsey: F7-om his cradle He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one, Exceeding wise, fair-spoken and persuading.' The commentators have tried to alter the punctuation of this sentence. They have asked, "How could he be 'a scholar from his cradle ' ? " What the poet meant was that the extraor- dinary capacity to receive impressions and acquire knowledge, which constitutes the basis of the education of the infant, con- tinued with unabated force all through the life of the great church- man. The retention of this youthful impressibility of the mind is one of the essentials of greatness. And again the poet says: This morning, like the spirit of a youth That means to be of note, begins betimes.^ How did William Shakspere, the Stratford-on-Avon boy, "begin betimes "? „^. In his fourteenth year it is supposed he left school; but ''there is really no proof that he ever attended school for an hour. 1 Henry VIIT., iv, 2. ^ Antony and Cleopatra, iv, 2. 38 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLA YS. White expresses the opinion that "William Shakespeare was obliged to leave school early and earn his living." ^^_. At sixteen, tradition says, he was apprenticed to a butcher. Aubrey says: I have been told heretofore by some of the neighbors that when he was a boy he exercised his father's trade; but when he killed a calf he would doe it in a high style and make a speech. Rowe, speaking for Betterton, says, " Upon his leaving school he seems to have given entirely into that way of living which his father proposed to him," that of a dealer in wool. Neither the pursuit of butcher or wool-dealer could have been very favorable to the acquisition of knowledge in a rude age and a ''bookless neighborhood." But perhaps the boy was of a very studious nature and his ' industry eked out the poor materials available ? Let us see: There is a tradition of his youth setting forth that in the neigh- boring village of Bidford there was a society — not a literary society, not a debating club like that of which Robert Burns was a member — but a brutal crew calling themselves ''The Bidford Topers," whose boast was that they could dr^ink more beer than the " topers " of any of the adjoining intellectual villages. They challenged Stratford, and among the gallant young men who accepted the chal- lenge was William Shakspere. The "Bidford topers" were too many for the Stratford "topers," and the latter attempted to walk home again, but were so besotted that their legs gave out, and they spent the night by the roadside under a large crab-tree, which stands to this day and is known as " Shakspere's crab." As the imagination sees him, stretched sodden and senseless, beneath the crab-tree, we may apply to him the words of the real Shakespeare: O monstrous beast ! — how like a swine he lies.' The first appearance of the father is connected with a filth- heap. The first recorded act of the son is this spirituelle contest. The next incident in the life of Shakspere occurred when he was nineteen years old. This was his marriage to a girl of twenty- seven, that is to say, eight years older than himself. Six months after the marriage their first child was born. ' Taming of the Shrew, THE EDUCATION OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 39 But perhaps, after this inauspicious match, he settled down and devoted himself to study ? Not at all. The Reverend William Fulman, an antiquary, who died in 1688, bequeathed his manuscript biographical memoranda to the Reverend Richard Davies, rector of Sapperton, in Gloucester- shire, and archdeacon of Lichfield, who died in 1708. To a note of Fulman's, which barely records Shakspere's birth, death and occupation, Davies made brief additions, the principal of which is that William Shakspere was " much given to all unluckinesse in stealing venison and rabbits, particularly from Sir Lucy, wJio had him oft ivhipt and sometimes imprisoned, and at last made him fly his native county, to his great ad- vancement." The man who wrote this was probably born within little more than twenty-five years after Shakspere's death. The tradition comes to us also from other sources. The same story is told by Rowe, on the authority of Betterton, w^ho went down to Stratford to collect materials for a life of Shakspere. Rowe says: He had, by a misfortune common enough to young fellows, fallen into ill com- pany, 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 Charlecote, 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 although 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. A pretended specimen of the ballad has come down to us, a rude and vulgar thing: A parliament member, a justice of peace, At home a poor scare-crow, at London an asse. If lowsie is Lucy, as some volke miscalle it, Then Lucy is lowsie whatever befall it. He thinks himself great. Yet an ass is his state; We allow by his ears but with asses to mate. If Lucy is lowsie as some volke miscalle it. Sing lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. And touching this Sir Thomas Lucy, Richard Grant White, after visiting Stratford and Charlecote, speaks as follows: 40 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. This was a truly kindly nature, we may almost say a noble soul. I am with Sir Thomas in this matter, and if Shakespeare suffered any discipline at his hands> I believe that he deserved it.' XI. Shakspere Goes to London. He proceeded to London ** somewhere about 1586 or 1587," say his biographers. His twin children, Hamnet and Judith, had been born in February, 1585. We can readily conceive his condition. His father was bank- rupt; his own family rapidly increasing — his wife had just been delivered of twins; his home was dirty, bookless and miserable; his companions degraded; his pursuits low; he had been whipped and imprisoned, and he fled, probably penniless, to the great city. As his admirer, Richard Grant White, says, " we may be sure he had never seen half a dozen books other than his horn-book, his Latin accidence, and a Bible." There is indeed no certainty that he had ever seen even the last work, for neither father nor mother could read or write, and had no use for, and do not seem to have pos- sessed, a Bible. Says Halliwell-Phillipps : Removed prematurely from school; residing with illiterate relatives in a book- less neighborhood; thrown into the midst of occupations adverse to scholastic prog- ress, it is difficult to believe that when he left Stratford he was not all but destitute 0/ polished accomplishments.'^ To London fled all the adventurers, vagabonds and paupers of the realm. They gathered around the play-houses. These were rude structures, open to the heavens — sometimes the roofless yard of a tavern served as the theater, and a rough scaffold as the stage. Here the ruffians, the thieves, the vagabonds, the apprentices, the pimps and the prostitutes assembled — a stormy, dirty, quarrelsome multitude. Here William Shakspere came. He was, we will con- cede, bright, keen and active, intent on getting ahead in the worlds fond of money, but poor as poverty and ignorant as barbarism. What could he do? XII. He Becomes a Horse-holder, He took to the first thing that presented itself, holding horses at the door of the play-house for the young gentlemen who came to witness the performance. And this, tradition assures us, he did. "^England Without and Within^ p. 514. ^ Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines Life 0/ Shak., f. 63. THE EDUCATION OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 41 He proved trustworthy, and the youthful aristocrats would call, we are told, for Will Shakspere to hold their horses. Then his busi- ness faculty came into play, and he organized a band of assistants, who were known then, and long afterward, as " Shakspere's boys." Gradually he worked his way among the actors. — Y XIII. He Becomes a Call-boy, and then an Actor, Betterton heard that " he was received into the company at first in a very mean rank;" and the octogenarian parish clerk of Strat- ford told Dowdall, in 1693, that he "was received into the play- house as a serviture " — that is, as a servant, a supernumerary, or " supe." Tradition says he was the prompter's call-boy, his duty being to call the actors when it was time for them to go upon the stage. In time he rose a step higher: he became an actor. He never was a great actor, but performed, we are told, insignificant parts. " He seems," says White, " never to have risen high in this profession. The Ghost in Hamlet^ and old Adam in As You Like Ity were the utmost of his achievements in this direction." It must have taken him some time, say a year or two at the very least, to work up from being a vagabond horse-holder to the career of a regular actor. We will see, when we come to discuss the chro- nology of the plays, that they began to appear almost as soon as he reached London, if not before, although Shakspere's name was not connected with them for some years thereafter. And the earliest plays, as we shall see, were the most scholarly, breathing the very atmosphere of the academy. XIV. No Tradition Refers to Him as a Student or Scholar. There was certainly nothing in his new surroundings in London akin to Greek, Latin, French, Italian, Spanish and Danish studies; there was nothing akin to medical, musical and philosophical researches. And assuredly his life in Stratford, reckless, improvident, dissi- pated, degraded, does not represent the studious youth who, in some garret, would pore over the great masters, and fill his mind with information, and his soul with high aspirations. There is not a single tradition which points to any such element in his character. Aubrey asserts that, from the time of leaving school until his departure for Warwickshire, Shakspere was a schoolmaster. We 42 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. have seen that it did not require a very extensive stock of learning to constitute a schoolmaster in that age; but even this, the only tradition of his life which points to anything even akin to scholarly accomplishments, must be abandoned. Lord Campbell says: Unfortunately, however, the pedagogical theory is not only quite unsupported by evidence, but it is not consistent with established facts. From the registration of the baptism of Shakespeare's children, and other well authenticated circum- stances, we know that he continued to dwell in Stratford, or the immediate neigh- borhood, till he became a citizen of London: there was no other school in Stratford except the endowed grammar school, where he had been a pupil; of this he cer- tainly never was master, for the unbroken succession of masters from the reign of Edward VI. till the reign of James I. is of record; . . . and there is no trace of there having been any usher employed in this school.' Only a miracle of studiousness could have acquired, in a few years, upon a basis of total ignorance and bad habits, the culture and refinement manifested in the earliest plays; and but a few years elapsed between the time when he fled scourged from Strat- ford and the time when the plays began to appear, in his name, in London. Put plays, now believed to have been written by the same hand that wrote the Shakespeare plays, were on the boards befo7-e he left Stratford. The twins, Judith and Hamnet, were born in February, 1585, Shakspere being then not yet twenty-one years of age, and we will see hereafter that Hamlet appeared for the first time in 1585 or 1587. If he had shown, anywhere in his career, such a trait of immense industry and scholarly research, some tradition virould have reached us concerning it. We have traditions that he was the father of another man's supposed son (Sir William Dave- nant); and we are told of a licentious amour in which he outwitted Burbage; and we hear of 7t''6'/-combats in a tavern; but not one word comes down to us of books, or study, or industry, or art. XV. The "Venus and Adonis." "The first heir of his invention," he tells us, was "the Vejius and Adonis" published in 1593; and many think that this means that he wrote it before any of the plays, and even before he left Stratford. Richard Grant White says: In any case, we may be sure that the poem [ Venus and Adonis] was written some years before it was printed; and it may have been brought by the young poet ' Shakespeare^ s Legal Acquirements., p. 19. THE EDUCATION- OF WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE. 43 \ "from Stratford in manuscript, and read by a select circle, according to the custom -of the time, before it was published. But here is a difficulty that presents itself: the people of War- 'wickshire did not speak the English of the London court, but a patois almost as different from it as the Lowland Scotch of Burns is to-day different from the English of Westminster. To give the reader some idea of the kind of language used by Shakspere during his youth, and by all the uneducated people of his county, I select, at random, a few words from the Warwick- shire dialect: Tageous, troublesome; Fameled, starving; Kiver, a butter tub; Brevet, to snulT, to sniff; Grinsard, the turf; Unked, solitary; Slammocks, untidy; Roomthy, spacious; He's teddin, he's shaking up hay; Mulled, sleepy; He do fash hisself, he troubles himself; Glir, to slide; Cob, thick; Work, a row, a quarrel; Gidding, thoughtless; Whittaw, a saddler; jackbonnial, a tadpole; Still, respectable; Cade, tame; Her's childing, she is with child; A' done worritin me, stop teasing me; A' form, properly; Let's gaig no', let's take a swing; Yawrups, stupid; Franzy, passionate; etc. Let any one read the Venus and Adonis, and he will find it Avritten in the purest and most cultured English of the age, without a word in it of this Warwickshire /(?/6'/j'. Halliwell-Phillipps says: It is extremely improbable that an epic so highly finished, and so completely devoid of patois, could have been produced under the circumstances of his then domestic surroundings.' In fact, if we except the doggerel libel on Sir Thomas Lucy, with its " volke " (and the authenticity of even this is denied by the com- mentators), Shakspere never wrote a line impregnated with the dialect of the people among whom he lived from childhood to man- hood. All attempts to show the peculiar phraseology of Warwick- shire in his writings have failed. A few words have been found that were used in Warwickshire, but investigation has shown that they were also used in the dialects of other portions of England. White says: As long as two hundred years after that time the county of each member of Parliament was betrayed by his tongue; but then the speech of the cultivated ^Outlines Li'/e of Shak., p. 71. 44 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE FLAYS. people of Middlesex and vicinity had become for all England the undisputed stand- ard. Northumberland, or Cornwall, or Lancashire, might have produced Shake- speare's mind; but had he lived in any one of these counties, or in another, like them remote in speech as in locality from London, and written for his rural neigh- bors instead of the audiences of the Blackfriars and the Globe, the music of his poetry would have been lost in sounds uncouth and barbarous to the general ear, and the edge of his fine utterance would have been turned upon the stony rough- ness of his rustic phraseology.' White seems to forget that the jargon of Warwickshire was well nigh as uncouth and barbarous as that of Northumberland or Cornwall. Appleton Morgan says: Now, even if, in Stratford, the lad had mastered all the Latin and Greek extant, this poem, dedicated to Southampton, coming from his pen, is a mystery, if not a miracle. The genius of Robert Burns found its expression in the idiof?i of his father and his mother, in the dialect he heard around him, and into which he was born. When Jie came to London and tried to warble in urban English, his genius dwindled into formal commonplace. /But William Shakespeare, a peasant, born in the heart of Warwickshire, without/schooling or practice, pours forth the purest and most sumptuous of English, unmixed with the faintest trace of that Warwickshire /rt/^/j- that his neighbors and coetaneans spoke — the language of his own fireside.^ / And Shakespeare prefaced the Venus and Adonis with a Latin quotation from the Affwres of Ovid. Halliwell-Phillipps, an earnest Shaksperean, says: It is hardly possible that the Amoves of Ovid, whence he derived his earliest motto, could have been one of his school books. ^ No man can doubt that the Venus and Adonis was the work of a scholar in whom the intellectual faculties vastly preponderated over the animal, Coleridge notices — The utter aloofness of the poet's own feelings from those of which he is at once the painter and the analyst. Says Dowden: The subjects of these poems did not possess him and compel him to render them into art. The poet sat himself down before each to accomplish an exhaustive study of it. Hazlitt says: These poems appear to us like a couple of ice houses. They are about as hard, as glittering and as cold. It is not possible for the human mind to bring these beautiful poems, written in such perfect English, so cold, so passionless, so ' Life and Genius of Shak.., p. 202. "^ The Shakespeare Myth, p. 41. ^ Outlines Life of S/iak., p. 63. THE EDUCATION OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 45 cultured, so philosophical, so scholastic, into connection with the first inventions of the boy we have seen lying out drunk in the fields, poaching, rioting, whipped, imprisoned, and writing vulgar doggerel, below the standard of the most ordinary intellect. Com- pare for one instant: / A Parliament member, a justice of peace, At home a poor scare-crow, at London an asse. He thinks himself great, yet an ass is his state, Condemned for his ears with asses to mate, with — ^ Oh, what a sight it was wistly to view How she came stealing to the wayward boy ! To note the fighting conflict of her hue ! How white and red each other did destroy ! But now her cheek was pale, and by and by It flashed forth fire, as lightning from the sky.' Can any one believe that these two passages were born in the same soul and fashioned in the same mind ? A rough but strong genius, coming even out of barbarian train- ing, but thrown into daily contact with dramatic entertainments, might have begun to imitate the works he was familiar with; might gradually have drifted into play-making. But here we learn that the first heir of his invention was an ambitious attempt at a literary performance based on a classical fable, and redolent of the air of the court and the schools. / It is incomprehensible, Even Hallam, years ago, was struck by the incongruity between Shakspere's life and works. He says: If we are not yet come to question his [Shakespeare's] unity, as we do that of " the blind old man of Scio's rocky isle " — (an improvement in critical acuteness doubtless reserved for a distant posterity), we as little feel the power of identifying the young man who came up from Stratford, was afterwards an indifferent player in a London theater, and retired to his native place in middle life, with the author of Macbeth and Lear.- Emerson says: Read the antique documents extricated, analyzed and compared, by the assidu- ous Dyce and Collier; and now read one of those skiey sentences — aerolites — which seem to have fallen out of heaven, . . . and tell me if they match. ^ . . . The Egyptian verdict of the Shakesperean societies comes to mind, that he was a jovial actor and manager. Cl cannot marry this fact to his verse. Other admirable men have led lives in some~5rrrt of keeping with their thought; but this man in wide contrast. . . . This man of men, he who gave the science of mind a new and larger subject than had ever existed, and planted the standard of humanity ' Venus ajid Adonis. ^ Introduction to Literature 0/ Europe. ^ Rcf. Men, p. 205. 46 WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE DID XOT IVKITE THE PLAYS. ity some furlongs forward in chaos — it must ever go into the world's history, that the best poet led an obscure and profane life, using his genius for the public amuse- ment.' Such a proposition cannot be accepted by any sane man. Francis Bacon seems to have had these plays in his mind's eye when he said: If the sow with her snout should happen to imprint the letter A upon the ground, wouldst thou therefore imagine that she could write out a whole tragedy as. one letter P'* ' Rcpreseniative Men, p. 215. "^Interpretation 0/ Nature. CHAPTER III. THE REAL CHARACTER OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. What a thrice-double ass Was I, to take this drunkard for a god, And worship this dull fool. Tempest^ v, i. WE have seen that the Plays must have been written by a scholar, a man of wide and various learning. We have seen that William Shakspere, of Stratford-on-Avon, could not have acquired such learning in his native village, and that his pursuits and associates in London were not favorable to its acquisition there ; and that there is no evidence from tradition or history, or by the existence of any books or papers, or letters, that he was of a studious turn of mind, or in anywise scholarly. We have further seen that the families of his father and mother were, and had been for generations, without exception, rude and bookless. Now let us put together all the facts in our possession, and try to get at some estimate of the true character of the man himself. He was doubtless, as tradition says, **the best of that family." His career shows that he was adventurous, and what we call in America " smart." His financial success demonstrates this fact. He had probably a good deal of mother wit and practical good sense. It is not impossible that he may have been able to string together barbaric rhymes, some of which have come down to us. But conceding all this, and a vast gulf still separates him from the colossal intellect made manifest in the Plays. I. Shakspere was a Usurer. The probabilities are that he was a usurer. Richard Grant White (and it is a pleasure to quote against Shakspere so earnest a Shaksperean — one who declares that every man who believes Bacon wrote the Plays attributed to Shakspere should be committed at once to a mad-house) — Rich- ard Grant White says: 47 48 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. The following passage, in a tract called RatseVs Ghost, of the Second Part of his Mad Prankcs and Robberies, of which only one copy is known to exist, plainly refers, first to Burbadge and 7iext to Shakespeare. This book is without date, but is believed to have been printed before 1606. Gamaliel Ratsei, who speaks, is a highwayman, who has paid some strollers forty shillings for playing for him, and afterwards robbed them of their fee.' The passage is as follows: And for you, sirrah (says he to the chiefest of them), thou hast a good presence upon a stage, methinks thou darkenest thy merit by playing in the country; get thee to London, for if one man were dead they will have much need of such as thou art. There would be none, in my opinion, fitter than thyself to play his parts; my conceit is such of thee that I durst venture all the money in my purse on thy head to play Hamlet v/ith him for a wager. There thou shalt learn to be frugal (for play- ers were never so thrifty as they are now about London), and to feed upon all men; to let none feed upon thee; to make thy hand a stranger to thy pocket; thy heart slow to perform thy tongue's promise; and when thou feelest thy purse well lined, buy thee soDie place of lordship in the country; that growing weary of playing thy money may there bring thee to dignity and reputation ; then thou needest care for no man; 710, not for them that before made thee proud with speaking THEIR -ivords on the stage. Sir, I thank you (quoth the player) for this good council. I promise you I will make use of it, for I have heard, indeed, of some that have gone to London very meanly, and have come in time to be exceeding wealthy. This curious tract proves several things: The Shakspereans agree that Ratsei, in the latter part of the extract quoted, referred unquestionably to Shakspere. Ratsei, or the writer of the tract, doubtless expressed the popular opinion when he described Shakspere as a thrifty, money-making, unchari- table, cold-hearted man, "feeding upon all men," to-wit, by lend- ing money at usurious rates of interest, for there is nothing else to which the words can apply. There can be no question that he refers to Shakspere. He was an actor; he came to London, "very meanly;" // to a friend in London, in reference to Shakspere lending: "some monei on some od yardc land ox other att Shottri or neare about us." And there is still another letter, dated November 4, 1598, from Abraham Sturley to Richard Quiney, in which we are told that our "countriman Mr. Wm. Shak. yNow\di procure us monei ^. wc. I will like of." And these, be it remembered, are all the letters extant addressed to, or referring to, Shakspere. In 1598 he loaned Richard Quiney, of Stratford, ^30 upon proper security.' In 1600 he brought action against John Clayton, in London, for ^7, and got judgment in his favor. He also sued Philip Rogers, at Stratford, for two shillings loaned. In August, 1608, he prosecuted John Addenbroke to recover a debt of ^6, and then sued his surety, Horneby. His lawyer, Thomas Greene, lived in his house." Halli well-Phillips says: The precepts, as appears from memoranda in the originals, were issued by the poet's solicitor, Thomas Greene, who was then residing, under some unknown conditions, at New Place. -^ We, of course, only hear of those transactions in which the debtor did not pay, and the loans became matters of court record- We hear nothing of the more numerous instances where the money was repaid without suit. But even these scraps of fact show that he carried on the business of money-lending both in London and at' Stratford. He kept an attorney in his house, probably for the better facility of collecting the money due him. No wonder Richard Grant White said, when such facts as these came to light, voicing the disappointment of his heart: These stories grate upon our feelings. . . . The pursuit of an impoverished! man, for the sake of imprisoning him and depriving him, both of the power of pay- ing his debt and supporting himself and his family, is an incident in Shakespeare's, life which it requires the utmost allowance and consideration for the practice of the time and country to enable us to contemplate with equanimity- — satisfaction is- impossible. The biographer of Shakespeare must record these facts, because the literary antiquaries have unearthed and brought them forward as new particulars: of the life of Shakespeare. We hunger, and we receive these husks; we open our mouths for food, and we break our teeth against these stones."* ' Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines Life of Shak., p. 105. ^ Ibid., p. 147. ^ Ih>id., p. 149. 4 Li/c and Genius 0/ Shak., p. 146. 5° WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. Y Is it possible that the man who described usurers as " bawds between gold and want;" who drew, for all time, the typical and dreadful character of Shylock; who wrote: — 1 can compare our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale, that plays and tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours them at a mouthful. Such whales I have heard of on land, who never leave gaping till they have swal- lowed up a whole parish, church, steeple, bells and all.' — could, as described by White, have pursued the wretched to jail, and by his purchase of the tithes of Stratford have threatened " the whole parish, church, steeple, bells and all " ? II. FIe Carried on Brewing in New Place. Let us pass to another fact. It is very probable that the alleged author of Hamlet carried on the business of brewing beer in his residence at New Place. He sued Philip Rogers in 1604, so the court records tell us, for several bushels of " malt " sold him at various times, between March 27th and the end of May of that year, amounting in all to the value of jQ\ \^s. \od. Malt is barley or other grain steeped in water until it germinates, and then dried in a kiln to evolve the saccharine principle. It is used in brewing.'- The business of beer-making was not unusual among his towns- men. George Perrye, besides his glover's trade, useth buying and selling of woU [wool] and yorn [yarn] and making of malt} Robert Butler, besides his glover's occupation, usethe )?iakinge of matt * Rychard Castell, Rother Market, useth his glover's occupation, /lis wiffe utter- eth weektyc by bniynge [brewing] ij strikes of malte.-^ And we read of a Mr. Persons who for a "longe tyme used makinge of mallte and bruyinge [brewing] to sell in his howse."" There is, of course, nothing dishonorable in this humble occu- pation ; but it is a little surprising that a man who in the Plays never refers to tradesmen without a sneer, or to the common people except as " mechanic slaves" " that made the air unwholesome" throwing up " their stinking greasy caps," a " common cry of curs," or "the clusters," "the mutable, the rank-scented many," or " the beastly plebeians;" and whose sympathies seem to have been always > Pericles, ii, i. 3 MS. dated 1595. " Ibid. 2 Webster s Dictionary. ^ Ibid. « Ibid. THE REAL CHARACTER OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 51 with the aristocracy, should convert the finest house in Stratford, built by Sir Hugh Clopton, into a brewery, and employ himself peddling out malt to his neighbors, and suing them when they did not pay promptly. Think of the author of Hamlet and Lear brewing beer ! Verily, "the dust of Alexander may come to stop the bung-hole of a beer- barrel." --r\^ III. Shakspere's Hospitality. And taken in connection with this sale of malt there is another curious fact that throws some light upon the character of the man and the household. In the Chamberlain's accounts of Stratford' we find a charge, in 1614, for " on quart of sack and on quart of clarett wine geven to a preacher at the New Place," Shakspere's house. What manner of man must he have been wJw would i-equire the toivn to pay for the u'ijie he furnished his guests ? And we may be sure the town would not have paid for it unless first asked to do so. And the money was accepted by Shakspere, or it would not stand charged in the accounts of the town. And this was but two years before Shak- spere's death, when he was in possession of an immense income. Did ever any rich man, with the smallest instincts of a gentleman, do a deed like this ? Would even the poorest of the poor do it ? It was, in fact, a species of "going on the county " for help, — a partial pauperism. IV. He Attempts to Enter the Ranks of the Gentry by False Representations. Some one has said: "To be accounted a gentleman was the chief desire of Shakspere's life." Did he pursue this ambition, honorable enough in itself, in an honorable manner? In October, 1596, Shakspere, the actor, applied to the College of Arms for a grant of coat-armor to his father, John Shakspere. At this time Shakspere was beginning to make money. He bought New Place, Stratford, in 1597. His profession as a "vassal actor " prevented any hope of having a grant of arms made 1 White, Li/e and Genius of Shak., p. 176. C2 it J/ /./AM S/JAKSPEKE DID NOT WK/TE T//E /'LAYS. directly to himself, and so he applied in the name of his father, who not long before had been in prison, or hiding from- the Sheriff. White would have us believe that the coat-of-arms was granted;. but the latest and most complete authority on the subject, Halliwell- Phillipps, says it was not: Toward the close of the year 1599, a renewed attempt was made by the poet to obtain a grant of coat-armor to his father. It was now proposed to impale the arms of Shakespeare with those of Arden, and on each occasion ridicttlous state- ments were made respecting t/te claims of t/ie t'loo families. Bot/i were really descended from obscure country vcomeii, but the heralds made out that the predecessors of John Shakespeare were rewarded by the Crown for distinguished services, and that his wife's ancestors were entitled to armorial bearings. Alt/ioug/i the Poet's relatives, at a later date, assumed /lis rig/it to t/ie coat suggested for his father in 1596, it does not appear t/iat eit/ier of t/ie proposed grattts 7vas rati fed by t/te college, and certainly nothing more is heard of the Arden impalement.' The application was made on the ground that John Shak- spere's " parent and 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 tene- ments given to him in those parts of Warwickshire, . . . and that the said John had married the daughter and one of the heirs of Robert Arden, of Wilmecote." Now, these statements, as Halliwell-Phillipps says, ivcrc plainly false. John Shakspere's ancestors had tiot been advanced by King Henry VII.; and they had not received lands in Warwickshire; and his mother was not the daughter of one of the heirs of Robert Arden, of WWm&cote, gentleman. They had been landless peasants, for generations; and John Shakspere was an illiterate farm-hand, hired by Robert Arden, a plain farmer, as illiterate as himself, to work by the month or year. And William Shakspere, who made this application, knew per- fectly well that all these representations were falsehoods. He was trying to crawl up the battlements of respectability on a ladder of lies — plain, palpable, notorious, ridiculous lies — lies that involved the title to real property and the records of his county. Would that grand and noble soul who really wrote the Plays seek to be made a. gentleman by such means ? But the falsifications did not end here. ' OKttines, p. 87. THE REAL CHARACTER OE IVH.I.IAM SJIAKSPERE. 53 " The delay of three years," says Richard Grant White, '* in granting these arms, must have been caused by some opposition to the grant; the motto given with them, Non sans droict (not with- out right), itself seems to assert a claim against a denial." Doubtless the Lucys, and other respectable families of the neigh- borhood, protested against the play-actor forcing himself into their ranks by false pretenses. If the reader who is curious in such matters will turn to the two drafts of the application for the coat-of-arms, that of 1596, on page 573 of Halliwell-Phillipps' Outlines, and that of 1599, on page 589 of the same work, and examine the interlineations that were made from time to time, and which are indicated by italics, he will see how the applicant was driven from falsehood to falsehood, to meet the objections made against his claim of gentility. In the first application it was stated that it was John Shakspere's "parents and late antecessors" who rendered valiant service to King Henry VII. and were rewarded by him. This was not deemed sufficiently explicit, and so it was interlined that the said John had " married Mary, daughter and one of the heirs of Robert Arden, of Wilme- cote, in the said county, ^cnt.''' But in the proposed grant of 1599 it is stated that it was John Shakspere's _^r^«/-grandfather who ren- dered these invaluable services to King Henry VII., and, being driven to particulars, we are now told that this grandfather was "advanced and rewarded with laiidcs and tcnei7ientcs given to /lini in f /lose partes of WarwicksJiire, where they have continued by some descents in good repiitacion and credit." This is wholesale lying. There were no such lands, and they had not descended by some descents in the family. But this is not all. Finding his application opposed, the fertile Shakspere falls back on a new falsehood, and declares that a coat- of-arms had already been given his father twenty years before. And he also produced tliis, his auncient cote-of-arms, heretofore assigned to him whilst he was her Majestie's officer and baylefe of that town. And White tells us that upon the margin of tlie draft of 1596, John Shakspere Sheweth a patent thereof under Clarence Cook's hands in paper, twenty years past.' ' Liye and Genius 0/ S7iakcs/>carc, p. 118. 54 WILLIAM SHAKSPEKE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. But this patent can no more be found than the land whieJi Henry VI J . granted to John Shakspere's great-grandfather for his approved and faithful services. The whole thing was a series of lies and forgeries, a tissue of fraud from beginning to end ; — and William Shakspere had no ^more title to his coat-of-arms than he has to the great dramas "' ,' which bear his name. And living in New Place, brewing beer, selling malt and suing his neighbors, the Shakspere family assumed to use this coat-of- arms, ne7'er granted to the/n, and to set up for "gentry," in the midst of the people who knew the hollowness of their pretensions. K And the same man, we are told, who was so anxious for this kind of a promotion to the ranks of gentlemen, wrote as follows: Fool. Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman beagentleman or a yeoman. Lear. A king, a king ! Foot. No, he's a yeoman, that has a gentleman to his son; for he's a mad yeo- man that sees his son a gentleman before him.' And that the same man mocked at new-made gentility, in the scene where the clown and the old shepherd were suddenly ele- vated to rank by the king of Bohemia: Shepherd. Come, boy; I am past more children, l)ut thy sons and daughters will all be gentlemen born. Clown {to Autolyetts). You are well met, sir; you denied to fight with me this > other day because I was no gentleman born. See you these clothes ? . . . Aiitolyeiis. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born. Cloivn. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. Shepherd. And so have I, boy. Clo'toi. So you have. But I was a gentleman born before my father; for the" king's son took me by the hand and called me brother: . . . and so we wept: and these were the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed.'- And that the same man wrote: By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken note of it: the age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier that he galls his kibe.^ And this is the man, we are told, who also wrote: Let none presume To wear an undeserved dignity. Oh, that estates, degrees and offices Were not derived corruptly ! and that clear honor Were purchased by the merit of the wearer ! How many then should cover that stand bare; ' Lear^ iii, 6. ^ Whiter^ s Tah\ V, 3. ^ Naiiiiet, V, 1. THE REAL CHARACTER OF IVILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 55 How many be commanded that command; How much low peasantry would then be gleaned From the true seed of honor; and how much honor Picked from the chaff and ruin of the times To be new-varnish'd.' Is there any man who loves the memory of the real Shake- speare — gentle, thoughtful, learned, humane, benevolent, with a mind loftier and wider than was ever before conferred on a child of earth — who can believe that he would be guilty of such prac- tices, even to obtain a shabby gentility in the dirty little village of Stratford ? All this may not perhaps strike an American with its full force. In this country every well-dressed, well-behaved man is a i^c/it/c- man. But in England in the sixteenth century it meant a great deal more. It signified a man of gentle blood. A great and impass- able gulf lay between "the quality," "the gentry," the hereditary upper Class, and the common herd who toiled for a living. It required all the power of Christianity to faintly enforce the idea that they were made by the same God and were of one flesh. The distinction, in the England of 1596, between the yeoman and the gentleman, was almost as wide as the difference to-day in America between the white man and the black man; and the mulatto who would try to pass himself off as a white man, and would support his claim by lies and forgeries, will give us some conception of the nature of this attempt made by William Shak- spere in 1596. V. The House in Which he Was Born. As to this I will simply quote what Richard Grant White says of it: My heart sank within me as I looked around upon the rude, mean dwelling- place of him who had filled the world with the splendor of his imaginings. It is called a house, and any building intended for a dwelling-place is a house; but the interior of this one is hardly that of a rustic cottage; it is almost that of a hovel — poverty-stricken, squalid, kennel-like. A house so cheerless and comfortless I had not seen in rural England. The poorest, meanest farm-house that I had ever entered in New England or on Long Island was a more cheerful habitation. And amid these sordid surroundings William Shakespeare grew to early manhood ! I thought of stately Charlecote, the home of the Lucys, who were but simple country gentlemen; and then for the first time I knew and felt from how low a condition of * ]\Icrcliant o/ I'enicc^ ii, 9. 56 nil.I.lAM SIJAKSFEKE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. life Shakespeare had arisen. For his family were not reduced to this; they had risen to it. This was John Shakespeare's home in the days of his brief prosperity, and, when I compared it with my memory of Charlecote, I knew that Shakespeare himself must have felt what a sham was the pretension of gentry set up for his father, when the coat-of-arms was asked and obtained by the actor's money from the Heralds' College — that coat-of-arms which Shakespeare prized because it made him "a gentleman" by birth! This it was, even more than the squalid appearance of the place, that saddened me. For I felt that Shakespeare himself must have known how well founded was the protest of the gentlemen who com- plained that Clarencieux had made the man who lived in that house a gentleman ■of coat-armor.' VI. His Name. , The very name, Shakspcrc, was in that day considered the quin- tessence of vulgarity. My friend William D. O'Connor, the author of Hamkfs Note Book^ calls my attention to a recent number of The London Academy^ in w-hich a Mr. Lupton proves that in Eliza- beth's time the name Shakspere was considered vile, just as Rams- hottom, or Snooks, or Hogsflesh would be with us; and men who had it got it changed by legislation. Mr. Lupton gives one case where a man called Shakspere had his name altered by law to Saunders. VII. He Combines with Others to Oppress and Impoverish THE People. But there is one other feature of Shakspere's biography which throws light upon his character. From remote antiquity in England the lower classes possessed certain rights of common in tracts of land. Prof. Thorold Rogers says: The arable land of the manor was generally communal, /.<■., each of the ten- ants possessed a certain number of furrows in a common field, the several divis- ions being separated by balks of unplowed ground, on which the grass was suf- fered to grow. The system, which was almost universal in the thirteenth century, has survived in certain districts up to living memory.'- This able writer shows that the condition of labor steadily improved in England up to the reign of Henry VIII., and froin that period it steadily declined to recent times. He makes this remark- able statement in the preface to his work: I have attempted to show that the pauperism and the degradation of the English laborer were the result of a series of acts of Parliament and acts of gov- ernment, which were designed or adopted 'with the express piir[>ose of eompelling the 1 Englaiiit Without ul H'it/iiit, p. 526. - ll'otA- and Wages, \i. 88. THE REAL CHARAVIER OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 57 .laborer to work at the loivest rate of wages possible, and which succeeded at last in effecting their purpose.' Among these acts were those giving the Courts of Quarter Sessions the right to fix the wages of laborers; and, hence, as Prof. Rogers shows, while the inflowing gold and silver of Mexico and Peru were swelling the value of all forms of property in England, the value of labor did not rise in proportion; and the common people fell into that awful era of poverty, wretchedness, degrada- tion, crime, and Newgate-hanging by wholesale, which mark the reigns of Henry VIII. and his children. As part of the same scheme of oppression of the humble citi- zens by those who wielded the power of government, a system of inclosures of common lands by the landlords, without any com- pensation to the tenants, was inaugurated, and aided greatly to swell the general misery. The benevolent soul of Francis Bacon took part against this oppression. In his History of Henry VII. he said: Another statute was made of singular policy for the population apparently, and (if it be thoroughly considered) for the soldiery and military forces of the realm. Inclosures at that time began to be more frequent, whereby arable land (which could not be manured without people and families) was turned into pas- ture, which was easily rid by a few herdsmen; and tenancies for years, lives and at will (whereupon much of the yeomanry lived) were turned into demesnes. . . . The ordinance was that, That all houses of husbandry that were used with twenty acres of ground and upward should be maintained and kept up forever, together with a competent proportion of land to be used and occupied with them, and in no wise to be severed from them. . . . This did wonderfully concern the might and mannerhood of the kingdom, to have farms as it were of a standard sufficient to maintain an able body out of penury. In 1597 Francis Bacon, then a member of Parliament, made a speech, of which we have a very meager report: Mr. Bacon made a motion against depopulation of towns and houses of hus- bandry, and for the maintenance of husbandry and tillage. And to this purpose he brought in two bills, as he termed it, not drawn with a polished pen, but with a polished heart. . . . And though it may be thought ill and very prejudicial to lords that have enclosed great grounds, and pulled down even whole towns, and converted them to sheep pastures, yet, considering the increase of the people, and the benefit of the commonwealth, I doubt not but every man will deem the revival of former moth-eaten laws in this point a praiseworthy thing. For in matters of policy ill is not to be thought ill, which bringeth forth good. For enclosure of grounds brings depopulation, which brings forth first, idleness; secondly, decay of tillage; thirdly, subversion of homes, and decrease of charity and charge to th? ' ]\'o7-k amt Wages, Preface, p. 6. 58 WILLIAM SIIAKSPEKE DID XOT WRITE THE PLAYS. poor's maintenance; fourthly, the impoverishing the state of the realm. . . . And I should be sorry to see within this kingdom that piece of Ovid's verse prove true, Ja7n segt-s est iibi Troja fiiit; so in England, instead of a whole town full of people, none but green fields, but a shepherd and a dog. The eye of experience is the sure eye, but the eye of wisdom is the quick-sighted eye; and by experience we daily see, Nemo piitat il/ttd vidcri iiirpe quod sil>i sit (jucestuosum. And therefore almost there is no conscience made in destroying the savour of our life, bread I mean, for Funis sapor vita. And therefore a sharp and vigorous law had need be made against these viperous natures who fulfill the proverb, Si non posse quod vult, velle tamen quod potest.^ Hepworth Dixon says: The decay of tillage, the increase of sheep and deer are for the yeoman class, and for the country of which they are the thew and sinew, dark events. . . , He [Bacon] makes a wide and sweeping study of this question of Pasturage versus Till- age, of Deer versus Men, which convinces him of the cruelty and peril of depopu- lating hamlets for the benefit of a few great lords. This study will produce, when Parliament meets again, a memorable debate and an extraordinary change of law.'-* Bacon's bills became laws, after a fierce and bitter contest with the peers; they are in the statute book of England, 39 Elizabeth, i and 2. They saved the English yeomanry from being reduced to the present condition of the Irish peasantry. They provide that no more land shall be cleared without special license; and that all land turned into pasture since the Queen's accession, no less a period than forty years, shall be taken from the deer and sheep within eighteen months, and restored to the yeoman and the plow.^ These great, radical and sweeping measures should endear Bacon's memory to every Englishman, and to every lover of his kind, the world over. They saved England from depopulation. They laid the foundation for the greatness of the nation. They furnished the great middle class who fought and won at Waterloo. And what a broad, noble, far-sighted philanthropy do they evi- dence ! Here, indeed, "distribution did undo excess" that "each man " might "have enotigh." Here, indeed, was the greed of the few arrested for the benefit of the many. While broad-minded and humane men took this view of the policy of enclosures, let us see how William Shakspere regarded it. I quote from Halliwell-Phillipps' Outlines: In the autumn of the year 1614 there was great excitement at Stratford-on-Avon respecting an attempted enclosure of a large portion of the neighboring eommon- Jield — not commons, as so many biographers have inadvertently stated. The ' Life an/ty, p. 528. "^ Outlines, p. 168. THE REAL CHARACTER OF WILLIAM SHAKSFERE. 6 J ^i:* distribution should undo excess. And each ma it have enoutrh^ Do we not see in this attempt of Shakspere to rob the poor of their rights, at the very time they had been impoverished by a great fire, the same man described by Ratsei — the thrifty play- actor, that fed on all men and permitted none to feed on him; who made his hand a stranger to his pocket, and his heart slow to per- form his tongue's promise ? And all for what ? To add a few acres more to his estate; a few pounds more to his fortune, on which, as he fondly hoped, through the heirs of his eldest daughter, he was to found a family which should wear that fictitious coat-of-arms, based on those lands which the King never conferred, for services which were never rendered, and glorified by the immortal plays which he never wrote. Was this the spirit of the real author of the plays? No, no; listen to him: Tell her my love, more noble than the world, Prizes not quantity of dirty lands. ^ And again he says: Dost know this water-fly ? . . . 'tis a vice to know him. He hath much land and fertile; let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand at the king's mess. 'Tis a chough; but, as I say, spacious in the possession of dirt.* This fellow might be in 's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries; is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt ?* And again: Hamlet. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins ? Horatio. Ay, my lord, and of calf-skins, too. Hamlet. They are sheep and calves which seek out assurances in that. The real Shakespeare — Francis Bacon — said, "My mind turns on other wheels than profit." He regarded money as valuable only for the uses to which he put it, "the betterment of the state of man;" he had no faculty to grasp money, especially from the poor and oppressed; and as a consequence he died, leaving behind him a bankrupt estate and the greatest memory in human history. Is it possible that the true Shakespeare could have taken such pains, as the Stratford man did, to entail his real-estate upon one ' ira;-, iv^ I. "^ Tivelfth Night, \\^ i,. ^ Hamlet, v, 2. * Hitiiitet, -v, 1. 62 WILLIAM SHAKSPEKE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. of his children and her heirs, and forget totally to mention in his will that grander, that immortal estate of the mind which his genius had created, inconceivably more valuable than his "spa- cious possessions of dirt"? VIII. His Trf.atmknt of his Father's Memory. Let us pass to one other incident in the career of the Shakspere of Stratford. We have seen that he strove to have his father made a gentle- man. It will therefore scarcely be believed that, with an income equal to $25,000 per year of our money, he left that same father, and his mother, and his son Hamnet — his only son — without even the humblest monument to mark their last resting-place. Richard Grant White says: Shakespeare seems to have set up no stone to tell us where his mother or father lay, and the same is true as to his son Hamnet.' It appears that he inherited some property from his father, cer- tainly enough to pay for a headstone to mark the everlasting resting-place of the father of the richest man in Stratford — the father of the man who was "in judgment a Nestor, in genius a Socrates, in art a Maro! " And they would have us believe that he was the same man who wrote: I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor The azured hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander. Out-sweetened not thy breath: the robin would With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie Without a monii))ient !) bring thee all this.* IX. His Daughter Judith. But let us go a step farther, and ask ourselves, what kind of a family was it that inhabited New Place during the latter years of Shakspere's life ? We have seen that the poet's father, mother and relatives generally were grossly ignorant; that they could not even write their own names, or read the Lord's Prayer in their native ' Li/e and Genius o/Shak., p. 144. ^ Cviii/>eiine, iv, 2. /T^ THE REAL CHARACTER OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 63 tongue; and that they did not possess even a Bible in their households. But we now come face to face with a most astounding fact. Shakspere had but two children who lived to maturity, his daughters Susanna and Judith, ami Judith could not read or write ! Here is a copy of the mark with which the daugh- ter of Shakspere signed her name. It appears as that of an attesting witness to a conveyance in 161 1, she 1 being then twenty-seven years of age. Think of it ! The daughter of William Shakspere, the daughter of the greatest intellect of his age, or of all ages, the profound scholar, the master of Latin, Greek, Italian, French, Spanish, Danish, the philosopher, the scientist, the politician, the statesman, the physician, the musician, signs her name with a curley-queue like a Pottawatomie Indian. And this girl was twenty-seven years old, and no idiot; she was subsequently married to one of the lead- ing citizens of the town, Thomas Quiney, vintner. She was raised in the same town wherein was the same free-school in which, we are assured, Shakspere received that magnificent education which is manifested in the Plays. Imagine William E. Gladstone, or Herbert Spencer, dwelling in the same house with a daughter, in the full possession of all her faculties, who signed her name with a pot-hook. Irhagine the father and daughter meeting every day and looking at each other ! And yet neither of these really great men is to be mentioned in the same breath with the immortal genius who produced the Plays. With what divine anathemas did the real Shakespeare scourge ignorance ! He says: Ignorance is the curse of God. ' And again: The common curse of mankind, folly and igtiorance, be thine in great revenue! Heaven bless thee from a tutor and discipline come not near thee.^ And again: There is no darkness but ignorance.^ He pelts it with adjectives: Barbarous ignorance.'' ' 2d Henry VI., iv, 7. ' T-wel/th Night., iv, 2. * Troilus and Cressida, ii, 3. * King John, iv, 2. 64 iyJLLJAAJ SJJAKSrEKl: DJD XQl' IIA'JJJ: HIE PLAYS. Dull, unfeeling ignorance.' Gross and miserable ignorance.'^ Thou monster, ignorance.'' Short-armed ignorance.^ Again, we read: I held it ever, Virtue and cunning [knowledge] were endowments greater Than nobleness and riches; careless heirs May the two latter darken and expend; But immortality attends the forjner, Making a man a god."" And he found — More content in course of true delight Than to be thirsty after tottering honor. Or tie my treasure up in silken bags, To please the fool and death.'' Can it be conceived that the man who wrote these things woidd try, by false representations, to secure a coat-of-arms for his family, and seek by every means in his power to grasp the shillings and pence of his poorer neighbors, and at the same time leave one of . his children in " barbarous, barren, gross and miserable ignorance " ? \. With an income, as we have shown, equal to $25,000 yearly of our money; with the country swarming with graduates of Oxford and Cambridge, begging for bread and ready to act as tutors; living in a quiet, rural neighborhood, where there were few things to distract attention, William Shakspere permitted his daughter to attain the ripe age of twenty-seven years, unable to read the immortal quartos which had made her father famous and wealthy. We will not — we cannot — believe it. X. Some of the Educated Women of that Age. But it may be said that it was the fault of the age. It must be remembered, however, that the writer of the Plays was an exceptional man. He possessed a mind of vast and endless activity, Avhich ranged into every department of human thought; he eagerl)'^ absorbed all learning. Such another natural scholar we find in Sir Anthony Cook, tutor to King Edward IV., grandfather of Francis Bacon and Robert Cecil. 1 Richard II., i, 3. ' Loves Labor Lost, iv, 2. * Pericles, iii, 2. '^ 2d Henry //'., iv, 2. * Troilus and Crcssida, ii, 3. *Ibid. WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. FRANCIS BACON'S MASK. Facsimile of ihe Frontispiece in the Folio of ibsj. Facing this portrait In the Folio are presented Ben Jonson's famous lines: This Figure, that thou here seest put O, could he but have drawn his wit It was for gentle Shakespeare cut; As well in brasse, as he hath hit Wherein the Graver had a strife His face, the Print would then surpass. With nature, to out-doo the life: All that was ever writ in brasse. But since he cannot, Reader, looke Not on his Picture, but his Hooke. / THE REAL CHARACTER OE WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 65 Like Shakspere of Stratford, his family consisted of girls, and Tie was not by any means as wealthy as Shakspere. Did he leave his daughters to sign their names with hieroglyphics ? No. Macaulay says: Katherine, who became Lady Killigrew, wrote Latin hexameters and pentam- eters which would appear with credit in the Mustv Etonenses. Mildred, the wife of Lord Burleigh, was described by Roger Ascham as the best Greek scholar among the young women of England, Lady Jane Grey always excepted. Anne, the mother of Francis Bacon, was distinguished both as a linguist and a theologian. She corresponded in Greek with Bishop Jewell, and translated his Apologia from the Latin so correctly that neither he nor Archbishop Parker could suggest a single alteration. She also translated a series of sermons on fate and free will from the Tuscan of Bernardo Ochino.' They were not alone. There were learned and scholarly women in England in those days, and many of them, as there have been in all ages since. Macaulay says: The fair pupils of Ascham and Aylmer who compared, over their embroidery, the styles of Isocrates and Lysias, and who, while the horns were sounding and the dogs in full cry, sat in the lonely oriel with eyes riveted to that immortal page which tells how meekly and bravely the first great martyr of intellectual liberty took the cup from his weeping jailer.'^ It is not surprising that William Shakspere, poacher, fugitive, vagabond, actor, manager, brewer, money-lender, land-grabber, should permit one of his two children to grow up in gross ignor- ance, but it is beyond the compass of the human mind to believe that the author of Hamlet and Lear could have done so. He indi- cates in one of his plays how a child should be trained. Speaking of King Leonatus, in Cymbeline, he says: / Put him to all the learnings that his time Could make him receiver of ; which he took As we do air, fast as 'twas ministered, and In his spring became a harvest.* If Judith had been the child of the author of the Plays, and had "something of Shakespeare in her," she would have resented and struggled out of her shameful condition ; her mind would have sought the light as the young oak forces its way upward through the brush-wood of the forest. She would have replied to her neg- lectful father as Portia did: • Macaulay's Essays^ Bacon, p. 246. ^ Ibid., p. 247. ' Cymbeline, i, i. 66 WILLIAM SlIAKSFERE DID NO I' WRITE THE PLAYS. But the full sum of me Is sum of nothing, which to term in gross Is anunlessoned girl, unschooled, unpracticed ; Happy in this, she is not yet so old But she may learn ; happier than this. She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit Commits itself to yours to be directed. As from her lord, her governor, her king.' But if she was the natural outcome of ages of ignorance, developed in a coarse and rude state of society, and the daughter of a cold-blooded man, who had no instinct but to make money, we can readily understand how, in the midst of wealth, and under the shadow of the school-house, she grew up so grossly ignorant. XI. Shakspere's Family. There seems to have been something wrong about the whole breed. In 1613, Shakspere being yet alive, Dr. Hall, his son-in-law, husband of his daughter Susanna, brought suit in the ecclesiastical court against one John Lane, for reporting that his wife " had the runninge of the raynes, and had bin naught with Rafe Smith and John Palmer." Halliwell-Phillipps says: The case was heard at Worcester on July the 15th, 161 3, and appears to have been cojiducted sonieivhat viysteriously, the deposition of Robert Whatcot, the poet's intimate friend, being the only evidence recorded, and throwing no substantia/ light on the merits of the dispute} Nevertheless, the defendant was excommunicated. This being the case of the oldest daughter, the other, the pot- hook heiress, does not seem to have been above suspicion. Judith's marriage with Thomas Quiney was a mysterious and hurried one. Phillipps says: There appears to have been some reason for accelerating this event, for they were married without a license, and were summoned a few weeks afterward to the ecclesiastical court at Worcester to atone for the offense.^ Ignorance, viciousness, vulgarity and false pretenses seem to have taken possession of New Place. Not a glimpse of anything that might tell a different story escapes the ravages of time. » Merchant 0/ Venice, iii, 2. "^ Outtines Life o/S/iak., p. 166. 3 Halliwell-Phillipps, Outtines Life o/Shak., p. 182. THE REAL CHARACTER OE WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 67 Appleton Morgan says: It is simply impossible to turn one's researches into any channel that leads into the vicinity of Stratford without noticing the fact that the Shakspere family left in the neighborhood where it flourished one unmistakable trace, familiar in all cases of vulgar and illiterate families, namely, the fact that they never knew or cared, or made an effort to know, of what vowels or consonants their own name was composed, or even to prepare the skeleton of its pronunciation. They answered — and made their marks — indifferently to Saxpir, or Chaksper, or to any other of the thirty forms given by Mr. Grant White, or the fifty-five forms which another gentleman has been able to collect.' Even the very tombs of the different members of the family pre- sent different renderings of the name. Under the bust it is Shak- speare, while he signed the will as Shakspere; over the grave of Susanna it is Shakspere; over the other members of the family it is Shakespeare. In short, the name was notliing. They Answered to " Hi! " Or any loud cry. XII. The Origin of the Name. We have been taught to believe that the name was Shakespeare, and it has been suggested that this was a reminiscence of that *' late antecessor " who rendered such valuable services to the late King Henry VII.; that he shook a speare in defense of the King so potently that he was ever after known as Shakespeare. It is in this way the name is printed in all the publications put forth in Shak- spere's lifetime. But it is no less certain that this name is another imposture. There never was a ''shake" to it; and possibly never a "speare." The name was Shak-spearc, or speer, or spur, or pierre, the first syllable rhyming to i>ack and not to hake. Shakespeare was doubtless an invention of the man who assumed the name at a later date as a mask, and he wanted something that would " heroically sound." The fictitious speare passed to the fraud- ulent coat-of-arms. In the bond given to enable William to marry, he is called "William Shagspere." In the bill of complaint of 1589 of John Shakspere in connection with the Wilmecote property, his son is alluded to as " William Shackespere." The father signs his cross to a deed to Robert Webb, in which he is described as " John Shax- ' The Shakespeare Myth^ p. i6o. 68 WILLIAM SILAKSPERE DID NOT IVRITE THE PLAYS. pere;" and his mother makes her mark as " Marye Shaksper." His father is mentioned in the will of John Webbe, in 1573, as "John Schackspere." In 1567 he is alluded to in the town records as "Mr. Shakspyr," and when elected high bailiff, in 1568, he is referred to as "Mr. John Shakysper." The only letter extant addressed to Shakspere was written October 25, 1598, by Richard Quiney, his townsman, and it is addressed to "Mr. Wm. Shackespere." In 1594-5 he is referred to in the court record as "Shaxberd." In 1598 he is referred to in the corporation records of Stratford as selling them a load of stone: "Paid to Mr. Shaxpere for on lod of ston x d." In his will the attorney writes it " Schackspeare," and the man himself signed his name Shakspere. Hallam says: The poet and his family spelt their name Shakspere, and to this spelling th°re are no exceptions in his own autographs. The name is spelled by his townsman. Master Abraham Sturley, in 1599, .5'//<^//l'spere, and in 1598 he alludes to him as "Mr. William Shak." And when he himself petitioned the court in chancery in 1612, in reference to his tithes, he described himself as "William Schackspeare." White says: In the irregular, phonographic spelling of antiquity, the name appears some- times as Chacksper and Shaxpui: It is possible that Shakespeare is a corruption of some name of a more peaceful meaning, and therefore perhaps of humbler derivation.' It has been suggested, and with a good deal of probability, that the original name was Jacques-Pierre, pronounced Chacks- pere, or Shaks-pere, The French Jacques (James) seems, by soine mutation, to have been transformed in England into "a nickname or diminutive for John."^ Thus it may be that the original progenitor of this grandilo- quent, martial cognomen, which " doth like himself heroically sound," may have been, in the first instance, a peasant without a family name, and known as plain Jack-Peter. ' White, I.j/c and Genius of Shak., p. 5. 2 See Webster's Unabridged Pietionnry, p. 722, the word Jack. THE REAL CHARACTER OF WILLIAM SHAKSTERE. 69 XIII. His Humiliation, Despite his wealth, his position in his native town could not have been a very pleasant one. In 1602, and again in 1612, the very year in which we are told Shakspere returned to Stratford to spend the rest of his life, the most stringent measures were taken by the corpo- ration to prevent the performance of plays. The pursuit in which he had made his money was thus stamped by his fellow townsmen as something shameful and degrading. Even this dirty little village repudiated it. The neighboring aristocracy must have turned up their noses and laughed long and loud at the plebeian's son setting up a coat-of-arms. By profession he was, by the statutes of his country, a "vagabond," and had, in the past, only escaped arrest as such by entering himself as a servitor, or servant, to some nobleman. The vagabond, according to the statutes, was to " be stripped naked, from the middle upwards, and to be whipped until his body was bloody, and to be sent from parish to parish, the next straight way, to the place of his birth." ' He was buried in the chancel of the church, not as recogni- tion of his greatness, but because that locality was " the legal and customary burial-place for the owners of the tithes."'' XIV. His Handwriting. The very signature of Shakspere has provoked discussion. The fact that the will as originally drawn read, "witness my seal," and that the "seal" was erased and "hand" written in, has been cited to prove that the lawyer who drew the will believed that the testator could not read or write. In an article in The Quarterly Review in 1871, we read: If Shakspere's handwriting was at all like his signature, it was by no means easy to decipher. If we may speak dogmatically upon such slender proofs as we now pos- sess, he learnt to write after the old German text-hand then in use at the grammar school of Stratford. It was in this respect fifty years behindhand, as any one may see by comparing Shakspere's signature with that of Sir Thomas Lucy, Lord Bacon, or John Lilly. The -awnder is Junv ivith suck a hand he could ha7'c icrit/oi so much. Mr. William Henry Burr, of Washington, D. C, has written an interesting pamphlet, to prove that Shakspere could not read or write, but simply traced his name from a copy set him; and that, ' Knight's Illitst. S/ial-s., 'I'rai,^., i, p. 442. " Outlines Li/c 0/ S/iak., p. 171. 70 WILLIAM SIIAKSPEKE DID NOT ]VKITE THE PLAYS. as the copy furnished him at different times was written by differ- ent hands, there is a great difference in the shape of the letters composing his name. Certain it is his autographs do not look like the work of a schol- arly man. The following cut is a representation of all the signatures known, beyond question, to have been written by Shakspere: The first is from Malone's fac-siinilc of a mortgage deed which has been lost; the second is from a conveyance in the possession of the corporation of London; the other three are from the three sheets of paper constituting his will. Compare the foregoing scrawls with the clear and scholarly writing of Ben Jonson, affixed in 1604-5 to a copy of his Mask of Blackness, and now preserved in the British Museum: Or compare them with the handwriting of the famous and popular John Lyly, the author of Ei/phues, written about 1580: THE REAL CHARACTER OF WILLIAM SHAKSFERE. 71 Or compare them with the following signature of Francis Bacon: ^^ir M^l il^u^ p^^rS^^^j^ Or compare them with the signature of the famous Inigo Jones, who assisted in getting up the scenery and contrivances for masks at court: -^ XV. His Death. Let us pass to another point. We saw that the first recorded fact in reference to the Stratford boy was a drunken bout in which he lost consciousness, and lay out in the fields all night. The history of his life terminates with a sim- ilar event. Halliwell-Phillipps thus gives the tradition: It is recorded that the party was a jovial one, and, according to a somewhat late but apparently reliable tradition, when the great dramatist was returning to New Place in the evening, he had taken more wine than was conducive to pedestrian accuracy. Shortly or immediately afterwards, he was seized by the lamentable fever which terminated fatally on Friday, April 23. The cause of the malady, then attributed to undue festivity, would now be readily discernible in the wretched san- itary conditions surrounding his residence. If truth, and not romance, is to be invoked, were there the woodbine and the sweet honeysuckle within reach of the poet's death-bed, their fragrance would have been neutralized by their vicinity to middens, fetid water-courses, mud-walls and piggeries.' 1 Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines Life of Siiak., p. 170. • 72 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE FLAYS. And from such a cause, and in the midst of such surroundings, we are told, died the greatest man of his race; leaving behind him not a single tradition or memorial that points to learning, culture, refinement, generosity, elevation of soul or love of humanity. If he be in truth the author of the Plays, then indeed* is it one of the most inexplicable marvels in the history of mankind. As Emerson says, ** I cannot marry the facts to his verse." T CHAPTER IV. THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. Come, and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow. Titus A iijroniius, h\ r. HE whole life of Shakspere is shrouded in mystery. Richard Grant White says: We do not know positively the date of Shakespeare's birth, or the house in which he first saw the light, or a single act of his life from the day of his baptism to the month of his obscure and suspicious marriage. We are equally ignorant of the date of that event, and of all else that befell him from its occurrence until we find him in London; and when he went there we are not sure, or when he finally returned to Stratford. . . . Hardly a word that he spoke has reached us, and not a familiar line from his hand, or the record of one interview at which he was present.' And, again, the same writer says: From early manhood to maturity he lived and labored and throve in the chief city of a prosperous and peaceful country, at a period of high intellectual and moral development. His life was passed before the public in days when the pen recorded scandal in the diary, and when the press, though the daily newspaper did not yet exist, teemed with personality. Yet of Dante, driven in haughty wretched- ness from city to city, and singing his immortal hate of his pursuers as he fled, we know more than we do of Shakespeare, the paucity of whose personal memorials is so extreme that he has shared with the almost mythical Homer the fortune of having the works which made his name immortal pronounced medleys, in the com- position of which he was but indirectly and partially concerned.^ Hallam says: Of William Shakespeare it may be truly said we know scarcely anything. . . . While I laud the labors of Mr. Collier, Mr. Hunter and other collectors of such crumbs, I am not sure that we should not venerate Shakespeare as much if they had left him undisturbed in his obscurity. To be told that he played a trick on a brother player in a licentious amour, or that he died of a drunken frolic, does not exactly inform us of the man who wrote Lear. If there was a Shakespeare of earth there was also one of heaven, and it is of him that we desire to know some- . thing.' This is certainly extraordinary. It was an age of great men. 1 White, Li/f and Genius of Shak., p. 4. - Ibid., p. i. ' Introduction to Literature of Europe, 73 74 WILLIAM SHAKSPEKE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. Richard Grant White says: Unlike Dante, unlike Milton, unlike Goethe, unlike the great poets and trage- dians of Greece and Rome, Shakespeare left no trace upon the political, or even the social life of his era. Of his eminent countrymen, Raleigh, Sidney, Spenser, Bacon, Cecil, Walsingham, Coke, Camden, Hooker, Drake, Hobbes, Inigo Jones, Herbert of Cherbury, Laud, Pym, Hampden, Selden, Walton, Wotton and Donne may be properly reckoned as his contemporaries; and yet there is no proof what- ever that he was personally known to either of these men, or to any others of less note among the statesmen, scholars, soldiers and artists of his day, except the few of his fellow craftsmen whose acquaintance with him has been heretofore men- tioned.' It was an age of pamphlets. Priests, politicians and players all vented their grievances, or set forth their views, in pamphlets, but in none of these is there one word from or about Shakspere. I. Where are his Letters ? It was an age of correspondence. The letters which have come down to us from that period would fill a large library, but in no one of them is there any reference to Shakspere. The man of Stratford passed through the world without leaving the slightest mark upon the politics or the society of his teeming and active age. Emerson says: If it need wit to know wit, according to the proverb, Shakespeare's time should be capable of recognizing it. Sir Henry Wotton was born four years after Shake- speare, and died twenty-three years after him, and I find among his correspondents and acquaintances the following persons: Theodore Beza, Isaac Casaubon, Sir Philip Sidney, the Earl of Essex, Lord Bacon, Sir Walter Raleigh, John Milton, Sir Henry Vane, Isaac Walton, Dr. Donne, Abraham Cowley, Bellarmine, Charles Cotton, John Pym, John Hales, Kepler, Vieta, Albericus Gentilis, Paul Sarpi, Arminius — with all of whom exists some token of his having communicated, with- out enumerating many others whom doubtless he (Wotton) saw^ — • Shakspeare, Spenser, Jonson, Beaumont, Massinger, two Herberts, Marlowe, Chapman and the rest. Since the constellation of great men who appeared in Greece in the time of Pericles, there was never any such society; yet their genius failed them to find out the best head in the universe. Our poet's mask was impenetrable. '■* We read in a sonnet attributed to his pen that he highly valued Spenser; and we find Spenser, it is claimed, alluding to the author of the Plays; the dedications of the W'uits and Adonis and the Rafe of Liicrcce are supposed to imply close social relationship with the Earl of Southampton; we are told Elizabeth conversed with him and King James wrote him a letter; we have pictures of him sur- 1 Life and Genius cf Shak., ji. 185. ^ Rc/>rcscntath'e Men, p. 200. THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 7^ rounded by a circle of friends, consisting of the wisest and wittiest of the age; and yet there has been found no scrap of writiiig from him or to him; no record of any dinner or festival at which he met any of his associates. In tlie greatest age of English literature the greatest man of his species lives in London for nearly thirty years, and no man takes any note of his presence. Contrast the little we know of Shakspere with the great deal we know of his contemporary Ben Jonson. We are acquainte.d some- what with the career even of Ben's father; we know that Ben attended school in London, and was afterward at Cambridge; — there is no evidence that Shakspere ever was a day at school in his life. We know that Jonson enlisted and served as a young man in the wars in the Low Countries. Shakspere's biography, from the time he left Stratford, in 1585-7, until he appears in London as a writer of plays, is an utter blank, except the legend that he held horses at the door of the theater. We know all about Jonson's- return home; his marriage; his duel with Gabriel Spencer. We are certain of the date of the first representation of each of his plays; there is a whole volume of matter touching the quarrels between himself and other writers. He published his own works in 1616. and received a pension from James L We have letters extant describing the suppers he gave, his manners, weaknesses, appear- ance, etc. But with Shakspere all this is different. Where are the letters he must have received during the thirty years he was in London, if he was the man of active mind given out by the Plays ? If he had received but ten a year, they would make a considerable volume., and what a world of light they would throw upon his pursuits and character. But two letters are extant — those to which I have already referred : one addressed to him soliciting a loan of money; an- other addressed to a third party, in which he is referred to in the same connection; but there is not one word as to studies, or art, or literature, or politics, or science, or religion; and yet the mind that wrote the Plays embraced all these subjects, and had thought profoundly on all of them. He loved the art of poetry passionately: he speaks of " the elegance, facility and golden cadence of poetry; " '' ' Lin'e s Labor Lost, iv, 2. 76 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. he aspired to a " muse of fire that would ascend the highest heaven of invention; " he struggled for perfection. Had he no intercourse with the poets of his time ? Was there no mutual coming-together of men of kindred tastes and pursuits? Is it not most extraordinary that he should leave behind him this vast body of plays, the glory and the wonder of which fills the world, and not a scrap of paper except five signatures, three of which were affixed to his will, and the others to some legal docu- ments ? On the one side we have the Plays — vast, voluminous, immortal, covering and ranging through every department of human thought. These are the works of Shakespeare. On the other hand, these five signatures are the sum total of the life-labors of Shak-spere which have come down to us. In these rude, illiterate scrawls we stand face to face with the man of Stratford. What an abyss separates them from the majestic, the god-like Plays ? It is a curious fact that all the writings were put forth in the name of Shakespeare, very often printed with a hyphen, as I have given it above, Shakespeare ; while in every one of the five cases where the man's signature has come down to us, he spells his name Shakspere. In this work, wherever I allude to the mythical writer, I designate him as Shakespeare ; whenever I refer to the man of Stratford, I give him the name he gave himself — Shakspere. The history of mankind will be searched in vain for another instance where a great man uniformly spelled his' name one way on the title-pages of his works, and another way in the important legal documents which he was called upon to sign. Can such a fact be explained ? But passing from this theme we come to another question: II. Where are his Books? We have seen that the author of the Plays was a man of large learning; that he had read and studied Homer, Plato, Heliodorus, Sophocles, Euripides, Dares Phrygius, Horace, Virgil, Lucretius, Statins, Catullus, Seneca, Ovid, Plautus, Plutarch, Boccaccio, Berni and an innumerable array of French novelists and Spanish and THE LOST LIBRARY AA'D MANUSCRIPTS. 77 Danish writers^ The books which have left their traces in the Plays would of themselves have constituted a large library. What became of them ? There were no public libraries in that day to which the student could resort. The man who wrote the Plays must have gathered around him a vast literary store, commensurate with his own intel- lectual activity. Did William Shakspere, of Stratford-on-Avon, possess such a library ? If he did, there is not the slightest reference to it in his will. The man who wrote the Plays would have loved his library; he would have remembered it in his last hours. He could not have forgotten Montaigne, Holinshed, Plutarch, Ovid, Plato, Horace, the French and Italian romances, to remember his"brod silver and gilt bole," his "sword," his *' wearing apparel," and his "second best bed with the furniture." The man of Stratford forgot Homer and Plato, but his mind dwelt lovingly, at the edge of the grave, on his old breeches and the second-hand bed-clothes. Compare his will with that of one who was his contemporary, Robert Burton, the author of The Anatomy of Melancholy. I quote a few items from it. After leaving certain sums of money to Christ Church, Oxford, to buy books with, and to Brasennose Library, he says: If I have any books the University Library hath not, let them take them. If I have any books our own library hath not, let them take them. I give to Mrs. Fell all my English Books of Husbandry one excepted. ... To Mrs. lies my Gerard's Herbal. To Mrs. Morris my Country Farm, translated out of French, 4, and all my English Physick Books to Mr. Whistler, the Recorder of O.xford. . . . To all my fellow students, Mrs. of Arts, a book in Folio or two apiece. . . . To Master Morris my Atlas Geografer and Ortelius Theatrum Moitd. . . . To Doctor lies, his son. Student Salauutch on Paurrhelia and Lucian's Works in 4 tomes. If any books be left let my executors dispose of them with all such Books as are written with my own hands, and half my Melancholy copy, for Crips hath the other half. This will was made in 1639, twenty-three years after Shakspere's death, and shows how a scholar tenderly remembers his library when he comes to bid farewell to the earth. The inventory of Shakspere's personal property has never been- found. Halliwell-Phillipps says: 78 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID N07' WRITE THE PLAYS. If the inventory ever comes to light, it can hardly fail to be of surpassing interest, especially if it contains a list of the books preserved at New Place. These must have been ve>y limited in number, for there is no allusion to such luxuries in the 7vill. Anything like a private library, even of the smallest dimensions, was then of the rarest occurrence, and that Shakespeare ever owned one, at any time of his life, is exceedingly improbable} But surely the man who could write as follows could not have lived without his books: Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book; . . . his intellect IS not replenished; he is only an animal; only sensible in the duller parts. - There is no evidence that Shakspere possessed a single book. It was supposed for some time that the world had a copy of a work from his library, the Essays of Montaigne, but it is now conceded that the signature on the title-leaf is a forgery. The very forgery showed the instinctive feeling which possessed intelligent men that the author of ^«^w/<'/ must have owned a library, and would have lov- ingly inscribed his name in his favorite books. III. Where is the Debris of his Work-shop. It was an age of commonplace-books. Halliwell-Phillipps calls the era of Shakspere "those days of commonplace-books." Shakespeare himself presented a commonplace-book to some friend, and wrote this sonnet, probably on the fly-leaf: Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, Thy dial how thy precious moments waste; The 7'acant leoTcs thy mind's imprint will bear, And of this book this learning mayst thou taste. The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show Of mouthed graves will give thee memory; Thou by the dial's shady stealth mayst know Time's thievish progress to eternity. Look, icliat thy memory cannot contain. Commit to these rvaste blanks, and thou shalt find . - These children nursed, delivered from thy brain To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. These offices, so oft as thou wilt look. Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book.'* That distinguished scholar, Prof. Thomas Davidson, expresses the opinion that this word offices may be identical Vv^ith the Promus of Bacon, some leaves of which are now in the British Museum, • Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines Life of Shak., p. i86. "^ Love' s Labor Lost, iv, 2. 3 Sonnet Ixxvii. THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 79 The sonnet describes just such a commonplace-book as Bacon's Promiis is; and Prof. Davidson adds: Promus is the Latin for offices, that is, larder. Offices here has always seemed a strange word. Its significance appears to have been overlooked. The German translations omit it. The real author of the Plays was a laborious student; we will see hereafter how he wrote and re-wrote his works. This sonnet shows that he must have kept commonplace-books, in which he noted down the thoughts and facts which he feared his memory could not contain, to subsequently "enrich his book" with them. With such habits he must have accumulated during his life-time a vast mass of material, the debris, the chips of the work-shop, hewn off in shaping the stately statues of his thought. What became of them ? IV. Where are the Original Copies of the Plays? Let the reader write off one page of any one of the Shakespeare Plays, and he can then form some conception of the huge mass of manuscripts which must have been in the hands of the author. But as there is evidence that some of the Plays were re-written more than once, and "enlarged to as much again," there must have been, in the hands of the author, not only these original or imperfect manuscript copies, but the final ones as well. Moreover, there had been seventy-two quarto editions of the Plays. These, even if imperfect and pirated, as it is claimed, were His children, nursed, delivered of his brain; and if the Stratford man was really the father of the Plays, and believed that Not marble, Nor the gilded monuments of princes, Should outlive this powerful rhyme, what would be more natural than that he should take with him to Stratford copies of these quarto editions ? Can we conceive of a great writer withdrawing to his country residence, to live out the remainder of his life, without a single copy of the works which had given him wealth, fame and standing as a gentleman ? And if he possessed such books, commonplace-books and man- uscripts, why did he not, Dying, mention them within his will. 8o WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. as the real author says the Roman citizen would a hair from the head of the dead Caesar? For all the dust of all the Caesars would not compare in interest for mankind with these original manu- scripts and note-books; and the man who wrote the Plays knew it, and announced it with sublime audacity: But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fain thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou goest. So long as men can breathe or eyes can see. So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. Appleton Morgan says: More than a century and a half of vigorous and exhaustive research, bounded only by the limits of Great Britain, have failed to unearth a single scrap of memo- randa or manuscript notes in William Shakespeare's handwriting, as preparation for any one or any portion of these plays or poems. But it will be said that this utter disappearance of the original copies, note-books, memoranda, letters, quarto editions and library is due to the destruction and waste of years. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back. Wherein he puts alms for oblivion. But certain things are to be remembered. It must be remembered that Shakspere was the one great man of his race and blood. He had lifted his family from obscurity to fame, from poverty to wealth, from the condition of yeomanry to that of pretended gentry; all their claims to consideration rested upon him; and this greatness he had achieved for them not by the sword, or in trade, but by his intellectual genius. Hence, they represented him, in his monument, with pen in hand, in the act of writing; hence, they placed below the monument a declaration in Latin that he was, 'In judgment, a Nestor — in genius, a Socrates — in art, a Maro," and an English inscription which says that All that he hath writ Leaves living art but page to serve his wit. His daughter Susanna was buried with these lines upon her tomb: Witty above her sex, but that's not all. Wise to salvation was good Mistress Hall; Something of Shakespeare was in that, but this Wholly of him with whom she's now in bliss. THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 8i His genius was more or less the subject of comment even while he lived and soon after his death. We are told, in the preface to the quarto edition of Troilus and Crcssidii, published in 1609, that Shakespeare's Plays are equal to the best comedy in Terence or Plautus. And, believe this, that when he is gone and his Comedies out of sale, you will scramble for them, and set up a new English Inquisition. In 1662, forty-six years after his death, and eight years before the death of his grand-daughter Elizabeth, wife of Sir John Bar- nard, the vicar of Stratford proceeded to note down the traditions about him. How comes it, then, that this family — thus made great by the genius of one man, by his literary genius; conscious of his great- ness; aware that the world was interested in the details of his character and history — should have preserved no scrap of his writing; no manuscript copy of any of his works; no quarto edition of the Plays; no copy of the great Folio of 1623; no book that had formed part of his library; no communication addressed to him by any one on any subject; no incident or anecdote that would have illustrated his character and genius ? They had become people of some note; they lived in the great house of the town. One son-in- law was a physician, who had preserved a written record of the diseases that came under his observation; his grand-daughter Elizabeth, in 1643, entertained Queen Henrietta Maria, wife of King Charles, the reigning monarch, and daughter of the great King Henry IV. of France. The Queen remained in Shakspere's house, New Place, for three weeks, on her progress to join King Charles at Oxford. The Plays of Shakespeare were the delight of King Charles' court. We are assured by Dryden that Shakespeare was greatly popular with "the last King's court" — that of King James — and that Sir John Suckling, and the greater part of the courtiers, rated him "our Shakespeare," far above Ben Jonson, " even when his (Jonson's) reputation was at the highest." Could it be possible that the Queen and courtiers would find themselves in the house of the author of Hamlet and The Merry Wives of Windsor, and yet ask no questions about him ? And if they did, what more natural than for his grand-daughter to produce the relics she possessed of the great man — the letter of compliment 82 WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. which King James, the King's father, had written him, as tradition affirms. Kings' letters were not found on every bush in Stratford. And such memorials, once presented to the inspection of the curious, would never again be forgotten. Would not a sweet and gentle and cultured nature have left behind him, in the bosom of his family, a multitude of pleasant anecdotes, redolent of the wit and humor that sparkle in the Plays? And, once uttered, the world would never permit them to die. No accent of the Holy Ghost The heedless world has ever lost. We are told, by Oldys, that when his brother, in his latter years, visited London, he was beset with questions by the actors touching his illustrious relative, held by them in the highest veneration; but he could tell them nothing. Would not similar questions be pro- pounded to his family? His nephew, the son of his sister, was an actor in London for years, but he, too, seems to have had nothing to tell. We know that Leonard Digges, seven years after his death, refers to the "Stratford monument." Interest in him was active. Dr. Hall's diary of the patients he visited, and the diary of law- yer Green, Shakspere's cousin, concerning his petty law business, are both extant, and are pored over by rapturous students; but where are Shakspere's diary and note-books? Neither is there any reason why his personal effects should dis- appear through carelessness. Dr. Hall was a man of education. He must have known the value of Shakspere's papers. His own and his father-in-law's personal property continued in the hands of Shakspere's heirs down to tJie beginniiio; of the present century, having passed by will from Lady Barnard in 1670 to the heirs of Joan Hart, Shakspere's sister. This was long after the great Garrick Jubilee had been held at Stratford, and long after the world had grown intensely curious about everything that concerned its most famous man. Surely the memorials of one who was believed by his heirs to be the rival of Socrates in genius and of Maro in art would not be permitted to be destroyed by a family of even ordinary intel- ligence. See how the papers of Bacon — of Bacon who left no chil- dren, and probably an unfaithful wife — have come down to us: the MSS. of his books; great piles of letters, written, most of them, not when he was Lord Chancellor, but when he was plain Master THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 83 Prancis Bacon. Even his commonplace-books have found their way into the British Museum, and the very scraps of paper upon which his amanuensis tried his pen. Remember how Spedding found the original packages of the private letters of Lord Bur- leigh, just as they were tied up by the great Lord Treasurer's own hand, never opened or disturbed for nigh three hundred j'^ears ! In the British Museum they have the original manuscript copies of religious plays written in the reign of Henry VI., two hundred years before the time of Shakspere; but that marvelous collection has not a line of any of the plays written by the author of Lear and Hamlet. V. The Money Value of the Plays. Nothing is clearer than that Shakspere was a money-getting man. He achieved a very large fortune in a pursuit in whicli most men died paupers. He had a keen eye to profit. He was read)^ to sue his neighbor for a few shillings loaned. I have shown that he must have carried on the business of brewing in New Place. He entered into a conspiracy to wrest the right of common from the poor people of the town, for his own profit. Now, the Plays represented certain values; not alone their value on the stage, but the profits which came from their publica- tion. They were popular. Appleton Morgan says: Although constantly pirated during his lifetime, it is impossible to discover that anybody, or any legal representative of anybody, named Shakespeare, ever set up any claim to proprietorship in any of these works — works which beyond any literary production of that age were (as their repeatedly being subjects of piracy and of registration on the Stationers' books proves them to have been) of the largest market value. Why should the man who sued his neighbors for petty sums like two shillings pass by, in his will, these sources of emolument? But it may be said he had already sold the plays and poems to others. This answer might suffice as to those already printed, but there were seventeen plays that never saw the light until they appeared in the Folio edition of 1623, published seven years after his death. He must have owned these. Why did he make no pro- vision in his will for their publication — if not for glory, for gain? It may be said that John Hei/iinge and Henry CiindcU, who appear to have put forth the Folio of 1623, are mentioned in his will, and that 84 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. they acted therein as his literary executors. But they are not named as executors. His sole executors are Dr. John Hall, his son- in-law, and Susanna, his daughter, with Thomas Russell, Esq., and Francis Collins, gent., as overseers. None of these parties appear to have had any connection with the great Folio. It was a large and costly work, and, even though eventually profitable, must have required the advance of a large sum to print it. Where did this money come from ? Is it probable that a couple of poor actors, like Heminge and Condell, would have undertaken such an outlay and risk while the children of Shakspere were alive and exceed- ingly wealthy ? I do not suppose that a work of the magnitude of the Folio of 1623 could have been printed for a less sum than the equivalent of $5,000 of our money. But at the back of the Folio we find this entry: Printed at the charges of W. Jaggard, Ed. Blount, I. Smithweeke and W- Aspley, 1623. On the title-page we read: Printed by Isaac Jaggard and Ed. Blount, 1623. So that it appears that three men, W. Jaggard, I. Smithweeke and W. Aspley, paid the expenses of the publication, while only one man, Ed. Blount, was concerned in printing and expense both. So that it appears that neither Heminge and Condell, nor Dr. John Hall, nor Shakspere's daughter Susanna, nor Thomas Russell, nor Francis Collins, nor anybody else who represented Shakspere's blood or estate, had anything to do with the expense of publishing the complete edition of Shakespeare's Plays, including' seventeen that had never before been printed. VI. A Mysterious Matter. But there is still another curious feature of this mysterious business. I quote again from Appleton Morgan: It is not remarkable, perhaps, that we find no copyright entries on the Station- ers' books in the name of Jonson, Marlowe, or other of the contemporary poets and dramatists, for these were continually in straitened circumstances. But, William Shakespeare being an exceedingly wealthy and independent gentleman (if, besides, one of the largest owners of literary property of his time), it is remark- able that the only legal method of securing literary matter, and putting it in shape to alienate, was never taken by him, or in his name. The silence of his will as to \ THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. ^. any literary property whatever is explained by the commentators by supposing that Shakespeare sold all his plays to the Globe or other theaters on retiring, and that the Globe Theater was destroyed by fire. If so, let it be shown from the only place where the legal transfer could have been made — the books of the Stationers' Company, which were not destroyed by fire, but are still extant. Other commentators — equally oblivious of such trifling obstacles as the laws -of England — urge that, being unmentioned in the will, the Plays went by course of probate to Dr. Hall, the executor. But even more, in that case, certain entries and transfers at Stationers' Hall -would have been necessary. Moreover, the copyright, being not by statute, was perpetual, and could not have lapsed. In the preface to their first folio Heminge and Con- dell announced that all other copies of .Shakespeare's plays are " stolen and surrep- titious." But on consulting the Stationers' books it appears that the quarto edi- tions were mostly regularly copyrighted according to law, whereas the first folio 7vas not. Nor were the plays already copyrighted ever transferred to Heminge and Condell or to their publishers. What legal rights in England ever centered in this great first folio, except as to the plays which appeared therein for the first time (which Blount and Jaggard did •copyright), must always remain a mystery. If " stolen and surreptitious copies " ex- isted, therefore, they were the folio, not the quarto copies. And again, in another publication, Mr. Morgan says: Heminge and Condell asserted, in 1623, that all the editions of the plays called Shakespeare, except their own, were "stolen and surreptitious copies." If the laws of England in those days are of the slightest consequence in this investigation, it must appear that it was actually these very men, Heminge and Condell, and not the other publishers, who were utterers of "stolen and surreptitious copies." For, whereas all other printers of Shakespeare's plays observed the laws and entered them for copyright, Heminge and Condell appear never to have heard of any legal obligations of the sort. Unless they stole them, it certainly passes man's under- standing to conceive how they got hold of them. For, whatever property could be legally alienated in those days without a record, literary property certainly could not be so alienated. The record of alienation could have been made in but one place, and it zaas never made there. It may be said that Heminge and Condell, being merely play- actors, were unfamiliar with the copyright system and law, and, hence, failed to properly enter the work. But Heminge and Con- dell, it appears by the first Folio itself, were not the men who put their money into the venture, but Messrs. " W. Jaggard, Ed. Blount, I. Smithweeke and W. Aspley." Why did they not secure a title to the work in which they were venturing $5,000 ? They were busi- ness men, not actors. As the Folio of 1623 declares that the previous quarto editions were "stolen and surreptitious copies" of the Plays, "maimed and deformed by the frauds and stealths of injuriotis impostors that ■exposed them," and that they now present them "cured and perfect .of their limbs, and all the rest, absolute in their numbers as he con- so WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. ceived them," etc., it follows that in 1623 Heminge and Condell must have had the original manuscripts in the handwriting of "the poet." And they assert this: And what he thought he uttered with that easiness that we have scarce received a blot in his papers. Now, as Heminge and Condell possessed Shakspere's original copies in 1623, they could not have been burned in the Globe Theater in 1613. A very large box would be required to contain them. What became of these fairly written, unblotted manuscripts ? Did his " pious fellowes," who so loved the memory of their associate that they compiled and published in huge and costly folio his com- pleted works, care nothing for these memorials, in the very hand- writing of him whom Ben Jonson pronounced, in the same volume and edition, the Soul of the age, The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage; who " was not for an age, but for all time," and in comparison with whom " all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome " had produced was as nothing ? Those manuscripts have never been found, never been heard of; no tradition refers to them; no scrap, rag, remnant or fragment of them survives. Why did not the men who so eagerly questioned his brother, and who, we are told, so carefully preserved the Chandos portrait, secure some part of these invaluable documents, which would to-day be worth many times their weight in gold ? VII. Another Mystery. But another mystery attaches to these manuscripts. The first appearance of Troilus and Crcssida was in quarto form in 1609, and the book contains a very curious preface, in which we are told that the play had never been played, " never clapper-clawed with the palms of the vulgar," " never sullied with the smoky breath of the multitude," and we find also this remarkable statement: And believe this, that when he is gone and his comedies out of sale, you will scramble for them and set up a new English Inquisition. Take this for a warning and at the peril of your pleasures' loss and judgments refuse not, nor like this the less for not being sullied with the smoky breath of the multitude; but thank for- THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 87 tune for the 'scape it hath made among you, since by the grand possessors' wills I believe yon should have prayed for them rather than been prayed. Here two remarkable facts present themselves: 1. That Shakspere, who was supposed to have written his plays for the stage, for the profit to be drawn from their represent- ation to the swarming multitudes, writes a play which never is acted, but printed, so that any other company of players may pre- sent it. And this play is one of the profoundest productions of his great genius, full of utterances upon statecraft that are a million miles above the heads of the rag-tag-and-bobtail who " thunder at the play-house and fight for bitten apples." ' 2. That the original copies of this play and his other come- dies — some or all of them — have passed out of his hands, and are now possessed by some grand persons not named. For, note the language: The writer of the preface speaks of Shakespeare's "com- edies" in the plural; then of the particular comedy of Troiliis and Cressida ; then of the " 'scape // hath made amongst you," that is, its escape out of the "grand possessors'" hands, who were unwill- ing to have it "'scape." In other words, we are told that these "grand possessors' wills " were opposed to letting them — the com- edies — be published. Charles Knight says: It is difficult to understand this clearly, but we learn that the copy had an escape from some poiveiful possessors. It appears to us that these /<7jj<'Jjorj were powerful enough to prevent a single copy of any one of the plays which Shakspere produced in his "noon of fame," with the exception of the Troiltis and Cressida and Ztvz;-, being printed till after his death; and that between his death, in 1616, and the publication of the Folio, in 1623, they continued the exercise of their potver, so as to allow only one edition of one play which had not been printed in his life- time {Othello) to appear. The clear deduction from this statement of facts is, that the original publication of the fourteen plays published in Shakspere's lifetime was, with the exceptions we have pointed out, authorized by some power having the right to prevent the publication ; that, after 1603, till the publication of the Folio, that right was not infringed or contested, except in three instances. - Knight thinks that these "grand possessors" were Shakspere's fellow actors, to whom he had assigned the Plays; but this diffi- culty presents itself: Would the man who wrote the preface to the Troilus and Cressida of 1609, and who evidently looked with con- tempt upon the flayers and the play-house, and who boasts that • Henry VIII., v, 3. ^$kak.. History, vol. i, p. 314. 88 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. the play in question had never been "clapper-clawed with the palms of the vulgar," or "sullied with the smoky breath of the multitude" — would he speak of the actors who made their humble living before this vulgar multitude, the "vassal actors," the "legal vagabonds," as "grand possessors"? Do not the words imply some persons of higher social standing? And then comes this further difficulty: If the actors owned Troihis and Cressida, why would they not have played it, and gotten all the pennies and shillings out of it possible ? Or why, if written by an actor for actors, should it have been written so transcend- ently above the heads of the multitude that it could not be acted ? And why, if it was worth anything as a play, would the actors have allowed it to " 'scape " into the hands of a publisher who sends it forth with a sneer at the audiences who frequent their places of amusement. And why, if they owned all the Plays, does not their ownership appear somewhere on the books of copyright? And why, if they owned them, would they destroy their own monopoly by publishing them in folio in 1623, thus throwing open the doors to all the players of the world to act them ? And why would they not even copyright the book when they did so publish it? And why, if they did so publish it, does it appear, by the book itself, that they were not at the charge of publishing it, but that it was sent forth at the cost of four men, not actors, therein named ? Thus, in whatever direction we penettate into this subject, inex- plicable mysteries meet us face to face. VIII. Pregnant Questions. Why should the wealthy Shakspere permit the Plays, written while he was wealthy, to pass into the hands of certain "grand possessors"? And if these men were not actors, but bought the Plays of Shakspere, why should they make no attempt, during twenty years, to get their money back by publishing them ? And could they have procured them of the money-making Shakspere, if he wrote them, without paying for them ? And what business would "grand" men, not actors, not publishers, not speculators for profit, have with the Plays anyway ? And why should they stand guard over them and keep them from the public for twenty years, and then put them all out at once, and not copyright them, thus THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 89 making them a present to the public ? And when they did publish them, why should they place the papers in the hands of two play- actors, Heminge and Condell, who pretend that they are putting them forth out of love for the memory of that good fellow, Will Shakspere? Were not Heminge and Condell a mere mask and cover for the "grand possessors" of the unblotted manuscripts? And if the man who sued Philip Rogers for ^i 19^^. \od. for malt sold, and for two shillings money loaned, had any ownership in any of these plays, can we believe he would not have enforced it to the uttermost farthing? Would not he and his (for they were all litigious) have chased the stray shillings that came from their publication, through court after court, and thus placed the question of authorship forever beyond question ? We are forced to conclude: 1. Shakspere did not own the Plays and never had owned them. 2. They were in the hands of and owned by some "grand" person or persons. 3. This " grand " person or persons cared nothing for the interests of the players and made them public property; therefore, Heminge and Condell did not represent the players. 4. This " grand " person or persons cared nothing for the money to be derived from their sale, and took out no copyright, but presented them freely to the world; and this was not in the interest of Shakspere's heirs, if he had any claim to them. 5. And this "grand" person or persons cared nothing for the money to be made out of them, or he or they would, in the period of twenty years, between 1603 and 1623, have printed and reprinted them in quarto form, and made a profit out of them. But there is another striking fact in connection with the ques- tion of the manuscripts. IX. Another Mystery. The whole publication of the Folio of 162 j is based on a fraudulent statement. Heminge and Condell, in their preface, addressed " to the great variety of readers," say: go WILLIAM SHAKiiFERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. It had bene a thing, we confesse, worthy to have been wished that the author himself had lived to have set forth, and overseen his own writings. But since it hath bin ordained otherwise, and he by death departed from that right, we pray you do not envy his friends the office of their care and paine. to have collected and publish'd them; and so to have publish'd them as where (before) you were abus'd with diverse stolne and surreptitious copies, maimed and deformed by the frauds and stealthes of injurious impostors, that exposed them, even those are now offered to your view cur'd and perfect of their limbs, and all the rest, absolute in their numbers, as he conceived them. Who, as he was a happie imitator of nature, was a most gentle expresser of it. His mind and his hand went together. And what he thought he uttered with that easiness that we have scarce received from him a blot in his papers. And on the title-page of the Folio we read: ''Mr. William Shake- speare's Comedies, Histories and Tragedies. Published according to the true originall copies." We have also a list of "the principal actors in all these plays," prefaced by these words: The works of William Shakespeare, containing all his Comedies, Histories and. Tragedies: Tritely set forth ciceording to their Jirst originall. Here we find four things asserted: 1. That the Folio was printed from the original copies. 2. That Heminge and Condell had "collected" these copies and published them in the Folio. 3. That the quarto editions were " stolne and surreptitious copies, maimed and deformed." 4. That what Shakespeare wrote was poured from him, as if by inspiration, so that he made no corrections, and " never blotted a line," as Ben Jonson said. These statements are met by the following facts: I. Some of the finest thoughts and expressions, distinctively Shakespearean, and preeminently so, are found in the quarto edi- tions, and not in tJic Folio. For instance, in the play of Hamicf, nearly all of scene iv, act 4, is found in the quarto and not in the Folio. In the quarto copy we find the following passages: What is a man, If his chief good and market of his time Be but to sleep and feed ? A beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and god-like reason To fust in us unused. THE LOST LIBRARY AXD M A. VU SCRIPTS. 91 And again: Rightly to be great Is, not to stir without great argument. But greatly to find quarrel in a straw. When honor's at the stake. No one can doubt that these passages came from the mind we are accustomed to call Shakespeare. Hundreds of other admirable sentences can be quoted which appear in the quartos, but not in the Folio. It follows, then, that Heminge and Condell did not have "the true original copies," or they would have con- tained these passages. It follows, also, that there must have been some reason why portions of the quarto text were omitted from the Folio. It follows, also, that, in some respects, the *' stolne and surreptitious " copies of the quarto are more correct than the Folio, and that but for the quartos we would have lost some of the finest gems of thought and expression which go by the name of Shakespeare. II. The statement that Shakespeare worked without art, that he improvised his great productions, that there was scarce "a blot in his papers," in the sense that he made no corrections, is not only incompatible with what we know of all great works of art, but is contradicted on the next page but one of the Folio., by Ben Jonson, in his introductory verses. He says: Yet must I not give Nature all. Thy Art, My gentle Shakespeare, must enjo\' a part. For though the Poet's matter Nature be. His Art doth give the fashion. And that he Who casts to write a living line must sweat (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat Upon the Muse's anvile, turn the same (And himself with it) that he thinks to frame, Or for the laurel he may gain a scorne; For a good Poet's made, as well as borne. And suck vert thou. Look how the father's face Lives in his issue; even so the race Of Shakespeare's mind and manners brightly shines In his well-torned and true-filed lines. Here, then, we have the two play-actors, and friends of Shake- speare, Heminge and Condell, squarely contradicted by another friend and play-actor, Ben Jonson. One asserts that Shakespeare wrote without art; the other, that he sweat over his "true- 9-' WILLIAM SHAL^'SPLRE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. filed lines" and turned them time and again on the "Muse's anvile." Several of the plays exist in two forms: — first, a brief form, suitable for acting; secondly, an enlarged form, double the size of the former. This is true of Romeo and Juliet, He/uy F., The Merry Wives of Windsor and Hamlet. For instance, the first edition of Henry V. contains i,8oo lines; the enlarged edition has 3,500 lines. Knight says: In this elaboration the old materials are very carefully used up; but they are so thoroughly refitted and dovetailed with what is new, that the operation can only be compared to the work of a skillful architect, who, having an ancient mansion to enlarge and beautify, with a strict regard to its original character, preserves every feature of the structure, under other combinations, with such marvelous skill, that no unity of principle is violated, and the whole has the effect of a restoration in which the new and the old are undistinguish- able.' Knight gives a specimen of this work, taken from the quarto Henry V. of 1608 and the Folio of 1623. We print in the second column, in italics, those parts of the text derived from the quarto, and which reappear in the Folio: Quarto 1608. King. Sure we thank you; and, good my lord, proceed Why the law Salique, which they have in France, Or should or should not stop us in our claim: And God forbid, my wise and learned lord, That you should fashion, frame or wrest the same. For God doth know how many now in health Shall drop their blood, in approbation Of what your reverence shall incite us to. Therefore, take heed how you impawn our person; How you awake the sleeping sword of war: We charge you in the name of God take heed. After this conjuration speak, my lord; And we will judge, note and believe in heart King. Folio 1623. Sure, we thank you^ My learned lord, I pray you to proceed And justly and religiously unfold Why Ihe law Salique, that they have in France, Or should or should not bar us in our claim. And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, That you should fashion, tarest or bow your reading. Or nicely charge your understanding soul With opening titles miscreate, whose right Suits not in native colors with the truth L'or God doth know how many now in health Shall drop their blood, in approbation Of 70 hat your reverence shall incite its to : Therefore, take heed hoiv you impawn our person ; How vou atvake the sleeping sword of war; 1 Charles Knight, /'/(/. S/ia/c, Histories, vol, i, p. -^lo. THE LOST LIBRARY AND MAX U SCRIPTS. 93 That what you speak is washed as pure Wc charily yoii in lliy name of God take As sin in baptism. heed. For never two such kingdoms did con- tend Without much fall of blood, whose guilt- less drops Are every one a woe, a sore complaint, 'Gainst him whose wrongs give edge unto the swords That make such waste in brief mortality. Under this eonjut-ation speak, >nv lord ; And we will hear, note and believe in heart, That what yon speak is, in your con- science, washed As pure as sin with baptism. Now Heminge and Condell claim, in the Folio, that the play of Henry V. was printed from the "true original " copy, and that it came from the mind of Shakspere without a blot; while here is proof conclusive that it was not printed from the first original copy; and that it did not come, heaven-born, from the soul of the creator; but that the writer, whoever he might be, was certainly a man of vast industry and immense adroitness, nimbleness and subtlety of mind. False in one thing, false in all. Heminge and Condell did not have the author's original manuscripts, with all the interlineations- and corrections, before them to print from, but a fair copy from some other pen. They do not seem to have known that there was that 1608 edition of the play. In fact, they do not even seem to know how to spell their own names. At the end of the introduction,, from which I have quoted, they sign themselves, " John Heminge "' and " Henrie Condell," while in the list of actors, published by themselves, they appear as "John Hemmings " and " Henry Con- dell;" and Shakspere calls them, in his will, "John Hemynge" and " Henry Cundell." If the play-actor editors thus falsified the truth, or were them- selves the victims of an imposition, what confidence is to be placed in any other statement they make ? What assurance have we that they had collected the original manuscript copies; that they ever saw them; in short, that they were the work of Shakspere or in his handwriting? What assurance have we diat the whole introduction and dedication to which their names are appended were not written 94 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WKIT-E THE PLAYS. by some one else, and that they were but a mask for those "grand possessors" who, seven years before Shakspere's death, owned the play of Troilus ami Cressida ? In fact, a skeptical mind can see, even in the verses which face the portrait of Shakspere in the Folio of 1623, the undercurrent of a double meaning. They commence: The figure that thou here seest put, It was for gentle Shakespeare cut. Is the word gentle here, a covert allusion to Shakspere's ridiculous and fraudulent pretensions to "gentle" blood, and to that bogus coat-of-arms which we are told he had engraved in stone over the door of New Place in Stratford ? Wherein the graver had a strife ' With Nature to outdoo the life. No one can look at that picture and suppose that B. I. (Ben Jonson) was serious in this compliment to the artist. Appleton Morgan says: In this picture the head of the subject is represented as rising out of an horizontal plane of collar appalling to behold. The hair is straight, combed down the sides of the face and bunched over the ears; the forehead is disproportionately high; the top of the head bald; the face has the wooden expression familiar in the Scotchmen and Indians used as signs for tobacconists' shops, accompanied by an idiotic stare that would be but a sorry advertisement for the humblest establish- ment in that trade. If this picture " out-does the life," what sort of a creature must the original have been? O, could he but have drawn his wit As well in brass as he hath hit His face, the print would then surpass All that was ever writ in brass. This thought of "drawing his wit" is singularly enough taken from an inscription around another portrait — not that of Shak- spere, but of Francis Bacon. On the margin of a miniature of Bacon, painted by Hilliard in 1578, when he was in his eighteenth year, are found these words, "the natural ejaculation, probably," says Spedding, "of the artist's own emotion": Si tabula daretur dig?ia, animum inallem — if one could but paint his mind!* > The Shak. Myth, p. 95. "^Life and Works 0/ Bacon, Spedding, Ellis, etc., vol. i, p. 7. THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 95 Let us read again those lines: O, could he but have drawn his wit As well in brass as he hath hit His face, the print would then surpass All that was ever writ — /;/ brass ! That is to say, his wit drawn /// brass would surpass, in brass, all that was ever written. Is not this another way of intimating that only a brazen-faced man, like Shakspere, would have had the impu- dence to claim the authorship of plays which were not written by him ? And that this is not a forced construction we can see by turning to the Plays, where we will find the words brass and brazen used in the same sense as equivalents for impudence. Can any face of bi-ass hold longer out ? ' Well said, bi-aze>2-lace.'^ A ^ras^'M-faced valet.* It seems to me there is even a double meaning to some of the introductory verses of the Folio of 1623, signed Ben Jonson. The verses are inscribed — To the memory of my beloved — the Author — Mr. William Shakespeare — and — li'/iaf he hath 'rft us. What does this mean: "what he hath left us"? Does it mean his works? How could Ben Jonson inscribe verses to the memory of works — plays? We speak of the memory of persons, not of productions; of that which has passed away and perished, not of that which is but beginning to live; not of the Soul of the age ! The applause ! delight ! the wonder of our stage ! In the same volume, on the next page, we are told, For though his line of life went soon about, The life yet of his /ines 7viU never out. Could Ben Jonson inscribe his verses to the memory of works which, he assures us in the same breath, were not "for an age, but for all time " ? Can you erect a memorial monument over immortal life ? What did William Shakspere leave behind him that held any :onnection with the Plays ? Was it the real author — Francis Bacon ? ' Love's Labor Lost, v, 2. "^ Merry Wives 0/ Windsor, iv, 2. ' Lear, ii, 2. 96 WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLA YS^ And this thought seems to pervade the verses. Jonson says: Thini art alive still — while thy book doth live. And again: 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. That is to say, Ben Jonson expresses to the dead Shakspere the hope that he would reappear and make some more dramatic "flights" — that is, write some more plays. Such a wish would be absurd, if applied to the dead man, but would be very significant, if the writer knew that the real author was still alive and capable of new flights. And the closing words of the verses sound like an adjuration to Bacon to resume his pen: Shine forth, thou Starre of Poets, and with rage Or influence chide or cheer the drooping stage. Which, since thy flight from thence, hath mourned like night. And despaires day, but for thy volumes' light. The play-houses had the manuscript copies of the Plays, and had been regularly acting them; it needed not, therefore, the pub- lication of the Folio in 1623 to enable the poet to shine forth. If the "drooping stage" "mourned like night," it was not for the Plays which appear in the Folio, for it possessed them; it had been acting them for twenty years; but it was because the supply of new plays had given out. Hugh Holland says on the next page: Dryd is that vein, dry'd is the Thespian spring. How comes it, then, that Ben Jonson expresses the hope that the author would reappear, and write new plays, and cheer the drooping stage, and shine forth again, if he referred to the man whose mouldering relics had been lying in the Stratford church for seven years? X. Ben Jonson's Testimony. It must not be forgotten that Ben Jonson was in the employ- ment of Francis Bacon; he was one of his "good pens ;" he helped him to translate his philosophical works into Latin. If there was a secret in connection with the authorship of the Plays, Ben Jonson, as Bacon's friend, as play-actor and play-writer, doubtless knew it. And it is very significant that at different periods, far apart, he employed precisely the same words in describing the genius of 3171: im(or\. THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 97 William Shakspere and the genius of Francis Bacon. In these verses, from which I have been quoting, he says, speaking ostensi- bly of Shakspere: Or when thy socks were on. Leave thee alone, for the comparison • Of all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. Jonson died in 1637. His memoranda, entitled Ben Jonsotis Discoveries, were printed in 1640. One of these refers to the emi- nent men of his own and the preceding era. After speaking of Sir Thomas More, the Earl of Surrey, Challoner, the elder Wyatt, Sir Nicholas Bacon, Sir Philip Sydney, the Earl of Essex and Sir Wal- ter Raleigh, he says: Lord Egerton, a grave and great orator, and best when he was provoked; but his learned and able but unfortunate successor (Sir Francis Bacon) is he that hath filled up all numbers, and performed that in our tongue which may be compared or preferred either to insolent Greece or haughty Rome. What a significant statement is this ! Francis Bacon had "filled up all numbers." That is to say, he had compassed all forms of poetical composition. Webster defines " numbers " thus: That which is regulated by count; poetic measure, as divisions of time or number of syllables; hence, poetry, verse — chiefly used in the plural. I lisped in mimbers, for the numbers came. — Pope. Yet should the muses bid my numbers roll. — Pope. In Love's Labor Lost, Longaville says, speaking of some love verses he had written: I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move; O sweet Maria, empress of my love, These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.^ But when Ben Jonson, who had helped translate some of Bacon's prose works, comes to sum up the elements of his patron's greatness, he passes by his claims as a philosopher, a scholar, a lawyer, an orator and a statesman; and the one thing that stands out vividly before his mind's eye, that looms up above all other considerations, is that Francis Bacon is a. poet — a. great poet — a poet who has written in all measures, " has filled up all numbers " — the sonnet, the madrigal, rhyming verse, blank verse. And what had he written ? Was it the translation of a few psalms in his old ' Act iv, scene 3. g8 WILLIAM SIIAKSrERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. age, the only specimens of his poetry that have come down to us, in his acknowledged works? No; it was something great, some- thing overwhelming; something that is to be "compared or pre- ferred either to insolent Greece or haughty Rome." And what was it that "insolent Greece and haughty Rome" had accomplished to which these "numbers" of Bacon could be preferred ? We turn to Jonson's verses in the Shakespeare Folio and we read: And though thou hadst small Latine and less Greek, From thence to honor thee I would not seeke For names, but call forth thundering .(Eschilus, Euripides and Sophocles to us, Paccuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead. To life again, to hear thy buskin tread, And shake a stage; or, when thy socks were on. Leave thee alone, for the comparison Of all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. The "numbers" of Bacon are to be compared or preferred either to insolent Greece or haughty Rome — that is to say, to the best poetical compositions of those nations. And when Ben Jonson uses this expression we learn, from the verses in the Folio, what kind of Greek and Roman literary work he had in his mind; it was not the writings of Homer or Virgil, but of yFschylus, Euripides, Sophocles, etc. — that is to say, the dramatic writers. Is it not extraor- dinary that Jonson should not only assert that Bacon had pro- duced poetical compositions that would challenge comparison with the best works of Greece and Rome, but that he should use the same adjectives, and in the same order, that he had used in the Folio verses, viz.: insolent Greece and haughty Rome? It was not haughty Greece and insolent Rome, or powerful Rome and able Greece, or any other concatenation of words; but he employs precisely the same phrases in precisely the same order. How comes it that when his mind was dwelling on the great poetical and secret works of Bacon — for they must have been secret — he reverted to the very expressions he had used years before in reference to the Shakespeare Plays ? And it is upon Ben Jonson's testimony that the claims of Will- iam Shakspere, of Stratford, to the authorship of the Plays, princi- pally rest. THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIFTS. 99 If the Plays are not Shakspere's then the whole make-up of the Folio of 1623 is a fraud, and the dedication and the introduction are probably both from the pen of Bacon. Mr. J. T. Cobb calls attention to a striking parallelism between a passage in the dedication of the Folio and an expression of Bacon: Count}-}' hands reach forthe milk, cream a^nd fruits, or what they have.' Bacon writes to Villiers: And now, because I am in the country, I will send you some of my country fruits, which with me are good meditations, which when I am in the city are choked with business.'' And in the " discourse touching the plaiitation in Ireland," he asks his majesty to accept ^'the like poor field-fruits." We can even imagine that in the line, And though thou hadst small Latine and less Greek, Ben Jonson has his jest at the man who had employed him to write these verses. For Jonson, it will be remembered, was an accurate classical scholar, while Bacon was not. The latter was like Montaigne, who declared he could never thoroughly acquire any language but his own. Dr. Abbott, head master of the City of London school, in his introduction to Mrs. Pott's great work,' refers to "several errors which will make Latin and Greek scholars feel uneasy. For these in part Bacon himself, or Bacon's amanuensis, is responsible ; and many of the apparent Latin solecisms or mis- spellings arise . . . from the manuscripts of the 7';7-';;«/.$'." He adds in a foot-note: I understand that it is the opinion of Mr. Maude Thompson, of the British Museum manuscript department, that all entries, except some of the French prov- erbs, are in Bacon's handwriting ; so that no amanuensis can bear the blame of the numerous errors in the Latin quotations. How "rare old Ben" must have enjoyed whacking Bacon over Shakespeare's shoulders, in verses written at the request of Bacon ! XI, A Gre.^ter Question. When the crushing blow of shame and humiliation fell upon Francis Bacon in 162 1, and he expected to die under it, he hurriedly drew a short will. It does not much exceed in length one page of Spedding's book, and yet in this brief document he found time to say: '^ Dctttcatinn, Folio 1623. ^^ Montagu, iii, p. 20. ^ Prom us, p. 13. loo WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOI' WRITE THE PLAYS. My compositions unpublished, or the fragments of them, I require my servant Harris to deliver to my brother Constable, to the end that if any of these be fit, in his judgment, to be published, he may accordingly dispose of them. And in partic- ular I wish the Elogium I wrote, In fcliccvt incnioriam Regime Elizahctluv, may be published. And to my brother Constable I give all my books; and to my servant Harris for this his service and care fifty pieces in gold, pursed up. He disposed of all his real property in live lines, for the pay- ment of his debts. And when Bacon came to draw his last will and testament/ he devoted a large part of it to the preservation of his writings. He says: For my name and memory, I leave it to men's charitable speeches, and to for- eign nations, and the next ages. But as to the diiralde part of my memory, luhicit consisteth of mv works and loritiiigs, I desire my executors, and especially Sir John- Constable, and my very good friend Mr. Bosvile, to take care that of all my writings, both of English and of Latin, there may be books fair bound and placed in the King's library, and in the library of the University of Cambridge, and in the library of Trinity College, where myself was bred, and in the library of the University of Oxonford, and in the library of my lord of Canterbury, and in the library of Eaton. Then he bequeaths his register books of orations and letters to the Bishop of Lincoln; and he further directs his executors to " take into their hands all my papers whatsoever, which are either in cabinets, boxes or presses, and them to seal up until they may at their leisure peruse them." We are asked to believe that William Shakspere was, neces- sarily, as the author of the Plays, a man of vast learning, the ownei* of many books, and that he left behind him, unpublished at the time of his death, such marvelous and mighty works as The Tempest, Macbeth, Julius Cccsar, Timon of Athens, Coriolanus, Henry VII T. and many more; and that, while he carefully bequeathed his old clothes and disposed of his second-best bed, he made no provision for the publication of his works, " ///r durable part of his memory y Is it reasonable ? Is it probable ? Is it not grossly improbable ? What man capable of writing Macbeth and Julius Ccesar, and know- ing their value to mankind — knowing that they lay in his house, in some "cabinet, box or press," probably in but one manuscript copy each, and that they might perish in the hands of his illiterate family and "bookless" neighbors — would, while carefully remembering. > Lt'/c and Works, vol. vii, p. 539. THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. loi SO much of the litter and refuse of the world, have died and made no provision for their publication? But it may be said he did not own them; he may have sold them. It seems not, for Heminge and Condell, in their intro- duction to the first Folio, say that they received the original copies which they published from Shakespeare himself: And what he thought he uttered with that easiness that we have scarce received front him a blot in his papers. And again: It has been a thing, we confess, worthy to have been wished, that the^uthor himself had lived to have set forth and overseen his own writings. What right would he have had to set them forth if they belonged to some one else ? But since it hath been ordained otherwise, and he by death departed from that right, we pray you do not envy his friends the office of their care. If this introduction means anything, it means that Shakspere owned these Plays; that he would have had the right to publish them if death had not interfered; that his friends and fellow-actors, Heminge and Condell, had, " to keep the memory of so worthy a friend and fellow alive as was our Shakespeare," assumed the task of publishing them; that they had received the original manu- scripts from him — that is, from his family — free from blot, and that they published from them, as all the quarto copies were "stolne and surreptitious, maimed and deformed by the frauds and stealthes of injurious impostors." And yet these Plays, which belonged to Shakspere's wealthy family, as the heirs of the author, which were printed by his " fel- lows " to sell to make money — for they say in their introduction: The fate of all books depends upon your capacities: and not of your heads alone but of your purses. . . . Read and censure. Do so, but buy first. — these Plays were not published or paid for by Shakspere's family, but, as the Folio itself tells us, were Printed at the charges of W. Jaggard, Ed. Blount, I. Smithweeke, and W. Aspley, 1623. CHAPTER V. THE WRITER OF THE FLAYS A /.Air YEA'. Why may that not be the skull of a lawyer ? Hamlet, v, i . NOTHING is more conclusively established than that the author of the Plays was a lawyer. Several works have been written in England and America to demonstrate this. I quote a few extracts: Franklin Fiske Heard says: The Comedv of Errors shows that Shakespeare was very familiar with some of the most refined of the principles of the science of special pleading, a science which contains the quintessence of the law. . . . In the second part of T/t'wn' /F., act V, scene 5, Pistol uses the term absque hoc, which is technical in the last degree. This was a species of traverse, used by special pleaders when the record was in Latin, known by the denomination of a special traverse. The subtlety of its texture, and the total dearth of explanation in all the reports and treatises extant in the time of Shakespeare with respect to its principle, seem to justify the conclusion that he iiiiisi have attained a knowledge of it fro >n actual practice.'^ Senator Davis says: We seem to have here something more than a sciolist's temerity of indulgence in the terms of an unfamiliar art. No legal solecisms 7vill he found. The abstrusest elements of the common law are impressed into a disciplined service with every evidence of the right and knowledge of commanding. Over and over again, where such knowledge is unexampled in writers unlearned in the law, Shakespeare appears in perfect possession of it. In the law of real property, its rules of tenure and descents, its entails, its fines and recoveries, and their vouchers and double vouchers; in the procedure of the courts, the method of bringing suits and of arrests; the nature of actions, the rules of pleading, the law of escapes and of contempt of court; in the principles of evidence, both technical and philosophical; in the dis- tinction between the temporal and spiritual tribunal.^; in the law of attainder and forfeiture; in the requisites of a valid marriage; in the presumption of legitimacy; in the learning of the law of prerogative; in the inalienable character of the crown, this mastership appears with surprising authority. - And again the same writer says: I know of no writer who has so impressed into his service the terms of any science or art. They come from the mouth of every personage: from the Queen; from the child; from the merry wives of Windsor; from the Egyptian fervor of Cleopatra; from the lovesick Paphian goddess; from violated Lucrece; from Lear; 1 Shakespeare as a Lawyer, pp. 43, 48. "^ The T.av> in Shakes/eare, p. 4. 102 THE WRITER OF THE PLAYS A LAWYER. lo; Hamlet and Othello; from Shakespeare himself, soliloquizing in his sonnets; from Dogberry and Prospero; from riotous Falstaff and melancholy Jacques. Shake- speare utters them at all times as standard coin, no matter when or in what mint stamped. These emblems of his industry are woven into his style like the bees into the imperial purple of Napoleon's coronation robes.' Lord Chief Justice Campbell sees the clearest evidences in the Plays that the writer was learned in the law. I quote a few of his expressions: These jests cannot be supposed to arise from anything in the laws or customs of Syracuse; but they show the author to he very fa in i liar with some of the most abstruse proceedings in English jurisprudence} Quoting the description of the arrest of Dromio in The Comedy of Errors, he says: Here we have a most circumstantial and graphic account of an English arrest on mesne process [" before judgment "] in an action on the case.'^ In act iii, scene i (of As You Like It) a deep technical knowledge of the laiu is displayed.'^ It is likewise remarkable that Cleomenes and Dion i^The Winter's Tale, Act iii, scene 2), the messenger who brought back the response from the oracle of Delphi, to be given in evidence, are sworn to the genuineness of the document they pro- duce almost in the very words now used by the Lord Chancellor when an officer presents at the bar of the House of Lords the copy of a record of a court of justice: You here shall swear. . . . That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have Been both at Delphos; and from thence have brought The sealed-up oracle, by the hand delivered Of great Apollo's priest; and that since then You have not dared to break the holy seal Nor read the secrets in't.* And again, Lord Chief Justice Campbell says: We find in several of the Histories Shakespeare's fondness for law terpis; and it is still more remarkable that wJienever he indulges this propensity he uniforinlv lavs down good la70.^ While novelists and dramatists are constantly making mistakes as to the law of marriage, of wills and of inheritance, to Shakespeare's law, lavishly as he pro- pounds it, there can neither be demurrer, nor bill of exception, nor writ of error.'' If Lord Eldon could be supposed to have written the play, I do not see how he would be chargeable with having forgotten any of his law while writing it.* The indictment in which Lord Say was arraigned, in act iv, scene 7 {2d Henty VI.), seems draicn by no inexperienced hand. . . . How acquired I know not, but it is quite certain that the drawer of this indictment must have had some acquaint- ance with The Crown Circuit Companion, and must have had a full and accurate 1 The Law in Shak., p. 51. ' Ibid., p. 39. ^ Ibid., p. 60. ' Ibid., p. io8. ^■Shak. Legal Acquirements, p. 38. * Ibid., p. 42. '• Ibid., p. 61. ^ Ibid., p. 73. I04 WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. knowledge of that rather obscure and intricate subject — " Felony and Benefit of Clergy."' Speaking of Gloster's language in Lear^ Lord Campbell says: In forensic discussions respecting legitimacy the question is put, whether the individual whose status is to be determined is "capable," i.e., capable of inheriting; but it is only a lawyer who could express the idea of legitimizing a natural son by simply saying: I'll work the means To make him capable. Speaking of Hamlet, his Lordship says: Earlier in the play^ Marcellus inquires what was the cause of the warlike preparations in Denmark: And why such daily cast of brazen cannon, And foreign mart for implements of war? Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task Doth not divide the Sunday from the week? Such confidence has there been in Shakespeare's accuracy that this passage has been quoted, both by text-writers and by judges on the bench, as an authority upon the legality of the press-gang, and upon the debated question whether shipwrights as well as common seamen are liable to be pressed into the service of the royal navy.* Lord Campbell quotes sonnet xlvi, of which he says: I need not go farther than this sonnet, which is so intensely legal in its language and imagery that without a conside7-able knowledge of English forensic procedure it cannot be fully understood. Sonnet XLVI, Mine Eye and Heart are at a mortal war How to divide the conquest of thy sight; Mine Eye my Heart thy picture's sight would bar, My Heart mine Eye the freedom of that right. My Heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie (A closet never pierced with crystal eyes), But the Defendant doth that plea deny. And says in him thy fair appearance lies. To 'cide this title is impaneled A quest of Thoughts, all tenants of the Heart; And by their verdict is determined The clear Eye's moiety, and the dear Heart's part; As thus: mine Eyes' due is thine outward part, And my Heart's right, thine inward love of heart. One is reminded, in reading this, of Brownell's humorous lines: The Lawyer's Invocation to Spring. Whereas on certain boughs and sprays Now divers birds are heard to sing; And sundry flowers their heads upraise. Hail to the coming on of spring! \ ^ Shak. Legat Acquirements, p. 75. ^ Ilaiiilci, i, 1. ^2 Act ii, scene I. ' ^ Shak. Legal Acquirements, ^."i-!,. THE WRITER OE THE PLAYS A LAWYER. 105 The songs of those said birds arouse The memory of our youthful hours, As green as those said sprays and boughs, As fresh and sweet as those said flowers. The birds aforesaid — happy pairs ! — « Love, 'mid the aforesaid boughs, inshrines In freehold nests; themselves their heirs, Administrators and assigns. Oh, busiest term of Cupid's court, Where tender plaintiffs actions bring; Season of frolic and of sport. Hail — as aforesaid — coming spring ! Lord Campbell says: In Antony and Cleopatra,^ Lepidus, in trying to palliate the bad qualities and misdeeds of Antony, uses the language of a conveyancer's chambers in Lincoln's Inn: His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven, More fiery by night's blackness; hereditary Rather than purchased. That is to say, they are taken by descent, not hy purchase. Lay gents (viz., all except lawyers) understand by purchase buying for a sum of money, called the price, but lawyers consider that purchase is opposed to descent; that all things come to the owner either hy descent or hy purchase, and that whatever does not come through operation of law by descent is purchased, although it may be the free gift of a donor. Thus, if land be devised by will to A in fee, he takes by pur- chase; or to B for life, remainder to A and his heirs (B being a stranger to A), A takes hy purchase; but upon the death of A, his eldest son would take by descent.^ Appleton Morgan says: But most wonderful of all is the dialogue in the graveyard scene. In the quarto the two grave-diggers are wondering whether Ophelia, having committed suicide, is to be buried in consecrated ground, instead of at a cross- road with a stake driven through her body, and clumsily allude to the probability that, having been of noble birth, a pretext will be found to avoid the law. It happens that in the first volume of Plowden's Reports there is a case (Hales T'.f. Petit, I. PI. 253) of which the facts bore a wonderful resemblance to the story of Ophelia. Sir James Hales was a judge of the Common Pleas, who had prominently con- cerned himself in opposing the succession of Mary the Bloody. When Mary ascended the throne, he expected decapitation, and was actually imprisoned, but by some influence released. His brain, however, became affected by his vicissi- tudes, and he finally committed suicide by throwing himself into a water-course. Suicide was felony, and his estates became escheated to the crown. The crown in turn granted them to one Petit. But Lady Hales, instructed that the escheat might be attacked, brought ejectment against Petit, the crown tenant. The point was as to whether the forfeiture could be considered as having taken place in the lifetime of Sir James; for, if not, the plaintiff took the estate by survivorship. In other words, could Sir James be visited with the penalty for plunging into a 'Act I, scene 4. ^S/iai. Le^at Acguirenwnis, p. 94. Io6 WILLIAM SlIAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. stream of water? For that was all he did actually do. The suicide was only the result of his act, and can a man die during his life? Precisely the point in Ophelia's case as to her burial in consecrated ground. If Ophelia only threw her self into the water, she was only a suicide by consequence, tiPit coitsfa/ that she proposed to die in the aforesaid water. So the case was argued, and the debate of the momentous questions — whether a man who commits suicide dies during his own life or only begins to die; whether he drowns himself, or only goes into the water; whether going into water is a felony, or only part of a felony, and whether a subject can be attainted and his lands escheated for only part of a felony — is so rich in serious absurdity, and the grave-diggers' dialogue over Ophelia's proposed interment in holy ground so literal a travesty, that the humor of the dialogue — entirely the unconscious humor of the learned counsel in Hales 7's. Petit — can hardly be anything but proof that, admitting William Shakespeare to have written that graveyard scene, William Shakespeare was a practicing lawyer. Especially since it is to be remembered that Plowden' s report tvas then, as it is to-day, accessible in A^oniian Latin /aw jargon and black-letter type, utterly tinintelli- gil'le to anylnntv httt an expert antiqiiaria)!, and utterly itnin7'iti)tg to anybody. Law Norman or law Latin was just as unattractive to laymen in Elizabeth's day as it is to lawyers in ours; if possible, more so. The decision in Hales vs. Petit — on account of the standing of parties-plain- tiff — might have been town-talk for a day or two; but that the wearying, and, to us, ridiculous dialectics of the argument and decision were town-talk, seems the suggestion of a very simple or of a very bold ignorance as to town life and manners. Besides, nobody sets the composition of Ila/nlet earlier than Nash's mention of "whole Hamlets" in 1587 or 1589 — and every commentator of standing puts it about ten years later. That the hair-splitting of a handful of counsel would remain town-talk for twenty-five or thirty-six years is preposterous to suppose. Reference to the arguments in that case could only have been had from Plowden's report. My friend Senator Davis' points out another curious fact, viz.: that a comparison of the Hamlet of the quarto of 1603, with the Folio of 1623, shows that part of the text was re-written, to make it more correct in a legal point of view. In the quarto we read: Who by a sealed compact, well ratified by law And heraldrie, did forfeit with his life all those His lands, which he stood seized of, to the conqueror, Against the which a moiety competent Was gaged by our king. But to state this in legal form there is appended, when Hamlei comes to be printed in the Folio: — which had returned To the inheritance of Fortinbras Had he bin Vanquisher, as by the same cov'nant The carriage of the article designed, His fell to Hamlet.''- * The La7V in .Shaki's/>e ^re. ^ Ilainlei, i, i. THE WRITER OE THE PLAYS A LAWYER. 107 What poet, not a lawyer, would have stated the agreement in such legal phraseology; and what poet, not a lawyer, would have subsequently added the lines given, to show the consideration mov- ing to Fortinbras for the contract ? And this for the benefit of such an audience as commonly frequented the Globe ! Richard Grant White says: No dramatist of the time, not even Beaumont, who was a younger son of a judge of the Common Pleas, and who, after studying in the inns of court, aban- doned law for the drama, used legal phrases with Shakespeare's readiness and exactness. And the significance of this fact is heightened by another, that it is only to the language of the law that he exhibits this inclination. The phrases peculiar to other occupations serve him on rare occasions by way of description, comparison or illustration, generally when something in the scene suggests them; but legal phrases flow from his pen as part of his Tocaludarv and parcel of his thought. The word purchase, for instance, which in ordinary use meant, as now it means, to acquire by giving value, applies in law to all legal modes of obtaining property, except inheritance or descent. And in this peculiar sense the word occurs five times in Shakespeare's thirty-four plays, but only in a single passage in the fifty-four plays of Beaumont and Fletcher. And in the first scene of the Midsuvtmer iVigkt's Dream the father of Hermia begs the ancient privilege of Athens, that he may dispose of his daughter either to Demetrius or to death. According to our law Immediately provided in that case. He pleads the statute; and the words run off his tongue in heroic verse, as if he was reading them from a paper. As the courts of law in Shakespeare's time occupied public attention much more than they do now, it has been .suggested that it was in attendance upon them that he picked up his legal vocabulary. But this supposition not only fails to account for Shakespeare's peculiar freedom and exactness in the use of that phras- eology — it does not even place him in the way of learning those terms, his use of which is most remarkable, which are not such as he would have heard at ordinary proceedings at nisi pi-iiis, but such as refer to the tenure or transfer of real property — " fine and recovery," "statutes merchant," "purchase," "indenture," "tenure," "double voucher," " fee simple," " fee farm," "remainder," "reversion," "for- feiture," etc. This conveyancer's jargon could not have been picked up by hang- ing around the courts of law in London 250 years ago, when suits as to the title to real property were comparatively so rare. And besides, Shakespeare uses his law just as freely in his early plays, written in his first London years, as in those pro- duced at a later period. Just as exactly, too; for the correctness and propriety with which these terms are introduced have compelled the admiration of a chief justice and a lord chancellor.' And again Mr. White says: Genius, although it reveals general truth and facilitates all acquirement, does not impart facts or acquaintance with general terms; how then can we account tor the fact that, in an age when it was the common practice for young lawyers to write plays, one playwright left upon his plays a stronger, a sharper legal stamp than 1 R. G. White, Life and Genius nf .Slia/i., p. 74. io8 WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE FLAYS. appears upon those of any of his contemporaries, and that the characters of this stamp are those of the complicated law of real property.^ And the same man who wrote this, and who still believed the deer-stealer wrote the Plays, said, shortly before his death, in the Atlantic Magazine: The notion that he was once an attorney's clerk is blown to pieces. The first to suggest that Shakspere might, at some time, have been a lawyer's clerk, was Malone, who, in 1790, said: His knowledge of legal terms is not merely such as might be acquired by the casual observation of even his all-comprehending mind; it has the appearance of technical skiW, and he is so fond of displaying it on all occasions, that I suspect he was early initiated in at least the forms of law, and was employed, while he yet remained at Stratford, in the office of some country attorney, who was at the same time a petty conveyancer, and perhaps also the seneschal of some manor court. But even Lord Chief Justice Campbell, who, as we have seen, asserts that the writer of the Plays was familiar with the abstrusest parts of the law, is forced to abandon this theory. He says, writing to J. Payne Collier, who favored the law-clerk theory: Resuming the judge, however, I must lay down that your opponents are not called upon to prove a negative, and that the onus probandi rests upon you. You must likewise remember that you require us implicitly to believe a fact, which, were it true, positive and irrefragable evidence, in Shakespeare's own handwriting, might have been forthcoming to establish it. Not having been actually enrolled as an attorney, neither the records of the local court at Stratford, nor of the superior courts at Westminster, would present his name, as being concerned in any suits as an attorney; but it might have been reasonably expected that there would have been deeds or wills witnessed by him still extant; and, after a Toy diligent search, none such can he discovered. Nor can this consideration be disregarded, that between Nash's Epistle, in the end of the sixteenth century, and Chalmers' suggestion, more than two hundred years afterwards, there is no hint, by his foes or his friends, of- Shakespeare having consumed pens, paper, ink and pounce in an attorney's office at Stratford.'^ The Nash Epistle here referred to was an " Epistle to the Gen- tlemen Students of the Two Universities, by Thomas Nash," pre- fixed to the first edition of Robert Green's Menaphon, published, according to the title-page, in 1589. In it Nash says: It is a common practice now-a-days, amongst 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 endeavors of art, that could scarcely Latinize their neck verse if they should have need; yet English Seneca, read by candle-light, yields many good sentences, as Blood 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. ' Li/f and Genius o/S/tak., p. 76. ''Skak. Legal Acquir.'-'i'nis, p. no. THE WRITER OF THE PLAYS A LAWYER. 109 This epistle has been cited to prove that Shakspere was a law- yer. In Elizabeth's reign deeds were in the Latin tongue; and all deeds poll, and many other papers, began with the words: " Nover- iNT imiversi per pj'esetites" — "Be it known to all men by these presents;" — and hence the business of an attorney was known as " the trade of noverint." But here are the difficulties that attend this matter: In the first place Nash charges that the party he has in view, " the shifting companion " who could afford whole Hamlets, was not only a lawyer, but born a huvyer; — "the trade of noverint whereto they luere born!' In other words, that the party who wrote Hamlet had inherited the trade of lawyer. We say of one " he was born a gentleman," and we mean, thereby, that his father before him was a gentleman. Now, it is within the possibilities that Shakespeare might have studied for a few months, or a year or two, in some lawyer's office, but assuredly his father was not a lawyer; he could not even write his own name; he was a glover, wool-dealer or butcher. But the description applies precisely to Bacon, whose father had been an eminent lawyer, and who was therefore born a noverint. But there is another mystery about this Nash Epistle. It is universally conceded, by all the biographers and commen- tators, that Shakespeare did not begin to write for the stage until 1592. Our highest and most recent authority, J. O. Halliwell-Phil- lipps,' fixes the date of the appearance of Shakespeare's first play as the third of March, 1592, when Henry VI. was put on the boards for the first time; and this same Nash tells us that between March 3d, 1592, and the beginning of July, it had been witnessed by "ten thousand spectators at least." And yet we are asked to believe that when Nash, in 15S9, or, as some will have it, in 1587, wrote his epistle, and mocked at some lawyer who had written Hamlet, he referred to the butcher's apprentice, who did not com- mence to write until three or five years subsequently ! And there are not wanting proofs, as we will see hereafter, that Hamlet appeared in 1585, the very year Shakspere's wife was delivered of the twins, Hamnet and Judith; the very year probably, when Shakspere, aged twenty-one, whipped, scourged and im- prisoned for poaching, fled from Stratford to London. ^Outlines of the Life of Shak., p. 64. no WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE DID NOT WRirE THE PLAYS. We can conceive the possibility of a rude and ignorant peasant- boy coming to London, and, conscious of his defects and possess- ing great powers, applying himself with superhuman industry to study and self-cultivation; but we will find that Hamlet, that most thoughtful and scholarly production, was on the boards in 15S7, if not in 1585; and Venus and Adonis, the "first heir of his invention," must have antedated even this. Richard Grant White says: It has most unaccountably been assumed that this passage [in Nash's Epistle] refers to Shakespeare. . . . That Shakespeare had written this tragedy in 1586, when he was but twenty-two years old, is improbable to the verge of im- possibility.' Halliwell-Phillipps says: The preceding notices may fairly authorize us to infer that the ancient play of Hamlet was written either by an attorney or an attorney's clerk.'-' The Shakspereans, to avoid the logical conclusions that flow from this Epistle of Nash, are forced to suggest that there must have been an older play of Hamlet, written by some one else — "the ancient Hamlet,'" to which Halliwell-Phillipps alludes. But there is no evidence that any other playwright wrote a play of Hamlet. It is not probable. The essence of a new play is its novelty. We find Augustine Phillips, one of the members of Shakspere's company, objecting to playing Richard II., in 1600, for the entertainment of the followers of Essex, because it was an old play, and would not draw an audi- ence, and thereupon Sir Gilly Merrick pays him forty shillings extra to induce him to present it. The name of a new play has sometimes as much to do with its success as the name of a new novel. Is it probable that a play- wright, having written a new play and desirous to draw a crowd and make money, would affix to it the name of some old play, written by some one else, which had been on the boards for ten years or more, and had been worn threadbare ? Fancy Dickens publishing a new novel and calling it Roderick Random. Or Boucicault bringing out a new drama under the name of Othello. The theory is absurd. We have now two forms of the play of Hamlet, published within a year of each other, both with Shakespeare's name on the title- ' Life atid Geniu.s- of Shak., p. 71. "^ Outlines Life of Shak., p. 270. THE WRITER OF THE PLAYS A LAWYER. m page; and one is the crude, first form of the play, and the other is its perfected form, "enlarged to almost twice as much again." Is this first form "the ancient Hamlet" to which Nash alluded in 1589? or is it the successor of some still earlier edition? Bacon said of himself: " I never alter but I add." He re-wrote his Essays, we are told, thirty times. Says his chaplain, Rawley: I have myself at least twelve copies of his Insfatiratioii, revised year after year, one after another, and every year altered and amended in the frame thereof, till at last it came to that model in which it was committed to the press, as many living I creatures do lick their young ones till they bring them to the strength of their limbs. A Why is it not probable that the young novcrtnt, " born a law- yer," Francis Bacon, of age in 1582, may, in 1585, when twenty-three years of age, having been " put to all the learning that his time could make him master of," have written a play for the stage, called Hamlet, at a time when William Shakspere, three years his junior in age, and fifty years his junior in opportunities, was lying drunk under the crab-tree, or howling under the whips of the beadles? Hamlet, then, was written by a lawyer; and Shakspere never was a lawyer. This fact must also not be forgotten, that the knowledge of the law shown in the Plays is not such as could be acquired during a few months spent in a lawyer's office in the youth of the poet, and which would constitute such a species of learning as might be recalled upon questioning. It is evident that the man who wrote the Plays was a thorough lawyer, a learned lawyer, a lawyer steeped in and impregnated with the associations of his profession, and who bubbled over with its language whenever he opened his mouth. For he did not use law terms only when speaking upon legal subjects: the phraseology of the courts rose to his lips even in describing love scenes. He makes the fair Maria, in Love's Labor Lost, pun upon a subtle distinction of the law: Boyct. So you grant pasture for me. Offering to kiss her. Maria. Not so, gentle beast: My lips are no common though several they be. Boyet. Belonging to whom ? Maria. To my fortunes and me.' * Act ii, scene i. 112 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID XOT WRITE THE TLA VS. Grant White gives this explanation: Maria's meaninc; and her first pun are plain enough; the second has been hith- erto explained by the statement that the several or severall in England was a part of the common, set apart for some particular person or purpose, and that the town bull had equal rights of pasture in common and several. It seems to me, however, that we have here another exhibition of Shakespeare's familiarity with the law, and that the allusion is to tenancy in common by several (/.<■., divided, distinct) title. Thus: " Tenants in Common are they which have Lands or Tenements in Fee-simple, fee-taile, or for terme of life, &c., and they have such Lands or Tene- ments by severall Titles and not by a joynt Title, and none of them know by this his severall, but they ought by the Law to occupie these Lands or Tenements in common and pro iiidii'iso, to take the profits in common." ' . . . Maria's lips were several, as being two, and (as she says in the next line) as belonging in common to her fortunes and to herself, but they were no common pasturage. - There was no propriety in placing puns on law phrases in the mouth of a young lady, and still less in representing a French lady as familiar with English laws and customs as to the pasturage of the town-bull. These phrases found their way to the fair lips of Maria because the author was brimming full of legal phraseology. Take another instance. We read of — A confracl of eternal bond of love, Confirmed h^ niiitiial joinder oi your hands. Attested hy the holy close of lips. Strengthened by interchans;cment of your rings; And all the ceremony of this eompaet Sealed in my function by my testimony.^ To be so saturated with the law the writer must have been in daily practice of the law, and in hourly converse with men of the same profession. He did not seek these legal phrases; they burst from him involuntarily and on all occasions. Gerald Massey well says: The worst of it, for the theory of his having been an attorney's clerk, is that it will not account for his insight into law. His knowledge is not office-sweepings, but ripe fruits, mature, as though he had spent his life in their gro7vth.^ But it is said that a really learned lawyer could not have writ- ten the Plays, because the law put forth in the great trial scene of The Afcrchaiit of Venice is not good law. Lord Chief Justice Campbell, however, reviews the proceedings in the case, and declares that " the trial is duly conducted accord- ing to the strict forms of legal procedure. . . . Antonio is made to I Co. Litt., lib. iii, cap. 4, sec. 292. ^ Twelfth Nighty v, i. ^ Stm/ccs/^-nre, vol. iii, p. 453. * Shakespeare^ s Sonnets, p. 504. THE liKlTER OF THE FLAYS A LAIVYEK. 113 confess that Shylock is entitled to the pound of flesh . . . accord- ing to the rigid strictness of the commo?i law of England^ It is claimed that Shylock could not enforce the penalty of his bond, but was entitled only to the sum loaned and legal interest; and that Antonio should have applied for an injunction to restrain Shylock from cutting off the pound of flesh. Imagine the play so reformed. The audience are looking for- ward with feelings of delight to the great trial scene, with its mar- velous alternations of hope and despair ; with Portia's immortal appeal for mercy while the Jew whets his knife; and anticipating the final triumph of virtue and the overthrow of cruelty. The cur- tain rolls up, and a dapper lawyer's-clerk steps forward to the foot- lights to inform the expectant audience that Antonio has procured an injunction, with proper sureties, from the Court of Equity, and that they will find the whole thing duly set forth in the next num- ber of the Law Reporter! In the first place, it is absurd to try a Venetian lawsuit by the antique and barbarous code of England. In the next place, it is not clear that, even by the rules of the Court of Equity of England, Antonio could have been relieved of the penalty without good cause shown. There seems to be a distinction taken in equity between penalties and forfeit- ures. ... In the latter, although compensation can be made, relief is not always given.' In the case of Antonio, the pound of flesh was to h^ forfeited. If you repay me not on such a day, In such a place, such sum or sums as are Expressed in the condition, let the fotfeit Be nominated for an equal pound Of your fair flesh.'' And in the court scene Shylock says : My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law, The penalty and forfeit of my bond.* And Portia says: Why, this bond is forfeit. Certain it is, Bacon, a thorough lawyer, did not understand that he could escape the penalty of a bond, even under the laws of Eng- ' 3 Daniel's Chan. Plead, and Prac, p. 1946; 2 Story's Equity Jur.y § 1321, etc. 2 Act i, scene 3. ^ Act iv, scene i. 114 WILLIAM SIIAKSPEKE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. land, by simply paying the debt and interest. In July, 1603, he was arrested at the suit of a Jew (the original probably of Shylock), and thrown into a sponging-house, and we have his letter to his cousin Robert, Lord Cecil, Secretary of State, begging him to use his power to prevent his creditors from " taking any part of the penalty [of his bond] but principal, interest and costs." The Judge says: There is no power in Venice Can alter a decree established. ' Twill be recorded for a precedent. And many an error by the same example Will rush into the state. Before a writ of error can be taken from Portia's ruling, it must be shown by some precedent, or " decree established," of the Venetian chancery, that Antonio had the right to avoid the forfeiture by ten- dering the amount received and simple interest; and as no such man as Shylock ever lived, and no such case as that in question was ever tried* it will puzzle the critics to know just how far back to go to establish ihe priority of such a decision. Again, the point is made that, if Shylock was entitled to his pound of flesh, he was entitled to the blood that would necessarily flow in cutting it; upon the principle, it is said, that if I own a piece of land I have the right to a necessary roadway over another man's land to reach it. True. But in case I can only reach my land by committing murder (for that was what Shylock was under- taking), my lesser property right must be subordinated to the greater natural right of the other man to his life. But all this reasoning, if it be intended to show that the writer of the play was but partially learned in the law, must give way to the fact that S/iy/ock vs. Anto?iio is a dramatic representation, for popular entertainment, and not a veritable law-suit. The plot of The 'Merchant of Venice was taken from the Italian romance // J^ecorone, of Giovanni Fiorentino, written in 1378; and there we have the decision of the judge, that the Jew must cut a precise pound of flesh, neither more nor less, and that, if he draw a drop of Christian blood in so doing, he must die for it. It would be absurd to suppose that a dramatic writer, even though a lawyer, would be obliged to leave out these striking incidents, and substitute a tamer something, in accordance with THE WRITER OE THE PI.AYS A LAWYER. 115 that barbarous jumble of justice and injustice called law in England. But the question after all is to be decided by Venetian, not English precedents. The scene is laid in Venice. John T. Doyle, Esq., of California, writes a letter to Lawrence Barrett, Esq., the celebrated actor, which has been published in the Overland Monthly, in which he discusses "The Case of Shylock." He says: The trial scene in 'Ehe Mercluiitt of W'liice has, however, always seemed inconsistent with his [Bacon's] supposed legal learning, for the proceedings in it are such as never could have occurred in any court administering English law. Lord Campbell, in his letter to Payne Collyer, has attempted to gloss over the difficulty, but to all common lawyers the attempt is a failure. Save in the fact that the scene presents a plaintiff, a defendant and a judge — characters essential to litigation under any system of procedure — there is no resemblance in the pro- ceedings on the stage to anything that could possibly occur in an English court, or any court administering English law. No jury is impaneled to determine the facts, no witnesses called by either side; on the contrary, when the court opens, the duke who presides is already fully informed of the facts, and has even com- municated them, in writing, to Bellario, a learned doctor of Padua, and invited him to come and render judgment in the case. Mr. Doyle then proceeds to give his experience of a lawsuit he had in the Spanish-American republic of Nicaragua in 185 1-2. After describing the verbal summons he received from the alguazil to the alcalde in his court, Mr. Doyle says: Proceedings of some sort were going on at the moment, but the alcalde sus- pended them, received me very courteously, and directed some one present to go and call Don Dolores Bermudez, the plaintiff, into court. The substance of Mr. Bermudez' complaint against the company was then stated to me, and I was asked for my answer to it. I sent for my counsel, and the company's defense was stated orally. The contract out of which the controversy arose was produced, and perhaps a witness or two examined, and some oral discussion followed; those details I forget, for there was nothing in them that struck me as strange. There was, in fact, little, if any, dispute about the facts of the case, the real controversy being as to the company's liability and its extent. We were finally informed that on a given day we should be expected to attend again, when the judge would be prepared with his decision. At the appointed time we attended accordingly, and the judge read a paper in which all the facts were stated, at the conclusion of which he announced to us that he proposed to submit the question of law involved to Don Buenaventura Silva, a practicing lawyer of Granada, as a "jurisconsult," unless some competent objec- tions were made to him. I learned then that I could challenge the proposed ju- risconsult for consanguinity, affinity or favor, just as we challenge a juror. I knew of no cause of challenge against him; my counsel said he was an unexceptionable person; and so he was chosen, and the case was referred to him. Some days after, he returned the papers to the alcaldt' with his opinion, which was in my favor, and the plaintiff's case was dismissed. ii6 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT U'RirE THE PLAYS. In the course of the same afternoon, or next day, I received an intimation' that Don Buenaventura expected from me a gratification — the name in that coun- try for what we call a gratuity — and I think the sum of $200 was named. This did not harmonize with my crude notions of the administration of justice, and I asked for explanations. They were given in the stereotyped form used to explain every other anomaly in that queer country, "Costiiiii/>iv del pais." I thought it a- custom more honored in the breach than the observance. Here we find that the writer of the Plays followed, in all proba- bility, the exact course of procedure usual in Venice, and in all countries subject to the civil law. We even have, as in Portia's case, the expectation that the judge should be rewarded with a. gratuity. The only difference between the writer of the Plays and his critics is, that he knew what he was talking about, and they did not. My friend Senator Davis, of Minnesota, as a crowning proof that Francis BaccTn did not write the Plays, says: . . . Again, Bacon was actively engaged in the court of chancery many years- before he became Lord Chancellor. It was then that the memorable war of juris- diction was waged between Ellesmere and Coke — and yet there is not in Shake- speare a single phrase, word or application of any principle peculiar to the chancery.' To this my friend John A. Wilstach, Esq.. the learned translator of Virgil,'"' and an eminent lawyer, says in a letter addressed to me: In the English courts, ancient and modern — as even laymen know — the practice at common law and in chancery were and are severed, although the bar- riers between the two are now, by the gradual adoption of chancery rules in com- mon law practice, largely broken down. In the time of Bacon and Shakespeare the division was distinct : the common-law lawyer was not a chancery practitioner; the chancery practitioner was not a practitioner in the courts of common law. But the general language of both branches of the profession was necessarily (for in history and method they intertwined), if even superficially, known to the fol- lowers of both, and the probability is that a practitioner of the one would easily use the current verbiage of the other; indeed it would be strange if either should hold away from the other. A Lord Coke, in the wide scope of literature, would relax his common-law exclusiveness and enlarge the narrow circuit of his pro- fessional prepossessions. A Lord Bacon, a student or a judge in chancery, would delight to turn aside from the roses and lilies of equity — some of them exotic plants — and become, for the time, a gratified wanderer in an historic com- mon of pasture, among the butterflies and bees of an indigenous jurisprudence. Hence my suggestion, opposed to that of the learned jurist, is, that this very scope and freedom of law in literature is what the writer of the Shakespeare Plays has given himself. And I find in the rambling pasture of the common law, according to his own outgivings, he has met, besides its attractive features, other and repel- ling ones — thorns, quagmires and serpents. I find that, on a close examination of ^ I.aif in .S/uiA-i-s/>,-iu-i-. - Hostc m : 1 louulium, Mifflin i'^ C". 1884. THE WRfTF.R OF THE PLAYS A LAWYER. "7 the Shakespeare Plays, the averrnent nf the learned jurist as to the want of chan- cery features therein is not proven. I find that there are passages wherein, in the most evident manner, chancery principles and the equity practice are recognized and extolled; and, further yet, that among passages tolerant or praiseful of the common law are also found passages wherein its principles and practice are held up to derision and even to scorn. And while it is true that phrases are not proofs, but only grounds whence inferences may be drawn, yet the citations I shall offer will be of as high a grade as those which are offered to support the propositicjns which I contest. Nor is the argument weakened in its application to the Baconian question by the establishment of the fact that the participation in the production of the Shakespeare Plays on the part of Bacon was the work of his early manhood. Coleridge well formulates the general experience when he says that "a young author's first work almost always bespeaks his recent pursuit." He is, at this early age, too, more conversant with the literature of his art; is more recently from the books and sometimes is observed to carry a head inflated with pride in that branch of the profession which his bent of mind has led him to favor. First let me recall some of those passages wherein derision and censure are visited upon the common law — the "biting" severity of its principles, the "hideous " deformity of its practice. The most superficial reader of these dramas will need no reminder of the satires conveyed in the conversation of Justices Dogberry and Shallow, Constable Elbow and the clowns in Twelftli N'iglit, and the more dignified broadsides of Wolsey and Queen Katharine, and Hamlet and Portia, and their interlocutors. As my reading goes, puerility, pedantry, corruption and chicanery, in legal practice, have found in all literature no denunciations so severe, no ridicule so effective. In /,v/ Henry IV., i, 2, the derision takes, in the mouth of Falstaff, the form of " the rusty curb of old Father Antic, the Law," the metaphor being that of a super- annuated clown who, with rusty methods, methods old and lacking polish, cheats the people out of the attainment of their cherished desires. When law can do no right. Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong.' Since law itself is perfect wrong. How can the law forbid my tongue to curse ?* . The state of law is bond-slave to the law. ^ But in these nice, sharp quillets of the law, etc."* The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power, Have checked theft. ^ The bloody book of law, etc.'' Crack the lawyer's voice. That he may nevermore false title plead.' My head to my good man's hat. These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. ^ ParoUes, the lawyer in All's ]Vell tJiat Ends ll^ell, uses contemptuously the legal machinery applicable to English estates in describing how Dumain would convey away a title in fee-simple to his salvation; and, with the same ■contemptuous reference to the same machinery, Mrs. Page describes the devil's titles to Falstaff. Now let us take up the praises of chancery. ^ King- Jo/iii, iii, t. '^ lln'ii., iii, i. ''■ Richard II., ii, i. * jst Henry //., ii, 4. * Tiinoii 0/ Athens, iv, 3. ^Othello, iii, i. ' J'iincii of Athens, v, i,. *" Lotcs I.alwr Lost, i, i. ji8 WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. And, first, I cite a passage which the learned jurist himself quotes. My italics will indicate my impression that, in his bent for common law, he has failed to give emphasis to the most important feature of the passage. In the corrupted currents of this world Offense's gilded hand may shove by justice, And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law: but 'tis not so above; There is no shuffling, tlierc the action lies In his true nature, and u Hamlet, iii, 3. ^ RUkard 111., v, 2. » Ibid., i, 3. *2nd Henry 11., iii, i. ^ Ibid., v, 3. '' Measure for Measure, ii, 2, THE IVRITEK OF TIIE J'LAYS A LAWYER. The quality of mercy is not strained; 119 It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's, When mercy seasons justice.' In addition to these citations, touching Shakespeare's use of the terms of the equity courts, I would quote the following from Judge Holmes: Indeed, it is clear that Portia's knowledge extended even to chancery practice., and continued to the end of the piece: Portia. Let us go in And charge us there upon int'rogatories, And we will answer all things faithfully.'^ The terms of chancery practice, charges., interrogatories and ans7ver, are dragged in by the heels despite the protests of the refractory meter. But passing from this point, I will add a few more extracts which bespeak the lawyer: Sir, for a quart d'e'cu he will sell the fee-simple of his salvation, the inherit- ance of it; and cut the entail for all remainder.^ And again: If the devil have him not in fee-simple, with fine and recovery, he will never, 1 think, in the way of waste, attempt us again. ^ And again: Time stays still with lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between term and term.^ Judge Holmes says:" Mr. Rushton cites the statute 16 Richard II., which was leveled against the Pope's usurpations of sovereignty in England, and enacted that " if any do bring any translation, process, sentence of excommunication, bulls, instruments, etc., within the realm, or receive them, thrv shall be put out of the King s protection, and their lands, tenements, goods and chattels forfeited to the King," and compares it with the speech of Suffolk in the play of Henry VIII., thus: Siiff. Lord Cardinal, the King's further pleasure is, Because all those things you have done of late By your power legatine within this kingdom. Fall into the compass of a praemunire. That therefore such a writ be sued against you: To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements. Chattels and whatsoer'er, and to he Out of the King' s protection. This is my charge.' ' Merchant p/ I'eiti'ce, iv, i. * .Merry Jl'i'z'es o/^ Windsor, iv, 2. "^Authorship of Sha/c., 3d ed., p. 637. ^ As i'ou Like It, iii, 2. ' .-itTs Well that Ends Well, iv, 3. ^Authorship 0/ Sliak., 3d ed., p. 630. ''Henry Vni.,n\,2. 120 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE FL^AYS. It is manifest here, as Mr. Rushton thinks, that the author of the Plays was exactly acquainted with the very language of this old statute. This, then, is the syllogism which faces the Shakspereans: 1. The man who wrote the Plays was a lawyer. 2. William Shakspere was not a lawyer. 3. Therefore, William Shakspere did not write the Plays. But if they shift their ground, and fall back upon the supposition that Shakspere might have been a lawyer's clerk during his pre- London residence in Stratford, they encounter these difficulties: 1. There is not the slightest proof of this fact; and if it was true, proof could not fail to be forthcoming. 2. There is not a scrap of tradition that points to it. 3. Granting it to be possible, it would not explain away the difficulty. It would not have been sufficient for Shakspere to have passed a few months in a lawyer's office in Stratford in his youth. The man who wrote the Plays must have lived and breathed in an atmosphere of the law, which so completely filled his whole being that he could not speak of war or of peace, of business or of love, of sorrow or of pleasure, without scintillating forth legal expressions; and these he placed indifferently in the mouths of young and old, learned and unlearned, Greeks, Romans, Italians, Frenchmen, Scotchmen and Englishmen. Having, as I hope, demonstrated to the satisfacti(Mi of my read- ers that William Shakspere could not have written the Plays which go abroad in his name, we come to the second branch of my argu- ment, to-wit: that Francis Bacon, of St. Albans, son of Queen Elizabeth's Lord Keeper, Nicholas Bacon, was their real author. PART II. FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. CHAPTER I. FRAA'CIS BACON WAS A POET. Mount, eagle, to thy palace crystalline. Cyiiiheline, ?', 4. "\ T ZE come now to an important branch of this inquiry. * » It will be said: Granted that Francis Bacon possessed a great and mighty genius; granted that he was master of the vast learning revealed in the Plays; granted that he had the laborious industry necessary for their preparation; granted that they reveal a character and disposition, political, social and religious views, studies and investigations, identical with his own; granted that we are able to marshal a vast array of parallel thoughts, beliefs, expressions and even errors: the great question still remains, Was Francis Bacon a poet? Did he possess the imagination, the fancy, the sense of the beautiful — in other words, the divine faculty, the tine phrensy, the capacity to "give to airy nothing a local habita- tion and a name"? Was he not merely a philosopher, a dry and patient investigator of nature, a student of things, not words; of the useful, not the beautiful ? I. Thk Universal Mtnj). Ralph Waldo Emerson grasped the whole answer to this ques- tion when he said: "The true poet and the true philosopher are one." The complete mind (and we are reminded of Ulysses' appli- cation of the word to Achilles, "thou great and complete man") ■enfolds in its orb all the realms of thought; it perceives not alone 121 122 FKAXC/S BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE TLA VS. the nature of things, but the subtle light of beauty which irradiates them; it is able not only to trace the roots of facts into the dead, dull, material earth, but to follow the plant as it rises into the air and find in the flower thoughts too deep for tears. The purpose of things, the wherefore of things and the glory of things are all one to the God who made them, and to the great broad brain to which He has given power enough to comprehend them. But such minds are rare. Science tells us that the capacity of memory underlies those portions of the brain that perceive, but only a small share of them, and that if you excise a part of the brain, but not all of any particular department, the surrounding territory, which theretofore lay dormant, will now develop the faculty which was formerly exercised by the part removed. So it would seem that in all brains there is the capacity for universal intelligence, but there is lacking some power which forces it into action. The intellect lies like a mass of coals, heated, alive, but dormant; it needs the blow- pipe of genius to oxygenate and bring it to a white heat; and it rarely happens, in the history of mankind, that the whole brain is equally active, and the whole broad temple of the soul lighted up in every part. The world is full of men whose minds glow in spots. The hereditary blood-force, or power of nutrition, or pur- pose of God, or whatever it may be, is directed to a section of the intelligence, and it blazes forth in music, or poetry, or painting, or philosophy, or action, or oratory. And the world, as it cannot always behold the full orb of the sun, is delighted to look upon these stars, points of intense brilliancy, glorious with a fraction of the universal fire. II. JoHANN Wolfgang von Goethk. But occasionally there is born into the world a sun-like soul, the orb of whose brain, as Bacon says, "is concentric with the uni- verse." One of these was Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, the great spirit of German literature. Like Bacon, he sprang from the common people; but, like him, not directly from them. His father was an imperial councilor, his mother was the daughter of the chief magistrate of the city. Like Bacon, he was thoroughly educated. Like him, his intellectual activity manifested itself in his early fRAXC/S BACOX WAS A POET. 1,3 years. " Before he was ten years of age he wrote several languages, meditated poems, invented stories and had considerable familiarity with works of art." He began to write verse while yet at college. He associated with actors, free-thinkers and jovial companions. When twenty-three years of age he published his first play, Gotz von Berlichingen ; two years later he wrote The Sorrows of IVerthcr, and Clavigo, a drama. He also projected a drama on Mohammed and another on Prometheus, and began to revolve in his mind his greatest work, Faust. At the same time, while he was astonishing the world with his poetical and dramatic genius, he was engaged in a profound study of natural science. When forty-three years of age, he published his Bcitrdgc ziir Optik^ and his Farben/e/ire, in the latter of which he questioned the correctness of the Newtonian theory of colors. "He wrote also on the metamorphosis of plants, and on topics of comparative anatomy. In all these he displayed remarkable penetration and sagacity, and his remarks on the mor- phology of plants are now reckoned among the earlier enunciations of the theory of evolution." Faust was not finished until he was fifty-six years old. We see here, as in the case of Bacon, a vivacious, active youth, full of emotion and poetry; the dramatic faculty forcing itself out in great dramas; wide learning; some capacity for affairs of state (he was privy councilor of legation at the court of the Duke of Saxe-Weimar); and, running through all, profound studies in phil- osophy and natural science. Goethe was always in easy circum- stances. We have only to imagine him living in poverty, forced to maintain appearances, and yet to earn his living by his pen, with no avenue open to him but the play-house, and we have all the condi- tions, with added genius and philanthropic purposes, to make a Bacon. If the poetical works of Goethe had been published anony- mously, or in the name of some friend, it would have been difficult to persuade the world, in after years, that the philosopher and the poet were one. III. Had Bacon the Poetic Temperament ? First, let us inquire whether Bacon possessed the poetic tem- perament. 124 J-A'.l.VC/S BACO.V THE AUTHOK OF THE PLAYS. Bacon says: For myself, I found that I was fitted for nothing so well as for the study of truth; as having a mind uinible and 7'ersatili' enough to catch the resemblances of things.' But, it may be asked, had he that fine sensibility which accom- panies genius; did he possess those delicate chords from which time and chance and nature draw their most exquisite melodies — those chords which, as Burns says, Vibrate sweetest pleasure, .and Thrill the deepest notes of woe ? The answer is plain. Macaulay speaks of Bacon's mind as The most exquisitely constructed intellect that has ever been bestowed on any •of the children of men.'- Montagu says: His imagination was fruitful and vivid. He was of a temperament of the most delicate sensibility: so excitable as to be affected by the slightest alterations in the atmosphere. ** And remember that neither Macaulay nor Montagu dreamed of the possibility of Bacon being the author of the Shakespeare Plays. Emerson calls the writer of the Plays, as revealed therein, " the most susceptible of human beings." Bacon's chaplain and biographer, Dr. Rawley, says: It may seem the moon had some principal place in the figure of his nativity, for the moon was never in her passion or eclipsed but he was surprised with a sudden fit of fainting; and that though he observed not nor took any previous knowledge of the eclipse thereof; and as soon as the eclipse ceased he was restored to his former strength agair. IV. Was he a Lover of Poetry ? Many things might be quoted from his writings to show his love of poetry and his profound study of it. He says it " elevates the mind from the dungeon of the body to the enjoying of its own divine essence." . He even contemplated the improvement of poetry by the inven- tion of new measures or meters. He says: ' Preface to The hiier/reiatioii of Natitre. * Essays^ Bacon, p. 263. ■> Montagu's Li/e of Bacon. FHAA^CIS BACON WAS A POET. 125 For though men with learned tongues do tie themselves to the ancient meas- ures, yet in modern languages it seemeth to me as free to make new measures of verses as of dances; for a dance is a measured pace, as a verse is a measured speech.' The basis of Bacon's mind was the imagination. This is the eye of the soul. By it the spirit sees into the relations of objects. This it is gives penetration, for it surveys things as the eagle does — from above. And this is Bacon's metaphor. He says: Some writings have more of the ca;^lc in them than others.'^ It was this descending sight, commanding the whole landscape, that enabled him to make all knowledge his province, and out of this vast scope of view grew his philosophy. It was but a higher poetry. Montaigne says: Philosophy is no other than a falsified poesie. . . . Plato is but a poet unript.. All superhuman sciences make use of the poetic style. V. The Character of Bacon's Mind. Alfred H. Welsh says of Bacon: He belongs /o the realm of the imagination, of eloquence, of history, of jurispru- dence, of ethics, of metaphysics; the investigation of the powers and operations of the human mind. His writings have the gravity of prose, with the fervor and vividness of poetry. . . . Shakespeare, with greater variety, contains no more vig- orous or expressive condensations. Edmund Burke says: Who is there that, hearing the name of Bacon, does not instantly recognize everything of genius the most profound, of literature the most extensive, of dis- covery the most penetrating, of observation of human life the most distinguishing and refined ? Macaulay says: The poetical faculty was powerful in Bacon's mind, but not, like his wit, so powerful as occasionally to usurp the place of his reason, and to tyrannize over the whole man. No imagination was ever at once so strong and so thoroughly subju- gated. It never stirred but at a signal from good sense; it stopped at the first check of good sense. Yet, though disciplined to such obedience, it gave noble proofs of its vigor. In truth, much of Bacon's life was passed in a visionary world, amidst things as strange as any that are described in the Arabian tales.* Montagu says: His mind, like the sun, had both light and agility; it knew no rest but in motion, no quiet but in activity; it did not so pjoperly apprehend as irradiate the object. . . . His understanding could almost pierce into future contingents, his ^ A dvancetnent 0/ Learning:, hook. 11. ^Ibid. ^ Essays, Bacon, p. 2Z$, 126 /-KANCIS BACO.V THE AUTHOR OF THE FLAYS. conjectures improving even to prophecy; he saw consequences yet dormant in their principles, and effects yet unborn in the womb of their causes.' Macaulay speaks of his Compactness of expression and richness of fancy.- Addison said of his prayer, composed in the midst of his afflic- tions, in 1621 : For elevation of thought and greatness of expression, it seems rather the devotion of an angel than a man."* Fowler says: His utterances are not infrequently marked with a grandeur and solemnity of tone, a majesty of diction, which renders it impossible to forget, and difficult even to criticise them. . . . There is no author, unless it be Shakespeare, who is so easily remembered or so frequently quoted. . . . The terse and burning words issuing from the lips of an irresistible commander.'* R. W. Church speaks of The bright torch of his incorrigible imaginativeness.'^ . . . He was a genius second only to Shakespeare. . . . He liked to enter into the humors of a court; to devote brilliant imagination and affluence of invention to devising a pageant which should throw all others into the shade.* That he was master of the dramatic faculty will be inade plain to any one who reads that interesting dialogue entitled An Adver- tisement Touching an Holy War, and observes the skill with which the conversation is carried on, and the separate characters of the parties maintained. VI. Did Bacon Claim to be a Poet? Let us next ask ourselves this question: Did Bacon claim to. be a poet ? Certainly. We have among his acknowledged works a series of translations, the Psalms of David, made in his old age, and com- posed upon a sick-bed. Mr. Spedding says of these translations: It has been usual to speak of them as a ridiculous failure; a censure in which I cannot concur. ... I should myself infer from this sample that Bacon had all the natural faculties which a poet wants: a fine ear for meter, a fine feeling for imagi- native effect in words, and a vein of poetic passion. . . . The thought could not well be fitted vith imagery, words and rhythm more apt and imaginative; and there is a tenderness of expression which comes manifestly out of a heart in sensi- tive sympathy with nature. The heroic couplet could hardly do its work better in ' Montagu's Life of Bacon. ^ Fowler's Bacon, p. 57. ' Francis Bacon, p. 208. "Essays, Bacon, p. 249. ' Ibid., p. 202. "Ibid., p. 214. FRANCIS BACON WAS A POET. 127 the hands of Dryden. The truth is that Bacon was not without the fine phrensy of the poet.' I quote a few passages from these Psalms, selected at random; There do the stately ships plough up the floods; The greater navies look like walking woods. This reminds us of the walking wood in Macbeth : As I did stand my watch upon the hill, I looked toward Birnam, and, anon, methought, The wood began to move.-' He speaks of The sappy cedars, tall like stately towers. Again; The vales their hollow bosoms opened plain, The streams ran trembling down the vales again. He speaks of the birds — Stroking the gentle air with pleasant notes. He describes life as This bubble light, this vapor of our breath. He says; Again; So that, with present griefs and future fears, Our eyes burst forth into a stream of tears. Why should there be such turmoil and such strife. To spin in length this feeble line of life? It must be remembered, in extenuation of any defects in these translations, that they were the work of sickness and old age, when his powers were shrunken. They were written in his sixty-fifth year — one year before his death. We will see that they are not equal in scope and vigor even to his prose writings. He himself noted this difference between youth and age. He, says; There is a youth in thoughts as well as in age; and yet the invention of young men is more lively than that of old, and imaginations stream into their minds better, and as it were more divinely.* VII. Thk Exaltations of Genius. Neither can we judge what great things genius can do in the blessed moments of its highest exaltation by the beggarly dregs of daily life. Lord Byron said, in a letter to Tom Moore; ' Works, vii, 269. 2 Macbeth, v, 4. ^ Essay Of Youth and Age. 128 /-'A'AXC/S J^.iro.V THE AUTJWK OF TJJE PLAYS. A man's poetry has no more to do with the every-day individual than the inspi- ration with the Pythoness, when removed from the tripod. Richard Grant White ridicules "the great inherent absurdity — the unlikeness of Bacon's mind and style to those of the writer of the Plays," to which William D. O'Connor well replies: (^f all fudge ever written this is the sheerest. Methinks I see a critic with his sagacious right eye fixed upon the long loping alexandrines of Richelieu, and his sagacious left eye fixed upon Richelieu's Maxims of Slate, oracularly deciding from the unlikeness of mind and style that the great Cardinal could ncjt have written the tragi-comedy of Mirame ! Could he inform us (I will offer the most favorable instance possible) what likeness of "mind and style" he could detect between Sir William Blackstone's charming verses, A Lawyers Farcwe/i to /lis A/itse, and the same Sir William Blackstone's Comiiteiitaries? What likeness of "mind and style" could he establish between the famous treatise by Grotius, on The Rights of Peace a)id War, and the stately tragedy by Grotius entitled Adam in Exile ? Where is the identity of "mind and style" between Sir Walter Raleigh's dry-as-dust Cabinet Coiiiiei/ and Sir Walter Raleigh's magnificent and ringing poem, 'P/ie Sou/' s Errand? What likeness of "mind and style" could he find between Coleridge's Aids to Re- flection and the unearthly melody and magian imagery of Coleridge's Kuhla Khan? What likeness of "mind and style " exists between the exquisite riant grace, light- ness and Watteau-color of Milton's Allegro, the gracious andante movement and sweet cloistral imagery of Milton's Penserosa, and the Telraehordon, or the A reo- pagitica of the same John Milton? Are the solemn, rolling harmonies of Paradise Lost one in "mind and style" with the trip-hammer crash of the reply to Salmasius by Cromwell's Latin secretary? Could the most astute reviewer discover likeness of "mind and style " between Peregrine Pickle ox Roderick Pandoiii and the noble and majestic passion of the Ode to Independence ? — Thy spirit. Independence, let me share, Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye ! Thy steps I'll follow with my bosom bare. Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky.' VIII. Bacon's Court Mask. Let us go a step farther and prove that Bacon wrote verse, and mastered the difficulties of rhythm and rhyme, in other productions besides the translation of a few psalms. Messrs. Spedding and Dixon brought to light, in their re- searches, two fragments of a court mask which is believed to be unquestionably Bacon's, and in it, as an oracle, occur these verses, spoken of a blind Indian boy. The queen, of course, is Elizabeth: Seated between the Old World and the New, A land there is no other land may touch. Where reigns a queen in peace and honor true; Stories or fables do describe no such. ' Hamtet's Note Book, p. 56, Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston and New York. FJ^ANCIS BACON JVAS A POET. 129 Never did Atlas such a burden bear, As she in holding up the world opprest; Supplying with her virtue everywhere Weakness of friends, errors of servants best. No nation breeds a warmer blood for war, And yet she calms them by her majesty; No age hath ever wits refined so far, And yet she calms them by her policy: To her thy son must make his sacrifice If he will have the moniiitg of his eyes. Certainly this exhibits full possession of the powers requisite in metrical composition, while the closing' expression for restoration from blindness, " the morning of his eyes," is eminently poetical. IX. Other Verses bv Bacon. There are also some other verses which go under the name of Bacon. They are worthy of the pen that wrote Shakespeare: Mr. Spedding publishes in his great edition of Bacon's JVorks,^ a poem, which he calls "a remarkable performance." It is a para- phrase of a Greek epigram, attributed by some to Poseidippus, by others to Plato, the comic poet, and by others to Crates, the cynic. In 1629, only three years after Bacon's death, Thomas Farnaby, a contemporary and scholar, published a collection of Greek epigrams. After giving the epigram in question, with its Latin translation on the opposite page, he adds: '■''Hue elegante }ii V. C. L. Domini Vcriilamii -apwdta-j adjicere adliibuitj" and then prints the English lines below (the only English in the book), with a translation of his own oppo- site in rhyming Greek. A copy of the English lines was also found among Sir Henry Wotton's papers, with the name Francis Lord Bacon at the bottom. Spedding says, " Farnaby's evidence is direct and strong," and he expresses the opiiiion that the internal evi- dence is in favor of the poem being the work of Bacon. Spedding says: The English lines which follow are not meant for a translation, and can hardly be called a paraphrase. They are rather another poem on the same subject and with the same sentiment; and though the topics are mostly the same, the treatment of them is very difTerent. The merit of the original consists almost entirely in its compactness; there being no special felicity in the expression, or music in the meter. In the English, compactness is not aimed at, and a tone of plaintive melody is imparted, which is due chiefly to the metrical arrangement, and ha:s. something very pathetic in it to the ear. ' Vol. xiv, p. 115, Boston ed. ijo FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THF PLAYS. The world's a bubble, and the life of man Less than a span; In his conception wretched, from the womb So to the tomb; Cursed from his cradle and brought up to years With cares and fears: Who, then, to frail mortality shall trust. But limns the water, or but writes in dust. Yet, whilst with sorrow here we live opprest, What life is best? Courts are but only superficial schools. To dandle fools; The rural parts are turned into a den Of savage men; And Where's the city from foul vice so free But may be termed the worst of all the three ? Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed. Or pains his head. Those that live single take it for a curse. Or do things worse. Some would have children; those that have them moan, Or wish them gone. What is it, then, to have or have no wife. But single thraldom or a double strife? Our own affections still at home to please Is a disease: To cross the seas to any foreign soil. Perils and toil. Wars with their noise affright us; when they cease. We're worse in peace. What then remains, but that we still should cry Not to be born, or, being born, to die? I differ with Mr. Spedding. These verses are exceedingly terse and compact. They exhibit a complete mastery over rhythm and rhyme. Those two lines, — Who then to frail mortality shall trust, But limns the water, or but writes in dust, — are worthy of any writer in the language. We are reminded of the pathetic utterance of poor Keats, who requested that his friends should place upon his tomb the words: Here lies one whose name was writ in water. Mr. Spedding also gives us ' the following lines, inferior to the above, found in a volume of manuscript collections now in the British Museum: ' Vol. ,\iv, p. 114. FRANCIS BACOX II AS A POET. 131 Verses Made ky Mr. Franxis Bacon. The man of life upright, whose guiltless heart is free From all dishonest deeds and thoughts of vanity; The man whose silent days in harmless joys are spent, Whom hopes cannot delude, nor fortune discontent: That man needs neither towers, nor armor for defense, Nor secret vaults to fly from thunder's violence; He only can behold with unaffrighted eyes The horrors of the deep and terrors of the skies; Thus scorning all the care that Fate or Fortune brings, He makes the Heaven his book, his wisdom heavenly things; Good thoughts his only friends, his life a well-spent age, The earth his sober inn, — a quiet pilgrimage. Mrs. Pott' quotes a poem entitled The Retired Courtier, from Dowland's First Book of Songs, published 1600; and she gives many very good reasons for believing that it was from the pen of Bacon. Certain it is that the verses are of extraordinary excellence, and were claimed by no one else, and they afford numerous parallels with the Plays: The Retired Courtier. 1. His golden locks hath Time to silver turned; O time too swift ! O swiftness never ceasing ! His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurned. But spurned in vain; youth waneth by increasing. Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen. Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green. II. His helmet now shall make a hive for bees. And lovers' sonnets turn to holy psalms. A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees. And feed on prayers which are age's alms; But though from court to cottage he depart. His saint is sure of his unspotted heart. III. And when he saddest sits in homely cell. He'll teach his swains this carol for a song: Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well ! Curst be the soul that thinks her any wrong ! Goddess, allow this aged man his right, To be your beadsman now that was your knight. What a beautiful and poetical conception is that: His helmet now shall make a hive for bees ! ^ I'romus, appendix D, p. 528. 1-2 /■A'A.VC/S BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. If Bacon did not write this, who was the unknown poet to- whom it can be ascribed ? His saint is sure of his unspotted heart, says the poem. A pure, unspotted heart, says Shakespeare.' Allow this aged man his right To lie your beadsman now. Says Bacon to Lord Burleigh (1597): I will still he your bcadstnan. X. Bacon's Concealed Writings. Let us next inquire: Were these extracts all of Bacon's poetical works ? Is there any evidence that he was the author of any con- cealed writings ? Yes. Mrs. Pott says: There are times noted by Mr. Spedding when Bacon wrote with closed doors' and when the subject of his studies is doubtful; and there is one long vacation of which the same careful biographer remarks that he cannot tell what work the inde- fatigable student produced during those months, for that he knows of none whose date corresponds with the period. Perhaps it was at such a time Bacon took recreation in the form in which he recommended it to others, not by idleness, but by bending the bow in an opposite direction; for he says: " I have found now twice, upon amendment of my fortunes, disposition to melancholy and distaste, especially the same happening against the long vacation, when company failed and business both." The same distaste to what he in a letter calls the "dead vacation" is seen in As You Like Lt, act iii, scene 2: Who stays it [time] still withal ? With lawyers in the vacation. Bacon says in a letter to Tobie Matthew: I have sent you some copies of my book of the Advancement, which you desired; and a little work of mv recreation, which you desired not. My Lnstauratioti I reserve for conference; it sleeps not. Those works of the alphabet are in my opinion of less use to you where you now are than at Paris. [1607-g.] Mr. Spedding cannot guess what those works of the alphabet may have been, unless they referred to Bacon's experiments at. cipher-writing. When he has become Sir Francis, Bacon writes to Tobie Matthew: I send my desire to you in this letter that you will take care not to lea7'e the 7vriting which I left with you last 'with any man so long that he may be able to take a copy of it. And that this was evidently some composition of his own ap- pears by the fact that he asks his friend's criticism upon it, and to - J st Henry I 'I.. ■", 4. /■A'A.VCJ.S HA COX IV AS A POET. 133 " point out where I do perhaps indonnisccrc, or where I do iu- diilgere genio; or where, in fine, I give any manner of disadvantage to myself." Does this mean that he fears he will reveal himself by his style ? Asfain, he writes to the same friend: You Conceive ari.e;ht, that in this and the other, you have commission to impart and communicate them to others, according to your discretion; other matters I ivrite not of} What was the meaning of all this mystery ? Bacon refers to some tmnamed work which he sends to his friend as " a work of his recreation." And in TIic Advance?>ient of Learning' he says : As for poesy, it is rather a pleasute or play of the imagination than a work or duty thereof. And in Macbeth we have: The labor we delight in physics pain.' And in Antony and Cleopatra we have: The business that we love, we rise betimes And go to it with delight. ■* Bacon in his Apology says: It happened, a little before that time, that her Majesty had a purpose to dine at Twickenham Park, at which time I had (although I profess not to be a poet) prepared a sonnet directly tending and alluding to draw on her Majesty's recon- cilement to my Lord, which I remember I also showed to a great person. Mr. William Thompson' calls attention to the fact that this sonnet has never been found among Bacon's papers, or elsewhere, and suggests that this is one of the sonnets that go under the name of Shakespeare. When James I., after the death of Elizabeth, was about to come to England, to assume the crown. Master John Davis, afterward Sir John Davis, the poet and courtier, went to meet him, where- upon Bacon sent after him this significant letter: Master Da7>is: Though you went on the sudden, yet you could not go before you had spoken with yourself to the purpose which I will now write. And, therefore, I know it shall be altogether needless, save that I meant to show you that I was not asleep. 1 Letter to Tobie Matthew, 1609. ^Bonkii. ^ ^^t ij scene 3. ■< Act iv, scene 4. 5 The Renascene Drama: or, History Made I'isible. By William Thompson, F.R.C.S., F.L.S. Melbourne, 1880. 134 FRANCIS BACON THE ACTHOK OF 7UE PLAYS. Briefly, I commend myself to your love and the well-usin^f of my name, as well in repressing and answering for me, if there be any biting or nibbling at it, in that place; as by imprinting a good conceit and opinion of me, chiefly in the King (of whose favor I make myself comfortable assurance), and otherwise in that court. And, not only so, but generally to perform to me all the good offices which the vivacity of your wit can suggest to your mind, to be performed to one with whose affection you have so great sympathy, and in whose fortune you have so great interest. So desiring yon to be good to all concealed poets, I continue, etc. This letter is very significant. It is addressed to a poet; it anticipates that there will be "biting and nibbling" at his good name; it begs the friendly services of Davis; and it concludes by asking him to be good "A; all concealed poets.'" This plainly refers to himself. The whole context shows it. We know that Bacon was a poet. Here he admits that he is a concealed poet. That is to say, that he was the author of poetical writings which he does not acknowledge — "which go about in others' names." This pregnant admission half proves my case; for if the "con- cealed" poetical writings were not the Shakespeare Plays, what were they ? Are there any other poetical writings in that age whose authorship is questioned ? If so, what are they ? And we have another proof of this in a letter of Sir Tobie Matthew to Bacon, which, being addressed to him as the Viscount St. Albans, must necessarily have been written subsequent to the 27th January, 1621, when his Lordship was invested with that title. Judge Holmes says: It appears to be in answer to a letter from Lord Bacon, dated "the gth of April " (year not given), accompanying some great and noble token of his " Lord- ship's favor," which was in all probability a newly printed book; for Bacon, as we know from the letters, was in the habit of sending to Mr. Matthew a copy of his books as they were published. . . . Neither is there anything in the way of the supposition that this date may actually have been the 9th of April, 1623; and there was no publication of any work of Bacon, during that spring, which he would be sending to Mr. Matthew unless it were precisely this Folio of 1623.' The postscript is as follows: P. S. The most prodigious wit that ever I knew of my nation, and of this side of the sea, is of your Lordship's name, THOUGH HE BE known by ANOTHER. If we suppose that "the great and noble token " was the Shake- speare Folio of 1623, we can understand this. If Tobie Matthew, Bacon's intimate friend and correspondent, his "other self" as he calls him, to whom he wrote about the mysterious works of the 1 .AntJiorsliip of Shak., p. 172. FRANCIS BACON WAS A POET. '35 alphabet, diXid to whom ht* sent "the works of his recreation" (not to be left where any one could take a copy of them) — if Tobie Mat- thew knew that "the great and noble token " was written by "the concealed poet," Bacon, and if he desired, as part of his thanks, to compliment him upon the mighty genius manifested in it, what is more natural than that he should allude to the hidden secret in the way he does? He says, in effect, writing from abroad: "Thanks for the Folio. Your Lordship is the greatest wit of our nation, and of this side of the sea (that is, in all Europe), though your noblest work is published under another name." In another letter Tobie Matthew writes him: I shall give you " Measure for AIeasttrt\'^ He was familiar with the Plays of Shakespeare. After Shake- speare's death, he wrote a letter, in which he refers to Falstaff as the author of a speech which he quotes. And in 1598 he writes to Dudley Carleton, again quoting from Falstaff: "Well, honour pricks them on, and the world thinckes that honour will quickly prick them off againe." That there were concealed poets in London among the gentlemen scholars, and the lawyers in the inns of court, we know in another way: In Webb's Discourse of Poetry, published in 1586, after enumer- ating the writers of the day, Whetstone, Munday, etc., he adds: I am humbly to desire pardon of the learned company oi gcntletuen scholars and students of the universities and inns of court, if I omit their several commenda- tions in this place, which I know a great number of them have worthily deserved, in niaiiy 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 in such place where I can with facility get knowledge of their works.' In Spenser's Tcares of the Muses, printed in 1591, there is a pass- age beginning: And he the man whom Nature's self had made To mock her selfe and Truth to imitate, With kindly counter under mimic shade. Our pleasant Willy, ah, is dead of late ! This has been held to refer to Shakspere, chiefly, it would seem, because of the name Willy. " But," says Richard Grant White,^ "'Willy,' like 'shepherd,' was not uncommonly used merely to mean a poet, and was distinctly applied to Sir Philip ' Knight, Sliak. Bingrn/'hy, p. 328. ^ Life and Genius of Shcxk., p. 95. 136 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. Sidney, in an eclogue preserved in Davidson's Poetical Rhapsody., published in 1602. And The Teares of the Muses had certainly been written before 1590, when Shakspere could not have arisen to the position assigned, by the first poet of the age, to the subject of this passage, and probably before 1580, when Shakspere was a boy of sixteen at Stratford." And if these lines referred to Shakspere, what is meant by the words, "with kindly counter under mimic shade"? Certainly Shakspere never appeared under any mimic, shade or disguise; while, if the lines referred to Bacon, old enough even in 1580 to be a poet and a friend of Spenser, there might be an allusion here to his use of some play-actor's name as a disguise for his productions, just as we find him in the sonnets referring to himself as Keeping invention in a noted loccd Till every word does almost sjteak my name. But I shall discuss this matter more at length hereafter. And Bacon, in a prayer made while Lord Chancellor, refers to the same weed or disguise: The state and bread of the poor and oppressed have been precious in mine eyes; I have hated all cruelty and hardness of heart. I have, though in a despised weed, procured the good of all men. We will see hereafter that the purpose of the Plays was the good of all men. And we find in the following sentence proof that Bacon used the word weed to signify a disguise: This fellow, when Perkin took sanctuary, chose rather to take a holy habit than a holy place, and clad himself like a hermit, and in that tcv^;/ wandered about the country until he was discovered and taken.' We find many evidences that Bacon's pursuits were poetical. He writes to the Earl of Essex on one occasion: Desiring your good Lordship, nevertheless, not to conceive out of this my dili- gence in soliciting this matter, that I am either much in appetite or much in hope. For, as for appetite, the waters of Parnassus are not like the waters of the Spa, that give a stomach, but rather they quench appetite and desires. And when, after Essex was released from confinement in 1600, Bacon wrote him a congratulatory letter, Essex replied, evidently somewhat angry at him, as follows; ^ History 0/ Henry 1'//. FKANC/S BACON WAS A POET. 137 I can neither expound nor censure your late actions, being ignorant of them all save one, and having directed my sight inward only to examine myself. ... I am a stranger to all poetical conceits, or else / should say someivhat of your poetical example, ' And we have many proofs that Bacon was engaged in some studies which absorbed him to the exclusion of law and politics. He says: I do confess, since I was of any understanding, my mind hath, in effect, been absent from that I have done, and in absence errors are committed, which I do willingly acknowledge; and amongst the rest this great one which led the rest: that knowing myself by inward calling to be fitter to hold a book than to play a part, I have led my life in civil causes, for which I was not very fit by nature, and more unfit by the preoccupation of luy iiiind.- And he makes this apology for the failure of his life: This I speak to posterity, not out of ostentation, but because I judge it may somewhat import the dignity of learning, to have a man born for letters rather than anything else, who should by a certain fatality, and against the bent of his own genius, be compelled into active life.^ XI. The Imagination Revealed in Bacon's Acknowledged Writings. But, after all, the best evidence of the fact that Bacon possessed the imagination, the fancy and the wit necessary for the pro- duction of the Plays, must be found in his acknowledged writings. 1 assert, first, that he had all the fancy, vivacity and sprightli- ness of mind necessary for the task. Let me give a few proofs of this. He says: Extreme self-lovers will set a man's house on fire, though it were but to roast their eggs.'* Money is like muck, not good unless it be spread.^ You have built an ark to save learning from deluge." He calls the great conquerors of history " the troublers of the world; " he speaks of " the tempest of human life." He says: A full heart is like a full pen; it can hardly make any distinguished work.'' He says: For as statues and pictures are dumb histories, so histories are speaking pict- ures.^ ' Letter from Esse.\ to Bacon, 1600. ^ Essay Of Seditions. 2 Letter to Sir Thomas Bodley. " Letter to Sir Thomas Bodlev. ^Advancement (1/ Learning, viii, 3. '' Letter to the King. ■" Coll. Scne. * Letter to the Chancellor, 138 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. In so grave and abstract a matter as the dedication of The Arguments of Lmc\ he says: For the reasons of municipal laws, severed from the grounds of nature, man- ners and policy, are like wall-flowers, which, though they grow high upon the crests of states, yet have no deep roots. How figurative, how poetical is this! Not only the municipal laws are compared to wall-flowers, but they grow upon the crests of states ! He says also: Fame hath swift swings, especially that which hath black feathers.' Meaning, by black feathers, slanders. He also says: For, though your Lordship's fortunes be above the thunder and storms of inferior regions, yet, nevertheless, to hear the wind and not to feel it, will make one sleep the better. - He says: Myself have ridden at anchor all your Grace's absence, and my cables are now quite worn.'' We also find this: The great labor was to get entrance into the business; but now the portcullis is drav/n up.* He says: Hereupon presently came forth swarms and volleys of libels, which are the gusts of liberty of speech restrained, and the females of sedition, containing bitter invectives and slanders.' Again: I shall perhaps, before my death, have rendered the age a light unto posterity, by kindling this new torch amid the darkness of philosophy.* Again: Time, like a river, hath brought down all that was light and inflated, and hath sunk what was weighty and solid.'' Again: 1 ask for a full pardon, that I may Jif out of a cloud.'' Again: As for gestures, they are as transitory hieroglyphics.^ ' Letter to Sir George Villiers, 1615. ' Hiatory of Henry \'II. 2 Letter to Buckingham, April, 1623. « Letter to King James. ' Letter to Buckingham, October 12, 1623. ' Preface to Great Instauration. * Letter to Buckingham, i6iq. ** Letter to Buckingham, Novemtoer 25, 1625, " . XJ-.'iiiUfiuoit if I.i'ariiiiii;, bocjk ii. FRANCIS BACON WAS A POET. 139 He says: Words are the footsteps and prints of reason.' Again; Hope is a leaf-joy, which may be beaten out to a great extension, like gold.* Again: The reason of this omission I suppose to be that hidden rock whereupon both this and many other barks of knowledge have been cast away.^ Again he speaks of The Georgics of the mind, concerning the husbandry and tillage thereof.* Again: Such men are, as it were, the very suitors and lovers of fables.^ This reminds us of Shakespeare: The very beadle to a humorous sigh.* Speaking of the then recent voyages in which the earth was circumnavigated, he uses this poetical expression: Memorable voyages, after the manner of heaven, about the globe of the earth.'' Did ever grave geograplier tise such a simile as this ? He says: Industrious persons ... do save and recover somewhat from the deluge of time.* Also: Remnants of history which have casually escaped the shipwreck of time.' Again: Times answerable, like waters after a tempest, full of working and swelling. "^' He says: The corrupter sort of politicians . . . thrust themselves into the center of the world, as if all lines should meet in them and their fortunes; never caring, in all tempests, what becomes of the ship of state, so they may saT'c themselves in the eock-boat of their own fortune .^^ Again; Virtue is like a rich stone, best plain set. " He says: If a man be gracious and courteous to strangers, it shows he is a citizen of the world, and that his heart is no island cut off from other lands, but a continent that joins to them.'^ ' Advancement of Learning, book ii. ' Advancement cf Learning, book ii. s History of Life and Deatli. * Ibid. ^Advancement of Learning, book ii. ' Ibid. «Ibid. '"Ibid., book ii. ^ Novum Organum, book ii. " Ibid., book i. ^Love's Labor Lost, iii, 1. " Essay Of Beauty. '3 Essay Of Goodness. I40 FJ^AA'C/S BACO.y THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. He says; It is sport to see a bold fellow out of countenance, for that puts his face into a most shrunken and wooden posture.' Again: Suspicions among thoughts are like bats among birds — they ever fly by twi- light.2 Again: Some men's behavior is like a verse, wherein every syllable is measured.* He says: Certainly there be whose fortunes are like Homer's verses, that have a slide and an easiness more than the verses of other poets. "* Speaking of those studies that come home to the hearts of men, or, to use his phrase, " their business and bosoms," he says: So men generally take well knowledges that are drenched in fiesh and blood. ^ He says: Duty, though my state lie buried in the sands, and my favors be cast upon the waters, and my honors be committed to the wind, yet standeth surely built upon the rock, and hath been, and ever shall be, unforced and unattempted.'* Speaking of the Perkin Warbeck conspiracy, Bacon says: After such time . . . she began to cast with herself /)■(?;;/ 7vhat coast this blazing star should first appear, and at what time it must be upoi the horizon of Ireland, for there had been the like meteor strong influence before. The time of the apparition to be when the King should be engaged into a war with France.'' Again he says: Honor that is gained and broken upon another hath the quickest reflection, like dia/noiuls cut with facets.^ Again: In fame of learning the flight will be slow without some feathers of ostenta- tion.** Again: Pope Alexander . . . was desirous to trouble the waters in Italy, that he might fish the better; casting the net not out of St. Peter's, but out of Borgia's bark."* He uses this expression: • Their preposterous, fantastic and hypothetical philosophies which have led experience captive." ' Essay O/ Goodness. ^ Letter written in Essex' name to the Queen, 1600. * Essay O/ Stcspicion. ' History of Henry VH. 3 Essay 0/ Praise. ^ Essay Of Honor and Reputation. * Essay Of Forttinc. ° Essay 0/ Vain Glory. ^ AdTanceineiit 0/ Learning, book ii. '" History 0/ Henry VH. ' ' Novum Organuin. J'Vk'AXC/S BACOiV ll'AS A I'OKT. 141 Speaking again of the Perkin Warbeck conspiracy, he expresses it in tills most figurative manner: At this time the King began to be haunted with spirits, by the magic and curi- ous arts of the Lady Margaret, who raised up the ghost of Richard, Duke of York, second son to King Edward the Fourth, to walk and vex the King.' Again: Every giddy-headed humor keeps, in a manner, revel-rout in false religions. - Again: It is the extremity of evil when mercy is not suffered to have commerce with misery.^ When he wotild say tliat the circumstances were favorable for the inauguration of the Perkin Warbeck conspiracy, he ptits it thus: Now did the sign reign, and the constellation was come, under which Perkin should appear.^ [We find the Duke telling Viola: I know thy constellation is right apt For this affair.^] And again: But all this upon the French King's part was but a trick, the better to bow King Henry to peace. And therefore upon the first grain of incense that was sac- rificed upon the altar of peace, at Roloign, Perkin was smoked away.'' When Bacon would say that King Henry VII. used his wars as a means and excuse to fill his treasury, he expresses it in this pict- uresque fashion; His wars were always to him as a mine of treasure of a strange kind of ore; iron at the top and gold and silver at the bottom.'' Again he says: And Perkin, for a perfuvie he/ore him as He went, caused to be published a proclamation.* Again: So certainly, if a man meditate much upon the universal frame of nature, the earth with men upon it (the divineness of souls except) will not seem much other than an ant-hill, where, as some ants carry corn, and some carry their young, and some go empty, and all — to and fro — a little heap of dust.' He uses this expression after his downfall: Here I live upon the sword-point of a sharp air.'" 1 History of Henry J '//. ' History 0/ Henry I '//. ^ Wisdom of tlic A ncicnts — Dionysius. ' Ibid. ^ Ibid. — Diojjiedes. " Ibid. ^ History of Henry I '//. '•* A dvaiicemcnt of Learning, book i.- s T^velfth Night, i, 4. " Petition to the House of Lords. 14^ FRANCIS B A CO IV THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. Alluding to Perkin Warbeck, he says: But it was ordained that this winding-ivy of a Plantagenet should kill the true tree itself.' Again: It was a race often dipped in their own blood.' Speaking of the crowds of rabble who followed Perkin Warbeck after his capture, to mock and deride him. Bacon uses this poetical figure: They flocked about him as he went along: that one might know afar off where the owl was by the flight of birds.' After his downfall he writes: I desire to do, for the little time God shall send me life, like the merchants of London, which, when they give over trade, lay out their money upon land. So being freed from civil business, I lay forth my poor talent upon those things which may be perpetual.* Again: And as in the tides of people once up, there want not commonly stirring winds to make them more rough. ^ Speaking of Henry VII., after he had overcome the rebellions of Simnell and Warbeck, Bacon says: This year also, though the King was no more haunted with sprites, for that by the sprinkling, partly of blood, and partly of water, he had chased them away.^ Again he says: As if one were to employ himself poring over the dissection of the dead car- cass of nature, rather than to set himself to ascertain the powers and properties of living nature.'' He says: Nothing appears omitted for preparing the senses to inform the understand- ing, and we shall no longer dance, as it were, within the narrow circles of the enchanter, but extend our march around the confines of the worW itself.* Again: A fellow that thinks with his magistrality and goosequill to give laws and menages to crowns and scepters.* This is rather a long list of examples to prove that Bacon pos- sessed in a preeminent degree fancy, vivacity and imagination, but I feel that no man can say his time is wasted in reading such a catalogue of gems. ' History of Henry V'U. * Letter to the King, Oct. 8, 1621. ''Nature of Things. '^ Ibid. * History 0/ Henry I'll. ' Exper. History. 3 Ibid. "Ibid. ' « Charge against Talbot. FRANCIS BACON WAS A POET. ' 143 XII. Had he the Higher Genius? We come now to another question. Granted that he had these humbler qualities of a vivacious mind, did he possess the loftier features of the imagination, those touches where heart and soul and sense of melody are fused together as in the great Plays? Undoubtedly an affirmative answer must be given to this ques- tion. But as in the doings of daily life he was, as Byron says, "off the tripod," it is only when he is, as Prospero has it, "touched to the quick," by some great emotion, that he forgets the philosophical and political restraints he has imposed upon himself, and pours forth his heart in words. One of these occasions was his downfall, in utter disgrace, fined, imprisoned, exiled from the court. In his petition to the House of Lords he cries out from the depths of his soul: I am old, weak, ruined, in want, a very subject of pity. We seem to hear the voice of Lear: A poor, infirm, weak and despised old man.' And, still speaking of himself, he continues with this noble thought: It may be you will do posterity good, if out of the carcass of dead and rotten greatness, as out of Samson's lion, there may be honey gathered for the use of future times.* What a noble, what a splendid image is this ! How the meta- phor is interwoven, Shakespeare-wise, not as a distinct comparison, but into the entire body of the thought. He is appealing for mercy, for time to finish his great works; he is himself already "dead and rotten greatness," but withal majestic greatness; he is Samson's lion, but in the carcass the bees have made their hive and hoarded honey for posterity. And what a soul ! That in the hour of ruin and humiliation, sacrificed, as I believe, to save a dis- honest King and a degraded favorite, he could still love humanity and look forward to its welfare. Could that expression have come from any other source than the mind that wrote Shakespeare ? The image was not unfamiliar to the writer of the Plays: 'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb In the dead carrion.^ ' Lear, iii, 2. "^ Petition to the House of Lords. ' 2ci Henry II'., iv, 4. 144 FA'AA'CIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. Take another instance. Bacon speaks of The ocean, the solitary handmaid of eternity.' If that thought was found in the Plays, would it not be on the tongues of all men as a magnificent image? And what poetry is there in this ? But men must learn that in this theater of man's life it is reserved only for God and the angels to be lookers-on. "■' If Shakespeare had written a prose essay, should-we not expect him to speak something after this fashion ? But the images of men's wits and knowledges remain in books, exempted from the wrong of time and capable of perpetual renovation. Neither are they fitly to be called images, because they generate still and cast their seeds in the minds of others, provoking and causing infinite actions and opinions in succeeding ages; so that if the invention of the ship was thought so noble, which carrieth riches and commodities from place to place and consociateth the most remote regions in par- ticipation of their fruits, how much more are letters to be magnified, which, as ships, pass through the vast seas of time and make ages so distant to participate of the wisdom, illuminations and inventions, the one of the other.^ How poetical is the following: Her royal clemency which as a sovereign and precious balm continually distil- leth from her fair hands, and falleth into the wounds of many that have incurred the offense of the law.'* Again we have : Sure I am that the treasure that cometh from you to her Majesty is but as a vapor which riseth from the earth and gathereth into a cloud and stayeth not there long, but upon the same earth it falleth again. It is like a sweet odor of honor and reputation to our nation throughout the world. ^ We are reminded of Portia's : The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath.^ And also of the following: The heavens rain odors on you.'' How beautiful is this expression of Bacon: A crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal where there is no love.® I The Nature of Things. ^ Bacon's Speech in Parliament, 1597-8, vol. "^Advancement 0/ Learning., book li. ii, p. 86. ' Ibid., book i. ' Merchant 0/ Venice, iv, i. * Discourse in Praise of the Queen: Life ' Twelfth Night, iii, i. and H'ork.s, vol. i, p. 129. "Essay Of Friendship. FRAA'CIS BACON WAS A POET. 145 How figurative is this: The King slept out the sobs of his subjects until he was awakened with the thunderbolt of a Parliament.' What poet has written in prose anything more poetical than this ? The unfortunate destinies of hopeful young men, who, like the sons of Aurora, puffed up with the glittering show of vanity and ostentation, attempt actions above their strength. . . . For among all the disasters that can happen to mortals, there is none so lamentable, and so powerful to move compassion, as the JlLnvcr of virtue cropped 7vith too sudde7t a mischance. . . . Lamentation and mourning /'////< 7',/rc;««ii their obsequies like those funereal birds} How fine is this expression : He took, as it were, the picture of words from the life of reason.^ There is a rhythm in this: Bred in the cells of gross and solitary monks.* How poetical is his conception when he speaks '' of the prepara- tion for the grand Armada and the Spanish invasion of England, as being "-like the travail of an elephant.'" And again, when he speaks of one of the Popes, who, by his labors, prevented the Mohammedanizing of the white race, as one who had "//// a ring in the snout of the Ottoman boar," whereby he was prevented from rooting up and ravaging the fair field of Europe. The words draw a picture for us which the memory cannot forget. What a command of language does he exhibit ! Take these sentences: Words that come from wasted spirits and an oppressed mind are more safe in being deposited in a noble construction.^ Neither doth the wind, as far as it carrieth a voice, with a motion thereof, con- found any of the delicate and figurati7rcsc>itative Men, p. 209. * Preface to Works 0/ Bcu Jonsor. THE WRITER OF THE PLAYS A PHILOSOPHER. ,51 of life. The mind must be peculiarly constructed that can at the same time grapple with the earth and soar in the clouds. It was the striking peculiarity of Bacon's system of philosophy that it tended to make great things little and little things great. It was the reverse of that old-time philosophy to which Shake- speare sneeringly alluded when he said: We have our philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar things super- natural and causeless.' Says Macaulay: Some people may think the object of the Baconian philosophy a low object.'^ And again he observes: This persuasion that nothing can be too insignificant for the attention of the wisest which is not too insignificant to give pleasure or pain to the meanest, is the essential spirit of the Baconian philosophy.' Bacon careci nothing for the grand abstrusenesses: he labored for the "betterment of men's bread and wine" — the improvement of the condition of mankind in their worldly estate. This was the gospel he preached. Like Socrates, he "dragged down philosophy from the clouds." He said: The evil, however, has been wonderfully increased by an opinion, or inveterate conceit, which is both vainglorious and prejudicial, namely, that the dignity of the human mind is lowered by long and frequent intercourse with experiments and particulars, which are the objects of sense and confined to matter, especially since such matters are iiiea}i subjects for meditation. •• And again, in his Experimental Natural History^ he says: We briefly urge as a precept, that there be admitted into this (natural) history: I. The most common matters, such as one might think it superfluous to insert, from their being well known; 2. Base, illiberal and filthy matters, and also those which are trifling and puerile, . . . nor ought their worth to be measured by their intrinsic value, but by their application to other points and their influence on phil- osophy. And again: This was a false estimation that it should be a diminution to the mind of man to be much conversant in experiences and particulars, subject to sense and bound in matter, and which are laborious to search, ignoble to meditate, harsh to deliver, illiberal to practice, infinite as is supposed in number, and noways accommodate to the glory of arts.^ And, strange to say, when we turn to Shakespeare we find embalmed in poetry, where one would think there would be the ' Airs Well that F.iuts ll'.-l/, ii, 3. ' Ibid., p. 272. •'■ /Vlioit Labyrhdhi. * Essay Bacon, p. 278. ■* Novum Orgaiiitni, book i. 152 FA'.LVC/S B.ICO.V THE AUTHOR OF THE TLA VS. least chaoce to find it, and with which it would seem to have no natural kindred or coherence, this novel philosophy. Shakespeare says: And again: Some kinds of baseness Are nobly undergone, and most poor matters Toint to ricli ends.^ Nature, what things there are. Most abject in fegard and dear in use ! What things again most dear in the esteem And poor in worth! - This is the very doctrine taught by Bacon, which I have just quoted: Base, illiberal and filthy matters, and also those which are trifling and puerile, . . . nor ought their worth to be measured by their intrinsic value, but by their application to other points and their influence on philosophy. Why did not Bacon quote that sentence from the Tempest! Some kinds of baseness Are nobly undergone, and most poor matters Point to rich ends. a No wonder Birch is reminded of Bacon when he reads Shake- speare. He says: Glendower is very angry at the incredulity of Hotspur, and reiterates again and again the signs that he thought marked him extraordinary. Hotspur not only replies with badinage, but ascribes, ivith Baconian inductio^i, all that Glendower thought miraculous and providential to nature and the earth.'' Dowden describes the philosophy of Shakespeare in words that fully fit the philosophy of Bacon. He says: The noble positivism of Shakespeare. . . . ILniiTgy, dcT'otion to t/ie fact,se\i-gov- ernment, tolerance, ... an indifference to externals in comparison with that which is of the invisible life, and a resolution to judge of all things fro>n a purely Jiuman standpoint.^ The same writer says: The Elizabethan drama is essentially mundane. To it all that is upon this earth is real, and it does not concern itself greatly about the reality of other things. Of heaven or hell it has no power to sing. It finds such and such facts here and now, and does not invent or discover supernatural causes to explain these frets. ^ Richard Grant White says: For although of all poets he is most profoundly psychological, as well as most fanciful and most imaginative, yet with him philosophy, fancy and imagination ' Tempest, iii, i. =' Birch, Philos. and Relig. o/Sliak., p. 238. ^Ibid., p. 23. "^ I'roiliis and Cressida, iii, 3. ■* Dowden, S/ia/c. Mind and A rt, p. 34. THE WRITER OF THE TLA YS A P HFT.OSOPHER. 153 :are penetrated with the spirit of that unwritten law of reason which we speak of as if it were a faculty — common sense. Ilis philosophy is practical und his poetical views are fused -with philosophy and poetry. He is withal the sage and the oracle of this world. . . . There is in him the constant presence and rule of reason in his most exalted flights.' Jeffrey says: When the object requires it he is always keen and "worldly and practical, and yet, without changing his hand or stopping his course, he scatters around him as he goes all sounds and shapes of sweetness. It needs no further argument to demonstrate: 1. That the writer of the Plays was a philosopher. 2. That he was a practical philosopher. I shall now go farther, and seek to show that, like Bacon, he was a natural philosopher, a student of nature, a materialist Bacon says: Divine omnipotence was required to create anything out of nothing, so also is ithat omnipotence to make anything lapse into nothing. - The writer of the Plays had grasped the same thought: O anything of nt)thing first created.'' Bacon says: Nothing proceeds from nothing.^ Shakespeare says: Nothing will come of nothing.* Nothing can be made out of nothing." A'e see the natural philosopher also in those reflections as to the indestructibility of matter and its transmutations in these verses- Full fadom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; These are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade. But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange." Hamlet's meditations run in the same practical direction. He perceives that the matter of which Alexander was composed was indestructible: Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returned to dust; the dust is earth, of earth we make loam, and why of that loam (whereto he was converted) might they not stop a beer barrel? ' Life and Genius of Shak., p. 293. ' Romeo and Juliet, i, i. ^ Lear, I, t. '^ Thoughts on the Nature 0/ 'J'kings. * Novum Organum, book ii. " Ibid., i, x. ' Tetnpest, i, 2. 154 FA'AJVC/S BACO.Y THE AUTHOK OF THE PLAYS. Illustrious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away. And when we turn again to Bacon we find him considering how All things pass through an appointed circuit and succession of transformations. . . . All things change; nothing really perishes.' And again Bacon says: For there is nothing in nature more true . . . than that nothing is reduced to nothing.'' Henry IV. delivers what Birch calls "an episode proper to a geological inquirer, and savoring of the theory of the materialist with regard to the natural and not providential alteration of the globe," when he says: O Heaven! that one might read the book of fate And see the revolution of the times; Make mountains level, and the continent (Weary of solid firmness) melt itself Into the sea ! and other times to see The beachy girdle of the ocean. Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances, mocks And changes fill the cup of alteration With divers liquors.'' Birch adds: When he returns to politics, and makes them a consequence, as it were, of the preceding philosophical reflections, we do not see the connection, except in that materialistic view of things, and mcrssitarian way of t/iiiikiiti^, in which Shake- speare frequently indulges, and which involved all alike, physical and human effects, in the causes and operations of nature. We either see the unavoidable ten- dency of Shakespeare's mind to drag in some of his own thoughts at the expense of situation or probability, or we must admit them so mixed up in his philosophy as not to be divided."* We find the man of Stratford (if we are to believe he wrote the Plays), while failing to teach his daughter to read and write, urging that the sciences should be taught in England! Even so our houses, and ourselves, and children. Have lost, or do not learn, for want of time. The sciences that should become our country.^ We see the natural philosopher also in Shakespeare's reflections in Measure for Measure : Thou art not thyself; For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains That issue out of dust.** 1 Thoughts on the Nature of T/iings. < Birch, Philosophy and Ki-ligion of .Shak.^ p. 249. ^ Nozmm Organutii^ book ii. ^ Henry /'., v, 2. ^ Henry IV., iii, i. "Act iii, scene i. THE WRITER OE THE PLAYS A PHILOSOPHER. 155 Here we find the same mind, that traced the transmutations of the dust of Alexander and Caesar, following, in reverse order, the path of matter from the inorganic dust into the organic plant, thence into fruit or grain, thence into the body, blood and brain of man. Man is not himself; he is simply a congeries of atoms, brought together by a power beyond himself. And Shakespeare says: It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover.' The natural philosopher is shown also in that wise and merciful reflection: For the poor beetle that we tread upon In corporal sufferance finds as great a pang As when a giant dies.- And we turn to Bacon, and we find him indulging in a similar thought: But all violence to the organization of animals is accompanied with a sense of pain, according to their different kinds and peculiar natures, owing to that sentient essence which pervades their frames.'' Observe the careful student of nature also in this: Many for many virtues excellent, None but for some, and yet all different. O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In herbs, plants, stones and their true qualities: For naught so vile that on the earth doth live, But to the earth some special good doth give; Nor aught so good, but, strained from that fair use. Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.* Here, again, we see the Baconian idea that the humble things of earth, even the vilest, have their noble purposes and uses. And the same study of plants is found in the following: Checks and disasters Grow in the veins of actions highest reared; As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain Tortive and errant from his course-and growth.'' And in the very direction of Bacon's ctirious investigations into life is this reference to the common belief of the time, that a horse- hair, left in the water, turns into a living thing: ' As Vou Like It, iii, 2. ' /'//<• Nature o/ Things. •' Troilus unci Cressida, i, ,;. ^ Measure /or Measure, iii, i. ' Romeo and Juliet , ii, 3. 156 FHANC/S /^.ICOA' THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. Much is breeding Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life, And not a serpent's poison.* It has even been noted by others that in that famous descrip- tion of the hair, "standing on end like quills upon the fretful por- cupine," the writer hints at the fact that the quills of that animal are really modified hairs." And when Lady Macbeth says: I know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums And dashed the brains out, had I so sworn. As you have done to this-* — we perceive that the writer had thought it out that the teeth are but modified bones. The student of natural phenomena is also shown in these sen- tences: Poor soul, the center of my sinful earth. ■* Can I go forward when my heart is here ? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out !'' I will find Where truth is hid, though it were hid, indeed, Within the center."^ While Bacon, seeming to anticipate the Newtonian specula- tions, says: Heavy and ponderous bodies tend toward the center of the earth by their peculiar formation. . . . Solid bodies are borne toward the center of the earth.' And here we perceive that the poet and the play-writer had even considered the force of the sun's heat in producing agitations of the atmosphere. He says: Which shipmen do the hurricano call, Constringed in mass by the almighty sun.* Bacon observed that All kind of heat dilates and extends the air, . . . which produces this breeze as the sun goes forward . . . and thence thunders and lightnings and storms.' ' A ntony and Cleopatra. ^ Koiiica atid Juliet , ii, t. ''■American Cyclopedia^ vol. viii, p. 384. " Hamlet, ii, 2. 3 Macbeth, i, 7. ' Novtnn Organnm, book ii. ^ Sonnet cxlvi. * Troilics and Cressida, v, 2. ^Author. 0/ Slutl;., \). 310. 7 HE WRITER OF THE PLAYS A rjIILOSOPHER. T57 And Judge Holmes calls attention to the following parallel thought in Shakespeare: As whence the sun gins his reflection, Ship-wrecking storms and direful thunders break.' And that all-powerful preponderance of the sun in the affairs of the planet, which modern science has established, was realized by the author of the Plays, when he speaks, in the foregoing, of "the almighty sun," " constringing " the air and producing the hurri- cane. It is no wonder that Richard Grant White exclaims: The entire range of human knowledge must be laid under contribution to illustrate his writings. - And the natural philosopher is shown in the question of Lear (for Shakespeare's lunatics ask many questions that wise men can- not answer) : Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?'' In his A^atural History^ we find Bacon occupying himself with kindred thoughts. He discusses the casting-off of the shell of the lobster, crab, era-fish, the snail, the tortoise, etc., and the making of a new shell: The cause of the casting of the skin and shell should seem to be the great quantity of matter that is in those creatures that is fit to make skin or shell* And again says Lear: First let me talk with this philosopher: What is the cause of thunder P"" And Bacon had considered this question also. He says: We see that among the Greeks those who first disclosed the natural causes of thunder and storms, to the yet untrained ears of man, were condemned as guilty of impiety towards the gods.^ Shakespeare says: And do but see his vice; 'Tis to his virtue a just equino.x, The one as long as the other.'' In this we have another observation of a natural phenomenon. And here is another: Know you not The fire, that mounts the liquor till it run o'er, In seeming to augment it, wastes it.*" ' Macbeth^ i, i. ■* Century viii, § 7:52. " Othello^ ii, 3. ^Shak. Genius. \>. -i^i. ^ Lear, iii, 4. " Nenrv I '///., iyU. •/.c.7>-, i, 5. " jVo7'»}>r Organintty book i. 158 J-N.l.VC/S BACOX THE AC Til OK OF THE PLAYS. The poet had also studied the causes (if malaria. He says; All the infections that the sun sucks up From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him By inch-meal a disease.' And again: Infect her beauty, Yon fen-sucked fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, To fall and blast her pride. ■' And in the following- the natural philosopher is clearly ap- parent: The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea; the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun. The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen From general excrement. ' I shall hereafter show, in the chapter on "Identical Compari- sons," that both Bacon and Shakespeare compared man to a species of deputy God, a lesser Providence, with a power over nature that approximated in kind, but not in degree, to the creative power of the Almighty. He says in one place: For in things artificial nature takes orders from man and works under his authority; without man such things would never have been made. But by the help and ministry of man a new force of bodies, another universe, or theater of things, comes into view. And in Shakespeare we have the following kindred reflections: Perdita. 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 o'er that art Which you say adds to nature, is an art Thar 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.* ' Tempest, ii, 2. * I. ear, ii, 4. ■' Titus Andronicus, iv, 3. * IVtnter's Tale, iv, 3. THE U'RITER OF TlIE PLA YS A PHILOSOPII EK. i^g And again: 'Tis often seen Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign seeds.' And we have a glimpse in the following of the doctrine that nature abhors a vacuum. The air, which, hut for vacancy. Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra, too. And made a gap in nature. '^ And here we find them, again, thinking the same thought, based on the same observation. Bacon says: As for the inequality of the pressure of the parts, it appeareth manifestly in this, that if you take a body of stone or iron, and another of wood, of the same magnitude and shape, and throw them with equal force, you cannot possibly throw the wood so far as the stone or the iron.-' And we find the same thought in Shakespeare: The thing that's heavy in itself. Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed.-* And here is a remarkable parallelism. Shakespeare says: There lives within the very flame of love A kind of wick, or snuff, that will abate it.' Bacon says: Take an arrow and hold it in flame for the space of ten pulses, and when it cometh forth you shall find those parts of the arrow which were on the outside of the fiame more burned, blackened, and turned almost to a coal, whereas that in the midst of the flame will be as if the fire had scarce touched it. This . . . showeth manifestly that flame burneth more violently towards the sides than in the midst.* And here is another equally striking. Bacon says: Besides snow hath in it a secret warmth; as the monk proved out of the text: " Qui dat nive?n sicitt lanam, gehi siciit cincrcs spargit." Whereby he did infer that snow did warm like wool, and frost did fret like ashes.' Shakespeare says: Since frost itself as actively doth burn.* Bacon anticipated the discovery of the power of one mind over another which we call mesmerism; and we find in Shakespeare Ariel saying to the shipwrecked men: If you could hurt, Your swords are now too massy for yotir strengths. And 7vill not be uplifted y 1 A It's II 'ell that Ends It V//, 1,3. ' 2d Heiiry // '. , i , j . ' Natural History, § 788 . "^Antony and Cleopatra, ii, 2. '^ Hatnlei, iv, 7. ^ Hantlet, iii, 4. ^ Natural History, §791. '^ Natural History, §32. ' Tempest, iii, 3. t6o FHAXCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. I conclude this chapter with the following citations, each of" which shows the profound natural philosopher: That man, how dearly ever parted, How much in having, or without or in. Cannot make boast to have that which he hath, Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection; As when his virtues shining upon others Heat them, and they retort that heat again To the Jirst giver} Again: Again: Again: The beauty that is borne here in the face. The bearer knows not, but commends itself To others' eyes; nor doth the eye itself. That most pure spirit of sense, behold itself, Not going from itself. - No man is the lord of any thing. Though in and of him there be much consisting. Till he communicate his parts to others.* Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for ourselves; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touched But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence. But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Herself the glory of a creditor. Both thanks and use.^ 1 Troilus and Cressida, ui, 3. ^ Ibid. ' Ibid. * Measure /or Measure, \, 1^ ^w4o GORHAMBURY I, A. D, 1S21. 2. A. D. 1795. 3. A. D. 1568. CHAPTER III. THE GEOGRAPHY OF THE TLA YS. Dear earth ! I do salute thee with my hand. Richard 11., iii, 2, GENIUS, though its branches reach to the heavens and cover the continents, yet has its roots in the earth; and its leaves, its fruit, its flowers, its texture and its fibers, bespeak the soil in which it was nurtured. Hence in the writings of every great mas- ter we find more or less association with the scenes in which his youth and manhood were passed — reflections, as it were, on the camera of the imagination of those landscapes witli which destiny had surrounded him. In the work of the peasant-poet, Robert Burns, we cannot sepa- rate his writings from the localities in which he lived. Take away " Bonnie Doon; " " Auld Alloway's witch-haunted kirk ; " " Ye banks and braes and streams around, The castle of Montgomery; " " Auld Ayr, which ne'er a town surpasses For honest men and bonny lasses; " "Sweet Afton, Amid its green braes," and the thousand and one other references to localities with which his life was associated, and there is very little left which bears the impress of his genius. If we turn to Byron, we find the same thing to be true. We have his "Elegy on Newstead Abbey;" his poem "On Leaving Newstead Abbey; " his lines on " Lachin y Gair " in the Highlands, where "my footsteps in infancy wandered;" his verses upon "Movren of Snow;" his "Lines written beneath an Elm in the Churchyard of Harrow on the Hill;" his verses "On Revisiting Harrow," and his poem addressed "To an Oak at Newstead;" while " Childe Harold " is full of allusions to scenes with which his life-history was associated. i6i l62 FRANCIS BACOX THE AUTHOR OF T//F FLAYS. The same is true, to a greater or less extent, of all great writers who deal with the emotions of the human heart. I. Stratford-on-Avon is not Named in the Plays. In view of these things it will scarcely be believed that in all the voluminous writings of Shakespeare there is not a single allusion to Stratford, or to the river Avon. His failure to remember the dirty little town of his birth might be excused, but it would seem most natural that in some place, in some way, in drama or sonnet or fugitive poem, he should remember the beautiful and romantic river, along whose banks he had wandered so often in his youth, and whose natural beauties must have entered deeply into his soul, if he was indeed the poet who wrote the Plays. He does, it is true, refer to Stony-Stratford,' a village in the County of Bucks, and this makes the omission of his own Stratford of Warwickshire the more surprising. II. St. Albans Referred to Many Times. On the other hand, we find repeated references to St. Albans, Bacon's home, a village of not much more consequence, so far as numbers were concerned, than Stratford. Falstaff says: There's but a shirt and a half in all my company; . . . and the shirt, to say the truth, stolen from my host of Saint .-Uhans." In the 2d Henry I]\ we have this reference: Prince Henry. This Doll Tear-sheet should be some road. Poins. I warrant you, as common as the road between Saint Albans and London.'* In The Contention hetweeti the Two Famous Houses of York and Lan- caste?-, which is conceded to be the original form of some of the Shakespeare Plays, we have: For now the King is riding to Saint A/dans.* My lord, I pray you let me go post unto the King, Unto Saint Albans, to tell this news.'' Come, uncle Gloster, now let's have our horse, For we will to Sai^tt Albans presently.** In the same scene (in The Contention)^ of the miracle at Saint Albans : i Ric/iard ///., a, 4. ^3dHi'nryIi:,V\,2. ' Mbid., ii, 3. " 1st Heriry IV.yw,-!,. * ist Part oi Co >i tent ion, i, ■z. ^Ibid. THK GEOGRAPHY OF '////■: /'LAVS. 163 Come, my lords, this night we'll lodge in Sain/ Albans} In the play of Kicharil JJJ. we have this allusion to Bacon's country seat: Was not your husband In Margaret's battle at Saint Albans slain ?'^ We have numerous references to St. Albans in the 2d Henry VI. : Messoiger. My Lord Protector, 'tis his Highness' pleasure You do prepare to ride unto Saint Albans:'' And again: Diiihcss. It is enough; I'll think upon the questions: When from Saint Albans we do make return.'' And again: York. The King is now in progress toward Saint Albans.^ III. Three Scenes in the Plays Laid at St. Albans. Scene i, act ii, 2il Henry VI., is laiJ at Saint Albans ; scene 2, act V, of the same is also laid at Saint Albans ; scene 3, act v, is laid in Fields, near Saint Albans. Note the following: Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine. Within this half-hour hath received his sight.* Enter the Mayor of Saint Albans. Being called A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep B ,• good .Saint Alban."' Again: Again: Again: Glos. Yet thou seest not well. Sitnpco.x. Yes, master, clear as day; I thank God and Saint Alban.'^ Again: Glostcr. My lord. Saint .llban here hath done a miracle.* Glostcr. My masters of .Saint .4lbans, have vou not beadles in your town?'" And again: For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign. The castle in Saint Albans, Somerset Hath made the wizard famous in his death." ' 1st Contention, ii, i. ^ 2d Henry I'/., i, 2. ' Ibid., ii, i. '"Ibid., ii, i. 2 Richard HI., i, 3. ■' Ibid., i, 3. » Ibid., ii, 1. " sd Henry / 7., v, 2. ^2ct Henry VI.,\,2. « Ibid., ii, i. 9Ibid.,ii, i. j64 /•'A'./.\(7\ j^.uv.v the althok of riiK riAvs. Now by my hand, lords 'twas a j^lorioiis day, Saint AUhius' battle, won by famous York, Shall l>i' I'tcmizod in all age to conie.' Ill the j(/ y/fv/rr / /. we timl St. Albans retcrrccl to as t'olli)\vs: Marched toward S^iuit Albans to iiitcrceiU tin- OiR-eii.'- Atjain: Short tale to make — we at Saint Albans met.'' .\i;aiti: When you .uul 1 met at Saint Albans last."" Aoain: Mroilu-i of (iloster at Saint Aibaiis' field This lady's husband, Sir John luey, was shiin.-' JLrc is St. AUhxiis rejcrred to in tltc Shakcs['iarc Plays t-d'cnty-tltrct- timt's, and St/at/crd not onrr ! Is mU tliis t'xtraordinary ' What tic loniu-itcil tho Stiatt'oril wy,\\\ willi tin- little viUage of 1 h-rtfonlshiie. that ho shonUl tlrao- it into his \vritiiii4;s so otten ? \\'i> ail- toKl that he loved the village of Stratford, ami returned, when \'w\\ and famous, io eiul his days thfro. \\\' have oK^wino- pietnri'S, in the hooks oi the entltnsiastie i-ommentators. iit his wan- ilerinos alono- ilu> banks oi the lovelv Avon. Whv did he utterly blot them both unt ^A his writinos' lY. W \K\VUK.SIMKK loNOKFP 1\ I (IK PlAVS. Uni he iotuued the eoiii\ty of Warwickshire — his own bcautitid county of Warwickshire — in like fashion. Michael Orayton, poet and dramatist, a ciMitemporary kA Shak- spere, was, like him, born in Warwickshire, bat he did not toroei his native shire. lie thus imocati'S the place oi his birth: My native country, then, which so brave spirits hath bred. If there l>e virtues yet remaining in thy earth. Or any gooil of thine thou bred'st into my birth. Accept it as thine own. whilst now 1 sing of thee, CM" all thy later brood th' unworthiest though 1 be. The cminlv o\ W.irwickshire is only referred to once in the Plays i^ist henry //'.. iv, j), and "the lord of Warwickshire" is mentioned twice. Tlu" oidy reference that 1 know of to localities ir» Warwickshire is in the introdmtion to The Taming of the Shrni\ where Jl'ineoth named. It is assumed that this is Wilniecote, three ^Jii //,tiry r/.,\,z. *s,f f/i-nry 17., ii.x. -Mbui. ' Ibid, ii. .-. -'■ Ibid. iii. ,{. nil-: cEouRAniY of j'he piavs. 105 mill's distant tiom StiattOiHl-on-Avon. But of tliis there is no cer- tainty. Thero is a Woncot nicnlioiu-ci in _'tM- have tlu- SliaivSiuTcans hern to sustain the War- wickshire oiMoiii oi till- lMa\s that lhi'\ ha\t' t'onvcitetl tins into IVi/not. As, however, Master Robert Shallow, l'^S(.|uire. tlwelt in (iloucestershire — I lit- iiirouL;l\ (ili>uofsifrsliiii-, aiul ilu'ii- will I visit Master Robert Sliallovv Es- quire, I — aiul William \'isor was one ot his tenants or nndeilini^s. this Won- cot could not have been Wincot, near Stratlord, in Warwickshire. V. Sr. Ai.r.ANS i'iik Ckn ir \i Poi\ v ov 1 mi HisroRU'.vi. Plays. INIrs. Toll has pointed out how much of the ac-tion of the Shake- speare Plays iintls its t urinno-poinl antl c-enter in St. Albans: To any oiu' who sees in il one of the incilini; causes for tlu' idm[)ositioii of the historical plays calioil Shaki'sprarc's, ami I'spi'cially the sefond pari of llcnrv J'l. ami Richard 11 J., St. Albans and its nei>;hborhooil are in the highest degree sug- gestive and instructive. Gorhanibury was one of tlie bi)yish homes of Francis Bacon. When, at the age of nineteen, he was recalled from his gay life at lite court of the I'reiu h enih.issador on account of the sudden death of iiis father, il was t ) Ciorliambury thai he retired with his w'idowed mothei. Ihus he loiuul liimself on the very scene of the main i-\enls wliich form the plot of the second part of Henry / V. . . . The play i"ulniiiKii(.-s in the great i)aiile of .St. Albans, which took place in a field about one and a half miles fioni ("rorh.unljury. As a boy, Fraiu-is must liave heard the battle described by old men whose fathers may even have witnessed il. lie nuist frecpiently have ])assed "the alehouse' paltry sign " l)ene.ilh which Somersi't was killed by Richanl I'Lml.igeiiet (_' That does affect it. Measure for Measure^ /, /. WE know what ought to have been the politics of Willianr. Shakspere, of Stratford. He came of generations of peasants; he belonged to the class which was at the bottom of the social scale. If he were a true man, with a burning love of justice, he would have sympathized with his kind. Like Burns, he would have poured forth his soul in protests against the inequalities and injustice of society; he would have asserted the great doctrine of the brotherhood of man; he would^ have anticipated that noble utterance: The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gold for a' that. If he painted, as the writer of the Plays did, an insurrection of • the peasants, of his cnc/i r/ass, he would have set forth their cause in the most attractive light, instead of burlesquing them. Such a genius as is revealed in the Plays, if he really came from the com- mon people and was filled with their spirit, would have prefigured that great social revolution which broke out twenty years after his death, and which brought a king^s head to the block. We should have had, on every page, passages breathing love of equality, of liberty; and other passages of the mockery of the aristocracy that would have burned like fire. He would have anticipated Pym, Hampden and Milton. A man of an ignorant, a low, a base mind may refuse to sym- pathize with his own caste, because it is oppressed and down- trodden, and put himself in posture of cringe and conciliation to those whose whips descend upon his shoulders; but a really great 173 174 FRAA^dS BACON THE AUTIJOK OF J HE PLAYS. and noble soul, a really broad and comprehensive mind, never would dissociate himself from his brethren in the hour of their affliction. No nobler soul, no broader mind ever existed than that revealed in the Plays. Do the utterances of the writer of those Plays indicate that he came of the common people? Not at all. I. Thk Writer of thf, Pt.avs w.as an Aristocrat. Appleton Morgan says: He was a constitutional aristocrat who lielieved in the established order of things, and wasted not a word of all his splendid eulogy upon any human right not in his day already guaranteed by charters or by thrones. Swinbtirne says- With him the people once risen in revolt, for any just or unjust cause, is always the mob, the unwashed rabble, the swinish multitude.' And again: For the drovers, who guide and misguide at will the turbulent flocks of their mutinous cattle, his store of bitter words is inexhaustible; it is a treasure-house of obloquy which can never be drained dry.- Walt Whitinan says: Shakespeare is incarnated, uncompromising feudalism in literature.^ Richard Grant White says: He always represents the laborer and the artisan in a degraded position, and often makes his ignorance and his uncouthness the butt of ridicule.* Dowden says: Shakspere is not democratic. When the people are seen in masses in his Plaj s they are nearly always shown as factious, fickle and irrational.-' Walter Bagehot says: Shakespeare had two predominant feelings in his mind. First, the feeling of loyalty to the ancient polity of this country, not because it was good, but because it existed. The second peculiar tenet is a disbelief in the middle classes. We fear he had no opinion of traders. You will generally find that when "a citizen" is mentioned he does or says something absurd. . . . The author of Coriolanus never believed in a mob, and d'ui soncthiiig ioivards preventing anybody else from doing so. We turn to Bacon and we find that he entertained precisely the same feelings. Dean Church says: Bacon had no sympathy with popular wants and claims; of popularity, of all that was called popular, he had the deepest suspicion and dislike; the opinions and * Swinburne, Study c/S/uik., p. 54. ^ Democratic I'/stns, p. Si. "Ibid., p. 54 ^White's Genius 0/ SItak., p. 298. ^ Shak. Mind and Art. p. 284. THE POLITICS OF THE PLAYS. ,75 the judgment of average men he despised, as a thinker, a politician and a courtier; the "malignity of the people" he thought great. " I do not love," he said, "the vfovd people." But he had a high idea of what was worthy of a king. II. Hk Despised the Class to which Shakspere Belonged. Shakespeare calls the laboring people: Mechanic slaves.' The fool multitude that choose by show, Not learning, more than the fond eye doth teach. - The inundation of mistempered humor. ■'■ The rude iiiultitude.^ The multitude of hinds and peasants.'' The hase vulgar.'' O base and obscure vulgar." Base peasants.* A habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.' A sort of vagabonds, rascals and run-aways, A scum of Bretagnes, and base lackey peasants."' The blunt monster with uncounted heads, The still discordant, wavering multitude." We shall see hereafter that nearly every one of the Shakespeare Plays was written to inculcate some special moral argument; to preach a lesson to the people that might advantage them. Coriolanus seems to have been written to create a wall and barrier of public opinion against that movement towards popular government which not long after his death plunged England into a long and bloody civil war. The whole argument of the play is the unfitness of a mob to govern a state. Hence all through the play we find such expressions as these: The plebeian multitude.'-' You common cry of curs.''' The mutable, rank-scented many.'-* You are they That made the air unwholesome, when you cast Your stinking, greasy caps, in hooting at Coriolanus' e.^ile.''' ^Antony and Cleopatra, v, 2. ^ Lone s Labor Lost, i, 2. " 2d Henry /PT, Ind. ^ Merchant 0/ I'enice, ii, 9. 'Ibid., iv, 1. ^'^ Coriolanus, ii, i. ^ King John, v, i. ^ 2d Henry /'/., iv, 8. '^ Ibid., ill, 3. *3d Henry I'l., iii, 2. ^ 2d Henry //'., i, 3. • '■• Ibid., iv, 3. •''Ihid., iv, 4. ^^> Richard HI., v, 3. '^Coriolanus, iv, 6. I^O /-A'-IXC/.S BACON THE Ai'TtlOK 01-' J'HE I' J. A VS. Again he alludes to the plebeians as "those measles" whose contact would ''tetter" him. III. Hk Dk.spisks Tradesmen of All Kinds. But this contempt of the writer of the Plays was not confined to the mob. It extended to all trades-people. He says: Let me have no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen.' We turn to Bacon, and we find him referring to the common people as a scum. The same word is used in Shakespeare. Bacon speaks of The vulgar, to whom nothing moderate is grateful.'^ This is the same thought we find in Shakespeare : What would you have, you curs, That like nor peace nor war?'* Who deserves greatness. Deserves your hate; and your affections are A sick man's appetite, who desires most that Which would increase his evil.'' Again Bacon says: The ignorant and rude multitude.'' If fame be from the common people, it is commonly false and naught.*^ This is very much the thought expressed in Shakespeare: The fool multitude that choose by show. Not learning, more than the fond eye doth teach.' And also in He's loved of the distracted multitude. Who like not in their judgments, but their eyes.^ Bacon says: For in all times, in the opinion of the multitude, witches and old women and impostors have had a competition with physicians.** And again he says: The envious and malignant disposition of the vulgar, for when fortune's favor- ites and great potentates come to ruin, then do the common people rejoice, setting, as it were, a crown upon the head of revenge.'" ' Winter s Talc, iv, 3. " Essay Of Praise. "^ Wisdotn of the Ancients — Diotitedes. ' Merchant 0/ Venice, ii, 9. 5 Coriolanus, i, i. " Hamlet, iv, 3. ^Ibid., i, I. ^ A dvancetneni o_f Learning; book ii. ' IViscioin 0/ the A ncients. '" Wisdom 0/ the A ncients — Xeiiusis. THE POLITICS OF THE PLAYS. 177 And again he sa5^s: The nature of the vulgar, always swollen and malignant, still broaching new- scandals against superiors; . . . the same natural disposition of the people still leaning to the viler sort, being impatient of peace and tranquillity.' Says Shakespeare: That like not peace nor vvar.'^ And Bacon says again: He would never endure that the base multitude should frustrate the authority of Parliament.-' See how the same words are employed by both. Bacon says- The base multitude. Shakespeare says: The rude multitude — the base vulgar.* And the word malignant is a favorite with both. Shakespeare says: Thou liest, malignatit thing ! Malignant death.'' A malignant and turbaned Turk.** Bacon says: The envious and malignant disposition. The vulgar always swollen and malignant. Shakespeare says: The s7(est, i, 2. ' Tempest, ii, 1. ^ Coriotanus,i, 1. ^ Richard III., n, 2 ^ Troilus and Crcssiu,^ - 3- ^ History of Henry VII. ^Othello, v, 2. 1 78 FRA.VC/S /i.-lCO.V THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. IV. He was at the Samk Time a Philanthropist. But while the writer of the Plays feared the mob and despised the trades-people, with the inborn contempt of an aristocrat, he had a broad philanthropy which took in the whole human family, and his heart went out with infinite pity to the wretched and the suffering. Swinburne says: In Lear we have evidence of a sympathy with the mass of social misery more wide and deep and direct and bitter and tender than Shakespeare has shown else- where. ... A poet of revolution he is not, as none of his country in that genera- ation could have been; but as surely as the author of Julius Grj^rr has approved himself in the best and highest sense of the word at least potentially a republican, so surely has the author of King Lear avowed himself, in the only good and rational sense of the word, a spiritual if not a political democrat and socialist.' While Bacon's intellect would have revolted from such a hell- dance of the furies as the French Reign of Terror, whose excesses were not due to anything inherent in self-government, but to the degeneration of mankind, caused by ages of royal despotism; and while he abominated the acrid bigotry of the men of his own age, with whom liberty meant the right to burn those who differed from them: his sympathies w^ere nevertheless upon the side of an orderly, well-regulated, intelligent freedom, and strongly upon the side of everything that would lift man out of his miseries. Says Swinburne: Brutus is the very noblest figure of a typical and ideal republican in all the literature of the world.'-' Bacon was ready to stand up against the whole power of Queen Elizabeth, and, as a member of Parliament, defended the rights of that great body, even to the detriment of his own fortunes; but he did not believe, as he says in his History of Henry / Y/., that '' the base multitude should control Parliament " any more than the Oueen. And he gives us the same sentiment in Coriolaiiiis. Men- enius Agrippa, after telling the incensed Roman populace the fable of The Belly and the Members, draws this moral: The senators of Rome are this good belly, And you the mutinous members. . . . You shall find No public benefit which you receive But it proceeds, or comes, from them to you, Utd no ivay from yourselves.^ * Swinburne, . -I StU'i of S/iak., \>. 175. -Ibid., p. 150. ^ Ccriotamis.x, i. THE POLITICS OF THE PLAYS. 179 And he teaches us an immortal lesson in Troilus and Cressida: Then everything includes itself in/carr, Power into will, will into appetite: And appetite, an tmivcrsal ico/f. So doubly seconded with will and power. Must make perforce an universal prej', And last, eat up itself. And in Haiiilct he says; By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken notice of it; the age is grown so picked, that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier that he galls his kibe.' Here we have one of Bacon's premonitions of the coming tem- pest which so soon broke over England; or, as he expresses it in Richard HI.: Before the days of change, still it is so; By a divine instinct, men's minds mistrust Ensuing danger; as, by proof, we see The water swell before a boisterous storm.'' And again : And in such indexes, although small pricks To their subsequent volumes, there is seen The baby figure of the giant mass Of things to come at large. ^ Here, then, was indeed a strange compound: — an aristocrat that despised the mob and the work-people, but who, nevertheless, loved liberty; who admired the free oligarchy of Rome, arid hated the plebeians who asked for the same liberty their masters en- joyed; and who, while despising the populace, grieved over their miseries and would have relieved them. We read in Lear: Take physic, pomp; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel: So inayst thou shake the superjiux to them. And show the heavens more just. And again: Heavens, deal so still ! Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man, That slaves your ordinance, that will not see Because he does not feel, feel your power quickly; So distriluitioii should undo exeess. And each man hare enough. And we turn to Bacon, and we find that through his whole life the one great controlling thought which directed all his labors was ' Hamlet^ v, i. 2 l^ic/iaj-d Iff., ii, 3. •' Troilus and Cressida, i, 3. i8o FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE FLAYS. a belief that God had created him to help his fellow-men to- greater comfort and happiness. He says: Believing that 1 'auis horn for the service of mankind, and regarding the care of the commonwealth as a kind of common property, which, like the air and water, belongs to everybody, I set myself to consider in what way mankind might be chst served} Again he says: This work, which is for the bettering of men's bread and wine, which are the characters of temporal blessings and sacraments of eternal, I hope, by God's holy providence, may be ripened by Caesar's star.- Again he says: The state and bread of the poor and oppressed have been precious in mine eyes: I have hated all cruelty and hardness of heart.'' And in one of his prayers he says; To God the Father, God the Word, God the Holy Ghost, I address my most humble and ardent prayers, that, mindful of the miseries of man, and of this pil- grimage of life, of which the days are few and evil, they would open up yet new sources of refreshment from the fountains of good for the allei'iation of our sorro7i. Essay Of Unity in Religion. ' Ibid., iv, i. ^ Alts Well tliat Ends Well, i, 3- « Winter's Tale, ii, 3. ■• T-wcl/th Night, iii, 2. THE RELIGION OF THE FLA VS. 203 Similar views we find in Bacon. He says: For as the temporal sword is to be drawn with great circumspection in cases of religion, so it is a thing monstrous to put it into the hands of the common people; /(V t/i(it be left unto the Aiial>aptists and other furies} In another place he says: Besides the Roman Catholics, there is a generation of sectaries, the Anabap- tists, Brownists and others of their kinds; they have been several times very busy in this kingdom under the color of zeal for reformation of religion; the King your master knows their disposition very well; a small touch will put him in mind of them; he had experience of them in Scotland. I hope he will beware of them in England; a little countenance or connivancy sets them on fire.''* And, like Shakespeare, he ridicules the manners of the Puritans. He says: There is a master of scoffing that in his catalogue of books of a feigned library sets down this title of a book, The ATorris-Dance of the Heretics; for, indeed, every sect of them hath a diverse posture, or cringe, by themselves, which cannot but move derision in worldlings and depraved politics, who are apt to contemn holy things.'' Bacon looked with the profoundest apprehension upon the growing numbers and power of that grave, sour, serious sect, with its strong anti-royal tendencies and its anti-social feelings. "They love no plays, as you do, Anthony." They threatened, in his view, by their malignant intolerance, the very existence of civilization. He says: Nor am I discouraged from it because I see signs in the times of the decline and overthrow of that knowledge and erudition which is now in use. . . . But the civil wars which may be expected, I think (judging from certain fashions which have come in of late), to spread through many countries, together with the malig- nity of sects, . . . seem to portend for literature and the sciences a tempest not less fatal, and one against which the printing-office will be no effectual security."* He clearly foresaw the coming revolution which broke out, not long after his death, under the lead of Cromwell. He wrote the King, when he had been overthrown by the agitations in Parlia- ment, that — Those who strike at your Chancellor will yet strike at your crown. . . . I wish that, as I am the first, so I may be the last of sacrifices in your times. Wise as he was, he could not see beyond the tempest which he felt was coming, but he feared that the literature of England would perish in the storm; and he was of course unable to do justice to ' Essay Of Unity in Rfligion. '■> Essay Of Ihiity in Religion. " Advice to George Villiers. < Preface to Interfirctation if Xafin,-. 204 FRANCIS JJ.ICOX THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. the real merits of the sect to whom England owes so much of Par- liamentary liberty and moral greatness. His premonitions of the immediate effects of the religious revo- lution were well founded. Birch says: The Bacons and the Shakespeares, the philosophers and scoffers, as well as the Papists, were extinguished by the Puritans. The theater gave way to the pulpit, the actor and dramatist to the preacher. The philosophical and political school of infidelity had no chance against the fanaticism of Cromwell, at the head of the religious spirit of the age.' V. The Writer of the Plays a Free-Thinker. But there was a deeper reason for the indifference of the real author of the Plays to the passions and quarrels of Catholics and Protestants. It was this: he did not believe in the doctrines of the Christian religion. This fact has not escaped the notice of com mentators. Swinburne says: That Shakespeare was in the genuine sense — that is, in the best and highest and widest meaning of the term — a free-thinker, this otherwise practically and avowedly superfluous effusion of all inmost thought appears to me to supply full and sufficient evidence for the conviction of every candid and rational man." Dowden says: Thus all through the play he wanders between materialism and spiritualism, between belief in immortality and disbelief, between reliance upon Providence and a bowing under fate. In presence of the ghost, a sense of his own spiritual exist- ence and the immortal life of the soul grows strong within him. In presence of a spirit he is himself a spirit: I do not set my life at a pin's fee; And for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing immortal as itself? When left to his private thoughts, he wavers uncertainly to and fro; death is a sleep — a sleep, it may be, troubled with dreams. In the graveyard, in the presence of human dust, the base affinities of our bodily nature prove irresistibly attractive to the curiosity of Hamlet's imagination; and he cannot choose but pursue the his- tory of human dust through all its series of hideous metamorphoses.* West says: Though there is no reason to think that there was any paganism in Shake- speare's creed, yet we cannot help feeling that the spirit of his art is in many respects pagan. In his great tragedies he traces the workings of noble or lovely human characters on to the point — and no farther — where they disappear into the darkness of death, and ends with a look back, never on toward anything beyond.* '^ riiilosopliy ami Religion of Shak.y\i. <^. ^ E. B. West, Broivning as a Pieacher, Dark ''A Study of Shak., p. 165. Blue Magazine, Oct. and Nov., 1871. ^ Shah, ^find and Art, p. 118. THE RELIGIOX OF J'lIE PLA VS. -05 He seems to have been a fatalist. Take these passages as- proof: But, O vain boast ' Who can control his fate?' Our wills and fates do so contrary run. That our devices still are overthrown; Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own,* Whom destiny That hath to instrument this lower world And what is in it.^ All unavoided is the doom of destiny.^ "Tis destiny unshunnable, like death.'' But apart from this predestinariaii bent there does not seem to be in the Plays any theological preference or purpose. All the plays which preceded the Shakespearean era were of a religious character — they were miracle plays, or moralities, in which Judas and the devil and the several vices shone conspicuously. Some of these plays continued, side by side with the Shakespeare Plays, down to the end of the sixteenth century, and into the beginning of the seventeenth. In Lupton's "moral and pitiful comedy," AI/ for Moiuy, the catastrophe represents Judas "like a damned soul in black, painted with flames of fire and a fearful visard, followed by Dives, 'with such like apparel as Judas hath,' while Damnation (another of the dramatis pcrsontc) , pursuing them, drives them before him, and they pass away, * making a pitiful noise,' into perdition." The mouth of hell, painted to represent flames of fire, was a very common scene at the back of the stage. Birch says: What a transition to the Plays of Shakespeare, while these miracle and moral plays were fresh in the recollection of the people, and might still be seen. These supernatural, historical and allegorical personages superseded by a material and philosophical explanation of things I ^ VI. The Causes of Infidelity in that Age. The "malignity of sects" drove many men to infidelit)'. They saw in religion only monstrous and cruel forces, which lighted hor- rible fires in the midst of great cities, and filled the air with the stench of burning flesh and the shrieks of the dving victims. The}'' ' Othello, V, 2. 3 Tciit/iesi, iv, 3. '^ Othello, iii, 3. ■■> ffa/iilcty iii, J. ' Richard III., iv, 4 " Birch, Philosophy ami Religion o/Shak., p. 11^ 2o6 FA'ANC/S BACON THE AUTHOR OT THE PLAYS. held religion to account for those excesses of fanaticism in a semi- barbarous age, and they doubted the existence of a God who could permit such horrors. They were ready to exclaim with Macduff, when told that ''the hell-kite," Macbeth, had killed all his family, "all his pretty ones," at one fell swoop: Did heaven look on, And would not take their part? They came to conceive of God as a cruel monster who relished the sufferings of his creatures. Shakespeare puts this thought into the mouth of Lear: As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods: They kill us for their sport.' Mankind could only endure this divine injustice: Arming myself with patience, To stay the providence of some high powers That govern us below.'- But, whatever conclusions men might reach on these questions, it was perilous to express them. The stake and the scaffold awaited the skeptical. If their thoughts were to reach the light it must be through the mouths of madmen, like Lear or Hamlet; and to fall, as Bacon said, like sceds^ that, by their growth in the minds of generations to come, would mitigate the wrath of sects and prepare the way for an age of toleration. Birch says: The spectacle of Brownists, among the Protestants, and of Papists, suffering capital punishment for opinion's sake, alternately presented to the eyes of the pub- lic, would create a party hostile to all religion; whilst an occasional atheist burnt would teach the irreligious to keep their opinions to themselves, or caution them in administering infidelity as " medicinable."'* However strongly we may be convinced of the great and funda- mental truths of religion, it must be conceded that freedom of con- science and governmental toleration are, largely the outgrowth of unbelief and indifference. In an age that realized, without doubt or question, that life was but a tortured hour between two eternities; a thread of time across a boundless abyss; that hell and heaven lay so close up to this breathing world that a step would, in an instant, carry us over the shadowy line into an ocean of flame or a paradise of endless de- ' Lear iv, i. "^Julius Casar, v, t. 'Birch, r/iilosi'/'/iy and Religion of Slia/^., \>. 8. THE RELIGION OE THE FLA VS. 207 lights, it followed, as a logical sequence, that it was an act of tlie greatest kindness and humanity to force the skeptical, by any tor- ture inflicted upon them during this temporary and wretched exist- ence, to avoid an eternal hell and obtain an eternal heaven. But so soon as dpubt began to enter the minds of men; so soon as they said to one another, "Perchance these things may not be exactly as we have been taught; perchance the other world may be but a dream of hope; perchance this existence is all there is of it," the fervor of fanaticism commenced to abate. Not absolutely positive in their own minds as to spiritual things, they were ready to make some allowance for the doubts of others. Thus unbelief tamed the fervor even of those who still believed, and modified, in time, public opinion and public law. But in Bacon's era every thoughtful soul that loved his fellow- man, and sought to advance his material welfare, would instinct- ively turn away from a system of belief which produced such holo- causts of martyrs, and covered the face of the earth with such cruel and bloody wars. ' I have no doubt that Bacon in his youth was a total disbeliever in Christianity. He himself said: A little philosophy iiiclineth man's mind to atheism, but depth in philosophy bringeth men"s minds about to religion. There w^as found among his writings a curious essay, called The Characters of a Believing Christian, in Paradoxes and Seeming Con- tradictions. It is a wholesale burlesque of Christianity, so cunningly put together that it may be read as a commendation of Christians. I give a few extracts: 1. A Christian is one that believes things his reason cannot comprehend; he hopes for things which neither he nor any man alive ever saw; he labors for that which he knoweth he shall never obtain; yet, in the issue, his belief appears not to be false; his hopes make him not ashamed; his labor is not in vain. 2. He believes three to be one and one to be three; a father not to be elder than his son; a son to be equal with his father, and one proceeding from both to be equal with both; he believing three persons in one nature and two natures in one person. . . . II. . . . He knoweth if he please men he cannot be the servant of Christ, yet for Christ's sake he pleaseth all men in all things. He is a peace-maker, yet is a continual fighter, and an irreconcilable enemy. 18. . . . He professeth he can do nothing, yet as truly professeth he can do all things; he knoweth that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, yet believeth he shall go to heaven, both body and soul. 2o8 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 20. . . . He knovveth he shall not be saved by or for his good works, yet lie doth all the good works he can. 21. ... He believes beforehand that God hath purposed what he shall be and that nothing can make him alter his purpose; yet prays and endeavors as if he would force God to save him forever. 24. ... He is often tossed and shaken, yet is as Mount Zion; he is a serpent and a dove, a lamb and a lion, a reed and a cedar. He is sometimes so troubled that he thinks nothing to be true in religion, yet if he did think so he could not at all be troubled. We turn to Shakespeare and we find in Richard II. a similar unbelieving playing upon seeming contradictions in Christianity. It reads like a continuation of the foregoing put into blank verse. Richard is in prison. He says: I have been studying how to compare This prison, where I live, unto the world: And, for because the world is populous. And here is not a creature but myself I cannot do it: yet I'll hammer 't out. My braine, I'll prove the female to my soul, My soul, the Father: and these two beget A generation of still breeding thoughts; And these same thoughts people this little world, In humors, like the people of this world. For no thought is contented. The better sort, As thoughts of things divine, are intermixt With scruples, and do set the Faith itself Against the Faith: As thus — "Come, little ones;" and then again, "It is as hard to come as for a camel To thread the postern of a needle's eye." No one can doubt that these thoughts, showing the same irre- ligious belief, and the same subtle way of propounding it, came from the same mind. And observe the covert sarcasm of this, among many similar utterances of Bacon: For those bloody quarrels for religion were unknown to the ancients, the heathen gods not having so much as a touch of that jealousy which is an attribute of the true God.- Through all the Shakespeare Plays we find the poet, by the mouths of all sorts of people, representing death as the end of all- things. Macbeth says: Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst; nor steel, nor poison. Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing Can touch him further. ' Richard II., v, 5. '^ U'isi/oin o/tlie .Ancients — Diomcdes. THE RELIGION OF THE PLA YS. 209 Titus Andronicus thus speaks of the grave: Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells; Here grow no damned grudges, here no storms; No noise, but silence iDid eternal sleep. In the sonnets, Shakespeare speaks of Death's dateless night. We are also told in the sonnets that we leave "this vile world" "with vilest worms to dwell." In The Tempest we are reminded that "our little life is rounded by a sleep"; that is to say, we are surrounded on all sides by total oblivion and nothingness. lachimo sees in sleep only "the ape of death." The Duke says, in Afeasiire for Measure: Thy best of rest is sleep, And that thou oft provok'st, yet grossly fear'st T/iv death, ivhie/i is no more. Dr. Johnson says: I cannot, without indignation, find Shakespeare saying that death is only sleep, lengthening out his exhortation by a sentence which in the friar is impious, in the reasoner is foolish, and in the poet trite and vulgar. In the same play the writer mocks at the idea of an immortal soul: But man, proud man I Drest in a little brief authority. Most ignorant of -what he's most asst/red, His glassy essence, like an angry ape. Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven. As make the angels weep.' In this same play of Measure for Measure, while he gives us the pagan conception of the future of the soul, he directly slaps in the face the Christian belief in hell. Speaking of death, he says: The delighted spirit To bathe in fiery fioods, or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice; To be imprisoned in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round above The pendant world; or to be worse than worst Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts Imagine howling! ^ This is not the language of one who believed that God had said: "Depart from me, ye accursed, into everlasting fire ! " ' Measure /o?- pleasure, ii, 2. ^ Ibid., iii, i. 2IO J^RANCIS BACON THE AUriJOR OF 7J/J: /'/.A]s. And, we find the mocking Falstaff talking, in a jesting fashion, about the "primrose way to the everlasting bonfire!" No wonder Birch says, speaking of Measure for Measure : There are passages of infidelity in this play that staggered Warburton, made Johnson indignant, and confounded Coleridge and Knight.' VII. Conclusions. Thus, then, I decipher the religion of the Plays: 1. They were written by a man of Protestant training, who believed in the political changes brought about by Cranmer and the Reformation. Such a man was Bacon. 2. They were written by one who was opposed to the temporal power of the Pope in England. As I have shown, this was Bacon's feeling. 3. They were written by one who, while a Protestant in poli- tics, did not feel bitterly toward the Catholics, and had no desire to mock or persecute them. We have seen that Bacon advocated the most liberal treatment of the followers of the old faith; he was opposed to the marriage of the clergy; he labored for the unity of all Christians. 4. They were written by one whom the world in that age would have called "an infidel." Such a man, we have reason to believe, was Bacon. I shall not say that as he advanced in life his views did not change, and that depth of philosophy did not, to use his own phrase, "bring his mind about to religion," even to the belief in the great tenets of Christianity. Certain it is that no man ever possessed a profounder realization of the existence of God in the universe. How sublime, how unanswerable is his expression: I would rather believe all the fables in the Talmud and the Koran than that this universal frame is without a mind ! Being himself a mighty spirit, he saw through " the muddy vesture of decay" which darkly hems in ruder minds, and beheld the shadowy outlines of that tremendous Spirit of which he was himself, with all created things, but an expression. He believed that God not only was, but was all-powerful, and all- merciful; and that he had it in his everlasting purposes to Philosophy and Religion of Shak., p. 353. THE RELIGION OF THE PLA YS. 211 lift up man to a state of perfection and happiness on earth; and (as I have shown) he believed that he had created him — even him, Francis Bacon — as an instrument to that end; and to accomplish that end he toiled and labored almost from the cradle to the grave. He was — in the great sense of the words — a priest and prophet of God, filled with the divine impulses of good. If he erred in his conceptions of truth, who shall stand between the Maker and his great child, and take either to account ? We breathe an air rendered sweeter by his genius; we live in a world made brighter by his philosophy; his contributions to the mental as well as to the material happiness of mankind have been simply incalculable. Let us, then, thank God that he sent him to us on this earth; let us draw tenderly the mantle of charity over his weaknesses, if any such are disclosed by the unpitying hand of his- tory; let us exult that one has been born among the children of men who has removed, on every side for a thousand miles, the posts that experience had set up as the limitations of human capacity. CHAPTER VI. THE PURPOSES OE THE PLA YS. 1 have, though in a despised weed, jjrocured Ihe good of all men. Bacon. THE first question asked by every thoughtful mind, touching the things of sense, is: Who made this marvelous worLd ? The second is: Why did He make it ? The purpose of the thing must always be greater than the thing itself: it encloses, permeates and maintains it. The result is but a small part of the preexistent intention. All things must stand or fall by their purposes, and every great work must necessarily be the outgrowth of a great purpose. Were these wonderful, these oceanic Shakespeare Plays the unconscious outpourings of an untutored genius, uttered with no more method than the song of a bird; or were they the production of a wise, thoughtful and profound man, who wrote them with certain well-defined objects in view ? I. Bacon's Aims and Objects. We are first to ask ourselves. If Francis Bacon wrote the Plays,. ■ what were the purposes of his life? For, as the Plays constitute a great part of his life-work, the purposes of his life must envelop and pervade them. No man ever lived upon earth who possessed nobler aims than Francis Bacon. He stands at the portal of the opening civilization of modern times, a sublime figure — his heart full of love for man,, his busy brain teeming with devices for the benefit of man; with uplifted hands praying God to bless his work, the most far-extend- ing human work ever set afoot on the planet. He says: I am a servant of posterity; for these things require some ages for the ripen- ing of them.' ' Letter to Father Fulgenlio, the Venetian. o J 2 THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. 2i? Again he says, speaking of himself: Alwaj's desiring, with extreme fervency (such as we are confident God puts into the minds of men), to have that which was never yet attempted, now to be not attempted in vain, to-wit: to release men out of their necessities and miseries.' Again he says: This work [the Novum Organum] is for the bef^ering of men's bread and wine, which are the characters of temporal blessings and sacraments of eternal.'^ Macaulay says: The end which Bacon purposed to himself was the multiplying of human enjoyments and the mitigating of human sufferings. . . . This was the object of his speculations in every department of science — in natural philosophy, in legisla- tion, in politics, in morals.-' And, knowing the greatness of God and the littleness of man, he prays the source of all goodness for aid: God, the maker, preserver and renewer of the universe, guide and protect this work, both in its ascent to his own glory, and in its descent to the good of man, through his good will toward man, by his only begotten son, God with us.-* And, speaking of his own philosophy, he says: 1 am thus persuaded because of its infiiiilc- usefulness ; for which reason it may be ascribed to divine encouragement.'' He speaks of himself as "a servant of God." He seems to have had some thought of founding, not a new religion, but a new sys- tem of philosophy, which should do for the improvement of man's condition in this world what religion strove to do for the improve- ment of his condition in the next world. And Birch says of Shakespeare: He had a system, which may be drawn froni his works, which he contrasts with the notions of mankind taken from Revelation, and which he represents as doing what revelation and a future state purpose to do for the benefit of mankind, and which he thinks sufficient to supply its place.'' In his prayer, written at the time of his downfall. Bacon says: Remember, O Lord, how thy servant hath walked before thee, remember what 1 have first sought, and what hath been principal in mine intentions. . . . The state and bread of the poor and oppressed have been precious in mine eyes: I have hated all cruelty and hardness of heart; I have, though in a despised weed, procured the good of all men.'' How did he '* at first'' (that is to say in his youth) seek and pro- cure the good of all men? And what was the "-despised weed" ? ' Expir. History. < Expcr. History. 2 Letter to King James, October 19, 1620. •'' Letter to Father Fulgentio. ^Essays. Bacon ^ p. 370. ^Philosophy and Religion 0/ Shak., p. 10. ' Li/i and Works. Spedding', etc., vol. vii, p. 229. 214 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. II. Did he Regard the Drama as a Possible Insirumental- iTY for Good? Do we find any indications that Bacon, with this intent in his heart to benefit mankind, regarded the stage as a possible instrumentality to that end ? That it was capable of being so used — in fact -icas so used — there can be no doubt. Simpson says: During its palmy days the English stage was the most important instrument for making opinions heard, its literature the most popular literature of the age, and on that account it was used by the greatest writers for making their comments on public doings and public persons. As an American critic says, "it was news- paper, magazine, novel — all in one."' A recent English writer, W. F. C. Wigston, says: Sir Philip Sidney, in his Defense of Foesy, maintains that the old philosophers disguised or embodied their entire cosmogonies in their poetry, as, for example, Thales, Empedocles, Parmenides, Pythagoras, and Phocyclides, ivho were poets and philosophers at once} But did Bacon entertain any such views ? Unquestionably. He says: Dramatic Poesy is as History made visible ; for it represents actions as if they were present, whereas History represents them as past. Parabolical Poesy is typical History, by which ideas that are objects of the intellect arc represented in forms that are objects of the sense. . . . Dramatic Poesy, which has the theater for its world, 'cvottld be of excelletit use if well directed. For the stage is capable of no small influence, both of discipline and of corruption. Now, of corruptions in this kind we have enough; but the dis- cipline has, in our times, been plainly neglected. And though in modern states play-acting is esteemed but as a toy, except when it is too satirical and biting; yet among the ancients it was used as a means of educating men's minds to virtue. Nay, it has been regarded by learned men and great philosophers as a kind of musician s bow bv ivhich men's minds may be played upon. And certainly it is true, and one of the great secrets of nature, that the minds of men are more open to impressions and aiifections when many are gathered together than when they are alone. "* The reader will note some suggestive phrases in the above: "dramatic poesy, which has the theater for its world." We are reminded of Shakespeare's " All the world's a stage." "A kind of musician's bow, by which men's minds may be played upon."" This recalls to us Hamlet's : Why, do you think that I am easier to be played on than a pipe f Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot //^y upon me.* * School of Shale, vol. i, p. xviii. ^ De Augmeniis, book ii, chap. 13. ' A Neiv Study 0/ Skak., p. 42. * Hatnlet, iii, 2. THE PURPOSES OF THE FLA VS. 215 III. Was he Associated with Plays and Players? But it may be said: These are the utterances of a philosopher who contemplates these things with an aloofness, and Bacon may have taken no interest in play-houses or plays. Let us see. His loving and religious mother, writing of her sons, Anthony and Francis, in 1594, says: I trust they will not mum, nor mask, nor sinfully revel.' In 1594 his brother Anthony had removed from Gray's Inn to a ft house in Bishopsgate Street, "much to his mother's distress," says Spedding, "who feared the neighborhood of the Bull Inn, where plays and interludes were acted."' Bacon took part in the preparation of many plays and masks, for the entertainment of the court, some of which were acted by Shakspere s company of players. The Queen seemed to have some suspicion of Bacon being a poet or writer of plays. The Earl of Essex writes him, May 18, 1594 — the Earl then urging Bacon for some law office in the gift of the crown: And she did acknowledge you had a great wit, and an excellent gift of speech, and much other good learning. Rut in law she rather thought you could make show to the uttermost of your knowledge, than that you were deep.^ And Bacon himself acknowledges that his mind is diverted from his legal studies to some contemplations of a different sort, and more agreeable to his nature. He says, in a letter to Essex: Your Lordship shall in this beg my life of the Queen; for I see well the bar will be my bier. And he writes to his uncle, Lord Burleigh, in 1594: To speak plainly, though perhaps vainly, I do not think that the ordinary practice of the law will be admitted for a good account of the poor talent that God hath given me.* Montagu says: Forced by the narrowness of his fortune into business, conscious of his own powers, aware of the peculiar quality of his mind, and disliking his pursuits, hi? heart was often in his study, while he lent his person to the robes of office.' ' Spedding's Lift and Letters, vol. i, p. 326. < Letter to Burleigh, 1594. "^ Life and Works, vol. i, p. 314. "Montagu, Life and Works, vol. i, p. 117. ^ Life and Works, Spedding, vol. i, p. 297. 2i6 FJiANClS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. If, then, it is conceded that Bacon had great purposes for the benefit of mankind, purposes to be achieved by him, not by the sword or by the powers which flow from high positions, but by the pen, by working on "the minds of men;" and if it is con- ceded, as it must be, that he recognized the stage as an instru- mentality that could be made of great force for that end, by which the minds of men could "be played upon;" and if it is con- ceded that he was the author of masks and the getter-up of other dramatic representations; and that his mind was not de- voted to the dry details of his profession; and if it is conceded, as I think it must be, that he had the genius, the imagination, the wit and the industry to have prepared the Shakespeare Plays, what is there to negative the conclusion that he did so prepare them ? And does he not seem to be pointing at the stage, in these words, when, speaking of the obstructions to the reception of truth caused by the ignorance and bigotry of the age, he says, in The Masculine Birth of Time: "And what," you will say, "is this legitimate method? Have done with artifice and circumlocution; show me the naked truth of your design, that I may be able to form a judgment for myself." I would, my dearest son, that matters were in such a state with you as to render this possible. Do you suppose that, when all the entrances and passages to the mind of all men are infested and obstructed with the darkest idols, and these seated and burned in, as it were, into their substance, that clear and smooth places can be found for receiving the true and natural rays of objects? A neu' process must be instituted by which to insinu- ate ourselves into winds so entirely obstructed. For, as the delusions of the insane are removed by art and ingenuity, but aggravated by opposition, so must we adapt ourselves to the universal insa)iity. And again he says: So men generally taste well knowledges that are drenched in flesh and blood, civil history, morality, policy about which men's affections, praises, fortunes do turn and are conversant.' He not only discusses in his philosophical works dramatic litera- ture and the influence of the stage, but he urges iit the translation of the second book of the Advaficement of Learning (but not in the English copy), "that the art of acting {actio theatralis) should be made a part of the education of youth."" "The Jesuits," he says, "do not despise it; " and he thinks they are fight, for, "though it ' Advancement of Learning, book li. - U'oiA-s of Baeon, vol. vi, p. 307. THE PURPOSES OF T/IE PLAYS. 217 be of ill repute as a profession, yet as a part of discipline it is of excellent use." Spedding adds: In Bacon's lime, when masks acted by young gentlemen of the universities or inns of court were the favorite entertainment of princes, these things were probably better attended to than they are now. And Bacon seemed to feel that there ought to be some great writings to show the affections and passions t)f mankind. He says: And here again I find it strange that Aristotle should have written divers volumes of ethics and never handled the affections, which is the principal subject thereof. . . . But the poets and writers of histories are the best doctors of this knowledge: where we may find painted forth, with great life, how affections are kindled and incited, and how pacified and refrained; and how again contained from act and further degree; how they disclose themselves; how they work; how they vary; how they gather and fortify; how they are in wrapped, one within another, and how they do fight and encounter one with another, and other like particulars.' And Barry Cornwall saN's, as if in echo of these sentiments: If Bacon educated the reason, .Shakespeare educated the heart. The one work was the complement of the other, and both came out of the same great mind. They were fiowers growing from the stalk of the same tremendous purpose. IV. His Poverty. But the reader may be fencing the truth out of his mind with the thought that Bacon was a rich man's son, and had not the in- centive to literary labor. Richard Grant White puts this argument in the following form. Speaking of the humble, not to say vile, circumstances which surrounded Shakspere in his youth, he says: If Shakespeare had been born at Charlecote, he would probably have had a seat in Parliament, not improbably a peerage; but we should have had no plays, only a few formal poems and sonnets, most likely, and possibly some essays, with all of Bacon's wisdom, set forth in a style more splendid than Bacon's, but hardly so incisive. It is curious how the critical mind can hardly think of Shake- speare without being reminded of Bacon. But was Bacon above the reach of poverty? Was he above the necessity of striving to eke out his income with his pen ? No. Hepworth Dixon says: ' Advance 111 flit it/ Learning, book ii. 2i8 JA'ANCIS BACO.y TIIK .HTJIOR OF THE PLAYS. Lady Anne and her sons are poor. Anthony, the loving and beloved, with whom Francis had been bred at Cambridge and in France, has nowr come home. . . . The two young fellows have little money and expensive ways. . . . Lady Anne starves herself at Gorhambury that she may send to Gray's Inn ale from the cellar, pigeons from her dove-cote, fowls from her farm-yard — gifts which she sea- sons with a good deal of motherly love, and not a little of her best motherly advice.' In 1612 Bacon writes King James: My good old mistress [Queen Elizabeth] was wont to call me her watch-candle, because it pleased her to say I did continually burn (and yet she suffered me to 7vaste almost to nothing), so I much more owe like duty to your Majesty.^ In a letter to Villiers, Bacon says: Countenance, encourage and advance able men. For in the time of the Cecils, the father and son, able men ivcre by design and of purpose suppirssed. The same story runs through all the years during which the Shakespeare Plays were written. Spedding says: Michaelmas term [1593] passed, and still no solicitor appointed. Meanwhile, the burden of debt and the difficulty of obtaining necessary supplies was daily increasing. Anthony's correspondence during this autumn is full of urgent appli- cations to various friends for loans of money, and the following memorandum shows that much of his own necessity arose from his anxiety to supply the necessi- ties of his brother.' Here Mr. Spedding inserts the memorandum, showing ^5 loaned Francis September 12, 1593; ;£i loaned him October 23, ^593! £s loaned him November 19, 1593, with other loans of ^10, ^20 and ^100. Falstaff expressed Bacon's own experience when he said: I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable* In the year 1594 Bacon describes himself, in a letter, as '^poor a/id sick\ workinf:; for bready In 1597 it is the same story. Spedding says: Bacon's fortunes are still as they were, only with this difference; that as the calls on his income are increasing, in the shape of interest for borrowed money, the income itself is diminishing through the sale of lands and leases.' His grief and perplexity are so great that he cries out in a letter to his uncle, the Lord Treasurer, written in that year: I stand indifferent whether God call me or her Majesty. ' Personal History 0/ Lord Bacon, p. 32. * 2d Henry // '., i, 2. ' Letter to King James, May 31, 1612. 'Spedding, Life and Works, vol. ii, p. 53. ^Spedding, Life and Works, vol. i, p. 321. THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. ■ 219 In 159S he is arrested for debt by Sympson, the goldsmith; in 1603 he is again in trouble and petitions the Secretary, Cecil, to intercede and prevent his creditors taking more than the principal of his bond, for, he adds, "a Jew can take no more." He was constantly annoyed and pestered by his creditors. He writes Mr. Michael Hicks, January 21, 1600, that he proposes to clear himself from "the discontent, speech or danger of others" of his creditors. "Some of my debts, of wosf chniior and ii)iportuuit\\ I have paid." Again he says: "I do use to pay my debts iti time'' — not in money. July 3, 1603, he writes his cousin Robert, Lord Cecil: I shall not be able to pay the money within the time by your Lordship under taken, which was a fortnight. Nay, money I find so hard to come by at this time, as I thought to have become an humble suitor to your Honor to have sustained me, . . . with taking up three hundred pounds till I can put away some land. He hopes, by selling off "the skirts of my living in Hertford- shire," to have enough left to yield him three hundred pounds per annum income. V. The Profit of Play-writing. The price paid for a new play was from ^5 to ^20. This, reduced to dollars, is $25 to $100. But money, it is agreed, pos- sessed a purchasing power then equal to twelve tiines what it has now; so that Bacon, for writing a new play, would receive what would be the equivalent of from $300 to $1,200 to-day. But in addition to this the author was entitled to all the receipts taken in, above expenses, on the second or third day of the play,' and this, in the case of a successful play, might l)e a considerable sum. And probably in the case of plays as popular as were the Shake- speare Plays, special arrangements were made as to the division of the profits. It was doubtless from dividing with Bacon these sums that Shakspere acquired his large fortune. Such sums as these to a man who was borrowing one pound at a time from his necessitous brother, Anthony, and who was more than once arrested and put in sponging-houses for debt, were a matter of no small moment. ' See Collier's Annals of the S/ag-e, vol. iii, pp. 224, 229, 230, etc. 2 20 /''A'A.VC/S BACOX TJ/E AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. He seems, from a letter to Essex, to have had some secret means of making money. He says: For means I value that most; and the rather because J am purposed )!ot to fol- low the practice of the la7v ; . . . and my reason is only because it drinketh too much time, which I have dedicated to better pitrposes. But, even for that point of estate and means, I partly lean to Thales' opinion, " that a philosopher 7iiay he rich if he 7vill" This is very significant. Even Spedding perceives the traces of a mystery. He says: So enormous were the results which Bacon anticipated from such a renovation of philosophy as he had conceived the possibility of, that the reluctance which he felt to devote his life to th.e ordinary practice of a lawyer cannot be wondered at. It is easier to understand why he was resolved not to do that, than "udiat other plan he had to clear himself of the difficulties ichich loere accu>?iulati}ig upon him, and to obtain means of living and vjorking. . . . What course he betook himself to at the crisis at which he had now arrived, I cannot positively say. I do not find any letter of his which can be probably assigned to the winter of 1596; nor have I met among his brother's papers anything which indicates 7ahat he 7C'as about. . . . I presume, however, that he betook himself to his studies.' In the last years of the sixteenth century and the first of the seventeenth Bacon seems to have given up all hope of rising to office in the state. He was under some cloud. He says: My ambition is quenched. . . . My ambition now I shall only put upon my pen, whereby I shall be able to maintain memory and merit of the times succeeding. "■' He was hopeless; he was powerless; he was poor. He had felt The whips and scorns of time. The oppressor's wrong, the poor man's contumely, . . . the law's delay. The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes. He wrote to the Queen that he had suffered The contempt of the contemptible, that measure a man by his estate.^ What could he make money at? There was no great novel- reading public, as at present. There were no newspapers to employ ready and able pens. There was little sale for the weight- ier works of literature. There was but one avenue open to him — the play-house. Did he combine the more sordid and pressing necessity for money with those great, kindly, benevolent purposes toward man- ^ Spedding', l!'o>-ks n/ Bacon — Letters and Li/e, vol. ii, p. 1. '■' Letter to R. Cecil, July 3, 1603. ^Letter to the Queen, 1599-1600 — L/Je and Works, vol. ii, p. 166. THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. 22 1 kind which filled his heart ? Did he try to use the play-house as a school of virtue and ethics ? Let us see. VI. Gre.at Mor.al Lessons. In the first place, the Flays are great sermons against great evils. They are moral epics. What lesson does Maci'ct/i leave upon the mind ? It teaches every man who reads it, or sees it acted, the horrors of an unscru- pulous ambition. It depicts, in the first place, a brave soldier and patriot, defending his country at the risk of his life. Then it shows the agents of evil approaching and suggesting dark thoughts to his brain. Then it shows us, as Bacon says, speaking of the passions as delineated b}^ the poets and writers of histories: Painted forth, with great life, how affections (passions) are kindled and incited; and how pacified and refrained; and how again contained from act and further degree; how they disclose themselves; how they work; how they vary; how they gather and fortify; how they are in wrapped one within another; and how they do fight and encounter one with another. All this is revealed in Macbetli. We see the seed of ambition taking root; we see it ''disclosed;" we see self-love and the sense of right warring with each other. We see his fiendish wife driving- him forward to crime against the promptings of his better nature. It depicts, with unexampled dramatic power, a cruel and treacherous murder. Then it shows how crime begets the necessity for crime: To be thus is nothing, But to be safely thus. It shows one horror treading fast upon another's heels: the usurper troubled with the horrible dreams that "shake him nightly;" the mind of the ambitious woman giving way under the strain her terrible will had put upon it, until we see her seeking peace in suicide; while Macbeth falls at last, overthrown and slaughtered. Have all the pulpits of all the preachers given out a more ter- rible exposition and arraignment of ambition? Think of the uncountable millions who, in the past three hundred years, have witnessed this play ! Think of the illimitable numbers who will behold it during the next thousand years ! What an awfvil picture of the workings of a guilty conscience is that exhibited when Macbeth sees, even at the festal board, the blood-boltered Banquo rising up and regarding him with glaring 2 22 I-KAXCIS BACOA' THE AUTHOR OF THE I' LA VS. and soulless eyes. And how like the pitiful cry of a lost soul is this utterance ? I have lived long enough: my way of life Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf: And that which should accompany old age, As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have; but, in their stead, Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honor, breath Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not. Call the roll of all your pulpit orators ! Where is there one that has ever preached such a sermon as that ? Where is there one that has ever had such an audience — such an unending succession of million-large audiences — as this man, who, in a "despised weed, sought the good of all men"? And, remember, that it was not the virtuous alone, the church- goers, the elect, who came to hear this marvelous sermon, but the high, the low; the educated, the ignorant; the young, the old; the good, the vicious; the titled lord, the poor 'prentice; the high-born dame, the wretched waste and wreck of womankind. A sermon preached almost nightly for nigh three hundred, years ! Not preached with robe or gown, or any pretense of vir- tue, but in those living pictures, "that history made visible," of the mighty philanthropist. Not coming with the ostentation and parade of holiness, with swinging censer and rolling organ, but conveyed into the minds of the audience insensibly, • insinuated into them, through the instrumentality of a lot of poor players. Precisely as we have seen Bacon suggesting that, by " a new process," truth should be insinuated into minds obstructed and infested — a process '''• drenched in flesJi and blood" as surely Macbeth is; a process that the ancients used to "educate men's minds to virtue; " by which the minds of men might be "played upon," as if with a "musician's bow," with the greater force because (as he had observed a thou- sand times in the Curtain Theater) the minds of men are more acted upon when they are gathered in numbers than when alone. VII. Ingratitude. Turn to Lear. What is its text? Ingratitude. Another mighty sermon. The grand old man who gave all, with his heart in it. The viciousness of two women; the nobleness of a third — for the gentle THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. 22-' heart of the poet would not allow him to paint mankind altogether bad; he saw always "the soul of goodness in things evil." And mark the moral of the story. The overthrow of the wicked, who yet drag down the good and noble in their downfall. VIII. Jealousy .anij Inte.mperanck. Turn to Othello. What is the text here? The evils of jealousy and the power for wrong of one altogether iniquitous. The overthrow of a noble nature by falsehood; the destruction of a pure and gentle woman to satisfy the motiveless hate of a villain. And there is within this -another moral. The play is a grand plea for temperance, expressed with jewels of thought set in arabesques of speech. Can all the reformers match that expression : O thou invisible spirit of wine ! If thou hast no q^ame to be known by, let us call thee devil ! The plot of the play turns largely on Cassio's drunkenness; for it is Desdemona's intercession for poor Cassio that arouses Othel- lo's suspicions. And how pitiful are Cassio's exclamations: Oh, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains ! that we should, with joy, pleasance, revel and applause, transform ourselves into Inmsts. . . . To be now a sensible man, by and by a focjl, and presently a beast ! O strange '. Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and the ingredient is a devil. It is impossible to sum up a stronger appeal in behalf of a tem- perate use of the good things of this world than these words con- tain. And, remember, they were written, not in the nineteenth century, but in an age of universal drunkenness, practiced by both men and women; and uttered at first to audiences nine-tenths of whom probably had more ale and sack in them than was good for them, even while they witnessed the play. And we find the great teacher always preaching the same lesson of temperance to the people, and in much the same phrases. He says : When he is best, he is little worse than a man; and when he is worst he is little better than a beast.' And again he says: A howling monster; a drunken monster.^ ' Merry Wh'fs of Windsor ^ i, 2. ^ Tempest^ iii, 2. 224 /■y^'.4XC/S BACOJV THE AUTHOR OF J HE PLAYS. And in the introduction to Tlic Taiiii/ig of tJir Shrew, his Lord- ship, looking at tlie drunken Christopher Sly, says: Oh, monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies. IX. TiMON OF Athens. In this play, the moral is the baseness of sycophants and mam- mon-worshipers. Its bitterness and wrath came from Bacon's own oppressed heart, in the day of his calamities; when he had felt all "the contempt of the contemptible, who measure a man by his estate." Mr. Hallam says: There seems to have been a period of Shakespeare'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 circum- stance peculiarly teaches;— r these, as they sank down into the depths of his great mind, seem not only to have inspired into it the conception of Lear and Tiinon, but that of one primary character, the censurer of mankind. • X. Shylock the Usurer. In 1594 Bacon was the victim of a Jew money-lender. In 1595 appeared The Merchant of Venice, in which, says Mrs. Pott: Shylock immortalizes the hard Jew who persecuted Bacon; and Antonius the generous brother Anthony who sacrificed himself and taxed his credit in order to relieve Francis. Antonio in Twelfth Alight is of the same generous character. And it will be observed that both Bacon and the writer of the Plays were opposed to usury. ' Says Bacon: It is against nature for money to hrcd money.'' And again he speaks of The devouring trade of usury.** While in Shakespeare we have the conversation between Shylock and Antonio, the former justifying the taking of interest on money by the case of Jacob, who "grazed his uncle Laban's sheep" and took "all the yearlings which were streaked and pied." Says Antonio: Was this inserted to make interest good? Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams? Shylock. I cannot tell. I make it breed as fast. ' Literature q/ Euro/>e, vol. iii, p. 508. ^ Essay O/ Usury. ' Essay Of Seditions. THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. !25 And again we have the same idea of money breeding money, used by Bacon, repeated in this conversation. Antonio says: I am as like to call thee so again. To spit on thee again, to spurn thee, too. If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not As to thy friends; for when did friendship take A breed of barren metal from his friend ? And it will be remembered that the whole play turns on the sub- ject of usury. The provocation which Antonio first gave Shylock was that He lends out money gratis, and brings down The rate of usance here with us in Venice. And again: Signior Antonio, many a time and oft In the Rialto you have rated me About my monies and my usances. The purpose of the play was to stigmatize the selfishness mani- fested in the taking of excessive interest; which is, indeed, to the poor debtor, many a time tlie cutting-out of the very heart. And hence the mighty genius has, in the name of Shylock, created a synonym for usurer, and has made in the Jew money-lender the most terrible picture of greed, inhumanity and wickedness in all literature. Bacon saw the necessity for borrowing and lending, and hence of moderate compensation for the use of money. But he pointed out, in his essay Of Usury, the great evils which resulted from the prac- tice. He contended that if the owners of money could not lend it out, they would have to employ it themselves in business; and hence, instead of the "lazy trade of usury," there would be enterprises of all kinds, and employment for labor, and increased revenues to the kingdom. And his profound wisdom was shown in this utterance: It [usury] bringeth the treasures of a realm or state into a few hands; for the usurer being at certainties, and others at uncertainties, at the end of the game most of the money will be in his box; and ever a state flourisheth most when wealth is more equally spread. XI. MOBOCRACY. The moral of Coriolanus is that the untutored multitude, as it existed in Bacon's day, the mere mob, was not capable of self-gov- ernment. The play was written, probably, because of the many indications which Bacon sav/ that "the foot of the peasant was 2 26 FRANCIS BACOX THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. treading close on the kibe of the courtier," as Hamlet says; and that a religious war, accompanied by an uprising of the lower classes, was at hand, which would, as he feared, sweep away all learning and civility in a deluge of blood. The deluge came shortly after his death, but the greatness and self-control of the English race saved it from ultimate anarchy. At the same time Bacon, in his delineation of the patriot Brutus, showed that he was not adverse to a republican government of intelligent citizens. XII, The Deficiencies of the Man of Thought. Hamlet is autobiographical. It is Bacon himself. It is the man of thought, the philosopher, the poet, placed in the midst of the necessities of a rude age. Bacon said: I am better fitted to hold a book than to play a part. He is overweighted with the thought-producing faculty: in his case the cerebrum overbalances the cerebellum. He laments in his old age that, being adapted to contemplation and study, his for- tune forced him into parts for which he was not fitted. He makes this his apology to posterity: This I speak to posterity, not out of ostentation, but because I judge it may somewhat import the dignity of learning, to have a man horn for letters rather than anything else, who should, by a certain fatality, and against the bent of his own genius, Iw compelled into active life} This is Hamlet. He comes in with book in hand, speculating where he should act. He is " holding a book " where he should '* play a part." Schlegel says of Hatiilct : The whole is intended to show that a calculating consideration, which exhausts all the relations and possible consequences of a deed, must cripple the power of acting. Coleridge says of Hamh-t : We see a great, an enormous intellectual activity, and a proportionate aver- sion to real action consequent upon it. Dowden says: When the play opens he has reached the age of thirty years — the age, it has been said, when the ideality of youth ought to become one with and inform the practical tendencies of manhood — and he has received culture of every kind ' Advanceiitent of Learnings book viii, p. 3. ■jut: PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. 227 except the culture of active life. He has slipped on into years of fill! manhood still a haunter of the university, a student of philosophies, an amateur in art, a ponderer on the things of life and death, who has never formed a resolution or executed a deed. These descriptions fit Bacon's case precisely. His ambition drags him into the midst of the activities of the court; his natural predisposition carries him away to St. Albans or Twickenham Park, to indulge in his secret "contemplations;" and to compose the "works of his recreation" and "the works of the alphabet." He was, as it were, tw'o men bound in one. He aspired to rule England and to give a new philosophy to mankind. He would rival Cecil and Aristotle at the same time. And this play seems to be autobiographical in another sense. Hamlet was robbed of his rights by a relative — his uncle. He •* lacked advancement." Bacon, who might naturally hope to rise to a place in Elizabeth's court similar to that held by his father, "lacks advancement;" and it is his uncle Burleigh and his uncle's son who hold him down. Hamlet is a philosopher. So is Bacon. Hamlet writes verses to Ophelia. Bacon is a poet. Hamlet writes a play, •or part of one, for the stage. So, we assert, did Bacon. Hamlet puts forth the play as the work of another. So, we think, did Bacon. Hamlet cries out: The play's the thing Wherewith I'll catch the conscience of the King. And it is our theory that Bacon sought with his plaj'S to catch the conscience of mankind. Hamlet has one true, trusted friend, Horatio, to whom he opens the secrets of his heart, and to whom he utters a magnificent essay on friendship. Bacon has an- other such trusted friend, Sir Tobie Matthew, to whom he opened /lis heart, and for whom, we are told, he wrote his prose essay Of Friends/lip. Hamlet is supposed to be crazy. Bacon is charged by his enemies with being a little daft — with having "a bee in his head " — and each herein, perhaps, illustrates the old truth, that Great minds to madness are quite close allied, And thin partitions do the bounds divide. XHI. The Tempest. The great drama of T/ie Tempest conta.\ns another personal storj'. This has, in part, been perceived by others. Mr. Campbell says: The Tempest has a sort of sacredness as the last work of a mighty workman. Shakespeare, as if conscious that it would be his last, and as if inspired to typify 2 28 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE FLAYS. hi»isi'lj\ has made his hero a natural, a dignified and benevolent magician, who could conjure up spirits from the vasty deep, and command supernatural agency by the most seemingly natural and simple means. . . . Here Shakespeare himself is Prospero, or 7'ather the superior genius 7C'/io comviands hotli Frospero and Ariel. But the time was approaching when the potent sorcerer was to break his staff, and bury it fathoms in the ocean. Deeper than did ever plummet sound.' What is the plot of the play 1 Prospero was born to greatness, was a "prince of power." Bacon was born in the royal palace of York Place, and expected to inherit the greatness of his father, Elizabeth's Lord Chancellor. "Bacon," says Hepworth Dixon,'' "seemed born to power." Prospero was cast down from his high place. So was Bacon. Who did it ? His uncle Burleigh. And in The Tempest^ as in Hamlet, an uncle is the evil genius of the. play. Prospero says to- his daughter Miranda: Thy false uncle — . . . Being once perfected how to grant suits. How to deny them; whom to advance, and whom To trash for over-topping — new created The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed them, Or else new formed them; having both the key Of officer and office, set all hearts i' th' state To what tune pleased his ear. This might be taken to describe, very aptly, the kind of arts by which Bacon's uncle, Burleigh, reached and held power. Bacon wrote to King James: In the time of Elizabeth the Cecils purposely oppressed all men of ability. And why did Prospero lose power? Because he was a student. He neglected the arts of statecraft and politics, and devoted him- self to nobler pursuits. He says: I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated To closeness and the bettering of my mind. .... me, poor man ! my library Was dukedom large enough ! "The bettering of my mind" is very Baconian. But where have we the slightest evidence that the man of Stratford ever strove to improve his mind ? And the labors of Prospero were devoted to the liberal arts and to secret studies. So were Bacon's. Prospero says: ' Knight's Shakespeare^ introductory notice to Tempest. "^ Personal History of Lord Bacon ^ p. 7. THE PURPOSES OE THE PLAYS. 229 And Prospero, the prime duke, being so reputed In dignity; and for the liberal arts Without a parallel; those being all my study, The government I cast upon my brother, And to my state grew stranger, being transported And rapt in sci-ret studies. What happened ? Prospero was dethroned, and with his little -daughter, Miranda, was seized upon: In few, they hurried us aboard a bark; Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared A rotten carcase of a butt, not rigged. Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats Instinctively had quit it. This was the rotten butt of Bacon's fortunes, when they were at their lowest; when his friends deserted him, like the rats, and when he wrote Timon of Athens. Miranda asks: How came we ashore? Prospero replies: By Providence divine Some food we had, and some fresh water, that A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, Out of his charity, (who being then appointed Master of this design), did give us, with Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries Which since have steaded much; so of his gentleness, Knowing I loved my books, he furnished me. From mine own library, with volumes that I prize above my dukedom. How fully is all this in accord with the character of Francis Bacon: — the man who had "taken all knowledge for his province; " the "concealed poet;" the philanthropist; the student; the lover of books ! How little is it in accordance with what we know of Shakspere, who does not seem to have possessed a library, or a single book — not even a quarto copy of one of the Plays. But who was Miranda ? The name signifies 7vonderful things. Does it mean these won- derful Plays? She was Bacon's child — the offspring of his brain. And we find, as I have shown, in sonnet Ixxvii these lines, evidently written in the front of a commonplace-book: Look what thy memory cannot contain, Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find Those children nutscd, delivered from thy brain. To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. 230 FHANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. Was Miranda the wonderful product of Bacon's brain — the child of the concealed poet? When Ferdinand sees Miranda, he plays upon the name: My prime request, Which I do last pronounce, is, O! yoti wonder ! If vou be maid or no? And it will be noted that Miranda was in existence before Pros- pero's downfall; and the Plays had begun to appear in Bacon's you'th and before his reverses. And we are further told that when Prospero and his daughter were carried to the island, the lf)ve he bore Miranda was the one thing that preserved him from destruction: Miranda. Alack! what trouble Was I then to you ? Prospero. O! a cherubin Thou wast that did preserve me ! Thou didst smile, Infused with a fortitude from heaven, When I have decked the sea with drops full salt, Under my burthen groaned; which raised in me An undergoing stomach, to bear up Against what should ensue. That is to say, in the days of Bacon's miseries, his love for divine poetry saved him from utter dejection and wretchedness. And in some large sense, therefore, his troubles were well for him; and for ourselves, for without them we should not have the Plays. And hence we read: Miranda. O, the Heavens ! What foul play had we, that we came from thence ? Or blessed was't we did ? Pj-ospero. Both, both, my girl; By foul play, as thou sayst, were we heaved thence; But blessedly holp hither. And the leisure of the retirement to which Bacon'was driven enabled him to perfect the Plays, whereas success would have ab- sorbed him in the trivialities of court life. And so Prospero says to Miranda: Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. ' Here in this island we arrived; and here Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit Than other princes can, that have more time For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. And on the island is Ariel. Who is Ariel ? It is a tricksy spirit, a singer of sweet songs, "which give delight and hurt not;" THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. 2X\ a maker of delicious music; a secretive spirit, given much to hiding in invisibility while it achieves w^ondrous external results. It is Prospero's instrumentality in his magic; his servant. And withal it is humane, gentle and loving, like the soul of the benevolent philos- opher himself. If Vro-spcr-o is Shake-i^tv, or, as Campbell says, " the superior genius who commands both Prospero and Ariel," then Ariel is the genius of poetry, the constructive intellectual power of the drama-maker, which he found pegged in the knotty entrails of an oak, uttering the harsh, discordant sounds of the old moralities, until he released it and gave it wings and power. And, like the maker of the Plays, it sings sweet songs, of which Ferdinand says: This is no mortal business, nor no sound That the earth owns. And, like the poet, it creates masks to work upon tiie senses of its audience — it is a play-maker. And there is one other inhabitant of the island — Caliban — A freckled whelp, hag-born. Who is Caliban ? Is he the real Shakspere .'' He claims the ownership of the island. Was the island the stage, — the play- house, — to which Bacon had recourse for the means of life, when his fortune failed him; to which he came in the rotten butt of his fortunes, with his child Miranda, — the early plays ? Shakspere, be it remembered, was at the play-house before Bacon came to it. Prospero found Caliban on the island. Caliban claimed the ownership of it. He says, "This island's mine." When thou earnest first, Thou strok'dst me, and made much of me; Would give me water with berries in't; and teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less. That burn by day and night; and then I loved thee, And showed thee all the qualities of the isle, The fresh springs, brine springs, barren place and fertile. That is to say, Shakspere gave Bacon the use of his knowledge of the stage and play-acting, and showed him the fertile places from which money could be extracted. And do these lines represent Bacon's opinion of Shakspere? Abhorred slave. Which any print of goodness will not take, Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee. Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour 232 FA' A NCI S BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage, Know thine own meaning, but would gabble like A thing most brutish, I endowed thy purposes With loords that Diade ilicm knoivn. And again he says — and it will be remembered Shakspere was alive when The 777;//><,sY was written: A devil, a born devil, on whose nature Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains. Humanly taken, all, all lost, quite lost; And as, with age, his body uglier grows. So his mind cankers. Prospero has lost his kingdom. He has had the leisure in the solitude of his "full poor cell'' to bring Miranda to the perfection of mature beauty. The Plays are finished. [Bacon, after his downfall, in 1623, applied for the place of Pro- vost of Eaton; he says, "it was a pretty cell ior my fortune."] When Miranda was grown to womanhood an accident threw Prospero's enemies in his power. A most propitious star shone upon his fortunes. His enemies were upon the sea near him. With the help of Ariel he raised a mighty tempest zxiA shipwrecked those who had deprived him of his kingdom, and brought them wretched and half-drowned to his feet. He had always wished to leave the island and recover his kingdom; and, his enemies being in his power, he forced them to restore him to his rights. Is there anything in Bacon's life which parallels this story? There is. Bacon, like Prospero, had been cast down. He desired to rise again in the -state. And there came a time when he brought his enemies to his feet, in the midst of a tempest of the state, which he probably helped to create. And this very word tempest, so applied, is a favorite one with Bacon. He said, at the time of his downfall: When I enter into myself, I find not the materials for such a tempest as is now come upon me. In June, 1606, Francis Bacon was out of place and without in- fluence with the court, but he wielded great power in Parliament, of which he was a member, as a noble orator and born ruler of men. He had hoped that this influence would have secured him prefer- ment in the state. He was disappointed. Hepworth Dixon shows that, upon the death of Sir Francis Gawdy and Coke's promotion THE PLRrOSES OF THE PLAYS. 233 to the bench, Bacon expected to be made Attorney-General. But his malign cousin, Cecil, again defeated his just and reasonable hopes; and the great man, after all his years of patient waiting, had to step aside once more to make place for some small creature. But there is trouble in the land. King James of Scotland came down to rule England, and hordes of his countrymen came with, or followed after him, to improve their fortunes in the fat land of which their countryman was monarch. King James desired Parlia- ment to pass the bill of Union, to unite the Scots and English on terms of equality. His heart was set on this measure. But the English disliked the Scots. Hepworth Dixon says: Under such crosses the bill on Union fares but ill. Fuller, the bilious repre- sentative of London, flies at the Scots. The Scots in London are in the highest degree unpopular. Lax in morals and in taste, they will take the highest place at table, they will drink out of anybody's can, they will kiss the hostess, or her buxom maid, without saying "by your leave." ' We have reason to think that Ariel is at work, invisibly, behind the scenes raising the Tempest. Dixon continues: Brawls fret the taverns which tfiey haunt; pasqiiius Jiiss against tlietn from the stage. . . . Tlwee great poets, Joiison,Chapma)i and Marston, go to jail for a harmless jest against these Seots. Such acts of rigor make the name of Union hateful to the public ear. Let Hepworth Dixon tell the rest of the story: When Parliament meets in November to discuss the bill on Union, Bacon stands back. The King has chosen his attorney; let the new attorney fight the King's battle. The adversaries to be met are bold and many. . . . Beyond the Tweed, too, people are mutinous to the point of toar, for the countrymen of Andrew Melville begin to suspect the King of a design against the Kirk. . . . Melville is clapped into the Tower. . . . Hobart (the new Attorney-General) goes to the wall. James now sees that the battle is not to the weak, nor the race to the slow. Bacon has only to hold his tongue and make his terms. - Prospero has onl}' to wait for the Tempest to wash his enemies to his feet. Alarmed lest the bill of Union may be rejected by an overwhelming vote, Cecil suddenly adjourns the House. He must get strength. . . . Pressed on all sides, here by the Lord Chancellor, there by a mutinous House of Commons, Cecil at length yields to his cousin's claim; Sir John Doderidge bows his neck, and when Parliament meets, after the Christmas holidays, Bacon holds in his pocket a written engagement for the Solicitor's place. '^ Personal History 0/ Lord Bacon ^ p. 1S4. ''Ibid., p. 1S3. '> I 4 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE FLAYS. The Tempest is past; the Duke of Milan has recovered his kingdom; the poor scholar leaves his cell, at forty-six years of age, and steps into a place worth ^6,000 a year, or $30,000 of our money, equal, to probably $300,000 per annum to-day. There is no longer any necessity for the magician to remain upon his poor desert island, with Caliban, and write plays for a living. He dis- misses Ariel. The Plays cease to appear. But Prospero, when he leaves the island, takes Miranda with him. She will be well cared for. We will see hereafter that " the works of the alphabet " will be " set in a frame;" at heavy cost, and wedded to immortality. The triumphant statesman /eaves Caliban in possession of tlie island 1 He has crawled out from his temporary shelter: I hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaberdine, for fear of the storm. He will devote the remainder of his life to statecraft and phil- osophy. He will write no more poetry, For at his age The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble And waits upon the judgment. But Prospero will not be idle. Like Bacon, he has great projects in his head. He says: Welcome, sir; This cell's my court; here have I few attendants And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in. My dukedom since you have given me again, I will requite you with as good a thing; At least bring forth a wonder to content ye. As much as me my dukedom. That is to say, relieved of the necessities of life, possessed of power and fortune he will give the world the Novum Organum, the new philosophy, which is to revolutionize the earth and lift up mankind. And yet, turning, as he does, to these mighty works of his mature years, he cannot part, without a sigh, from the labors of his youth ; from the sweet and gentle spirit of the imagination — his " chick," his genius, his " delicate Ariel ": Why, that's my dainty Ariel: I s/mll miss thee ; But yet thou shalt have freedom. And then, casting his eyes backward, he exults over his mighty work: THE PURPOSES OF THE PLA YS. 235 Graves, at my command, Have waked their sleepers; op'd, and let them forth By my so potent art. Indeed, a long and mighty procession ! Lear, Titus Andronicus. Coriolanus, Julius Caesar, Brutus, Cassius, Marc Antony, Cleo- patra, Augustus Caesar, Timon of Athens, Cymbeline, Alcibiades. Pericles, Macbeth, Duncan, Hamlet, King John, Arthur, Richard II.. John of Gaunt, Henry IV., Hotspur, Henry V., Henry VI., Richard III., Clarence, Henry VIII., Wolsey, Cranmer, Queen Katharine, and Anne Boleyn. But this rough magic I here abjure: and, when I have required Some heavenly music (which even now I do) — [that is to say, he retains his magic power a little longer to write one more play, this farewell drama, The Tempest\ — To work mine end upon their senses that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff. Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And, deeper than did ever plummet sound I'll drown my book. What does this mean ? Certainly that the magician had ended his work; that his rough magic was no longer necessary; that he would no longer call up the mighty dead from their graves. And he dismisses even the poor players through whom he has wrought his charm; they also are but spirits, to do his bidding: Our revels notv are ended : these our aetors, As I foretold ycni, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision. The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces. The solemn temples, the great globe itself. Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve; And like this insubstantial 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. And this play of The Tempest is placed at the very beginning of the great Folio of 1623, as an introduction to the other mighty Plays. And if this be not the true explanation of this play, wiiere are we to find it? If Prosper is Shake-jy!'*^/' (as seems to be conceded), or the one for {pro) whom Shake-.f/rr stood, what is the meaning 236 FRANCIS BACOX THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. of his "abjuring his magic," giving up his work and "drowning his book?" And what is that "wonder" he — the man of Strat- ford — is to bring forth after he has drowned his book: — some- thing more wonderful than Miranda — (the wonderful things) — and with which the dismissed Ariel is to have nothing to do? And why should Shakspere drown his book and retire to Stratford, and write no more plays, thus abjuring his magic? Do you imagine that the man who would sue a neighbor for two shillings loaned; or who would sell a load of stone to the town for ten pence; or who would charge his guest's wine-bill to the parisli, wouldj if he had the capacity to produce an unlimited succession of Hamlets, Lears and Macbcths, worth thousands of pounds, have drowned his book, and gone home and brewed beer and sucked his thumbs for several years, until drunkenness and death came to his relief? And is there any likeness between the princely, benevolent and magnanimous character of Prospero and that of the man of Strat- ford ? XIV. Kingcraft. Bacon believed in a monarchy, but in a constitutional mon- archy, restrained by a liberty-loving aristocracy, with justice and fair play for the humbler classes. He, however, was utterly opposed to all royal despotism. He showed, as the leader of the people in the House of Commons, that he was ready to use the power of Parliament to restrain the unlimited arrogance of the crown. He saw that one great obsta- cle to liberty was the popular idea of the divine right of kings. We can hardly appreciate to-day the full force of that sentiment as it then existed. Hence, in the Plays, he labors to reduce the king to the level of other men, or below it. He represents John as a cowardly knave, a truckler to a foreign power, a would-be murderer, and an altogether worthless creature. Richard II. is little better — a frivolous, weak-witted, corrupt, sordid, dishonest fool. He puts into his mouth the old-time opinion of the heaven-dele- gated powers of a king: Not all the water of the rough, rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed king: The breath of worldly men cannot depose The deputy elected by the Lord: THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. 237 For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd, To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, Heaven for his Richard hath in heavenly pay A glorious angel ! then, if angels fight. Weak men must fall, for Heaven still guards the right ! And then the poet proceeds to show that this is all nonsense: that the "breath of worldly men " can, and that it in fact does depose him; and that not an angel stirs in all the vasty courts of heaven to defend his cause. And then he perforates the whole theory still further by making the King himself exclaim: Let's choose executors and talk of wills; And yet not so; for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbroke's, And nothing can we call our own but death; And that small model of the barren earth. Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For Heaven's sake let us sit upon the ground, And tell sad stories of the death of kings: How some have been depos'd. some slain in war. Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd; Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping killed. All murder' d. For within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king. Death keeps his court; and there the antic sits. Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp; Allowing him a breath, a little scene. To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks; Infusing him with self and vain conceit; As if this flesh, which walls about our life, Were brass impregnable: and humored thus. Comes at the last, and, with a little pin. Bores through his castle Vv'alls, and, — farewell, king? Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence; throw away respect. Tradition, form and ceremonious duty. For you have but mistook me all this while: I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief. Need friends. Subjected thus, How can you say to me — I am a king ! Surely this must have sounded strangely in the ears of a Lon- don audience of the sixteenth century, who had been taught to regard the king as anointed of Heaven and the actual viceregent of God on earth, whose very touch was capable of working miracles in the cure of disease, possessing therein a power exercised on 2 28 FJ^ANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. earth aforetime only by the Savior and his saints. And the play concludes with the murder of Richard. And then comes Henry IV.. usurper, murderer; and the poet makes him frankly confess his villainy: Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed; And hear, I think, the very latest counsel That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son, By what by-paths and indirect, crooked ways I met this crown. And yet he lives to a ripe old age, and establishes a dynasty on the corner-stone of the murder of Richard II. And we have the same lesson of contempt for kings taught in Lear: They told me I was everything. But when the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found them, there I smelt them out.' And in The Tempest we have this expression: What care these roarers for the name of king?' Is not the moral plain: — that kings are nothing more than men; that Heaven did not ordain them, and does not protect them; and that a king has no right to hold his place any longer than he behaves himself? His son, Henry V., is the best of the lot — he is the hero-king; but even he rises out of a shameful youth; he is the associate of the most degraded; the companion of profligate men and women, of highwaymen and pick-pockets. And even in his mouth the poet puts the same declaration of the hollowness of royal preten- sions. King Henry V. says, while in disguise: I think the King is but a man as I am; the violet smells to him as it doth to me; the element shews to him as it doth to me; all his senses have but human conditions; his ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man.^' We turn to Henry VI., and we find him a shallow, empty imbe- cile, below the measure even of contempt. In Richard III. we have a horrible monster; a wild beast; a liar, perjurer, murderer; a remorseless, bloody, man-eating tiger of the jungles. ' Lear, iv, 6. ' Te!n/>e.st, i, i. ^ Henry V., iv. i. THE PURPOSES OF THE PLA YS. j.y In Henry VIII. we have a king divorcing a sainted angel, as we are told, under the plea of conscience, to marry a frivolous woman, in obedience to the incitements of sensual passion. And this is the whole catalogue of royal representatives brought on the stage by Shakespeare ! And these Plays educated the English people, and prepared the way for the day when Charles I. was brought to trial and the scaffold. If Bacon intended to strike deadly blows at the idea of divine right, and irresponsible royal authority, in England, certainly he accomplished his object in these " Histories" of English kings. It may be that the Reform he had intended graduated into the Revo- lution which he had not intended. He could not foresee Cromwell and the Independents; and yet, that storm being past, England is enjoying the results of his purposes, in its wise constitutional mon- archy: — the spirit of liberty wedded to the conservative forms of antiquity. XV. Teaching History. But there is another motive in these Plays. They are teachers of history. It is probable that the series of historical dramas began with William the Conqueror, for we find Shakspere, in an obscene anecdote, which tradition records, referring to himself as William the Conqueror, and to Burbadge as Richard III. Then we have Shakespeare's King John. In Marlowe we have the play of Edward II. Among the doubtful plays ascribed to the pen of Shakespeare is the play of Edward III. Then follows Richard II.; then, in due and consecutive order, Henry IV., first and second parts; then Henry V.j then Henry VI, first, second and third parts; then Richard III; there is no play of Henry VII. {but Bacon writes a history of Henry VII., taking up the story just where the play of Richard III. leaves it); then the series of plays ends with Henry VIII.; and the cipher narrative probably gives us the whole history of the reign of Elizabeth. All these plays tended to make history familiar to the common people, and we find testimony to that effect in the writings of the day. 240 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. XVI. Patriotism. But there is another purpose transparently revealed in the Plays. It was to infuse the people with a sense of devotion to their native- land. Speaking of national patriotism, Swinburne says: Assuredly, no poet ever had more than he (Shakespeare); not even the king of men and poets who fought at Marathon and sang at Salamis; much less had any or has any one of our own, from Milton on to Campbell and from Campbell to Tennyson. In the mightiest chorus of Kitig Henry V. we hear the pealing ring of the same great English trumpet that was yet to sound over the battle of the Baltic' And the same writer speaks of The national side of Shakespeare's genius, the heroic vein of patriotism that runs, like a thread of living fire, through the world-wide range of his omnipresent spirit. - We turn to Bacon, and we find the same great patriotic inspira- tions. His mind took in all mankind, but the love of his heart centered on England. His thoughts were bent to increase her glory and add to her security from foreign foes. To do this he saw that it was necessary to keep up the military spirit of the people. He says: But above all, for empire and greatness, it importeth most that a nation do profess arms as their principal honor, study and occupation. . . . No nation which doth not directly profess arms may look to have greatness fall into their mouths; and, on the other side, it is a most certain oracle of time that those nations that continue long in that profession (as the Romans and Turks principally have done) do wonders; and those that have professed arms but for an age have, notwith- standing, commonly attained that greatness in that age which maintaineth them long after, when the profession and exercise of arms hath grown to decay.* And again he says: Walled towns, stored arsenals and armories, goodly races of horse, chariots of war, elephants, ordnance, artillery and the like; all this but a sheep in a lion's skin, except the breed ^nA disposition of the people be stout and war-like.'' We turn to Shakespeare, and we find him referring to English- men as Feared for their breed and famous by their birth. Here is the whole sentence. How exultantly does he depict his own country — "that little body with a mighty heart," as he calls< it elsewhere: This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle. This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise. This fortress built by Nature for herself * Swinburne, 5/»rt'j' ^y^.%a.t., p. 113. ' Essay xxix, Tlie True Greatness c/ Kingdoms. 'Ibid., p. 73. Mbid. THE PURPOSES OE THE PLA YS. 241 Against infection and the hand of war; This happy breed of dioi, 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, This teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd for their Anvi/and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home (For Christian service and true chivalry), As is the sepulcher in stubborn Jewry Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son; This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world.' And again he speaks of England as Hedged in with the main, That water-walled bulwark, still secure And confident from foreign purposes.'' And again he says: Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas, Which he has given for fence impregnable.^ And again he says: Which stands And again: And again: As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in W^ith rocks unscalable and roaring waters,'' Britain is A world by itself.^ r the world's volume, Our Britain is as (jf it, but not in it; In a great pool, a swan's nest/ And, while Shakespeare alludes to the sea as England's "water- walled bulwark," Bacon speaks of ships as the "walls" of Eng- land. And he says: To be master of the sea is an abridgment of a monarchy.'' And he further says: No man can by care-taking (as the Scripture saith) " add a cubit to his stature " in this little model of a man's body, but in the great fame of kingdoms and com- monwealths it is in the power of princes, or estates, to add amplitude and great- ness to their kingdoms; for by introducing such ordinances, constitutions and customs as we have now touched, thev tnay sow greatness to their posterity and suc- cession; but these things are commonly not Qbserved, but left to take their chance. ** ^ Rickard II ., ii, i. ^ Cymbeline^ iii, i. ''Essay, True Greatness 0/ Kiugdoms. • King John, W, \. ^ j^jfj jjj , sibid. ^jd Henry VI. ^ iv. i. 'Ibid., iii, 4. 242 FRANCIS BACON THE ATTFIOR OF THE PLAYS. And was he not, in these appeals to national heroism, ^^soivi/ig i:;rrat/iess to posterity," and helping to create, or maintain, that warlike " breed " which has since carried the banners of conquest over a great part of the earth's surface? One can imagine how the eyes of those swarming audiences at the Fortune and the Curtain must have snapped with delight at the pictures of English valor on the field of Agincourt, as depicted in Henry V.j or at the representation of that tremendousSoldier Talbot, in -/^i?;/;j F/., dying like a lion at bay, with his noble boy by his side. How the 'prentices must have roared ! How the mob must have raved ! How even the gentlemen must have drawn deep breaths of patriotic inspiration from such scenes ! Imagine the London of to-day going wild over the work of some great genius, depicting, in the midst of splendid poetry, Wellington and Nelson ! But there are many other purposes revealed in these Plays. XVII. Dueling. The writer of the Plays was opposed to the practice of dueling. One commentator (H. T.), in a note to the play of Twelfth Night, says: It was the plainly evident intention of Shakespeare, in this play, to place the practice of dueling in a ridiculous light. Dueling was in high fashion at this period — a perfect rage for it existed, and a man was distinguished or valued in the select circles of society in proportion to his skill and courage in this savage and murderous practice. Our poet well knew the power of ridicule often exceeded that of the law, and in the combat between the valiant Sir Andrew Aguecheek and the disguised Viola, he has placed the custom in an eminently absurd situation. Mr. Chalmers supposes that his attention was drawn to it by an edict of James I., issued in the year 1613. From his remarks we quote the following; In Tivelfth Night Shakespeare tried to effect by ridicule what the state was unable to perform by legislation. The duels which were so incorrigibly frequent in that age were thrown into a ridiculous light by the affair between Viola and Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Sir Francis Bacon had lamented, in the House of Com- mons, on the 3d of March, 1609-10, the great difficulty of redressing the evil of duels, owing to the corruption of man's nature. King James tried to effect what the Parliament had despaired of effecting, and in 1613 he issued "An edict and censure against private combats," which was conceived with great vigor, and expressed with decisive force; but whether with the help of Bacon or not I am unable to ascertain. There can be no question that the Proposition for the -Repressing of Singular Combats or Duels, in 16 13, came from the hand of Bacon. We find it given as his in Spedding's Life and IVorks.^ He pro- posed to exclude all duelists from the King's presence, because ' Vol. iv., p. 397. THE PURPOSES OE THE PLA YS. 243 "there is no good spirit but will think himself in darkness, if he be debarred ... of access and approach to the sovereign." He also proposed a prosecution in the Star Chamber, and a heavy, irremiss- ible fine. A proclamation to this effect was issued by the King. We also have the "charge of Sir Francis Bacon, Knight, His Maj- esty's Attorney-General, touching duels, upon an information in the Star Chamber against Priest and Wright." After commenting on his regret that the offenders were not greater personages. Bacon says: Nay, I should think, my lords, that men of birth and quality will leave the practice, when it begins to be vilified, and come so low as to barbers, surgeons and butchers, and such base mechanical persons. In the course of the charge he says: It is a miserable effect when young men, full of towardness and hope, such as the poets call aiironv filii, sons of the morning, in whom the comfort and expecta- tions of their friends consisteth, shall be cast away and destroyed in such a vain manner. ... So as your lordships see what a desperate evil this is; it troubleth peace, it disfurnisheth war, it bringeth calamity upon private men, peril upon the state, and contempt upon the law. And in this charge we find Bacon using the same sort of argu- ment used by Shakespeare in Othello. Bacon says: There was a combat of this kind performed by two persons of quality of the Turks, wherein one of them was slain; the other party was convented before the council of Bassaes. The manner of the reprehension was in these words: How durst you undertake to fight one with the other? Are there not Chris- tians enough to kill? Did you not know that whether of you should be slain, the l/ Lord Bacon, p. i6. 246 THE REASONS FOR CONCEALMENT. 247 He sought place, never man with more persistent haste; for his big brain beat with a victorious consciousness of parts; he hungered, as for food, to rule and bless mankind. . . . While men of far lower birth and claims got posts and honors, solicitorships, judgeships, embassies, portfolios, how came this strong man to pass the age of forty-six without gaining power or place ? ' /^ And remember, good reader, that it is precisely during this period, before Bacon was forty-six, and while, as I have shown, he was " poor and working for bread," that the Shakespeare Plays were produced; and that after he obtained place and wealth they ceased to appear; although Shakspere was still living in Stratford and con- tinued to live there for ten years to come. Why was it that the fount- ain of Shakespeare's song closed as soon as Bacon's necessities ended? II. The Lawyers then the Plav-Writers. Bacon took to the law. He was born to it. It was the only avenue open to him. Richard Grant White says — and, remember, he is no '' Baconian " : There was no regular army in Elizabeth's time; and the younger sons of gen- tlemen not rich, and of well-to-do yeomen, flocked to the church and to the bar; and as the former had ceased to be a stepping-stone to power and wealth, while the latter was gaining in that regard, most of these young men became attorneys or barristers. But then, as now, the early years of professional life were seasons of sharp trial and bitter disappointment. Necessity pressed sorely or pleasure wooed resistlessly; and the slender purse wasted rapidly away while the young lawyer awaited the employment that did not come. He knew then, as now he knows, the heart-sickness that waits on hope deferred; nay, he felt, as now he sometimes feels, the tooth of hunger gnawing through the principles and firm resolves that partition a life of honor and self-respect from one darkened by conscious loss of rectituQe, if not by open shame. Happy (yet, it may be, O unhappy) he who now in such a strait can wield the pen of a ready writer ! For the press, perchance, may afford him a support which, though temporary and precarious, will hold him up until he can stand upon more stable ground. But in the reigns of Good Queen Bess and Gentle Jamie there was no press. There was, however, an incessant demand for new plays. Play-going was the chief intellectual recreation of that day for all classes, high and low. It is not extravagant to say that there were then more new plays produced in London in one month than there are now in both Great Britain and Ireland in a whole year. To play-writing, therefore, the needy and gifted young lawyer turned his hand at that day as he does now to journalism. III. The Law-Courts AND THE Plays. "The Misfortunes of Arthur." And the connection between the lawyers and the players was, in some sense, a close one. It was the custom for the great law- schools to furnish dramatic representations for the entertainment ' Hepworth Dixon, Personal History 0/ Lord Bacon. 248 FRAXCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. of the court and the nobility. Shakespeare's Comedy of Errors, as I have shown, made its first appearance, not on the stage of the Curtain or the Fortune theater, but in an entertainment given by the students of Gray's Inn (Bacon's law-school); and Shake- speare's comedy of Twelfth Night was first acted before the ''benchers" of the Middle Temple, who employed professional players to act before them every year. We know these facts, as to the two plays named, almost by accident. How many more of the so-called Shakespeare Plays first saw the light on the boards of those law students, at their great entertainments, we do not know.' We find in Dodsleys Old Plays a play called The Misfortunes of Arthur. The title-leaf says; Certaine Devises and Shews presented to her Majestic by the Gentlemen of Grave's-Inne, at her Highnesse Court in Greenewich, the twenty-eighth day of February, in the thirtieth year of her Majestie's most happy Raigne. At London. Printed by Robert Robinson. 1587.'^ Mr. Collier wrote a preface to it, in which he says: It appears that eight persons, members of the Society of Gray's Inn, were engaged in the production of llie Misfortunes of Arthur, for the entertainment of Queen Elizabeth, at Greenwich, on the 2Sth day of February, 1587-8, viz.: Thomas Hughes, the author of the whole body of the tragedy; William Fullbecke, who wrote two speeches substituted on the representation and appended to the old printed copy; Nicholas Trotte, who furnished the introduction; Francis Flower, who penned choruses for the first artd second acts; Christopher Yelverton, Francis Bacon, and John Lancaster, who devised the dumb-show, then usually accompany- ing such performances; and a person of the name of Penruddock, who, assisted by Flower and Lancaster, directed the proceedings at court. Regarding Hughes and Trotte no information has survived. . . . The " Maister Francis Bacon!' spoken of at the conclusion of the piece was, of course, no other than (the great) Bacon; and it is a new feature in his biography, though not, perhaps, very promi- nent nor important, that he u And who does not remember that the author of T/w Letters of Junius died and made no sign of confession ? Bacon doubtless found a great advantage in writing thus under a mask. The man who sets forth his thoughts in his own name knows that the public will constantly strive to connect his utter- ances with his personal character; to trace home his opinions to- 252 FRAXC/S BACOX THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. his personal history and circumstances; and lie is therefore neces- sarily always on his guard not to say anything, even in a work of fiction, that he would not be willing to father as part of his own natural reflections. Richard Grant White says: Shakespeare's freedom in the use of words was but a part of that conscious irresponsibility to critical rule which had such an important influence upon the development of his whole dramatic style. To the workings of his genius under this entire unconsciousness of restraint we owe the grandest and the most delicate beauties of his poetry, his poignant expressions of emotion, and his richest and subtlest passages of humor. For the superiority of his work is just in proportion to his carelessness of literary criticism. . , . His plays were mere entertainments for the general public, written not to be read, but to be spoken; written as busi- ness, just as Rogers wrote money circulars, or as Bryant writes leading articles. This freedom was suited to the unparalleled richness and spontaneousness of his thought, of which it was, in fact, partly the result, and itself partly the condition.' The Anatomy of Melancholy w^'i first published, not in the name of the alleged author, Robert Burton, but under the novi de plume of "Democritus, Junior," and in the address to the reader the author says: Gentle reader, I presume thou wilt be very inquisitive to know whf^' ar''c t personate actor this is that so insolently intrudes upon this common theater, to the world's view, arrogating another man's name. ... I would not willingly be known. . . . 'Tis for no such respect I shroud myself under his name; but in an unknow)! habit to assiiiiic a /itt/r >ho>y li/wrty and ffi-cdom of speech. We will see hereafter that there are strong reasons for believing that Francis Bacon wrote The Anatomy of Melancholy, and that in these words we have his own explanation of one of the many rea- sons for his many disguises. V. Low State of the Dramatic Art. But there was another reason why an ambitious young aristo- crat, and lawyer, and would-be Lord-Chancellor, should hesitate to avow that he was a writer of plays. Halliwell-Phillipps says: It must be borne in mind that actors occupied an inferior position in society, and that even the vocation of a dramatic writer ivas considered scarcely respectable!^ The first theater ever erected in England, or, so far as I am aware, in any country, in modern times, was built in London in 1 I.!/,- and Genius I'/S/iak.. i>. 220. ^ Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines I.i/e 0/ Ska/:., p. 6. THE REASONS FOR CONCEALMENT. ^53 1575 — -five years before Bacon returned from the court of France, and six years before he reached the age of twenty-one years. The man and the instrumentality came together. A writer upon the subject says: The public authorities, more especially those who were inclined to Puritanism, exerted themselves in every possible way to repress the performance of plays and interludes. They fined and imprisoned the players, even stocked them, and har- assed and restrained them to the utmost of their ability. ... In 1575 the players were interdicted from the practice of their art (or rather their calling, for it was not yet an art), within the limits of the city. The legal status of actors was the lowest in the country. The act of 14th Elizabeth, "for the punishment of vagabonds," included under that name "all fencers, hQ.a.r\Ya.rds, coin>?io?i players in interludes, and minstrels, not belonging to any baron of this realm." They traveled the country on foot, with packs on their backs, and were fed in the " buttery " of the great houses they visited. I quote: Thus in Greene's Never 'Too Late, in the interview between the player and Robert (/.f., Greene), on the latter asking how the player proposed to mend Rob- ert's fortune: " Why, easily," quoth he, "and greatly to your benefit; for men of my profes- sion get by scholars their whole living." " What is your profession?" said Roberto. " Truly, sir," said he, " I am a player." "A player!" quoth Roberto; "I took you rather for a gentleman of great living; for if by outward habit men should be answered [judged], I tell you, you would be taken for a stibstantial vtan." "So am I, where I dwell," quoth the player, "reported able at my proper cost to build a wind-mill. " He then proceeds to say that at his outset in life he was fain to carry his "playing fardel," that is, his bundle of stage properties, "a foot back," but now his show of "playing apparel" would sell for more than ;r^200. In the end he offers to engage Greene to write plays for him, "for which you will be well paid, if you will take the pains." If the actors did not engage themselves as the servants of some great man, as "the Lord Chamberlain's servants," or "the Lord Admiral's servants," or " the Earl of Worcester's servants," they were liable under the law, as Edgar says in Lear,' to be " whipped from tything to ty thing, and stocked, punished and imprisoned; " for by the statute of 39 Elizabeth (1597) and ist of James L (1604), as I have shown, the vagabond's punishment was to be "stripped naked from the middle upward, and to be whipped until his body ' Act lii, scene 4. 254 FRA.VCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. was bloody, and to be sent from parish to parish the next straight way to the place of his birth." Halliwell-Phillipps says: Actors were regarded at court in the light of menials, and classed by the pub- lic with jugglers and buffoons.' The play-houses were inconceivably low and rude. The Lord Mayor of London, in 1597, describes the theaters as : Ordinary places for vagrant persons, maisterless men, thieves, horse-stealers, whoremongers, cozeners, cony-catchers, contrivers of treason, and other idele and dangerous persons.* Taine says of Shakspere: He was a comedian, one of "His Majesty's poor players" — a sad trade, degraded in all ages by the contrasts and the falsehoods which it allows: still more degraded then by the brutalities of the crowd, who not seldom would stone the actors; and by the severities of the magistrates, who would sometimes condemn them to lose their ears.* Edmund Gayton says, descrmtng the play-houses: If it be on a holiday, when sailors, watermen, shoemakers, butchers and apprentices are at leisure, then it is good policy to amaze those violent spirits with some tearing tragedy, full of fights and skirmishes, as The Giielphs ajid Ghibelines, Gret'ks and Trojans, or T/ie Three London Apprentices, which commonly ends in six acts, the spectators frequently mounting the stage and making a more bloody catastrophe among themselves than the players did. I have known, upon one of these festivals, . . . where the players have been appointed, notwithstanding their bills to the contrary, to act what the major part of the company had a mind to; sometimes Tainbnrlane, sometimes Jitgurth, sometimes llie Jew of Malta, and sometimes parts of all these; and at last, none of the three taking, they were forced to undress, and put off their tragic habits, and conclude the day with The Merry Milkmaid. And unless this were done, and the popular humor satisfied, as sometimes it so fortuned that the players were refractory, the benches, the tiles, the laths, the stones, oranges, apples, nuts flew about most liberally; and as there were mechanics of all professions, who fell every one to his own trade, and dissolved an house in an instant and made a ruin of a stately fabric* Taine thus describes the play-houses of Shakspere's time: Great and rude contrivances, awkward in their construction, barbarous in their appointments; but a fervid imagination supplied all that they lacked, and hardy bodies endured all inconveniences without difficulty. On a dirty site, on the banks of the Thames, rose the principal theater, the Globe, a sort of hexagonal tower, surrounded by a muddy ditch, on which was hoisted a red flag. The common people could enter as well as the rich; there were six-penny, two-penny, even ■ Outlines Life of Shak., p. 256. " City of London MS. Outlines, p. 214. ' History 0/ English Literature, book ii, chap, iv, p. 205. ^ Festivpus Notes on Don Quixote, 1654, p. 271. THE REASONS FOR CONCEALMENT. 255 penny seats; but they could not see it without money. If it rained, and it often rains in London, the people in the pit — butchers, mercers, bakers, sailors, appren- tices — received the streaming rain upon their heads. I suppose they did not trouble themselves about it; it was not so long since they began to pave the streets of London, and when men, like these, have had experience of sewers and puddles, they are not afraid of catching cold. ' While waiting for the piece, they amuse themselves after their fashion, drink beer, crack nuts, eat fruits, howl, and now and then resort to their fists; they have been known to fall upon the actors, and turn the theater upside down. At other times, when they were dissatisfied, they went to the tavern, to gi-ae the poet a hid- ing, or toss him in a blanket. . . . When the beer took effect, there was a great upturned barrel in the pit, a peculiar receptacle for general use. The smell rises, and then comes the cry, " Burn the juniper ! " They burn some in a plate on the stage, and the heavy smoke fills the air. Certainly the folk there assembled could scarcely get disgusted at anything, and cannot have had sensitive noses. In the time of Rabelais there was not much cleanliness to speak of. Remember that they were hardly out of the Middle Ages, and that in the Middle Ages man lived on a dung-hill. Above them, on the stage, were the spectators able to pay a shilling, the ele- gant people, the gentlefolk. These were sheltered from the rain, and, if they chose to pay an extra shilling, could have a stool. To this were reduced the pre- rogatives of rank and the devices of comfort; it often happened that there were not stools enough; then they lie down on the ground; this was not a time to be dainty. They play cards, smoke, insult the pit, who give it them back without stinting, and throw apples at them into the bargain. < The reader can readily conceive that the man must indeed have been exceedingly ambitions of fame who would have insisted on asserting his title to the authorship of plays acted in such theaters before such audiences. Imagine that aristocratic young gentle- man, Francis Bacon, born in the royal palace of York Place; an ex- attache of the English legation at the French court ; the son of a Lord Chancellor; the nephew of a Lord Treasurer; the offspring of the virtuous, pious and learned Lady Anne Bacon; with his head full of great plans for the reformation of philosophy, law and government; and with his eye fixed on the chair his father had occupied for twenty years: — imagine him, I say, insisting that his name should appear on the play-bills as the poet who wrote Mucedo}-us, lamburlaiic, The Jew of Malta, Titus Andronici-ts, Fair Em, Sir John Oldcastle, or The Alerry Devil of Edmonton ! Imagine the drunken, howling mob of Calibans hunting through Gray's Inn to find the son of the Lord Chancellor, in the midst of his noble friends, to whip him, or toss him in a blanket, because, forsooth, his last play had not pleased their royal fancies! 256 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE FLAYS. VI. Sharing in ihe Profits (jf the Plav-House. But suppose behind all this there was another and a more ter- rible consideration. Suppose this young nobleman had eked out his miserable income by ivritlng plays to sell to tin- theaters. Suppose it was known that he had his "second " and " third nights; " that he put into his pocket the sweaty pennies of that stinking mob of hoodlums, sailors, 'prentices, thieves, rowdies and prostitutes; and that he had used the funds so obtained to enable him to keep up his standing with my Lord of Southampton, and my Earl of Essex, and their associates, as a gentleman among gentlemen. Think of it ! And this in England, three hundred years ago, when the line of caste was almost as deep and black between the gentlemen and " the mutable, rank-scented many," as it is to-day in India between the Brahmin and the Pariah. Why, to this hour, I am told, there is an almost impassable gulf between the nobleman and the trades- man of great Britain. ' Then, as Burton says in The Anatomy of Melancholy., " idleness was the mark of nobility." To earn money in any kind of trade was despicable. To have earned it by sharing in the pennies and shillings taken in at the door, or on the stage of the play-house, would have been utterly damnable in any gentle- man. It would have involved a loss of social position worse than death. One will have to read Thackeray's story of Miss Shions Husband to find a parallel for it. VII. PoLiTiCA], Considerations. But we have seen that the hiring of actors of Shakspere's com- pany to perform the play of Richard II., by the followers of the Earl of Essex, the day before the attempt to " rase the city " and seize the person of the Queen (even as Monmouth seized the person of Richard II.), and compel a deposition by like means, was one of the counts in the indictment against Essex, which cost him his head. -, In other words, the intent of the play was treasonable, and was so understood at the time. " Know you not," said Queen Elizabeth, "that/ am Richard II.?" And I have shown good reason to believe that all the historical Plays, to say nothing of Julius Co'.sar, were written with intent to popularize rebellion against tyrants. THE REASONS EOK COXCEALMEyX. 257 "The poor player," Will Shakspere, might have written such plays solely for the pence and shillings there were in them, for he had nothing to do with politics: — he was a legal vagabond, a "vassal actor," a social outcast ; but if Francis Bacon, the able and ambitious Francis Bacon, the rival of Cecil, the friend of Southampton and Essex; the lawyer, politician, member of Parliament, courtier, be- longing to the party that desired to bring in the Scotch King and drive the aged Queen from the throne — if //t' had acknowledged the authorship of the Plays, the inference would have been irresistible in the mind of the court, that these horrible burlesques and travesties of royalty were written with malice and settled intent to bring mon- archy into contempt and justify the aristocracy in revolution. V^ VIII. Another Reason. But it must be further remembered that while Bacon lived the Shakespeare Plays were not esteemed as they are now. Then they were simply successful dramas; they drew great audiences; they filled the pockets of manager and actors. Leonard Digges, in the verses prefixed to the edition of 1640, says that when Jonson's " Fox and Subtle Alchymist " Have scarce defrayed the sea-coal fire And door-keepers: when, let but Falstaff come, Hal, Poins, the rest — you scarce shall have room, All is so pestered: let but Beatrice And Benedick be seen, lo ! in a trice The cock-pit, galleries, boxes, all are full. To hear Malvolio, that cross-gartered gull. There was no man in that age, except the author of them, who rated the Shakespeare Plays at their true value. They were admired for "the facetious grace of the writing," but the world had not yet advanced far enough in culture and civilization to recognize them as the great store-houses of the world's thought. Hence there was not then the same incentive to acknowledge them that there would be to-day. \^ IX. Still Another Reason. If Francis Bacon had died full of years and honors, I can con- ceive how, from the, height of preeminent success, he might have fronted the prejudices of the age, and acknowledged these children of his brain. 258 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. But the last years of his life were years of dishonor. He had been cast down from the place of Lord Chancellor for bribery, for selling justice for money. He had been sentenced to prison; he held his liberty by the King's grace. He was denied access to the court. He was a ruined man, " a very subject of pity," as he says himself. For a man thus living under a cloud to have said, " In my youth I wrote plays for the stage; I wrote them for money; I used Shakspere as a mask; I divided with him the money taken in at the gate of the play-houses from the scum and refuse of London," would only have invited upon his head greater ignominy and dis- grace. j^He had a wife; he had relatives, a proud and aristocratic breed. He sought to be the Aristotle of a new philosophy. Such an avowal would have smirched the Novum Organum and the Ad- vancement of Learning; it would have blotted and blurred the bright and dancing light of that torch which he had kindled for posterity. He would have had to explain his, no doubt countless, denials made years before, that he had had anything to do with the Plays. And why should he acknowledge them? He left his fame and good name to his "own countrymen after some time be past ;" he believed the cipher, which he had so laboriously inserted in the Plays, would be found out. He would obtain all the glory for his name in that distant future when he would not hear the re- proaches of caste; when, as pure spirit, he might look down from space, and see the winged-goodness which he had created, passing, on pinions of persistent purpose, through all the world, from gener- ation to generation. In that age, when his body was dust; when cousins and kin were ashes; when Shakspere had moldered into nothingness, beneath the protection of his own barbarous curse; when not a trace could be found of the bones of Elizabeth or James, or even of the stones of the Curtain or the Blackfriars: then, in a new world, a brighter world, a greater world, a better world, — to which his own age would be but as a faint and per- turbed remembrance, — he w^ould be married anew to his immortal works. He would live again, triumphant, over Burleigh and Cecil, over Coke and Buckingham; over parasites and courtiers, over tricksters and panderers: — the magnificent victory of genius over povv'er; of mind over time. And so living, he would live forever. CHAPTER VIII. COA'A'OBOA'A TING CIRCUMSTANCES. Lapped in proof, Confronted him with self-comparisons. Macbetli, i, 2. WE sometimes call, in law, an instrument between two parties an indenture. Why ? Because it was once the custom to write a deed or contract in duplicate, on a long sheet of paper or parchment, and then cut them apart upon an irregular or indented line. If, thereafter, any dispute arose as to whether one was the equivalent of the other, the edges, where they were divided, were put together to see if they precisely matched. If they did not, it followed that some fraud had somewhere been practiced. Truth, in like manner, is serrated, and its indentations fit into all other truth. If two alleged truths do not thus dovetail into each other, along the line where they approximate, then one of them is not the truth, but an error or a fraud. Let us see, therefore, if, upon a multitude of minor points, the allegation that ^Francis Bacon wrote the Shakespeare Plavs fits its indentations — its teeth — precisely into what we know of Bacon and Shakspere. In treating these questions, I shall necessarily have to be as brief as possible. I. The Question of Time. Does the biography of Bacon accord with tlie chronolog)'- of the Plays? ^^ Bacon was born in York House, or Palace, on the Strand, Janu- ary 2 2, 1 56 1. William Shakspere was born at Stratford-on-Avon, April 23, 1564. Bacon died in the spring of 1626. Shakspere in the spring of 1616. The lives of the two men were therefore parallel; but Bacon was three years the elder, and survived Shakspere ten years. Bacon's mental activity began at an early age. He was study- ing the nature of echoes at a time when other children are playing. 259 2 6o FRAA'CIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. At twelve he outstripped .his home tutors and was sent to join his brother Anthony, two years his senior, at Trinity College, Cam- bridge. At eighteen Hilliard paints his portrait and inscribes upon it, "if one could but paint his mind." We will hereafter see reasons to believe that there is extant a whole body of compositions written before he was twenty-one years of age. At about twenty he summarizes the political condition of Europe with the hand of a statesman. II. Plays before Shakspere Comes to London, The Plays antedate the time of the coming of Shakspere to London, which it is generally agreed was in 1587. That high authority, Richard Simpson, in his School of Shake- speare^ in his article, "The Early Authorship of Shakespeare'" and in Notes and Queries^ shows that the Shakespeare Plays commenced to appear in i^Ss ■' That is to say, while Shakspere was still living in Stratford — in the year the twins were born ! We are therefore to believe that in that " bookless neighborhood " the butcher's ap- prentice was, between his whippings, writing plays for the stage I Here are miracles indeed. In 1585 Robert Greene both registered and published his Plane- tomachia, and in this work he denounces "some avaricious player, . . . who, not content with his own province [of acting], should dare to intrude into the field of authorship, which ought to belong solely to the professed scholars" — like Greene himself. And from that time forward Greene continued to gibe at this same some- body, who was writing plays for the stage. He speaks of "gentle- men poets" in 1588, who set "the end of scholarism in an English blank verse; ... it is the humor of a novice that tickles them with self-love." Thomas Nash says, in an epistle prefixed to Greene's Arcadia^ published, according to Mr. Dyce, in 1587: It is a common practice, now-a-days, amongst a sort of shifting companions, that run through every art and thrive at none, to leave the trade of noveriut [lawyer], whereto they ruere horn, and busy themselves with the endeavors of art, that could scarcely Latinize their neck-verse, if they should have need. Yet English Seneca, read by candle-light, yields many good sentences, as "blood is a beggar," and so forth; and if you entreat him fair, in a frosty morning, he will aflford you whole Hamlets, I should say handfuls, of tragical speeches. ' Vol. ii, p. 342. "^ North Briiish Reviccf, vol. Hi. ■' 4th scries, vol. viii. CORROBORATING CIRCUMSTANCES. 261 Here it appears that in 1587, the very year when Shakspere ■came to London, and while he was probably holding horses at the front door of the theater, the play of Hamlet, Shakespeare's own play of Hamlet, was being acted; and was believed by other play- wrights to, have been composed by some lawyer, who was born a lawyer. And did not Nash's words, "if you entreat him fair of a frosty morning," allude to that earl}^ morning scene " of a frosty morning," where Hamlet meets the Ghost, for the first time, on the platform of the castle: Ifaiiilit. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold. Horatio. It is a nipping and an eager air. But this lawyer, who was born a lawyer, to whom allusion is made by Nash, so far from being a mere-horse-holder, was some- thing of a scholar, for Nash continues: But . . . what's that will last always ? Seneca let blood line by line and page by page, at length must die to our stage, which makes his [Seneca's] fam- ished followers . . . leap into a new occupation and translate tvo-penny pamphlets from the Italian without any knowledge even of its articles.' H' I We have seen that several of the so-called Shakespeare comedies were founded on untranslated Italian novels. Will the men who argue that Shakspere stood at the door of the play-house and held horses, and at the same time wrote the magnificent and scholarly periods of Hamlet, go farther and ask us to believe that the butcher's apprentice, the deer-stealer, the beer-guzzler, "oft- whipped and imprisoned," had, in the filthy, bookless village of Stratford, acquired even an imperfect knowledge of the Italian ? But Nash goes farther. He says: v Sundry other siveet gentlemen I do know, that we [sic] have vaunted their pens in private-devices and tricked rip a company of taffaty fools with their feathers, whose beauty, if our poets had not pecked, with the supply of their perriwigs, they might have anticked it until this time, up and down the country with The King of Fairies and dined every day at the pease-poridge ordinary with Delfrigius. What does all this mean ? Why, that there were poets who were not actors, "sweet gentlemen'' (and that word meant a good deal in 1587), who had written "private devices," as we know Bacon to have written "masks" for private entertainments; and these gentlemen were rich enough to have furnished out a company ^ School 0/ Shak., vol. ii, p. 358. 262 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. of actors with feathers and periwigs, to take part in these private- theatricals; and if the " gentlemen " had not pecked (objected?) the players would have anticked it, that is, played in this finery, all over the country. Hamlet says to Horatio, after he has written the play and had it acted and thereby "touched the conscience of the King: " Would not this, sir, and a f crest of yt'^Z/^t';;? (if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me), with two provincial roses on my ragged shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players? And three years after Nash wrote the above, Robert Greene refers to Shakspere as the only " Shake-scene in the country," and as "an upstart crow beautified with owr feathers." ni. A Pretended Plav-Writer who Cannot Write English. Simpson believes that Fair Etn was written by Shakspere in 1587. In 1587 Greene wrote his Farewell to Folly, published in 1591, in which he criticises the play of Fair Em and positively states that it was written by some gentleman of position, who put it forth in the name of a play-actor who was almost wholly uneducated. He says: Others will flout and over-read every line with a frump, and say 'tis scurvy, when they themselves are such scabbed lads that they are like to die of the /a si on/ ^ but if they come to write or publish anything in print, it is either distilled out of ballads, or borrowed of theological poets, which, for ^/u-ir cal/ing and gravity being loth to have any profane pamphlets pass tinder their hand, get some other Batil- lus to set his name to their verses. Thus is the ass made proud by this underhand brokery. And he that eannot ivrite tnie English loithout the help of clerks of parish churches, will needs make himself the father of interludes. O, 'tis a jolly matter when a man hath a familiar style, and can endite a whole year and not be behold- ing to art ! But to bring Scripture to prove anything he says, and kill it dead with the text in a trifling subject of love, I tell you is no small piece of cunning. As, for example, two lovers on the stage arguing one another of unkindness, his mis- tress runs over him with this canonical sentence, "A man's conscience is a thou- sand witnesses;" and her knight again excuseth himself with that saying of the apostle, " Love covereth a multitude of sins."' The two lines here quoted are from Fair Em: Thy conscience is a thousand witnesses.'' Yet love, that covers multitude of sins.-* * A disease of horses, like glanders. ^ Sc. xvii, 1. 1308. ^ School of Skate., chap, xi, p. 377. ■* Ibid., 1. 1271. CORROBORATING CIRCUMSTANCES. 2O; What does this prove? That it was the belief of Greene, who was himself a playwright, that Fair Em was not written by the man in whose name it was put forth, but by some one of " calling and gravity," who had made use of another as a mask. And that this latter person was an ignorant man, who could not write true English without the help of the clerks of parish churches. But Simpson and many others ar^ satisfied that Fair Em was written by the same mind which produced the Shakespeare Plays ! But as the Farewell to Folly was written in 1587, and it is generally con- ceded that Shakspere did not commence to write until 1592, five years afterward, and as Shakspere was in 1587 hanging about the play-house either as a horse-holder or a "servitor," these words could not apply to him. We will see reason hereafter to conclude that they applied to Marlowe. But if they did apply to Shakspere, then we have the significant fact, as Simpson says. That Greene here pretends that Shakespeare could not have written the play himself; it was written by some theological poet, and fathered by him. And Simpson, be it remembered, is no Baconian. It has been urged, as a strong point in favor of William Shakspere's author- ship of the Plays, that his right to them was never questioned during his lifetime. If he wrote plays in 1587, then Greene did question the reality of his authorship, and boldly charged that he was an ignorant man, and the cover for some one else. If he did not write plays before 1592, — and a series of plays appeared between 1585 and 1592 which the highest critics contend were produced by the same mind which created the Shakespeare Plays, — then the whole series could not have been produced by the man of Stratford- on-Avon; and if the first of the series of identical works was not written by him, the last of the series could not have been. The advo- cates of Shakspere can take either horn of the dilemma they please. Simpson thus sums up Greene's conclusions about Shakspere: That he appropriated and refurbished other men's plays; that he was a lack- latin, who had no acquaintance with any foreign language, except, perhapL, French, and lived from the translator's trencher, and such like. Throughout we see Greenes determination not to recognize Shakspere as a man capable of doing any- thing by himself. At first, Greene simply fathers some composition of his upon "two gentlemen poets," because he, in Greene's opinion, was incapable of loriting anything. Then as to Fair Em, it is either distilled out of ballads, or it is written by some theological poet, who is ashamed to set his own name to it. It could not have been written by one who cannot write English without the aid of a parish 1^ 264 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. clerk. Then, at last, Greene owns that his rival might have written a speech or two, might have interpreted for the puppets, have indited a moral, or might be -ven capable of penning The Windmill — The Miller's Daughter — without help, for so I interpret the words before quoted, "reputed able at my proper cost to build a windmill," but Greene %i)ill ?iot oivtt that the man is capable 0/ having really done that 'which /•asses /or his. And it c^eems to me the words, " reputed able at my proper cost to build a windmill," do not refer tio the play, but to the wealth of the player. IV. He Writes for Other Companies besides Shakspere's. We turn now to another curious fact, quite incompatible with the theory that the man of Stratford wrote the Plays. What do we know of him ? That when he fled to London he acted at first, as tradition tells us, as a horse-holder, and was then admitted to the play-house as a servant. And the tradition of his being a horse-holder is curiously confirmed by the fact that when Greene alludes to him as ''the only Shake-scene in the country," he advises his fellow-playwrights to prepare no more dramas for the actors, because of the predominance of that "Johannes-factotum," Shake-scene, and adds: Seek you better masters; for it is a pity men of such rare wits should be sub- ject to the pleasure of such rude grooms. Certainly the man who had been recently taking charge of horses might very properly be referred to as a groom. But here we stumble upon another difficulty. Not only did plays which are now attributed to Shakspere make their appearance on the London stage while he was still living in Stratford, whipped and persecuted by Sir Thomas Lucy, and subsequently, while he was acting as groom for the visitors to the play-house, but at this very time, we are told, he not only supplied his own theater with plays, but, with extraordinary fecundity, he furnished plays to every company of actors in London ! Tradition tells us that during his early years in the great city he was "received into the play-house as a serviture." Is it possible that while so employed — a servant, a menial, a call-boy — in one company, he could furnish plays to other and rival companies ? Would his profits not have lifted him above the necessity of acting as groom or call-boy ? Simpson says: CORROBORA TINC CIRCUMSTANCES. ^65 Other prominent companies were those of the Earl of Sussex (1589), the Earl of Worcester (1590), and the Earl of Pembroke (1592). For all these Shakspere can he shown to have written during the first part of his career. According to the well- known epistle annexed to Greene's Groatsworth of Wit, Shakspere, by 1592, had become so absolute a fohannes factotum, for the actors of the Adiy generally, that the man who considered himself the chief of the scholastic school of dramatists not only determined for his own part to abandon play-writing, but urged his com- panions to do the same. . . . It is clear that befo)-e IS92 Shakspere must have been prodigiously active, and that plays wholly or partly from his pen must have been in the possession of many of the actors and companies. For the fruits of this activity -we are not to look in his recognized tuorks. Those, with few exceptions, are the plays he -wrote for the Lord Chamberlain^ s men. . . . There are two kinds of Shaksperean remains which may be recorded, or rather assigned, to their real original author, by the critic and historian. First, the dramas prior to 1592, which are not included in his works; and secondly, the dramas over the proauction of which he presided, or with which he was connected as editor, reviser or adviser.' And again Simpson says: The recognized v.'orks of Shakspere contain scarcely any plays but those which he produced for the Lord Chamberlain's or King's company of actors. But in 1592 Greene tells us he had almost a monopoly of dramatic production, and had made himself necessary, not to one co??ipany, but to the players in general. It may be proved that he wrote for the Lord Strange's men, and for those of the Earl of Pembroke and the Earl of Sussex. -' But while this distinguished scholar tells us that Shakspere was "prodigiously active prior to 1592," and supplied all the different companies with plays, we turn U) the other commentators and biographers, and they unite in assuring us that Shakspere did not appear as an author until 1592 !/ Halliwell-Phillipps fixes the exact date as March 3d, 1592, when a new drama was brought out b}' Lord Strange's servants, to-wit, //r//;;v TV., " in all probability his earliest complete dramatic work." Here, then, is our dilemma: 1. It is proved that Shakespeare did not begin to write until 1592- 2. It is proved that there is a whole body of compositions written by the mind which we call Shakespeare, and which were acted on the stage before 1592. 3. It is proved that Shakspere was a servant in or about one play-house. 4. It is proved that while so engaged he furnished plays to rival play-houses. > School 0/ Shak., vol. i, p. 20— Introduction. - Ibid., vol. i, p. 8. / 266 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. Is all this conceivable ? Would the proprietor of one theater per- mit his servant to give to other theaters the means of drawing the crowd from his own doors and the shillings from his own pocket ? V. The Plays Cease to Appear Long before Shakspere's Death. y The poet Dryden stated, in 1680, that Othello was Shakespeare's last play. Dryden was born only fifteen years after Shakspere's death. He was himself a play-writer; a frequenter of play-houses; the associate of actors; he wrote the statement quoted only sixty- four years after Shakspere died; he doubtless spoke the tradition common among the actors of London. Now, it is well known that Othello was in existence in 1605, eleven years before Shakspere's death. Malone says, " We knozv it was acted in 1604." Knight says: Mr. Peter Cunningham confirms this, by having found an entry in the Revels at Court of a performance of Othello in 1604.' We can conceive that it may have been the last of the great Shakespearean tragedies, The Te/nJ>est he'\ng the last of the comedies. Certain it is, however, that the Plays ceased to appear about the time Bacon rose to high and lucrative employment in the state. and several years before the death of their putative author. ] All the Plays seem to have originated in that period of time during which Bacon was poor and unemployed. Take even those which are conceded to belong to Shakespeare's "later period." Halliwell-Phillipps says: Alacbeth, in some form, had been introduced on the English stage as early as 1600, for Kempe, the actor, in his "Nine Daies' Wonder performed in a Daunce from London to Norwich," alludes to a play of Macdoel, or Macdoheth, or Mae- someivhat, for I am sure a Alac it was, though I never had the maw to see it.' Hamlet, we have seen, first appeared, probably in some imperfect form, in 1585. Lear was acted before King James at Whitehall in the year 1606. Halliwell-Phillipps says: The four years and a half that intervened between the performance of The Tempest in 1611, and the author's death, could not have been one of his periods of • Knight, introd. notice Othello. ' Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines Life 0/ Shale., p. 291. \ CORROBORATING CIRCUMSTAXCES. 267 great literary activity. So manj^ of his plays are known to have been in existence at the former date, it follows that there are only six which could by any possi- bility have been written after that time; and it is not likely that the whole of those belong to so late an era. These facts lead irresistiblv to the conclusion that the poat abandoned literary occupation a considerable period before his decease.' Knight says: But when the days of pleasure arrived, is it reasonable to believe 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?'^ Here, therefore, is another inexplicable fact:j\Not only did Shakspere, as we are told, write plays for the London stage before he went to London; but after he had returned to Stratford, with ample leisure and the incentive to make money, the man who sued his neighbor for a few shillings, for malt sold, and who was, we are asked to believe, the most fecund of human intelligences, remained idly in his native village, writing nothing, doing nothing. Was there ever heard, before or since, of such a vast and laborious and creative mind, retiring thus into itself, into nothingness, — and locking the door and throwing away the key, — and vegetating, for from five to ten years, amid muck-heaps and filthy ditches? Would the author of Larr and Hamlet — the profound, the scholarly phil- osopher — be capable of such mental suicide; such death in life; such absorption of brain in flesh; such crawling into the innermost recesses of self-oblivion ? Five or ten years of nothingness ! Not a play; not a letter; not a syllable; nothing but three ignorant-look- ing signatures to a will, which appears to liave been drawn by a lawyer who thought the testator could not write his name. VI. The Sonnets. \^ And in the so-called *' Shakespeare Sonnets " we find a whole congeries of mysteries. The critical world has racked all its brains to determine who W. H. was — "the onlie begetter of these insuing sonnets;" and how any other man could "beget" them if they were Shakespeare's. Some one speaks of that collection of sonnets, » Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines Life of Shak., p. 155. " Knight's Shak. Biography, p. 525. 268 J^J^AXCJS BACOX THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. published in 1609, as "one of the most singular volumes ever issued from the press." Let us point at a few of its singu- larities: Sonnet Ixxvi says: Why is my verse so barren of new pride ? So far from variation or quick change ? Why, with the time, do I not glance aside To new-found methods and to compounds strange ? Why write I still all one, ever the same, And keep invention in a noted iveed, Tliat even' word doth almost tell my name, Sho7ving their birth and where they did proceed? I What is the meaning of this ? Clearly that the writer was hidden in a weed, a disguise; and we have already seen that Bacon employed the word weed to signify a disguise. But it is more than a disguise — it is a «^/^^ disguise. Surely the name S/iakespeare -was noted enough. And the writer, covered by this disguise, fears that every word he writes doth betray him; — doth "almost tell his name," their birth and where they came from. This is all very remarkable if Shakspere 7oas Shakespeare. Then there was no weed, no disguise and no danger of the secret authorship being revealed. But we find Francis Bacon, as I have shown, also referring to a weed. The state and bread of the poor and oppressed have been precious in mine -eyes. I have hated alt cruelty and hardness of heart. I have, though in a despised weed, procured the good of all men. Marvelous, indeed, is it to find Shakespeare's sonnets referring to "a noted 7cieed,'" and Bacon referring to "a despised 7veed"\ — that is to say, Shakespeare admits that the writer has kept inven- tion in a disguise; and Bacon claims that he himself, under a dis- guise, has procured the good of all men; and that this disguise was a despised one, as the name of a play-actor like Shakspere would necessarily be. But there is another incompatibility in these sonnets with the belief that William Shakspere wrote them. In Sonnet ex we read: Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there. And made myself a motley to the view, Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear. CORROBOKA TING CIRCUMSTAXCES. 269- And in the next sonnet we have: Oh, 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 i/iy uaiiie rcct'i^'cs a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand. These lines have been interpreted to " refer to the bitter feeling of personal degradation allowed by Shakespeare to result from his connection with the stage." But Halliwell-Phillipps says: Is it conceivable that a man who encouraged a sentiment of this nature, one which must have been accompanied with a distaste and contempt for his profession, would have remained an actor years and years after any real necessity for such a course had expired ? By the spring of 1602 at the latest, if not previously, he had acquired a secure and definite competence, independently of his emoluments as a dramatist, and yet eight years afterward, in 1610, he is discovered playing in com- pany with Burbadge and Heminge at the Blackfriars Theater.' . '^ It is impossible that so transcendent a genius — a statesman, a historian, a lawyer, a philosopher, a linguist, a courtier, a natural aristocrat; holding the " many-headed mob " and " the base mechan- ical fellows" in absolute contempt; with wealth enough to free him from the pinch of poverty — should have remained, almost to the very last, a "vassal actor," liable to be pelted with decayed vegetables, or tossed in a blanket, and ranked in legal estimation with vagabonds and prostitutes. It is impossible that he should have continued for so many years to have acted subordinate parts of ghosts and old men, in unroofed enclosures, amid the foul exhalations of a mob, which could only be covered by the burning of juniper branches. Surely such a man, in such an age of unrest, when humble but ambitious adventurers rose to high places, would have carved out for himself some nobler position in life; or would, at least, have left behind him some evidence that he tried to do so. Neither can we conceive how one who commenced life as a peasant, and worked at the trade of a butcher, and who had fled to London to escape public whipping and imprisonment, could feel that his name " received a brand " by associating with Bur- badge and Nathaniel Field and the other actors. Was it not, in^ ' Outlines Life of Shak., p. no. 270 FJiANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE FLAYS. every sense, an elevation for him ? And if he felt ashamed of his connection with the stage, why did he, in his last act on earth, the drawing of his will, refer to his "fellows," Heminge and Condell, and leave them presents of rings ? But all this feeling of humiliation here pictured would be most natural to Francis Bacon. The guilty goddess of his harmful deeds had, indeed, not provided him the necessaries of life, and he had been forced to have recourse to " public means," to-wit, play-writing; and thereby his name had been "branded," and his nature had been degraded to the level of the actors. We turn now to another point. VII. The Early Marks of Age. There are many evidences that the person who wrote the son- nets began to show the marks of age at an early period. The 138th sonnet was published in 1599, in The Passionate Pilgrim, when William Shakspere was thirty-five years of age; and yet in it the writer speaks of himself as old: Although .she knows my days are past the best . . . And wherefore say not I, that I am old ? O, love's best habit is in seeming trust, And age in love loves not to have years told. And again he says in the 22d sonnet: My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date. Again, in the 62d sonnet, he speaks of himself as Bated and chopped with tanned antiquity. And in the 73d sonnet he says: That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare, ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. Now, all this would be unusual language for a man of thirty- five to apply to himself; but it agrees well with what we know of Francis Bacon in this respect. John Campbell says: The marks of age were prematurely impressed upon him. CORROBORATING CIRCUMSTAXCES. 271 He writes to his uncle Burleigh in 1591: I am now somewhat ancient; one and thirty years is a great deal of sand in the hour-glass.' And again he says, about the same time: I would be sorry she [the Queen] should estrange in my last years, for so I account them reckoning by health, not by age.'- VIII. The Wri'ier's Liff. Threatened. Then there is another passage in the sonnets which does not, so far as we know, fit into the career of tlie wealthy burgher of Strat- ford, but accords admirably with an incident in the life of Bacon. In the 74th sonnet we read: But be contented: when that fell arrest Without all bail shall carry me away, My life hath in this line some interest, Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. . . . The earth can have but earth, which is his due; , / My spirit is thine, the better part of me: So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, The prey of worms, my body being dea '»; The coward conquest of a wretch's knife. Too base of thee to be remembered. And again in the 90th sonnet we read: Then hate me if thou wilt, if ever now; N'o'ui 7i philosophical tlieatcr."^ He calls the world of art "a universe or theater of things."^ Speaking of the priest Simonds instructing Sininell to per- sonate Lord Edward Plantagenet, Bacon says: This priest, being utterly unacquainted with the true person, should think it pos- sible to instruct his player either in gesture or fashions. . . . None could hold the book so well to prompt and instruct this stage play as he could. . . . He thought good, after the manner of scejtes in stage plays and masks, to show it afar off.* Referring to the degradation of the royal pretender, Lambert Simnell, to a position in the kitchen of the King, Bacon says: So that in a kind of " matticina" of human force, he turned a broach who had worn a crown; whereas fortune does not commonly bring in a comedy or farce after a tragedy.'" Speaking of Warbeck's conspiracy, Bacon says: It was one of the longest plays of that kind that hath been in memory.' And here I group together several similar expressions: Therefore, now, lil;e the end of a play, a great many came upon the stage at once." He [Perkin Warbeck] had contrived with himself a c'ast and tragical plot.^ I have given the rule where a man cannot fitly play his oicn part, if he have not a friend he may i/iiit the stage , 10 But men must know that in this theater of man's life, it is reserved only for God and the angels to be lookers-on." As if they would make you like a king in a play, who, when one would think he standeth in great majesty and felicity, is troubled to say his part. ^'^ With which speech he put the army into an infinite fury and uproar, whereas truth was he had no brother; neither was there any such matter, but he played it merely as if he had been upon the stage. ^^ Those friends whom I accounted no stage friends, but private friends.''' ' Letter to Sir Thomas Bodley. » Ibid. ^ Letter to Essex, Oct. 4, 1596. » Ibid. ' Ixi, Ixii. 10 Essay Of Friendship. * History of Henry VI/. " .Advancement 0/ Learnings, book ii. ' Ibid. >9 Cesiu Crayorum — Li_/e and Works, vol. i, p. 339. * Ibid. i> Advancement of Learning, book ii. ' Ibid. i« Letter to Tobie Matthew. 276 FKAXCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. All that would be but 3. play upon the stage, if justice went not on in the light course.' Zeno and Socrates . . . placed felicity in \irtue; . . . the Cyrenaics and Epi- curians placed it in pleasure, and made virtue (as it is used in some coniedics op' errors, wherein the mistress and maid change habits) to be but as a servant. - We regard all the systems of philosophy hitherto received or imagined as so' many plays brought out and performed, creating fictitious and theatrical ivorlds? The plot of this our theater resembles those of the poetical, where the plots which are invented for the .stage are more consistent, elegant and pleasurable than those taken from real history. •* I might continue these examples indefinitely, for Bacon's whole writings bubble and sparkle with coinparisons drawn from plays, play-houses and actors; and yet, marvelous to relate, he never notices the existence of the greatest dramatic writings the world had ever known, which he must have witnessed on the stage a thousand times. He takes Ben Jonson into his house as an amanu- ensis, but the mightiest mind of all time, if Shakspere was Shake- speare, he never notices, even when he is uttering thoughts and preaching a philosophy identical with his own ! How can all this, be explained ? Mrs. Pott calls attention to the following: Beaumont and Fletcher dedicated to Bacon the mask which was designed to- celebrate the marriage of the Count Palatine with the Princess Elizabeth, February 14, 1612-13. The dedication of this mask begins with an acknowledgment that Bacon, with the gentlemen of Gray's Inn, and the Inner Temple, had " spared no pains nor travail in the setting forth, ordering and furnishing of this mask . . . and you. Sir Francis Bacon, especially, as you did then by your countenance and loving affection advance it, so let your good word grace it, which is able to add value to the greatest and least matters." "On Tuesday," says Chamberlain, writ- ing on the iSth of February, 1612-13," it came to Gray's Inn and the Inner Temple's turn to come with their mask, whereof Sir Francis Bacon was the chief contriver." {Court and Times of James I., vol. i, p. 227; see Spedding, vol. iv, p. 344.)^ And we find Bacon writing an essay on Masques, in which he gave directions as to scenery, music, colors and trappings, and even speaks of the necessity of sweet odors "to drown the steam and heat " of the audience ! And he philosophizes, as I have shown, upon the drama, its usefulness, its purposes for good, its characteristics; and describes how, in a play, the different passions may be represented, and how ' Letter to Buckingham, 1619. ' Novum Orgamim. ^Advancement o/ Learning, book ii. * Ibid. ^ Did Francis Bacon Write " Shakespeare" ? part i. p. 8. COKROBORATIXG CIRCUMSTANCES. 277 the growth and development of any special feeling or passion may be shown; and Macaulay writes (as if it were a foot-note to the passage) this in reference to the Shakespeare Plays: In a piece which may be read in three hours, we see a character gradually unfold all its recesses to us; we see it change with the change of circum- stances. The petulant youth rises into the politic and war-like sovereign. The profuse and courteous philanthropist soars into a hater and scorner of his kind. The tyrant is altered by the chastisement of affliction into a pensive moralist. And this student t)f the drama, this frequenter of the play- houses, this writer of plays and masks, this sovereign and pene- trating intellect could not perceive that there stood at his elbow (the associate, " the fellow of his clerk, Jonson) the vastest genius the human race had ever produced ! This philosopher of prose could not recognize the philosopher of poetry; this writer of prose histories did not know the writer of dramatical histories; this writer of sonnets, this "concealed poet," this "greatest wit" of the world (although known by another name), took no notice of that other mighty intellect, splendid wit and sweet poet, who acted on the boards of his own law school of Gray's Inn ! It is incom- prehensible. It is incredible. And, be it further remembered, Shakespeare dedicated both the Venus and Adonis and T/ic Rape of Liicreee to the Earl of South- ampton, and the Earl was Bacon's particular friend and associate, and a member of his laiu se/iooi of Grav's luii ; and yet, while Shake- speare dedicates his poems to the Earl, he seems not to have known his friend and fellow, Francis Bacon. On the other hand, in the fact that Southampton was a student in Gray's Inn, we see the reason why the Shakespeare poems were inscribed to him, under the cover of the play-actor's name. I have faith enough in the magnanimity of mind of Francis Bacon to believe that if he had really found, in humble life, a man of the extraordinary genius revealed in the Shakespeare Plays (sup- posing for an instant that they were not Bacon's work), he w^ould have stooped down and taken him by the hand; he would have intro- duced him to liis friends; he would have quoted from him in his writings, and we should liave found among his papers numbers of letters to and from him. Their lives would have impinged on each other; they would have discussed poetry and philosophy in speech V 278 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. and in correspondence. Bacon would have visited Stratford, and Shakspere St. Albans. " Poets," said Ben Jonson, "are rarer births than kings;" and the man who wrote the Plays was the king of poets. Was Francis Bacon — "the wisest of mankind" — so blind or so shallow as to be unaware of the greatness of the Shakespeare Plays? Who will believe it? XII. Certain Incompatibilities with Shakspere. Let me touch passingly on some passages in the Plays which it would seem that the man of Stratford could not have written. Who can believe that William Shakspere, whose father followed the trade of a butcher, and who was himself, as tradition assures us, apprenticed to the same humble calling, could have written these lines in speaking of Wolsey? This butche/ s cur is venom-mouthed, and I Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book Outworths a noble's blood.' Richard Grant White says: Shakespeare's works are full of passages, to write which, if he had loved his wife and honored her, would have been gall and wormwood to his soul; nay, which, if he had loved and honored her, he could not have written. The nature of the subject forbids the marshaling of this terrible array; but did the "flax-wench" whom he uses for the most degrading of comparisons ( Winter s Tale, i, 2) do more, " bfefore her troth-plight," than the woman who bore his name and whom his children called mother?'^ But Grant White fails to see that it is not a question as to whether Shakspere loved and honored his wife or not. Even if he had not loved and honored her, he would, if a sensitive and high- spirited man, for his own sake and the sake of his family, have avoided the subject as if it carried the contagion of a pestilence^ Again we are told, in all the biographies, that Shakspere was cruelly persecuted and punished by Sir Thomas Lucy, and "forced to fly the country," and that for revenge he wrote a bitter ballad against the Knight; and that subsequently, in T/w Merry Wives pf Windsor, he made Sir Thomas the object of his ridicule in the character of Justice Shallow. But if this be true, why did the writer of the Plays in the ist Henry VI. bring upon the stage the ancestor of this same Sir Thomas Lucy, Sir William Lucy, and ' Ifcnry 1'///.^ i, i. "^ Li/e and Gt'tiius o/ Shak.. p. 51. COKKOBORA TING CIRCUMSTANCES. 279 paint him in honorable colors as a brave soldier and true patriot for the admiration of the public and posterity ? But the son of Shakspere's Lucy, Sir Thomas Lucy, was the intimate friend and correspondent of Francis Bacon. XIII. Shakspere was Falstaff. But there follows another question. It is evident that Justice Shallow was intended to personate Sir Thomas Lucy, and the play of The Merry Wives of Windsor opens with an allusion to the steal- ing of his deer. I quote the beginning of the act: Shalloiv. 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. . . . They may give the dozen white /uc-fs in their coat. The coat-of-arms of the Lucy family was three /uees, and from this the name was derived. So that herein it is placed beyond question that Justice Shallow is intended to represent Sir Thomas Lucy. This is conceded by all the commentators. It is also conceded that the deer which in this scene Sir John Falstaff is alleged to have killed were the same deer which Shakspere had slain in his youth. Shallow. It is a riot. . . . Page. I am glad to see your worships well; I thank you for my venison, Master Shallow. Shalloiv. Master Page, I am glad to see you; much good do it your good heart. I wished your venison better; // was ill killed. . . . Enter Falstaff. Falstaff. Now, Master Shallow; you'll complain of me to the King? Sfialloiv. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my deer and broken open my lodge. Falstaff. But not kissed your keeper's daughter. Therefore it follows tliat if Shallow was Sir Thomas Lucy, and if the deer that were killed were the deer Shakspere killed, then S/iakspcre 7C'as Falstaff^ ! And if Shakspere wrote the Plays, he deliberately represented himself in the character of Falstaff. And what was the character of Falstaff as delineated in that very play ? It was that of a gross, sensual, sordid old liar and thief. The whole play turns on his sensuality united to sordidness. He makes love to Page's wife because "the report goes she has all the rule of her husband's purse; he hath a legion of angels." And Falstaff is also represented 2 So FKAXCJS BACOA' THE AUTHOR OF TIJE PLAYS. as sharing in the thefts of his followers, as witness the following dialogue: Falstaff. I will not lend thee a penny. Pistol Why, then, the world's mine oyster. Which I with -sword will open. Falstaff. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you should lay my counte- nance to pawn: I have grated upon my good friends for three reprieves for you and your coach-fellow, Nym; or else you had looked through the grate like a geminy of baboons. I am damned in hell for swearing to gentlemen, my friends, you were good soldiers and tall fellows: and when Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan, I took 't upon mine honor thou hadst it not. Pistol. Didst not thou share? Hadst thou not fifteen pence? Falstaff. Reason, you rogue, reason: think'st thou I'll endangermy io\Agratis? Is it conceivable that the great man, the scholar, the philosopher, the tender-souled, ambitious, sensitive man who wrote the sonnets would deliberately represent himself as Falstaff' ? But if some one else wrote the Plays, then this whole scene con- cerning the deer-stealing contains, probably, a cipher narrative of the early lifq of Shakspere; for it is in the same play, as we shall see hereafter, that we find the cipher words William, Shakes, peere, and Francisco Bacon. And when we read the obscene anec- dotes which tradition has delivered down to us, touching Shak- spere's sensuality and mother-wit, and then look at the gross face represented in the monument in the Stratford church, we can realize that William Shakspere may have been the original of Fal- staff, and that it was not by accident he was represented as having killed the deer of that Justice Shallow who had the twelve white luces on his coat-of-arms. Richard Grant White, earnest anti-Baconian as he is, says of that bust: The monument is ugly; the staring, painted, figure-head-like bust hideous.' It is the face of Falstaff. XIV. A Curious Fact. I proceed now to call the attention of the reader to a curious fact, revealed by a study of the copies of legal documents found in Halliwell-Phillipps' Outlines of the Life of Shakespeare. Shakspere purchased a house and lot in London, on the loth day of March, 1612, "within the precinct of the late Black Fryers." ^ Knglanc/ Without ami U'/t/u'ii, p. 521. C0RK0B0RA71XG CIRCUMSTANCES. 281 It has puzzled his biographers to tell what he wanted this property for. All his other purchases were in Stratford or vicinity. He did not need it for a home, for before this time he had retired to Strat- ford to live in his great house, New Place; and in the deed of pur- chase of the Blackf riars property he is described as " of Stratford-on- Avon, gentleman." The house and lot were close to the Blackfriars Theater, and property was falling in the neighborhood because of that proximity. Shakspere rented it to one John Robinson. But there are three curious features in connection with this purchase: 1. Shakspere, although very rich at the time, did not pay down all the purchase-money, but left ^60 standing upon mortgage, which was not extinguished until after his death. 2. Shakspere bought the property from Henry Walker, minstrel, for ^140, while Walker in 1604 had bought it for ^100. This repre- sented an increase equal to $2,400 to-day. And yet we find the peo- ple of that vicinity petitioning in 1618-19 to have the theater closed, because of the great injury it did to property-holders around it. 3. Walker's grantor was Matthew Bacon, of Grays I>iii, in the county of Middlesex, gentleman, and included in the purchase was the following: ■ - And also all that plott of ground on the west side of the same tenement, which was lately inclosed with boordes, on two sides thereof, by Anne Bacon, rvidotc, so farre and in such sorte as the same was inclosed by the said An>:e BACON and not otherwise. Was this "Anne Bacon, widow," the mother of Francis Bacon? Her name was Anne. And who was Matthew Bacon, of Gray's Inn ? Was he one of Francis Bacon's family ? And is it not strange to find the names of Bacon and Shakspere coming together thus in a business transaction? And does it not look as if Shak- spere had paid a debt to some one by buying a piece of property for $2,400 more than it was worth, and giving a mortgage for ^60, equal to $3,600 of our money at the present time ? XV. The Northumberland House Manuscript. There is 'one other instance where the naine of Shakspere is found associated with that of Francis Bacon. In 1867 there was discovered in the library of Northumberland House, in London, a remarkable MS., containing copies of several 282 FJiANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. papers written by Francis Bacon. It was found in a l)ox of old papers which had long remained undisturbed. There is a title- page, which embraces a iixhle of co/ifc/its of the volume, and this contains not only the names of writings unquestionably Bacon's, but also the names of plays which are supposed to have been written by Shakespeare. But only part of the manuscript volume remains, and the portions lost embrace the following pieces enu- merated on the title-leaf: Orations at Graie's Inns re7rlls .... Queen s MaU .... By Mr. Frattneis Bacon Essaies by the same author. Richard the Second. Richard the Third. Asmund and Cornelia. Isle of Dogs frinnt. By Thomas iVashe, inferior places.^ How comes it that the Shakespeare plays, RicJuird JI. and Richard III.., should be mixed up in a volume of Bacon's manu- scripts with his own letters and essays and a mask written by him in 1592? Judge Holmes says: And then, the blank space at the side and between the titles is scribbled all over with various words, letters, phrases and scraps of verse in English and Latin, as if the copyist were merely trying his pen, and writing down whatever first came into his head. Among these scribblings, beside the name of Francis Bacon several times, the name of William Shakespeare is written eight or nine times over. A line from The Rape of Lucrece is written thus: "Revealing day through every crannie peeps and," the writer taking peeps from the next couplet instead of spies. Three others are Anthony comfrl. and consort and honorificabilitudino and plaies [plays]. . . . The word honorificabilitttdino is not found in any dic- tionary that I know of, but in Love's Labor s Lost.- Costard, the clown, bandying Latin with the tall schoolmaster and curate (who "had been at a great feast of languages and stolen the scraps"), exclaims: Oh ! they have lived long on the alms-basket of words. I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word, for thou art not so long by the head as honorifca- bilitudinatihus. •'' Let those who are disposed to study this discovery turn to Judge Holmes' work. It is sufficient for me to ncrte here, that in a collection of Bacon's papers, made undoubtedly by his aman-^ ' Holmes' /( uihorship 0/ .Shakespeare^ vol. li, p. 658, ed. 1886. ' Ibid., 658-682. * Act V, scene j. . C0A'A'0B0A\4 TING CIRCUMSTANCES. 283 uensis, plays that are recognized to be Shakespeare's are em- braced; and the name of Francis Bacon and the name of William Shakespeare (spelled as it was spelled in the published quartos, but not as the man himself spelled it) are scribbled all over this manuscript collection, and at the same time sentences and words are quoted from the Shakespeare Plays and Poems. And, while we find this association of the two names in Bacon's library and private papers, there is not one word in his published writings or his correspondence to show that he knew that such a being as William Shakspere ever existed. '"Tis strange ; 'tis passing strange." XVI. Another Sincui.ar Fact. Edmund Spenser visited London in 1590, and in 1591 he pub- lished his poem. The Tears of the Muses, in which Thalia, the muse of poetry, laments that a change has come over the play- houses ; that The sweet delights of It-aming' s hrastar, That wont with comic sock to beautify The painted theaters, and fill with pleasure The listeners' eyes and ears with melody, are " all gone." And all that goodly glee Which wont to be the glory of gay wits, Is laid a-bed; and in lieu thereof "ugly barbarism and brutish ignorance " fill the stage, ^ And with vain joys the vulgar entertain. Instead thereof scoffing .Scurrility And scornful Folly with Contempt is crept, Rolling in rhymes of shameless ribaldry Without regard or due decorum kept. And Spenser laments that the author, who fonnerly delighted with "goodly glee" and "■ leariiiii_i:['s treasure," has withdrawn — is tempo- rarily dead. And he, the man whom Nature's 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 dolor drent. 2S4 /■'AAA'C/S J^'.ICOA' THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. But that tills was not an actual death, but simply a retirement .from the degenerate stage, is shown in the next verse but one: 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. It is conceded by all the commentators that these lines refer to the writer of the Shakespeare Plays: there was no one else to whom they could refer. But there are many points in which they are incompatible with the young man William Shakspere, of Stratford. In the first place, they throw back the date of his labors, as I have shown in a former instance, long anterior to the year 1592, at which time it is conceded Shakespeare first began to write for the stage. In 1590, the writer referred to by Spenser had not only written one, but many plays; and had had possession of the stage long enough to give it a cast and character, until driven out by the rage for vulgar satires and personal abuse. White says: The Tears of Ihe Muses had certainly bten written before 1590, when Shake- speare could not have risen to the position assigned by the first poet of the age to the subject of this passage; and probably in 1580, when Shakespeare was a boy of sixteen, in Stratford. In the next place, the man referred to by Spenser was a gciitlc- //la/i. The word gnitlf in these lines is clearly contradistin- a:uished from base-born. That same gentle spirit . . . Scorning the folly of such base-born men. No one will pretend that the Stratford fugitive was in 1590 "a gentleman." Shakspere, we are told, produced his dramas to make money; "■for gain, not glory, he winged his roving flight. ' Young, poor, just risen from the rank of horse-holder or call-boy, if not actually occupying it, it is not likely he could have resisted the clamors of his fellows for productions suitable to the degraded taste of the hour. But the man referred to by Spenser was a gentleman, a man of "learning," a man of refinement, and he Rather chose to sit in idle cell Than so himself to mockery to sell. CORROBORA TING CIRCUMSTANCES. -^85 The comparison of the poet to the refined student in liis "cell " is a very inapplicable one to apply to an actor, be he Marlowe or Shakspere, daily appearing on the boards in humble characters, and helping to present to vulgar audiences the very obscenities and scurrilities of which Spenser complained. Again, if we examine that often-quoted verse: And he, the man whom Nature's self had made To mock herself and Truth to imitate, With kindly counter, under viiniic shade. Our pleasant Willy, ah ! is dead of late. The word counter is not known to our dictionaries in any sense that is consonant with tlie meaning of these lines. I take it to be a poetical abbreviation of "counterfeit," and this view is confirmed by the further statement that this gentle-born playwright, who despised the base-born play-makers, imitated truth under a shade or disguise; and this disguise was a iiiitnic one, to-wit, that of a mime — an actor. The name Willy in that day, as I have shown heretofore, was generally applied to all poets. XVII. Another Extraordinary Fact. It is sometimes said: How can you undertake to deny Shak- spere the honor of his own writings, when the Plays were printed during his life-time with his name on the title-page of each and >^y€ry one of theni ? V This is a mistake. According to the list of editions printed ixi Halliwell-Phillipps' O iitlincs of the Life of Shakespeare, p. 533 (and there is no better authority), it seems that the name of Shakespeare did not appear upon the title-page of any of the Plays until 1598. The Venus and Adonis and Rape of Lucrece contained, it is true, dedicatory letters signed by Shakespeare; but the first play, Titus Andronicus, published in 1594, was without his name; the First Part of the Contention of the tico Houses of Yorke and Lancaster, published in 1594; the Tragedy of Richard, Duke of Yorke, published in 1595; Romeo and Juliet, published in 1597; Richard LL., published in 1597, and Richard LIL., printed in 1597, were all without the name of Shakspere or any one else upon the title-page. It was not until the publication of Love's Labor Lost, in /J^c?, that we find him set forth 286 FRAXCJS BACOy THE AUTHOR OF TIIK J'/. A VS. as having any connection with the play; and he does not then claim to be the author of it. The title-page reads: As it was presented before her Highness this last Christmas. Newly corrected and augnienicd by IV. Shakespcre. In the same year the tragedy of J?/V/zd;/7/ //. is published, and the name of "William Shake-speare " appears as the author. It thus appears that during the six years from 1592 to 1598 eight editions of plays which now go by the name of Shakespeare were published without his name or any other name upon the title-page. In other words, not only did the Shakespeare Plays commence to appear while Shakspere was still in Stratford, and were captiva- ting the town while the author was holding horses or acting as call- boy; but for six years after the Plays which are distinctively known as his, and which are embraced in the Folio of 1623, had won great fame and profit on the stage, they were published in numerous quarto editions without his name or any other name on the title-page. This is mystery on mystery's head accumulate. XVIII. When were the Plays Written? But it will be argued by some that Francis Bacon had not the time to write the Shakespeare Plays; that he was too busy with politics, philosophy, law and statesmanship; that there was no time in his life when these productions could have been produced; and that it is absurd to think that he could act as Lord Chancellor and write plays for the stage at the same time. In the first place, it must be remembered that Francis Bacon was a man of extraordinary and phenomenal industry. One has but to look at the twenty volumes of his acknowledged writings to concede this. In illustration of his industry, we are told that he re-wrote his Essays thirty times ! His chaplain and biographer. Dr. Rawley, says: I myself have seen at the least twelve copies of the Iiistauratioii [meaning, says Spedding,' the Novum Organum^, revised year by year, one after another, and every year altered and amended in the frame thereof, till at last it came to that model in which it was committed to the press; as many living creatures do lick their yonng ones, till they bring them to the strength of their limbs. . . . He would suffer no moment of time to slip from him without some present improve- ment. ' U'orks, vol. i, p. 47, Boston ed. CORHOBORAIVXG CIRCUMSTANCES. 287 As the Noviiin Organinn embraces about three hundred and fifty octavo pages of the Boston edition, tlie reader can conceive the labor required to re-write this twelve times. Let these things be remembered when we come to consider the vastly laborious cipher- story written into the Plays. But an examination of Bacon's biography will show that he had ample leisure to have written the Plays. In the spring of 1579, Bacon, then eighteen years of age, returned from Paris, in consequence of the death of his father. He resided for a year or more at St. Albans. In 1581, then twenty years old, he *' begins to keep terms at Gray's Inn." In 1582 he is called to the bar. For three years we know nothing of what he is doing. In 1585 he writes a sketch of his philosophy, entitled The Greatest JUrtli of Time, which, it is supposed, was afterwards broadened out into T/ie Advancement of Learning. In 1585 the Contention between t/ie two Houses of York and Lancaster is supposed to have appeared. In 1586 he is made a bencher. He is " /// umbra and not in public or frequent action." "His seclusion is commented on." In this year, according to Malone, 77ie Taming of tlie Siirew, 77ie Tivo Gentlemen of Verona and Love's Lai Iwr Lost appear, probably in imperfect forms, like the first of those thirty copies of the Essays. In 1587 (the year Shakspere is supposed to have come to London), Bacon helps in getting up a play, for the Gray's Inn revels, called The Misfor- tunes of Arthur. He also assists in some masks to be played before Elizabeth. Here certainly we have the leisure, the disposition and the kindred employment. In 1588 he becomes a member of Par- liament for Liverpool. He writes a short paper called an Adver- tisement Toucliing the Controversies of the Church. To this year Dr. Delius attributes Venus and Adonis and Mr. Furnival Lo7r's Labor Lost. Shakspere is, at this time, either holding horses at the door of the play-hc)use or acting as call-boy, or in some other subordinate capacity about the play-house. In 1589-90 Bacon puts forth a letter to Walsingham, on The Government and the Papists. No one can tell what he is working at; and yet, knowing his industry and energy, we may be sure he is not idle; for in the next year he writes to his uncle Burleigh: I account my ordinary course of study and meditation to be more painful than most parts of action are. 288 /'A'-LVCVS BACON THE AUTHOR 01-' THE J'LAYS. And again he says in the same letter: If your Lordship will not carry me on, ... I will sell the inheritance I have and purchase some lease of quick revenue, or some office of gain, that shall be executed by deputy, and so give over all care of service and become some sorry book-niaktr, or a true pioneer in that mine of truth which, Anaxagoras said, lay so deep. In 1591 the Queen visits him at his brother's place at Twicken- ham, and he 7V rites a sonnet in her honor. Mrs. Pott says: To 1 591 is attributed ist Henry VI., of which the scene is laid in the same provinces of France which formed Bacon's sole experience of that country. Also The Two Gentlemen of Verona (probably in its present form), which reflects Anthony's sojourn in Italy. Henceforth the " Shakespeare " Comedies continue to exhibit the combined influence of Anthony's letters from abroad, with Francis' studies in Gray's Inn.' This Jst Henry VI. is the play referred to by Halliwell-Phillipps, as acted for the first time March 3, 1592, and as the first of the Shakespeare Flays. In 1592 Francis is in debt, borrowing one pound at a time, and cast into a sponging-house by a " hard " Jew or Lombard on account of a bond. His brother, Anthony, comes to his relief. Soon after appears The Merchant of Venice, in which Antonio relieves Bas- sanio. Does this last name contain a hint of Bacon, after the ana- grammatic fashion of the times.-' Dr. Delius attributes Romeo and Juliet to this date. In 1593 Bacon composes for some festive occasion a device, or mask, called A Conference of Pleasure. During all these years Bacon lives very much retired. He says, in 1594, he is "poor and sick and workitig for bread.'' What at ? He says, at another time, " The bar will be my bier." He writes his uncle Burleigh in 1595: It is true, my life hath been so private as I have no means to do your Lordship service. The Venus and Adonis appears in 1593, with a dedication from William Shakespeare to the Earl of Southampton, Bacon's fellow in Gray's Inn. When the fortunes of Bacon and Southampton afterward separate, because of Southampton's connection with the Essex treason, the poem is re-published ivithout the dedication. '^ Did Francis Bacnji Write Shakespeare ? p. 14. CORROBORATING CIRCUMSTANCES. 289 In 1594 Lady Anne, Bacon's mother, is distressed about his de- votion to plays and play-houses. In 1590 she had written to Anthony, complaining of his brother's irregular hours and poet-like habits: I verily think ynur brother's weak stomach to digest hath been much caused and confirmed by untimely going to bed. and then musing ncscio i/uti/ when he should sleep, and then, in consequence, by late rising and long lying in bed, whereby his men are made slothful and himself sickly.' In 1594 Bacon begins his Prom us of Formularies and Elegancies, which has been so ably edited by Mrs. Pott, of London," which fairly bristles with thoughts, expressions and quotations found in the Shakespeare Plays, It is clearly the work of a poet who is studying the elegancies of speech, with a view to increase his capac- ity for the expression of beautiful thoughts. It is not the kind of work in which a mere philosopher would engage. In this year 1594 "Shakespeare's" Comedy of Errors appears (for the first time), at Bacon's law school, Gray's Inn. In the same year Lucrece is published. In the same j'^ear Bacon writes a Device, or mask, which Essex presents to her Majesty on the *' Queen's Day/' called The Device of an Indian Prince. In this year, also, Bacon is defeated by Cecil for the place of Attorney or Solicitor- General^ and, as Dr. Delius thinks, the play of Richard III., in which the hump-backed tyrant is held up to the detestation of mankind, appears the same year ! In 1604 Bacon writes to Sir Tobie Matthew, speaking of some important matter, that he cannot recall what passed, "my head being then wholly employed upon invention^' a word which he uses for works of the imagination. Here, then, we have the proof that the Plays appeared during Bacon's unemployed youth. No one pretends that he wrote plays while he was holding great and lucrative offices in the state. XIX. Some Skcret Means of Income. And we have evidences in Bacon's letters — although they seem to have been gone over carefully and excised and garbled — that he had some secret means of support. In 1595 he writes Essex: I am purposed not to follow the practice of the law, and my reason is only because it drinketh too much time, which I have dedicated to better purposes. ' Lady Bacon to Anthony Bacon, May 24, 1590 — Life and Works, vol. 1, p. 114. '^ Bacon'' s Promts, by Mrs. Henry Pott. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. y 290 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. Mr. Spedding says: It is easier to understand why Bacon was resolved not to devote his life to the ordinary practice of a lawyer, than what plan he had to clear himself of the diffi- culties which were now accumulating upon him, and to obtain means of living and working. What course he betook himself to at the crisis which had now arrived, I cannot possibly say. I do not find any letter of his which can possibly be assigned to the winter of 1596, nor have I met among his brother's papers ivith anything Tvhich indicates ivhat lie ^oas about. And two years before, in April, 1593, we find Bacon writing to the Earl of Essex thus: I did almost conjecture, by your silence and countenance, a distaste in the course I imparted to your Lordship touching mine own fortune. . . . And for the free and loving advice your Lordship hath given me, I cannot correspond to the same with greater duty than by assuring your Lordship that I will not dispose of myself without your allowance. . . . But notwithstanding I know it will be pleas- ing to your good Lordship that I use my liberty of replying, and I do almost assure myself that your Lordship will rest persuaded by the answer of those rea- sons which your Lordship vouchsafed to open. They were two; the one that I should include. . . . Mr. Spedding says: Here our light goes suddenly out, just as we are going to see how Bacon had resolved to dispose of himself at this juncture." Is it not very remarkable that this letter should be clipped off just at this point ? We are forced to ask, first, what was the course which he intended to take " touching mine own fortune ; " and secondly, if there was no mystery behind his life, why was this letter so emasculated ? And it seems he intimated to his mother that he had some secret means of obtaining money. Lady Bacon writes to Anthony at the same time, and in the same month and year: Besides, your brother told me before you twice, then, that he intended not to part with Markes [an estate], and the rather because Mr. Mylls would lend him ^900; and, as I remember, I asked him how he was To come out of debt. His answer was that means would be made without thatr Remember that it was not until January, 1598, that Bacon pub- lished the first of his acknowledged formal works, his Essays. And these were not the forty long essays we now have, but ten short, condensed compositions, which occupied but thirteen double pages ^)f the original quarto edition. These, with a few brief papers,- are the only acknowledged fruits we have to represent the nifieteen years\ ' I.i/t- and H'urA-s, veil, i, p. 235. " Ibid., p. 244. COKJWBOKATIXG CIJ^Ci'MSTAXCES. 291 between ilic date of his rctii) n froi/i Paris, in lS79i ^^'"^^ t/w publication of /lis ten I>riif essays in January, isg8. What was that most fecund, prolific, laborious writer doing during tliese nearly twenty years? He was brimful of energy, industry, genius, mirth and humor: lu)w did he expend it? What was that painful course of study and meditation which he under- went daily, as he told his uncle Burleigh ? / Read what Hepworth Dixon says of him at the age of twenty-four: How he appears in outward grace and aspect among these courtly and martial ■contemporaries, the miniature by Hilyard helps us to conceive. Slight in build, rosy and round in flesh, dight in sumptuous suit; the head well set, erect, and framed in a thick, starched fence of frill; a bloom of study and of travel on the fat, girlish face, which looks far younger than his years; the hat and feather tossed aside from the broad, white brow, over which crisps and curls a mane of dark, soft hair; an English nose — firm, open, straight; mouth delicate and small — a lady's or a jester s vioiith — a thousand pranks and humors, quibbles , whims and laughters lurking in its twinkling, tremulous lines. Such is Francis Bacon at the age of twenty-four.' Is this the description of a dry-as-dust philosopher? Is it not rather the picture of the youthful scholar, the gentleman, the wit, the poet, "fresh from academic studies," who wrote T/ie T-wo Gentlemen of J'e/ona and Love's Labor Lost I In brief, the Shakespeare Plays are the fruits of Bacon's youth; for it is in youth he tells us that the imagination streams with divine felicity into tlic mind; while his philosophical works are the product of middle life. It is not until 1603, wlien Bacon was forty- two years of age, that he published the first of his scientific works, entitled Valerius Ter minus ; oi\ tlie Lnterpretation of Xaiui'e : -with the Annotations of Lfermes Stel/a. And who, we ask passingly, was " Hermes Stella " ? Was Bacon, with his usual secretiveness, seek- ing another tivvv/ — another Shakspere ? Mrs. Pott says: There is something so mysterious about this strange title, and in the obscurity of the text itself as well as in the meaning of the astronomical and astrological sym- bols written on the blank outside of the volume, that Mr. Ellis and Mr. Spedding comment upon them, but can throw no real light upon them. XX. Anothkk Mystery. W. A. A. Watts, in a paper read before die Bacon Society of London while this work is going through the press,'' calls attention to the striking fact that Ben Jonson, besides stating that Bacon ' Dixon's Personal History oy Lord Baeott, p. 25. ^Journal 0/ tfte Baconian Society, Aug., 1887, p. 130. 292 J-'KAA'CIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. had "filled all numbers' and was "the mark and acme of our lan- guage," in a poem entitled " Ihiderwoods," addressed to Bacon on his birthday, says: In the midst, Thou stand'st as though o niystoy thou didst. This is certainly extraordinary. What was the mystery ? Was it in connection with those "numbers" which excelled anything in Greek or Roman dramatic literature, and which were " the mark and acme of our language"? If not, what did Ben mean? XXI. Coke's Insults. We find all through that period of Bacon's life, between 1597 and his accession to the place of Lord Chancellor, that he was the subject of a great many slanders. But while he alludes to the slanders, he is careful not to tell us what they were. Did they refer to the Shakespeare Plays ? Did they charge that he paid his debts with money taken in at the door of the play-house? For we may be sure that among the actors there were whisperings which it would be difficult to keep from spreading abroad; and Thus comes it that my name receives a brand. And almost thus my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand. But there has come down to us a letter of Bacon which gives us some account of the insults he was subjected to. In it Bacon complains, in 1601, to his cousin, Lord Secretary Cecil, that his arch-enemy, Mr. Attorney-General Coke, had publicly insulted him in the Exchequer. He tells that he moved for the reseizure of the lands of one George Moore, a relapsed recusant, fugitive and traitor He says: Mr. Attorney kindled at it and said: " Mr. Bacon, if you have any tooth against me pluck it out, for it will do you more hurt than all the teeth in your head will do you good." I answered coldly, in these very words: " Mr. Attorney, I respect you; I fear you not; and the less you speak of your own greatness the more will I think of it." He replied: " I think scorn to stand upon terms of greatness toward you, icho are less than little j less than the least;" and other such strange light terms he ga7'e me, with such insulting which cannot be expressed. Herewith I stirred, yet I said no more but this: " Mr. Attorney, do not depress me so far; for I have been your better, and may be again, when it please the Queen." With this he spake, neither I nor himself could tell what, as if he had been born Attorney-General; and in the end bade me not meddle with the Queen's business, but mine own. . . . Then he said it ■zcere good to clap a capias tttlegatum upon my back ! To which I only said he could not, and that he was at fault; for he hunted upon an old sent. C0RR0B0I^A7VXi; CIKCiMSTAXCES. 293 He gave me a number of disgraceful words besides, which I answered with ■silence.' And Bacon writes Cecil, evidently with intent to have him silence Coke. I will ask the reader to remember this letter when we come to the Cipher Narrative. It shows, it seems to me, tliat Cecil knew of something to Bacon's discredit, and that Coke, Cecil's follower, had heard of it and blurted it out in his rage in open court, and threatened Bacon with arrest; and Bacon, writes to his cousin for protection against Coke's tongue. Spedding says the threat of the xapids utlegatuvi may possibly have referred to a debt that Bacon •owed in 1598; but what right would Coke have to arrest Bacon for a debt due to a third party, and which must have been paid three years before? And why should Bacon say ''he was at fault." If Coke referred to the debt he was not " at fault," for Bacon cer- tainly had owed it. XXII. Conclusion. In conclusion I would say that I have in the foregoing pages shown that, if we treat the real author of the Plays, and Francis Bacon, as two men, they belonged to the same station in society, to the same profession — 'the law; to the same political party and to the same faction in the state; that they^held the same religious views, the same philosophical tenets and the same purposes in life. That each was a poet and a philosopher, a writer of dramatic com- positions, and a play-goer. That Bacon had the genius, the oppor- tunity, the time and the necessity to write the Plays, and ample reasons to conceal his authorship. I proceed now to another branch of my argument. I shall attempt to show that these two men, if we may still call them such, pursued the same studies, read the same books, possessed the same tastes, enjoyed the same opinions, used the same expressions, em- ployed the same unusual words, cited the same quotations and fell into the same errors. If all this does not bring the brain of the poet under the hat of the philosopher, what will you have ? \ ' Spedding, Li/c and Works, vol. iii, p. l>. London : Longmans. PART 111. PARALLELISMS. CHAPTER I. IDENTIC A I. EXPRESSIONS. As near as tlu- oxtrcmcsl ends Of parallels. Troilns itnd Crfss/^a, /, j. WHO does not remember that curious word used by Hamlet, to describe the coldness of the air, upon the platform where he awaits the Ghost: It is very cold. It is a nipping and an r(7^i-r a'lr.^ We turn to Bacon, and we find this very word used in the same sense: Whereby the cold becomes more eagtr.'^ There is another strange word used by Shakespeare: Light thickens. And the crow makes wing to the rocky wood.'' We turn again to Bacon, and we find the origin of this singular expression: For the over-moisture of the brain doth thicki-ii the spirits \ isual.^ In the same connection we have in Bacon this expression: The cause of dimness of sight is the expense of spirits.'' We turn to Shakespeare's sonnets, and we find precisely the same arrangement of words: TV/' expense of spirit in a waste of shame. > Hamlet, i, 4. ' Mact>eth, iii, 2. = J5i(j_ ' Xaiural History, % 688. ' Natural History, § 693. 205 '.gO PARALLELISMS. One of the most striking parallelisms of thought and expression occurs in the following. Bacon says: Some noises help sleep, as . . . soft singing. The cause is, for that they move in the spirits a gentle attention.^ In Shakespeare we have: I am never merry when I hear sweet music. The reason is, your spirits are attentive.'^ Here we have the same words applieil in the same sense to the same thing, the effect of music; and in each case the philosopher stops to give the reason — "the cause is," "the reason is." Both are very fond of the expressions, "parts inward" and "parts outward," to describe the interior and exterior of the body. Bacon says: Mineral medicines have been extolled that they are safer for the otitioani ih&n ih& inivani parts. ^ And again: While the life-blood of Spain went iirwani to the heart, the piittvarJ limbs and members trembled and could not resist.'' Shakespeare has it: I see men's judgments are A parcel of their fortunes; and things outward Do draw the inivant quality after them, To suffer all alike." Falstaff tells us: But the sherris warms it and makes it course from the in7c>an/s to the parts extreme'. " Bacon says: Infinite' 7'ariations.' Shakespeare says: Nor custom stale Her ill finite 'variety. ^ The word infinite is a favorite with both writers. Bacon has: Occasions are infinite.'' Infinite honor.'" The i)! finite flight of birds." 1 Natural History, % 745. " 2d Henry If., iv, 3. ' Merchant 0/ Venice, v, i. ' Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii. ' Advancement of Learning, book ii. ** A ntony and Cleopatra, ii, 2. < Speecli in Parliment, 39 Elizabeth (1597-8) * Wisdom 0/ the A ncients — Ackeloiis. — Life and Works, vol. ii, p. 80. '"Speech. ^Antony and CleoJ>atra, iii, 2. " Seiv Atlantis. IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 297 Shakespeare has: Conclusion infinite of easy ways to die.' Fellows oi.in/tnile tongue. - A fellow of in finite jest.'' • Infinite in faculties.^ Nature's infinite book of secrecy.^ Bacon says: Man in his mansion, sleep, exercise, passions, hath infinite variations; . . . •ihe faculties of the soul.* Shakespeare says: How infinite in faculties,'' Bacon speaks of That gigantic state of mind which possesseth the troublers of the world, such as -was Lucius Sylla.'' • This is a very {)eculiar and unusual expression; we turn to Shakespeare, and we tind Queen Margaret cursing the bloody Duke of Gloster, in the play of Richard f If , in these words: If heaven have any grievous plague in store, Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, Oh, let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe, And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the tivitbler of the poor ivorlifs peace.' In Shakespeare we find: Which is to bring Signor Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection, the one with the other.'" This was regarded as stich a strange and unusual comparison that some of the commentators proposed to change it into " a moot- ing of affection." Btit we turn to Bacon and we find the same simile: Parkin sought to corrupt the servants of the lieutenant of the Tower by moun- tains of promises}^ Bacon says: To fall from a discord, or harsh accord, upon a eoinonl of s-u>eet accord.'- '^ Antony ami Cleo/>atra,\, 2. '' Hamlet ^n^i. ^ Henry V., v, 2. ^ Advancement 0/ Learning. ' Hamlet, v, i. ' Richard ///., i, 3. •• Ibid., ii, 2. '» Much Ado about Nothing, ii, 2. ^Antony and Cleopatra, i, 2. " History 0/ Henry VH. * Advancement 0/ 1, earning, book ii. ''■^ Adi'nncement oj" Learning, 298 PARALLELISMS. Shakespeare says: That is not moved with concord of sweet sounds.' Here we have three words used in the same order and sense by both writers. We find in Shakespeare this well-known but curious expression: There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Jioiig/i-hcw them how we will." This word occurs only once in the Plays. George Stevens says: Dr. Farmer informs me that these words are merely technical. A woolman, butcher and dealer in skewers lately observed to him that his nephew (an idle lad) could only assist him in making them. "He could roiii^h-hcTv them, but I was obliged to shape their ends." Whoever recollects the profession of Shakspere's father will admit that his son might be no stranger to such terms. / Ita-.'c fre- quently seen packages of 'wool pinn d up -with ske-wers. This is the sort of proof we have had that Shakspere wrote the Plays. It is very evident that the sentence means, that while we may hew out roughly the outlines of our careers, the ends we reach are shaped by some all-controlling Providence. And when we turn to Bacon we find the very word used by him, to indicate carved out roughly: A rough-hewn seaman.* And we find again in Shakespeare the same idea, that while we may shape our careers in part, the results to be attained are beyond our control: Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.'* Bacon says: Instruct yourself in all things between heaven and earth which may tend to virtue, wisdom and honor.'' Shakespeare has: Crawling hetween hea^'cn and earth.'' There are more things /;/ heai'en and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' Bacon refers to The ])articular remedies which learning doth minister to all the diseases of the mind. Shakespeare says: Canst thou not minister io a mind diseased ?^ ' Merchant of Tenice. V, t. - lliitiitet. v, 2. 3 Apopltihcgnis. * Hauilei. iii, 2. * Bacon's Letter to the Earl of Rutland, written in the name of the Earl of Essex — Life and //'(>rX\v, vol. ii, p. 18. •'•//««//<■/, iii, I. "< /Ianitet,\, s- " A/ac6et/i, V, 3. IDEN TIC A L EXP RE SSIONS. 299 Here the parallelism is complete. In each case it refers to remedies for mental disease, and in each case the word i/n/iistcr is used, and the "diseases of the mind" of the one finds its counter- part in " mind diseased" of the other, a change made necessary by the rhythm. Surely the doctrine of accidental coincidences will not explain this. Bacon says: Men have their time, and dir many /i/iirs, in desire of some things which they principally take to heart.' Shakespeare says: Cowards dir iucdiv times before their deaths.' Bacon says: The even carriage between two factions proceedeth not always of moderation, but of a triteness to a man' s self, with end to make use of both.-' And again he says: Be so t?uie to thyself a.s thou be not/"(7Ai- to otiiers.* Shakespeare says: To thine 07c>n self be true, A.nd it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then he. false to any man." Bacon says: The ripeness or unripeness of the occasion must ever be well weighed." Shakespeare says: A'ipeness is all.' In Shakespeare we have this singular expression: O Heaven ! a beast, that wants diseoiirse of reason. Would have mourned longer.** This expression "discourse of reason" is a very unusual one. Massinger has: It adds to my calamity that I have Discourse rt;/^/ reason. Gifford thought that Shakespeare had written "discourse a/nf reason," and that the of was a typographical error: but Knight, in discussing the question, refers to the lines in Hamlet : ^'E.^s.^YO/Friendshi/: ^ 'Essay Of Faction. ^ Hamlet, {, 2. ''Lear,\\'2. ^/nt/rtx Crfsar, a, 2. ' Essay O/ ir/si/oi/. '^ Essay O/ Deinys. « Uniidet, \, 1. 300 PARALLELISMS. Sure he that made us with such large discourse. Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and god-like reason To fust in us unused.' But when we turn to Bacon we find this expression, which has puzzled the commentators, repeatedly used. For instance: Martin Luther but in discourse of reason, finding, etc.'-' Also: God hath done great things by her [Queen Elizabeth] past discourse of reason.'^ And again: True fortitude is not given to man by nature, but must grow out of discourse of •on.* Bacon has: But men ... if they be not carried away with a ivhirlwind or tempest of ambition.^ Shakespeare has: For in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirlwind of your passion.* Here we have not only the figure of a wind-storm used to repre- sent great mental emotions, but the same word, nay, the same words, tempest and 7vhirlwind, used in the same metaphorical sense by both. Mr. James T. Cobb calls my attention, while this work is going through the press, to the following parallelism. Macbeth says: Life's but a walking shadow."^ Bacon writes to King James: Let me live to serve you, else life is hut the shadow of deatii to your Majesty's most devoted servant And, again, Mr. Cobb notes this. Bacon says: It is nothing else but words, which rather sound than sii^nify anything, ' Act iv, scene 4. '■' Advancc7)U'nt 0/ Learning, book i. ^ History 0/ Squires' Conspiracy — Li/e and Works, vol. ii, p. 116. ■• Bacon's Letter to the Earl of Rutland, written in the name of the Earl of Essex — Life and }\\iyks, vol. ii, p. 12. ^ Ati7'ancei)iciit 0/ Learning, book ii. '• Ilatnlet, iii, 2. ''Macbeth, v, 5. IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. oj, Shakespeare makes Macbeth say of human life: 'Tis a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury. Signifying nothing} A. J. Dufiield, of Delaware Mine, Michis^an, calls my attention to the following parallelism. Shakespeare: What a ])iece of work is man ! , . . The paragon of animals; the beauty of the world} While Bacon has: The souls of the living are the />iaitty of the world.^ Both writers use the physical eye as a type or symbol of the intellectual faculty of perception. Bacon says: The eyes of his understanding.* For everything depends on fixing the mind's eye steadily.* Illuminate the eyes of our mind} While in Shakespeare we have: Hamlet. My father, — methinks I see my father. Horatio. Oh, where, my lord ? Hamlet. In my mind' s eye, Horatio. And again: Mine eye is my mind.' Bacon says: Pirates and impostors . . . -ATa the common enevu'es of mankind.^ Shakespeare says: And mine eternal jewel Given to the common enemy of man To make them kings. ^ Shakespeare also says: Consider, he's an enemy to mankind.^" Thou common whore of mankind. ^'^ , Mrs. Pott"' points out a very striking parallelism. ' Act V, scene 5. ' Sonnet. - Hamlet, ii, 2. ^History 0/ Henry VIT.' = Essay jPrtW. * Macbeth, \\\, \. * History of Squires' Conspiracy — Life and Works, vol. ii, p. 113. '" Twelfth Night, iii. 4. ' Introduction to Novum Onranum. n Timon of Athens, iv, :?.- ' Prayer. »"■» Prom us, p. 24. 1.02 PARALLELISMS. In Bacon's letter to King James, which accompanied the sending of a portion of The History of Great Britain, he says: This being but a leaf or two, I pray your pardon if I send it for your recrea- tion, considering that lo-rc must iircp 'u'licir it cannot j^o. We have the same thouglit in the same words in T/ie Two Gen- tlemen of J'erona, in this manner: . Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that /ctv Must creep in service 'where it cannot go. ' We have in Bacon the word varnish used as a synonym for adorn, precisely as in Shakespeare. Bacon : But my intent is, without ','arnish or amplification, justly to weigh the dignity of knowledge.-' Shakespeare has: I will a round, unvarnished tale deliver.-' And set a double -rarnish on the fame* Beauty doth varnish age.^ J. T. Cobb calls attention to the following parallelism. Bacon, in his letter of expostulation to Coke, says: The arising to honor is arduous, the standing slippery, the descent headlong. Shakespeare says: Which, when they fall, as being slippery slanders, The love that leaned on them as slippery, too. Do one pluck down another, and together Die in the fall.'' The image of passion devouring the body of the man is common to both. Bacon says: It causeth the spirit to/i'tv/ upon the juices of the body.' Envy feedeth upon the spirits/ Shakespeare says: If it will /(■(•(/ nothing else, it will feed my revenge.^ The thing \.\iz.\. feeds their fury.'" ' Act iv, scene 2. ^ Troilus and Cressida, iii, 3. ''■ Ad7'ance»tent 0/ Learning, book i. '' History 0/ Life and Death. 3 Otiicllo, i, 3. 8 Ibid. ■• Hamlet, iv, 7. " Merchant 0/ I 'enice, iii, i . = Love' s Labor Lost, iv, 3. '" Taming 0/ the Shrew, ii, i. 303 IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. Feed {i\\. the ancient grudge.' Advantage /d'c7/.v him fat.'- To y'<'<7/ contention in a lingering act. ^ J. T. Cobb points out this parallelism. Shakespeare: Assume a virtue if you have it not.^ Bacon says: All wise men, to decline the envy of their own virtues, use to ascribe them to Providence and Fortune; for so they may the better assume them.'^ Bacon speaks of The areideuts of life.'' The air ! dents of time.'' Shakespeare says: As place, riches, favor, Prizes of aeeident as oft as merit. ^ With mortal ureide/its oppre.st. " The shot of aeeident, the dart of chance.'" Bacon says: And I do extremely desire there may be a full cry from all sorts of people. ^^ Macbeth says: And I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people }'- Here we have the same collocation of words. Bacon says: Not only that it may be done, but that it may be well done.''* If that be done which I hope by this time is done, and that other matter shall be done which we wish may be done.''* Shakespeare says: If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly.''' What's done cannot t)e undone.'*' * Merchant of Venice, i, 3. "^ 1st Henry IV., iii, 2. ^ 2d Henry Il\, i, i. ■* Hamlet, iii, 4. 5 Essay Of Fortune. <* Letter to Sir R. Cecil. ' Letter to Villiers, June 3, i6i6. * Troilus and Cress/da, iii, 3. " Cyinbeline, v, 4. ^'>Ot/ietio, iv, I. " Letter to Villiers, June 12, 1616. 12 Macbeth, i, 7. '•'' Letter to Lord Chancellor. '* Letter to Sir John Stanhope — iLZ/l' and Works, vol. ii, p. 50. '^^ Macbeth, i, 7, ■«Ibid., V, I. ,04 r.-lKALLEU^iMS. HacDii says: lint 1 will pray for you to the last gasp} Shakespeare says: I will follow thee To the last gasp.'- Fight till the last gasp} Here is another identical collocation of words. Bacon says: The new company anti the old company are but the sons of Adam to me.* Shakespeare says: Adains sons are my brethren.* Bacon says: The common lot of mankind.* Shakespeare has: The common curse of mankind.' Bacon: The infirmity of the human understanding.* Shakespeare: The infirmity of sense.'* A friend should bear his friend's infirmHies}^ And Mr. J. T. Cobb lias called my attention to tliis parallelism. Bacon says: All those who have in some measure committed themselves to the waters of experience, seeing they were infirm of purpose, etc." While in Shakespeare we have: Infirm of purpose. Give me the daggers.'' Bacon: Every tangible body contains an in~'isidle and intangible spirit}^ Shakespeare: O, thou invisible spirit of wine.'^ > Letter to King Jaincs, 1621. » Measure- /or Measure, v, i. ^ As Von Like It, li, 3. '^^ Julius Ctrsar, iv, 3. 3 1st Henry I'/., \, i. " The Interpretation 0/ Xature, Montagu ■• Letter to VMlliers. ed., vol. ii, p. 550. ''Much Ado about Nothing, ii, \. ^"^ Macbeth, ii,2. « Introduction to Great Instauration. ^^ Novum Organum, book ii. ' Troilus and Cressida, ii, 3. ** Othello, ii, 3. * Noz'um Organum, book ii. JDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 305 Bacon: Flame, at llic ihourmU of its generation, is mild and gentle} Shiikespeare: As mild and gniilc as the cradled babe.' He was i,''(7///t', /;//// Learntftg.,\iQ6k ii. ^ Henry I'/., iii, 2. ^ Novum Organitm, book ii. 3 Richard III., i, 2. "> Hamlet, iii, 2. * Ibid., iv, 4. II Natural History, cent, i, § 36. ^Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii. '^ Winter's Tale, i, 2. * Love's Labor Lost, v, 2. ^^ 2d Henry /'/., iii, 2. ' Cyinheline, ii, 2. 3o6 PARALLELISMS. Bacon says: Of all substances which nature has produced, man's body is the most extremely compounded. ' Shakespeare says: The brain of this foolish co/npoundc-d liay, man.i And Bacon, speaking of man, says: Certain particles were taken from divers living creatures, and mixed and tem- pered with that clayic mass." Bacon says: The heavens turn about and . . . make an excellent music* Shakespeare says, in Hamlet: And there is much music, excellent voice in this little organ; yet cannot you make it speak. Bacon says: The nature of sounds in general hath been superficially observed. It is one of the subtilest/mrj- of 7iature} Shakespeare has this precise collocation of words: A ruined piece of mi/ u re. ^ We also find: When nature framed this piece? Thy mother was a. piece of virtue.'^ As pretty s. piece of flesh? Oh, pardon me, thou bleeding //Vcd' of earth}^ Bacon also says: The tiodiest piece of justice." While Shakespeare says: What a piece of work is man ; How 7iof>le in reason. '- Bacon says: A miracle of time.'^ Shakespeare says: O miracle of men.''* ' Wisdom of the Ancients — Prometheus. 8 Tempest, i., 2. 2 3d Henry 11'., i, 2. ^ Much Ado ahout Nothing, iv, 2. ^ Natiiral History, cent. ii. ^° Jiitius Ciesar, iii, i. 4 Ibid. " Charge against St. Jnhii. 5 Ibid. '^ Hamlet, ii, 2. * Lear, iv, 6. '^ Of a Jl'ar with Spain. '' Pericles, iv, 3. " 2d Henry IV., ii, 3. IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. ^Ol Bacon: The fire maketh them soft and tender} Shakespeare: The soft and tender fork of a poor worm.* Beneath your soft and tender breeding.-' As soft and tender flattery.'* Here again it is identity not alone of a word, but of a phrase. Bacon says: Where a rainbow seemeth to hang over or to touch, there breatheth forth a sweet smell. ^ Shakespeare says: Breathing to his breathless excellence The incense of a vow.*' 'Tis her breathinz That /'' 1st Henry IV., \, 2. 1^ Bacon's Letter to the Earl of Rutland, written in the name of the Earl of Essex. Life and Works, vol. ii, p. 13. ^''Hamlet, ii, 2. I'^j You Like It, iii, 2. IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 309 Bacon says: I find envy beating so strongly upon me.' This public envy seemeth to beat chietiy upon principal officers or ministers.^ Shakespeare says: Nor the tide of pomp That beats upon the high shore of this world/' Bacon says: To choose time is to save time; and an unseasonable motion is but heating the Shakespeare says: Didst thou beat heaven with blessings.* Speaking of witchcrafts, dreams and divinations, Bacon says: Your Majesty hath . . . with the two clear eyes of religion and natural phil- •osophy looked deeply and wisely into these shadows.^ And again he says: All whatsoever you have or can say in answer hereof are but shadows.' While Shakespeare has: A dream itself is but a shadow.'^ To worship shadows and adore false shapes.* Shadows to-night have struck more terror to the soul of Richard.'" Hence, horrible shadoic.^^ Life's but a walking shado7i>.'^'^ Bacon enters in his commonplace-book: The jllinera/ wytts, strong /oison yf they be not corrected.'^ Shakespeare has: The thought doth, like a. /oisonons mineral, gnaw my inwards.'"* Bacon says: Fullness and swe/lings of the heart.'"' Bacon to Queen Elizabeth — Li/c '^ /faiiitct,'n, 2. and IVoris, vol. ii, p. 160. " Two Gentlemen 0/ I'erona, iv, 2, ^ Essay 0/ Eitzy. ^0 Richard III., v, 3. ^ Henry y., iv, i. " Macbeth, iii, 4. ■• Essay Of Despatch. 1* Ibid., v, 5. ^ 2d He^try IV., 1,3. " Promiis, § 1403, p. 454. * .-Xdvancement 0/ Learning, book ii. '< Othello, ii, i. '' Speech at Trial of Essex. '^ Essay Of Friendship. ) PARALLELISMS. Shakespeare says: Malice of thj' swelling heart} Their swelling griefs.' The swelling act of the imperial scene. •* Bacon says: The most Imse, bloody and envious persons."* Shakespeare says: Of base and bloody insurrection.^ Bacon: Matters of no use or mo//ietil." Shakespeare: Enterprises of great pith and motnent} In both we have the word sovereign applied to medicines. Bacon: Sovereign medicines for the mind." Shakespeare: The sovereign st thing on earth Was parmaceti for an inward bruise.'' In his letter of submission to Parliament, Bacon says; This is the beginning of -a golden world. Shakespeare, in The Tempest, says: I would with such perfection govern, sir, To excel \hQ golden age.'" In {oxxi\^x golden days." Golden times.'*' Bacon says: This passion [love], which losetli not only other things, but itself}^ Shakespeare says: A loan oft lose/li both itself and friend.''' Bacon: A kindly and pleasant sleep. '^ Shakespeare: Frosty but kindly}^ ' 1st Henry 17., iii, i. " ist Henry IV., i, 3. ''■3d Henry /'/., iv, 8. '"Act ii, scene i. 3 Macbeth, i, 3. ^'^ 3d Henry VI., iii, 3. ^ Advancement 0/ Learning, book 1. ^"^id Henry IV., v, 3. ■■' -zd Henry IV., iv, i. " Essay O/Lotc. " Advancetncnt 0/ Lcarnittg, book i. ''' Hamlet, i, 3. ' Hamlet, iii, i. '^^Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii.. * Adliancemcnt 0/ Learning, book i. '^ As ] 'on Like It, ii, 3, IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 311 Bacon says: The quality of health and strength.' Shakespeare says: The quality of mercy is not strained.* The quality of the flesh." t The quality of her passion. '' Bacon says: The states of Italy be like little quillets of freehold.^ And he speaks of A quiddity of the common law." Hamlet says: Where be his quiddcts now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures.' Bacon speaks of having one's mind Concentric with the orb of the universe. Shakespeare says: His fame folds in this orb o' the earth,* Bacon refers to The top of . . . workmanship.' The top of human desires.'" The /('/ of all worldly bliss." Shakespeare refers to The top of sovereignty.'* The /('/ of judgment.'^ The top of all design.''* On the other hand, Bacon says: He might have known the bottom of his dangrr.^^ Shakespeare says: The bottom of my place. ^^ ' Bacon's Letter to the Earl of Rutland, * Corialanus, v, 5. written in the name of the Earl of " Prayer. Essex — Life and ]Vo7-/cs, vol. ii, p. 16. '° Advancement of Learning. "^Merchant 0/ Venice, iv, i. " History 0/ Henry VII. ' Titnon 0/ Athens, iv, 3. '^'^ Macbeth, iv, i. * A ntony and Cleopatra, v. 1 . •' Measure /or Measure, ii, 2. * Discourse in Praise of the Queen— ^^ Antony and Cleo/ History of Henry I '//. * Wisdom of the Ancients — Prom. ''■' Othello, iv, 2. ^Julius Casar, ii, i. ^^ History of Henry VH. ^ History of Henry VH. ^* 1st Henry VI., ii, 5. ' Henry V., iv, 2. ^^ 2d Henry II '., iv, 2. n Richard HI., iii, 7. ^^ 2d Henry VI., v, 2. IDEN TIC A L EXPKE SSWNS. 315 Bacon says: And such superficial speculations they have; like pros/ectiru's, that show things inward, when they are hxxx. paintings.^ The same figure occurs in Shakespeare: Divides one thing entire to twenty objects, hike Jii-rspfftiz't's, which rightly gazed upon Show nothing but confusion ; eyed awry Distinguish form.- And Bacon, in describing a rebellion in Scotland against King James III., tells that the rebels captured the King's son — Prince James — and used him To shadow their rebellion, and to be the titular and pahttcd head of those arms.-'' This is a very peculiar expression, and reminds us of Lady Mac- beth's words: 'Tis the eye of childhood That fears -a painted Ae\\\.^ And again Shakespeare says: Men are but gilded loam ov painted c\a.y.^ Than is the deed to my most /><7/«/iv with wit's regard.** There is a mutiny in his mind.' That should move The stones of Rome to rise and /nutinv.^^' My very hairs do niutiiiy.^^ ' Love' s Labor Lost, i, i. ^ A ntony and Cleopatra^ v, 2. ' Henry I III,, iii, 2. '^ Richard I L, i, 3. ^Julius Ctrsar, i, 2. ^"Julius C'iPSdr, iii, 2. ^ King John, iii, i. ' Richard //., iii, 4. " .Xntony and Cleopatra, iii, 2. ■" Richard IL, iii, :_.. 1* Jbid., ii, t. 326 PARALLELISMS. Bacon says: Unto such death is a irdcenier. The sick King Edward IV., nigh unto death, says: I every day expect an embassage From my Redeemer to redeem me hence.' Bacon says: And the grave a place of ret i redness and rest. Shakespeare says: That their souls May make a peaceful and a sweet retire.^ Again : His new kingdom of perpetual rest.^ Oh, here Will I set up my everlasting rest.* Says Bacon: Wooing the remorseless sisters to wind down the watch of their life, and to break them off before the hour. Wooing is a favorite word with Shakespeare, and applied, as here, in a peculiar sense. That 'cvod'd the slimy bottom of the deep. And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by.° More inconstant than the wind which luoos Even now the frozen bosom of the north.® The heavens' breath Smells wooingly here.'' Says Bacon: To wind down the watch of their life. Says Shakespeare: He is winding up the watch of his wit.** This is indeed an odd comparison — the watch of his life, the watch of his wit. Bacon says: But death is a doleful messenger to a usurer, and fate untimely cuts t/ieii- thread. Shakespeare has: Let not Bardolph's vital thread be eiit.^ ' Richard III., ii, i. ■* Romeo and Juliet, v, 3. ' Macbeth, i, 6. ^ Henry /'., iv, 3. * Ibid., i, 4. " Tcnifiest, ii, i. ' Richard III., ii, 2. * Romeo and Juliet, i, 4. " Henry V., iii, 6. IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 327 Had not churchmen prayed, His thread of life had not so soon decayed.' Till the destinies do cut his thread oi life.'- In the same paragraph Bacon alludes to the remorseless sisters^ and here we have: . O fates ! come, come. Cut thread and thrum . . . Oh, sisters three, Come, come, to me. With hands as pale as milk; Lay them in gore, Since you have shore. With shears, his thread oi silk.* Here we not only have the three weird sisters of destiny alluded to by both writers, but in connection therewith the same expres- sion, of cutting the thread of life. Bacon says, speaking of death: But I consent with Caesar, that the suddenest passage is easiest. We are reminded of Cleopatra's studies: She hath pursued conclusions infinite Of easy ways to die.^ Says Bacon: Nothing more awakens our resolve and readiness to die than the quieted cou- scienee. We are reminded of Wolsey: I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet couscience.^ And again: O my Wolsey, The quiet of my wounded eanscienee.^ Says Bacon: Our readiness to die. Hamlet associates the same word readiness with death: If it be not now, j'et it will come: the readiness is all.^ Says Bacon: My ambition is not to forefiow the tide. ^ 1st Henry f'/., i, i. * Aniony'and Cleopatra, v, >. 'Ibid., ii, 2. ^Pericles, i, 2. ^ Henry I'Hl., iii, 2. '' Hamlet, v, 2, ' Midsummer Night's Dream, v, 1. 328 PARALLELISMS. Shakespeare says: For we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.' Bacon says: So much of our life as we have already discovered is already dead, . . for we die daily. In Shakespeare we have: The Queen that bore thee, Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, Died eveiy day she lii'ed.'^ Bacon says: Until we return to onr grandmother, the earth. Shakespeare speaks of the earth in the same way: At your birth Our grandam, earth, having this distemperature, In passion shook." Bacon says: Art thou drowned in security? Shakespeare says: He hath a sin that often drowns him.'* Bacon says: There is nothing under heaven, saving a true friend, who cannot be counted within the number of moveables. This is a strange phrase. We turn to Shakespeare, and we tind a similar thought: Katharine. I knew you at the first. You were a tnoveable. Petruchio. Why, what's a movable? Katharine. A joint stool."' And again: Love is not love Which alters where it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove.'^ / Bacon says: They desired to be excused from Death's banquet. ^Julius Ciesar, iv, 3. '^ 1st Henry II'., iii, i. ' Taming 0/ the Shrevj, ii,i. * Macbeth, iv, 3. * Timon 0/ Athens, iii, 5. « Sonnet c.wi. IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 329 Shakespeare says: O proud death. What feast is forward in thine eternal cell ? ' And again: O malignant and ill-boding stars ! Now thou art come unto a feast of death.'^ This is certainly an extraordinary thought — that Death devours and feasts upon the living. Speaking of death, Bacon further says: Looking at the blessings, not the hand that enlarged thitm. This is a peculiar expression — that death enlarges and liber- ates. We find precisely the same thought in Shakespeare: Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries, With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence.' Bacon says: The soul having shaken off her flesh. Shakespeare has it: O you mighty gods ! This world I do renounce; and in your sights Shake patiently my great affliction off.* And again: What dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil.^ Bacon continues: The soul . . . shows what yi'w^'-^r hath enforced her. Here is a strange and unusual expression as applied to God. We turn to Shakespeare and we find it repeated: The fingers of the powers aboi'e do tune The harmony of this peace. ^ And we find the word finger repeatedly used by Shakespeare in Nor desire any greater place than the front of good opinion. Shakespeare has: The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent, no more.'* Says Bacon: 1 should not be earnest to see the t'-r;//;/^ of my age; that extremity of itself being a disease, and a mere return unto infancy. Speaking in sonnet Ixxiii of his own age, Shakespeare says: In me thou seest the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away. Bacon says: The extremity of age. '^ Hamlet, ni. 2. ^ /famtet. Hi, 2. •'• //«;«/<•/, iii, 2.. 2 Merry JViveso/lViniisor, ii, i. * Richard //., v, 5. " Othello, i, 3. IDENTICAL EXPRESSIOXS. - - i Shakespeare has it, speaking of old age: Oh I time's extremity. Hast thou so cracked and splitted my poor tongue.' And again he says: The middle of youth thou never knowest, but the extremity of both ends.* Says Bacon: A mere return unto infancy. Shakespeare says: Last scene of all. That ends this strange, eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion.'' Says Bacon: Mine eyes begin to discharge their watch. Shakespeare says: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye.^ Says Bacon: For a time of perpetual rest. Says Shakespeare: Like obedient subjects, follow him To his new kingdom of perpetual rest} I. Conclusions. This is certainly a most remarkable series of coincidences of thought and expressions; and, as I said before, they occur not in the ordinary words of our language, the common bases of speech, without which we cannot construct sentences or communicate with each other, but in unusual, metaphorical, poetical thoughts; or in ordinary words employed in extraordinary and figurative senses. Thus it is nothing to find Bacon and Shakespeare using such words as day and dead^ but it is very significant when we find both writers using them in connection with the same curious and abstruse thought, to-wit: that individuals metaphoricalh'' die daily. So the use of the word blood by both proves nothing, for they could scarcely have written for any length of time without employing it; but when we find it used by both authors in the sense of the • Cotttedy of Errors, v, i. * Romeo and Juliet, ii, 3, ' Timon 0/ Athens, iv, 3. * Richard III., li, 2. ^ As You Like It, ii, 7. 33- PARALLELISMS. essential principle of a thing, as the blood of virtue, the blood of malice, it is more than a verbal coincidence: it proves an identity in the mode of thinking. So the occurrence in both of the words death and banquet means nothing; but the expression, a banquet of death, a feast of death, is a poetical conception of an unusual char- acter. The words soul and shake, and even shuffle, might be found in the writings of all Bacon's contemporaries, but we will look in vain in any of them, except Shakespeare, for a description of death as the shaking off of the flesh, or the shuffling off of the mortal coil, to-wit, the flesh. To my mind there is even more in these resemblances of modes of thought, which indicate the same construction and constitution of the mind, and the same way of receiving and digesting and put- ting forth a fact, not as a mere bare, dead fact, but enrobed and enfleshed in a vital metaphor^ than in the similarity of thoughts, such as our crying when we come into the world, and the return of man in old age to mere infancy and second childishness; for these are things which, if once heard from the stage, might have been perpetuated in such a mind as that of Bacon. This essay Of Death is entirely Shakespearean. There is the same interfusing of original and profound thought with fancy; the same welding together of the thing itself and the metaphor for it; the same affluence and crowding of ideas; the same compactness and condensation of expression; the same forcing of common words into new meanings; and above all, the same sense of beauty and poetry. Observe, for instance, that comparison of the soul shut up in an imperfect body, trying, like an excellent musician, to utter itself upon a defective instrument. What could be more beautiful ? See the picture of the despairful widows, deposed kings and pensive prisoners, who sit in darkness, burdened with grief and irons, on the shore of Death, waving their hands to the grim tyrant to draw near, watching for the coming of his star, as the wise men looked for the coming of the star of Bethlehem, and wooing the remorseless sisters three to break them off before the hour. Or note the pathos of that comparison (bearing most melancholy application to Bacon's own fate) where he says: Who can see worse days than he that, while yet living, doth follow at the funeral of his own reputation ? IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. zz:^ And in the craving for a period of " perpetual rest," which shows itself all through this essay, we catch a glimpse of the melancholy which overwhelmed the soul of him who cried out,, through the mouth of Hamlet: Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt. Thaw and resolve itself into a dew ! Or that the Everlasting had not fixed His canon 'gainst self-slaughter. All through the essay it seems to be more than prose. From beginning to end it is a inass of imagery: it is poetry without rhythm. Like a great bird which as it starts to fly runs for a space along the ground, beating the air with its wings and the earth with its feet, so in this essay we seem to see the pinions of the poet constantly striving to lift him above the barren limitations of prose into the blue ether of untrammeled expression. It comes to- us like the rude block out of which he had carved an exquisite statue full of life and grace, to be inserted perchance in some drama, even as we find another marvelous essay on death inter- jected into Measure for Measure} II. The Style of a Barren Mind. As a means of comparison and as an illustration of the wide difference between human brains, I insert the following letter from Lord Coke, who lived in the same age as Bacon, and was, like him^ a lawyer, a statesman, a courtier and a politician. Bacon's language overruns with flowers and verdure: it is liter- ally buried, obscured and darkened by the very efflorescence of his fancy and his imagination. Coke speaks the same English tongue in the same period of development, but his thoughts are as bare, as hard, as soulless and as homely as an English work-house, in the midst of a squalid village-common, a mile distant from a flower or a blade of grass. When we read the utterances of the two men we are reminded of that amusing scene, depicted by the humorous pen of Mark Twain, where Scotty Briggs and the village parson carry on a conversation in which neither can understand a word the other says, though both speak the same tongue; illus- trating that in the same language there may be many dialects ' Act iii, scene i. -, -, , PA RA LLELISMS. separated as widely from each other as French from German, and depending for their character on the mental constitution of the men who use them. The speech of an English "navvy" does not differ more from the language of Tennyson's Morte d' Arthur than do the writings of Coke from those of Bacon. It will puzzle our readers to find a single Shakespeareanism of thought or expression in a whole volume of Coke's productions. The Humble and Direct Answer to the Last Question Arising upon Bagg's Case. It was resolved, that to this court of the King's bench belongeth authority not only to correct errors in judicial proceedings, but other errors and misdemeanors tending to the breach of the peace, or oppression of the subjects, or to the raising of faction or other misgovernment: so that no wrong or injury, either public or private, can be done, but it shall be reformed and punished by law. Being commanded to explain myself concerning these words, and principally concerning this word, " misgovernment," — I answer that the subject-matter of that case concerned the misgovernment of the mayors and other the magistrates cf Plymouth. And I intended for the persons !he misgovernment of such inferior magistrates for the matters in committing wrong or injury, either public or private, punishable bylaw, and therefore the last clause was added, "and so no wrong or injury, either public or private, can be done, but it shall be reformed and punished by law;" and the rule is: " vcrha inteliigenda sunt sc\iiiidit/n subjectam inah'riam." And that they and other corporations might know, that factions and other mis- governments amongst them, either by oppression, bribery, unjust disfranchise- ments, or other wrong or injury, public or private, ^re to be redressed and punished by law, it was so reported. But if any scruple remains to clear it, these words may be added, " by inferior magistrates," and so the sense shall be by faction or misgovernment of inferior magistrates, so as no wrong or injury, etc. All which I most humbly submit to your Majesty's princely judgment. Edw. Coke. Now it may be objected that this paper is upon a dry and grave subject, and that Bacon would have written it in much the same style. But if the reader will look back at the quotations I have made from Bacon, in the foregoing pages, he will find that many of them are taken from his law papers and court charges, and his weighty philosophical writings, and yet they are fairly alive with fancy, metaplior and poetry. CHAPTER II. IDENTICAL METAPHORS. « ToJichstone. For al! your writers do consent, that ipse is he; Now you are not ifisi\ for I am he. U'il/iaiii. Which he, sir? As 'i'ou Lil-c ft, ■;■, I. BOTH Bacon and Shakespeare reasoned by analogy. When- ever their thoughts encountered an abstruse subject, they compared it with one plain and familiar; whenever they sought to explain mental and spiritual phenomena, they paralleled them with physical phenomena; whenever they would render clear the lofty and great, they called up before the mind's vision the humble and tlie insignificant. All thoughts ran in parallel lines; no thought stood alone. Hence the writings of both are a mass of similes and comparisons. I. Humble and Base Things Used as Comparisons. We have seen that Bacon and his double were both philoso- phers, and especially natural philosophers, whose observation took in ** the hyssop on the wall, as well as the cedar of Libanus; " and when we come to consider their identity of comparisons, we shall find in both a tendency to use humble and even disgusting things as a basis of metaphor. We shall see that Bacon was always '' puttering in physic," and we find Shakespeare constantly using medical terms and facts in his poetry. We find, for instance, that both compared the driving-out of evil influences, in the state or mind, to the effect of purgative medi- cines. Bacon says: The King . . . thought ... to proceed with severity against some of the principal conspirators here within the realm; thereby to purge the ill humors in England.' And again: Some of the garrison observing this, and having not their minds purged of the late ill blood of hostility.^ ' History of Henry I '//. 2 ibid. 335 336 PARALLELISMS. And again: But as in bodies very corrupt the medicine rather stirreth and exasperateth the humor than pii7'gcth it. so some turbulent spirits laid hold of this proceeding toward my lord, etc' While Shakespeare says; I Do come with words as medicinal as true; Honest as either; to purge him of that htmior That presses him from sleep.* And again; And again: And again; Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, Ere human statute purged the gentle weal.^ Would purge the land of these drones. And, for the day, confined to fast in fires. Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purged away.'' Bacon says: Sometimes opening the ohstruetious.^ Shakespeare says: Purge the obstructions,'' And the same thought occurs in different language. Bacon says: And so this traitor Essex made his color the scouring of some noblemen and counselors from her Majesty's favor. In Shakespeare we have: What rhubarb, senna, or what pur^ati^e drug Will scour i\\G.?,^ English hence?* The comparison of men and things to bodily sores is common in both — an unusual trait of expression in an elevated mind and a poet; but it was part of Bacon's philosophy "that most poor things point to rich ends." Bacon says: Augustus Caesar, out of great indignation against his two daughters and Posthu- mus Agrippa, his grandchild, whereof the first two were infamous, and the last 'Report of Judicial Proceed- ^ Macbeth /\\^ t,. '^ History of Henry I'll. ings at York House. * Pericles, ii, i. "> 2d Henry II'., iv, t. * irinter^s Tate, ii, 3. ^Hamlet, i, 5. ^Macbeth, V, 3. IDENTICAL MErAPIIORS. -37 otherwise unworthy, would say " that they were not his seed, but some imposthiimes that had broken from him."' And again he says: Should a man have them to be slain by his vassals, as the posthumus of Alex- ander the Great was? Or to call them his impostlttiiiws, as Augustus Csesar called his?-^ While in Shakespeare we have: This is the ii>tposthuiiu' of much wealth and peace, That //?ri'.?;v/ breaks, and shows no cause without Why the man dies.'^ And we find precisely the same thought in Bacon: He that turneth the humors back and maketh the wound bleed iHicards, ingen- dereth malign ulcers and pernicious iniposthmuatioiis.^ We have a whole body of comparisons of tilings governmental to these ulcers, in their different stages of healing. Bacon says: We are here to search the wounds of the realm, not to skin them over.' Spain having lately, with much difficulty, rather smoothed and skinned over than healed and extinguished the commotion of Aragon.* Shakespeare says: A kind of medicine in itself That skins the vice o' the top.^ Mother, for love of grace. Lay not that flattering unction to your soul. That not your trespass, but my madness speaks: It will but skin and film the ulcerous place ; While rank corruption, ininins^ 2\\ within, Infects unseen.* And even this curious word nii/ii>i,i:; we find in Bacon used in the same figurative sense: To search and /jiine into that which is not revealed.^ And we find this same inward infection referred to in Bacon: A profound kind of fallacies, . . . the force whereof is such as it . . . doth more generally and inwardly infect and corrupt.'" And then we have in both the use of the word canker or cancer as a source of comparison: ^ Af-ophtliegms. 'Observations on a Libel — Life and 2 Discourse in Praise of the Queen — Life Works, vol. i, p. 162. and Works, vol. i, p. 140. ' Measure /or Measure, ii, 2. ' Hamlet, iv, 4. * Hamlet^ iii, 4. * Essay Of Sedition. " Advancement 0/ Learning, book i. ' Speech in Parliament. '° Ibid., book ii. 338 J'^'l A' J I. LE LI SMS. Bacon: Shakespeare: The (V7«^fr of epitomes.' The cankers of a calm world and a long peace.' Banish the canker oi ambitious thoughts." This canker of our nature.'* This canker, Bolingbroke.'' Out of this tendency to dwell upon physical ills, and the cure of them, we find both coining a new verb, medicining, or to medicine. Bacon: The incilici)tini; of the mind." Again: Let the balm distill everywhere, from your sovereign hands to the medicining of any part that complaineth.'' Shakespeare says: Great griefs, I see, medicine the less.** Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy sirups of the world. Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep, Which thou owedst yesterday.* We find the same tendency in both to compare physical ills with mental ills, the thing tangible with the thing intangible. Bacon: We know diseases of stoppings and suffocations are the most dangerous in the body; and it is not much otherwise in the mind: you may take sarsa to open the liver, steel to open the spleen, flour of sulphur for the lungs, castareum for the brain; but no receipt openeth the heart but a true friend, to whom you may impart griefs, joys, fears, hopes, suspicions, counsels and whatsoever lieth upon the heart to oppress it}^ You shall know what disease your mind'vs, aptest to fall into." Good Lord, Madam, how wisely and aptly you can speak and discern of physic ministered to the body, and consider not that there is the like occasion of physic ministered lo the mind}'^ We turn to Shakespeare, and we find him indulging in the same kind of comparisons. In Macbeth we have: ' Advancement op Learning, book ii. ' Cyinbeiine, iv, 2. 2 1st Henry IV., iv, 2. " Othello, iii, 3. 5 2d Henry VI., i, 2. '" Essay Of Friendship. * Hamlet, v, 2. " Bacon's Letter to the Earl of Rutland, written '" 1st Henry IV., i, 3. in the name of the Earl of Essex — Life and '° .Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii. Works, vol. ii, p. 9. ' Gesta Crayoru)n — Life and " Apology. JVorks, vol. i, p. 33Q. IDENTICAL METAFIIORS. y^^^ Macbeth. How does your patient, doctor? Doctor. Not so sick, my lord. As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies That keep her from her rest. Macbeth. Cure her of that: Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased. Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow. Raze out the written troubles of the brain; And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, ' Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff Which 'weii^hs upon the heart f Doctor. Therein the patient Must minister to himself.' In both these extracts the stoppages and "suffocations" of the body are compared to the stuffed condition of the mind and heart; in both the heart is thus oppressed by that which lies upon it; in both we are told that there is no medicine that can relieve the over- charged spirit. Malcolm says; Be comforted. Let's make us tned'cines of our great revenge, To cure this deadly grief. ** II. The Organs of the Body Used as a Basis of Com- parison. We turn to another class of comparisons. In both writers we find the organs of the body used as a basis of metaphor, just as we have seen the "medicining" of the body applied to the state of the mind. Every reader of Shakespeare remembers that strange expression in Richard III.: Thus far into the bo7veIs of the land Have we marched without impediment.^ We find the same comparison often repeated: Into the boioe/s of the battle.'' The bo7vels of ungrateful Rome.' The fatal bowe/s of the deep." And we find Bacon employing the same strange metaphor: This fable is wise and seems to be taken out of the boioe/s of morality.'^ ' Macbetli, v, 3. 3 Richard III., V, 2. * Coriolanus, iv, 5. 5 Ibid., iv, 3. ■> 1st Henry VI., i, i. « Richard III., iii, 4. ' Wisdom of the Ancients — J 11 no'' s Suitor. 340 PARALLELISMS. If any state be yet free from his factions, erected in the bowels thereof." Speaking of the fact that earthquakes affecting a small area reach but a short distance into the earth, Bacon observes that. where they agitate a wider area, We are to suppose that their bases and primitive seats enter deeper into the bowels of the earth} , This is precisely the expression used by Hotspur: Villainous saltpeter dug out of the bowels of the harmless earth} And this comparison of the earth to the stomach, and of an earthquake to something which disturbs it, we find in Shakespeare: Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth In strange eruptions: oft the teeming earth Is with a kind of colic pinched and vexed By the imprisoning of unruly wind Within her womb.'* And we find the processes of the stomach, in both sets of writings, applied to mental operations: Shakespeare says: How shall we stretch our eye When capital crimes, cherued, s^vallowcd and digested. Appear before us ?* Bacon says: Some books are to be tasted, others to be s7uallo2ued, and some few to be chewed St.n6. digested} In both we find the human body compared to a musical instru- ment. Bacon says: The office of medicine is to tune this curious harp of man's body and reduce it to harmony.' In Shakespeare, Pericles tells the Princess: You're a fair viol, and your sense the strings, Who, fingered to make man his lawful music. Would draw heaven down and all the gods to hearken.^ And the strings of the harp furnish another series of compari- sons to both. Bacon says: They did strike upon a string that was more dangerous.^ ' Discourse in Praise of the Queen — Li/e ^ Henry l'., ii, 2. and Works, vol. i, p. 137. "Essay Of Studies. ' Nature 0/ Things. ' Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii. 3 1st Henry /?'., I, 3. " Pericles, i, i. *Ibid., iii, 1. '^ History of Henry I'll. IDENTICAL METAPHORS. 341 And again: The King was much moved, . . . because it struck upon that siring which even he most fea7-ed} And Shakespeare says: And again: Ilarp not on that string, madam.'-' I would 'twere something that would fret the string. The master-cord on 's heart.'' And the word harping is a favorite with botli. Bacon says: This string you cannot harp upon too much."* And again: Harping upon that which should follow.^ And in Shakespeare we have: Still harping on my daughter.* Harping on what T am. Not what he knew I was.' Thou hast harped my fear a.v\g\\l.* We have the disorders of the body of man also made a source of comparison for the disorders of the mind, in the following instance. Bacon: High conceits do sometimes come streaming into the minds and imaginations of base persons, especially when they are drunk with news, and talk of the people.* Shakespeare; Was the hope drunk Wherein you dressed yourself?'" What ! drunk with choler?" Hath our intelligence been drunk' ^'^ Here we have drunkenness applied to the affections and emo- tions — to the viiiid'xn the one case, to the intelHgence in the other; to the imagination in the first instance, to the hope and the temper in tlie last. We have the joints of the body used by both to express the con- dition of public affairs. ' History 0/ Henry I'll. " Richard HI., iv, 4. '^ Henry VHI., iii, 2. ■* Letter to Esse.x, Oct. 4, 1596. ' Civil Conr. •'•Hamlet, ii, -. ''Antony and Cleopatra, iii, 3. "Macbeth, iv, i. ' History 0/ Henry J '//. ^»J/acieih, i, 7. " /st Henry IV., i, 3. '" King' John, iv, 2. ,i4- PARALLELISMS. Bacon says: We do plainly see in the most countries of Christendom so unsound and shaken an estate, as desireth the help of some great person, to set together a,nd join again the pieces asunder and out of joints In Shakespeare we have Hamlet's exclamation, also applied to the condition of the country: The time is out of joint — Oh, cursed spite. That ever I was born to set it right.' We have the body of man made the basis of another compari- son. Bacon says: The very springs and sinews of industry. "* We should intercept his [the King of Spain's] treasure, whereby we shall cut his sinews.^ While vShakespeare says: The portion and siiiciv of her fortune.* Nay, patience, or we break the sinr^vs of our i)lol.' The noble sinews of our power.'' We have the same comparison applied to the blood-vessels of the body. Bacon: He could not endure to have trade sick, nor any obstruction to continue in the gate-vein which disperseth that blood.* Shakespeare: The natural goles and alleys of the body.' We have in both the comparison of the body of man to a taber- nacle or temple in which the soul or mind dwells. Bacon says: Thus much for the body, which is but the tabernacle of the mind.'" Shakespeare says: Nothing vile can dwell in such a temple}^ ' Of the State of Jiurope. ^ Hamlet^ i, 5. ' Noz'uin OrganiitiJy book i. * Letter to Essex, June, 1596. ^ Measure for Measure, iii, i. '• Iwelfth Night, ii, 5. ' Henry J'., i, z. * History of Henry 1 II. " Hamtet, i, 5. '" AtlTancetneiit of Learning, book ii. " Tempest, i, '.>. IDENTICAL METArUOKS. 343 And again: For nature, crescent, does not grow alone In thews and bulk; but, as this temple waxes, The inward service of the mind and soul Grows wide withal.' Oh, that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous /(//(Tcc.^ Even the clothing which cov^ers the bod^f becomes a medium of comparison in both. Bacon : Behavior seemeth to me as a garment of the ntind.'^ This curious idea, of robing the mind in something which shall cover or adorn it, is used by Shakespeare: With purpose to be dressed in an opinion Of wisdom.'' And dressed myseM in such humility.'^ Was the /tope drunk wherein you (/;vjjW yourself?* And the same thought occurs in the following: The garment of rebellion.' Dashing the garment of this peace.* Part of the raiment of the body is used by both as a comparison for great things. Bacon: The motion of the air in great circles, such as are under the girdle 0/ the ivorldy Shakespeare says: Puck. I'll put a. girdle round about the earth In forty minutes.'" We have said that both writers were prone to use humble and familiar things as a basis of comparison for immaterial and great things. We find some instances in the following extracts. The blacksmith's shop was well known to both. Bacon says: There is shaped a tale in London's forge that beateth apace at this time." ' Hamleiy i, 3. ' Macbeth^ i, 7. ' Romeo and Juliet, iii, 2. " 1st Henry II'., v, i. ' Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii. ' Henry VIII. i, i. * Merchant of Venice, \, i. * Natural History, § 398. ^ jst Henry IV., iii, 2. '" Midsummer Niglifs Dream, ii, 2. " Letter 10 Lord Howard. 344 PA KALLELISMS. Shakespeare: Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge with it, then; shape it. I would not have things cool.' Here we have in the one case a tale shaped in the forge ; in the other a plan is to be shaped in the forge. And again we have in Shakespeare: In the quick forge and working-house of thought,^ I should make very forges of my cheeks, That would to cinders burn up modesty.' Again we find in Bacon: Though it be my fortune to be the anvil upon which these good effects are beaten and wrought.'* Speaking of Robert Cecil, Bacon says: He loved to have all business under the hummer.^ And this: He stayed for a better hour till the //(//« w^r had wrought and beat the party of Britain more pliant.^ While in Shakespeare we have: I cannot do it, yet I'll hammer it out Of my brain.' Whereupon this month I have Ijeen hammering.^ The refuse left at the bottom of a wine-cask is used by both metaphorically. Bacon: That the [Scotch] King, being in amity with him, and noways provoked, should so burn in hatred towards him as to drink the lees and dregs of Perkin's intoxication, who was everywhere else detected and discarded.' And again Bacon says: The memory of King Richard lay like lees in the bottom of men's hearts; and if the vessel was but stirred it would come up.'^' And Bacon speaks of The dregs of this age." We turn to Shakespeare and we find: He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up The lees and dregs of a flat, tamed piece. '^ ' I\Te7'ry Wives 0/ Windsor^ iv, 2. ' Richard 11,, V, 5. ' Henry I'., v, cho. " Two Gentlemen of Verona, i, 3. ' Otliello, iv, 2. ' History 0/ Henry VII. ^ Letter to the Lords. '° Ibid. ^Letter to King James, 1612. "Bacon lo Queen Elizabeth — Life and ^ History 0/ Henry VI /. Works, viil, ii, p. )6o. '^ Troi/iis and Cressida, iv, 1. Again: Again : Again: IDEM riCA I. MK T. I PNOA'S. All is but toys; renown and grace is dead; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.' Some certain i/r(',4,o of conscience.* The dregs of the storm be past.'' 345 And the floating refuse which rises to the top of a vessel is also used in the same sense by both. Bacon speaks of The scum of the people* Again : A rabble and scum of desperate people.^ While Shakespeare says : A scu/)t of Bretagnes and base knaves. "^ Again: The filth and scum ot Kent.' Again: Froth and scum, thou liest.^ Another instance of the use of humble and physical things as a basis of comparison in the treatment of things intellectual is found in the following curious metaphor: Bacon: He that seeketh victory over his nature, let him not set himself too great or too small tasks, . . . and at the first let him practice with helps, as s7vimmers do with bladders} While Shakespeare has: I have ventured, Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders. This many summers in a sea of glory.'" The people are compared by both to mastiffs. Bacon: The blood of so many innocents slain within their own harbors and nests by the scum of the people, who, like so many mastiffs, were let loose, and heartened and even set upon them by the state." ' Macbeth, ii, 3. 5 History c/ Henry I'll. « Essay Of Nature in Men. 2 Richard III, i, 4. 9 Richard III., V, 2. '" He7iry I V/I., iii. 2. ' Tempest, ii, 2. '' 2d Henry VI., iv, 2. " Fetii . Quern E/izahefh. * Felic. Queen Elizabeth. ^ Merry U'iveso/ Windsor , i, 1. 346 PARALLELISMS. While Shakespeare says: The men do sympathize with their mastiffs, in robustious and rough coming-on.^ We will see hereafter how much Bacon loved the pursuit of gardening. He says: He entered into clue consideration how to 'ivceJ out the partakers of ^he former rebellion. - Again; A man's nature runs either to herbs or weeds; therefore let him seasonably water the one and destroy the other.^ While Shakespeare has: So one by one well 7i>ced them all at last.'' And again: The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.' The mirror is a favorite comparison in Ixjtli sets of writings, as usual the thing familiar and physical illustrating the thing abstruse and intellectual. Bacon says: God hath framed the mind of man as a mirror or rrlass capable of the image of the universal world.- Shakespeare: Now all the youth of England are on fire, . . Following the mirror oi all Christian kings.' Bacon : That which I have propounded to myself is ... to show you your true shape in a glass. ^ Shakespeare says of play-acting: Whose end both at the first, and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure.* Bacon says: If there be a mirror in the world worthy to hold men's eyes, it is that country."" ' Henry /'., iii, 7. ^ History of Henry VI J. 3 Essay O/ Nature in Men. * 2d Henry f'/., i, 3. •'' Kirhard //., ii, 3. * Advancetnent of Learning, book i. ' Henry I'., ii, cho. " Letter to Coke. ^ //«;«/£■/, iii, 2. "• .V,'7(' .it /a litis. 347 3 /DENTICA I. ME TArilORS. Shakespeare says: The mirror (A all courtesy.' He was, indeed, the glass Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.' Here is another humble comparison. Bacon: He thought it [the outbreak] but a rag or rt-ninant of Bosworth-field. Shakespeare says: Away ! thou rag, thou quantity, thou rriiiiiaiiL^ Here we have both words, rag and remnant, tised figuratively, and used in the same order. Again: Thou rag of honor.* Not a rag of money. ^ Both writers use the humble habitation of the hog as a mediun-t of comparison. Bacon: Styed M\> in the schools and scholastic cells.' Shakespeare: And here you sly me On this hard rock.' Here is a comparison based on the same familiar facts. Bacon speaks of The wisdom of rats that will he sure to leave a house somewhat before it fall." Shakespeare says: A rf)tten carcass of a butt, not rigged. Nor tackle, sail, nor mast ; the very rats Instinctively have quit it."' The habits of birds are called into requisition by both writers. Bacon says: In her withdrawing-chamber the conspiracy against King Richard the Third had been hatched ^'^ Shakespeare says: Dire combustion and confused events New hatched to the woeful time.'-' > Henry /'///., ii, i. ^ Richard III, i, 3. ' Essay Of Wisdom. ^ 2d Henry IV., ii, 3. '■ Comedy of Errors, iv, 4. '" Tempest, i, 2. 3 History of Henry VII. ' Natural History. n History of Henry VII^ * Taming of the Shreiv, iv, (. ' Tciiif>cst, i, 2. ^"^ Macbeth, ii, 3. 348 PARALLELISMS. And again Such things become the hatch and brood of time. Bacon says: Will you be as a standing pool, that spendeth and choketh his spring within itself?^ Shakespeare says: There are a sort of men whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond." Even the humble wagon forms a basis of comparison. Bacon says: This is the axle-tree whereupon I have turned and shall turn.* And again Bacon says: The poles or axle-tree of heavert, upon which the conversion is accomplished.^ Shakespeare has: A bond of air strong as the axle-tree On which heaven rides.* In the following another comparison is drawn from an humble source; and here, as in rag and remtiant, not only is the same word tised in both, but the same combination of words occtirs. Bacon says: To reduce learning to certain empty and barren generalities; being but the very /rusks and shells of sciences.'' Shakespeare says: But the shales and husks of men.* v Strewed with the husks And formless ruin of oblivion.' Who can forget Hamlet's exquisite description of the heavens: This m&i&siic roof fretted wiVn golden fire.'" Few have stopped to ask themselves the meaning of the word fretted. We turn to the dictionary and we find no explanation that satisfies us. We go to Bacon, to the mind that conceived the thought, and we find that it means ornamented by fret-work. ' 3d Henry IV., iii, i. " Troiliis and Cressida, i, 3. - Gesta Grayoruiii — Li/e and II orXw, vol. i, p. 339. ' .IdTancement 0/ Learning, book ii. 3 Mercliant 0/ Venice, i, i. *" Henry /'., iv, 2. ■* Letter to Earl of Essex, 1600. " Troiliis and Cressida, iv, 5. * Ad-i'ancement 0/ Learning, bonk ii. '" llanilei, ii, 2. IDENTICAL METAPHORS. 34^ For if that great Work-master had been (jf a human disposition, he would have cast the stars into some pleasant and beautiful works and orders, like the /nV.i- in the roofs of houses.' Here we have a double identity: first, the heavens are compared to the roof of a house, or, more properly, the ceiling of a room; and secondly, the stars are compared to the fret-work which adorns such a ceiling. It would be very surprising if all this came out of two separate minds. In the following we have another instance of two words used together in the same comparison. Bacon: We set j-A/w/j- and seals of our o-wn /wrtj,v,r upon God's creatures and works. ■^ Shakespeare makes the nurse say to the black Aaron, bringing him his child: The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal. And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point.* And again: Nay, he is your brother by the surer side. Although my .fca/be stamped u^on his face.* Here we have precisely the same thought: Aaron had set "the stamp and seal of his own image " on his offspring. We find in both the mind of man compared to a fountain. Bacon says: When the books of hearts shall be opened, I hope I shall not be found to have the troubled fountain of a eorrupt heart.^ Again : He [the King of Spain] hath by all means projected to trouble the waters here.'' And again: One judicial and exemplar iniquity doth trouble the fountains of justice more than many particular injuries passed over by connivance.' Pope Alexander . . . was desirous to trouble the waters in Italy.** Shakespeare says: A woman moved is like a. fountain troubled.^ ^ Advance»icnt n/ Leariiing^,hoo]!iii. 'Report on Dr. Lope/.' Treason — Li'/e * Exper. History. and IVorks, vol. i, p. -275. ' Titus Andronicus, iv, 2. ' Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii, < Ibid. « History 0/ Henry VU. * Letter to the King. '•* Taming 0/ the Shrew, \ , 2. J50 PARALLELISMS. My mind is /;■('///'/<■(/ like a foiinldiii stirred.' Hut if he start, It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.'- In both we find the thoughts and emotions of a man compared to the coals which continue t(j live, although overwhelmed by mis- fortunes which cover them like ashes. Bacon says: Whilst I live my affection to do you service shall remain quick under the ashes of my fortune.' And again: So that the sparks of my affection shall ever rest quick, under the ashes of my fortune, to do you service.'' Shakespeare says: Pr'ythee go hence, Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits, Through the ashes of my chance.'' Again : Again : The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out. And strew'd repentant aslies on his head.^ This late dissension, grown betwixt the peers. Burns under feigned ashes of forged love, And will at last break out into 2l flame? And the expression in the above quotation from Bacon: The sparks of my affection, is paralleled in Shakespeare: Sparks of honor.* Sparks of life.' Sparks of nature.'" We find in both the state or kingdom compared to a ship, and the king or ruler to a steersman. Bacon says: Statesmen and such as sit at the Iielnis of great kingdoms." In Shakespeare we find Suffolk promising Queen Margaret the control of the kingdom in these words: ' Troitus and Cress/da, iii, 3. ' King John, iv, 1. ' Merry Wives 0/ Windsor, v, 5. ' 1st Henry VI., iii, i. '■'■ Letter to the Earl of Bristol. " Richard II., v, 6. ^ Letter to Lord Viscount Falkland. ^ Jutius Ca'sar,\, t,. * Antony and Cleopatra, v, 2. '" Cymbetinc, iii, 3; Lear, iii, 7. ^^ Feiic. Queen Elizabeth. And again: And again : I DEN TIC A L ME TA PHOR S. So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last, And you yourself shall s/ivr tlic Itappy helm} God and King Henry go\-ern England's lu-liit.''- A rarer spirit never Did steer humanity.^ 35^ We have seen Bacon speaking, in a speech in Parliament, of those '■^ viperous natures " that would drive out the people from the lands and leave " nothing but a shepherd and his dog." We find the same comparison, used in the same sense, in Shake- speare: Where is this 7'iper That would depopulate the city, And be every man himself?^ The overwhelming infiuence of music on the soul is compared by both to a rape or ravishment. Bacon says: Melodious tunes, so fitting and delighting the ears that heard them, as that it ravished and betrayed all passengers. . . . Winged enticements to raijish and rape mortal men.* While Shakespeare says: By this divine air, now is his soul ravished.^ And again: And again: When we, Almost with ;w77'j/;^c/ listening, could not find His hour of speech a minute.' One whom the music of his own vain tongue Doth ravish like enchanting harmony.** We have in both the great power of circumstances compared to the rush of a flood of water. Bacon : In this great de/itge of danger." Shakespeare: Thy deed inhuman and unnatural Provokes this deluf^e most unnatural.'" ^2dIIenry VI.,'\,i,. '■Much Ado alwiit Notliingyn, ^. ^Ibid., ii, 3. ■'Henry \-lII., i, 2. ' Antony and Cleopatra, v, 1. " Love's Labor Lost, i, i. ^ Coriolaniis, iii, i. " Felic. Queen Elizabeth. '" Wisdom o/the Ancients — The Sirens. '" Richard III., i, 2. 35 2 Again: Again: Again: PARALLELISMS. 'Y\\\% flood o{ fortune.' And such s^ flood of greatness fell.' This great flood of visitors.-' In their effort to express great quantity we have both refer- ring to the ocean for their metaphors. Bacon has: He came with such a sea of multitude upon Italy.'* A sea of air} Shakespeare has precisely the same curious expression: A sea of air} Bacon also has: Vast seas of time.'' A sea of quicksilver.* Again Bacon says: Will turn a sea of baser metal into gold.' In Shakespeare the same '"large composition" of the mind drives him to seek in the greatest of terrestrial objects a means of comparison with the huge subjects which fill his thoughts: A sea of joys.'** A sea of care." Shed seas of tears. '- A sea of glory. '^ That sea of blood.''* A sea of woes.'^ We also find in Hamlet : A sea of troubles.'* This word, thus employed, has been regarded as so peculiar and unusual that the commentators for a long time insisted that it was a misprint. Even Pope, himself a poet, altered it to read "a siegr of troubles;" others would have it ^^ assail of troubles." But we I Tivel/th Night., iv, 3. * Titnon 0/ Athens, iv, 2. '' Henry VIII., iii, 2. ^ 1st Henry IV.,v, i. ' Ad7'ancetnent of Learn- '^'^ Rape o/ Lucrece. ' Titnon 0/ Athens, i, i. ing, book i. '^ 1st Henry VI., iv, 7. ■• Apophthegms. * Ibid., book ii. ^^ 3d Henry VI., ii, 5. ^ .-idfancement oj" Learn- ^ Natural History, %-yi(>. ^^ Tiinon o/" Athens, \, i. ing, book ii. '" Pericles, v, i. '* Hamlet, iii, i. IDENTICAL METAPHORS. 353 see that it was a common expression with both Bacon and Shakespeare. Bacon has also: The ocean of philosophy.' ^ The ocean of history.' Shakespeare has: An ocean of his tears." An ocean of salt tears.* Tn the same way the tides of the ocean became the source of numerous comparisons. The most striking was pointed out some time since h\ Montagu and Judge Holmes. Not only is the tide used as a metaphor, but it enforces precisely the same idea. Bacon: In the third place, I set down reputation, because of the peremptory tides and currents it hath; which, if they be not taken in their due time, are seldom recovered.^ Shakespeare says: There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat; And we must take the cun-ent when it serves, Or lose our ventures.^ Bacon and Shakespeare recur very often to this image of the tides: My Lord Coke floweth according to his own tides, and not according to the tides of business.' Here "tides of business" is the same thought as "tides of affairs" in the foregoing quotation from Shakespeare. Bacon again says: The tide of any opportunity, . . . the periods and tides of estates.* And again: Besides the open aids from the Duchess of Burgundy, there wanted not some secret tides from Maximilian and Charles.' ' Ejcper. History. ^Advancement of Leaitting, book ii. - Great Instauration. ''Julius Ctssar, iv, 3. ' Two Gentlemen 0/ Verona, ii, 7. ' Letter to the King, February 25, 1615. *Sd Henry I'J., iii, 2. * Letter to Sir Robert Cecil. » History 0/ Henry VU. 354 ■ PARALLELISMS. And again: The tidcx and currents of received errors.' • Shakespeare says: The tide of blood in me Hath proudly flowed in vanity till now; Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea; Where it shall mingle with the state of floods, And flow henceforth in formal majesty. - And it will be observed that the ctirious fact is not thai both should employ the word "//V/r," for that was of course a common word in the daily speech of all men, but that they should both employ it in a metaphorical sense; as the ''tide of affairs," "the tide of business," "the tide of errors," "the tide of blood," etc. And not only the ocean itself and the tides, but the swelling of the waters by distant storms is an image constantly in the minds of both. Bacon says: There was an unusual s-velling in the state, the forerunner of greater troubles.'* And again: Likewise it is everywhere taken notice of that -vaters do somewhat swell and rise before tempests.^ While in Shakespeare we have the same comparison applied in the same way: Before the days of change, still is it so; By a divine instinct, men's minds mistrust Ensuing danger; as, by proof, we see The wafers sivell before a boisterous storm .^ And here we have this precise thought in Bacon: As there are certain hollow blasts of wind and secret s7velliiig oi seas before a leinpest, so are there in states.*' Can any man believe this exact repetition, not only of thought, but of the mode of representing it by a figure of speech, was acci- dental ? And from this rising of the water both coin an adjective. Bacon says: Such a s'ivelli7ig season,' meaning thereby one full of events and dangers. * statutes of Uses. ' Felic. Queen Elizabeth. * Richard III., ii, 3. 5 2d Ilcnry II '., v, 2. * Natural History 0/ Winds. ' Essay Of Sedition. ' Hist 07- y of Henry I 'II, IDENTICAL METAPHORS. 355 While Shakespeare uses the adjective in the same peculiar sense: Again: Again : Again : As happy prologues to the s-welliitg act Of the imperial theme.' The S7i'cl/i/!^'- difference. - Hehold the s-uu-niiti^ scene. ^ Noble, s7('cni)ig spirits.'' The clouds, in both writers, furnish similes for overhanging troubles. Bacon says: Nevertheless, since I do perceive that this clouJ hangs over the House} And again Bacon says: The King, . . . willing to leave a cloud upon him, . . . prodticed him openly to plead his pardon.*^ Shakespeare says: And all the clouds that lowered upon our Iiousc In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.' And asfain Bacon savs : But the cloud of so great a rebellion hanging over his head, made him work sure.'* Shakespeare says : How is it that the clouds still houg on you ?" Bacon says : The King had a careful eye where this wandering cloud would break.'* Shakespeare: Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer's cloud. Without our special wonder?" Bacon says: He had the image and sttperscriftion upon him of the Pope, in his honor of Car- dinal. '- This thought is developed in Shakespeare into the well known comparison: A fellow by the hand of nature marked, Quoted and signed to do a deed of shame.'* ' Macbeth, i, 3. 5 Speech. • Hamlet, i, 2. 2 Richard II.,\,x. « History of Henry P'll. '" History 0/ Henry I 'II. 3 Henry V., i, cho. ' Richard III., i, i. " Macbeth, iii, 4. ■• Othello, ii, 3. 8 History of Henry VII. " History of Henry VII. ^^ King; John, iv, 2. 356 PARALLELISMS. In the orte case the superscription of the Pope marks the Cardinal for honor; in the other the hand of nature has signed its signature upon the man to show that he is tit for a deed of shame. And Bacon uses the word signature in the following: Some immortal monument bearing a character and signature both of the power, etc' Bacon says: Meaning thereby to harroiv his people.* Shakespeare says: Let the Volsces Plow Rome and harro7o Italy.'' And again: Whose lightest word would harroiv up thy soul.'' Bacon says: Intending the discretion of behavior is a great tJiicf of vit'ditation} Shakespeare says: You thief of love} And again: A very little thief of occasion} Bacon says: It was not long but Perkin, who was make of (jiiicksilTer, which is hard to hold or imprison, began to stir.* While Shakespeare says: The rogue fled from me like quicksilver} And again: That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through The natural gates and alleys of the body.'" Here' Perkin is compared to quicksilver by Bacon; and the volatile Pistol is compared to quicksilver by Shakespeare. Bacon says: They were executed ... at divers places upon the sea-coast of Kent, Sussex and Norfolk, for sea-marks or light-houses, to teach Perkin's people to avoid the coast." ' Advancement of Learning, book i. ^ Midsumtner NighCs Dream, iii, 2. ''^ History of Henry I'll. '' Corioianits, ii. i. ' Coriolaniis, V, 3. " History of Henry I'll, * Hamlet, i, 5. ' Hamlet, i, 5. ^Advancement of Learning, book ii. '" 2 / llcnry II'., ii, 4. " iristorv of Henry I'll. IDENTICAL AIETAPIIOKS. 357 Shakespeare uses the same comparison: The very sea-ntark of my utmost sail.' In both cases the words are used in a figurative sense. Bacon says: The King being lost in a wood of suspicion, and not knowing whom to trust.''' Shakespeare: And I — like one lost in a thorny 7vood, That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns. Seeking a way, and straying from the way; Not knowing how to find the open air. Hut toiling desperately to find it out.* Speaking of the Perkin Warbeck conspiracy, Bacon says: This was a finer counterfeit stone than Lambert Simnel; being better done and worn upon greater hands; being graced after with the wearing of a King of France.* And again: Virtue is like a rich stone, best plain set} In Shakespeare, Richmond describes Richard III. as A base, foul stone, made precious by the foil Of England's chair, where he is falsely set.* Here Bacon represents Warbeck as a "counterfeit stone;" Shakespeare represents Richard III. as "a foul stone." One is graced by a King's wearing; the other is made precious by being "set" in the royal chair of England. Bacon says: Neither the excellence of wit, however great, nor the die of experience, how- ever frequently cast, can overcome such disadvantages.' And again Bacon says: Determined to put it to the hazard.^ Shakespeare says: I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die} The singular thought that ships are walls to the land occurs in Bacon: " Othello, V, 2. 6 Essay Of Beauty. '' History of Henry I 'II. ^ Richard III., v, 3. '^ 3d Henry VI., iii, 2. ' Preface to Great Instauration. * History of Henry I'll. 8 ll'/sitoin of the Ancients — Sphynx. '> Richard III., v, 4. 358 PARALLELISMS. And for the timber of this realm ... it is the matter for our walls, walls not only for our houses, but fo7- oi/r islniid.'^ Shakespeare speaks of the sea itself as a wall: This precious s/fl7ic sef in a silver sea. Which serves it in the office of a 7vall} Here again we see Bacon's "Virtue is like a rich sione,h&s\. plain set." And again Shakespeare says: When our si-a-7va!li'd ga.r<^cn. the whole land, Is full of weeds.'* Bacon says; To speak and to trumpet out your commendations.* Shakespeare says: Will plead like angels, tnii>ipet-iongue&^ Bacon says: This lia-e she cast abroad, thinking that this fame and belief . . . would draw at one time or other some birds to strike upon it.* Shakespeare employs the same comparison. Petruchio says of Katharine: My falcon now is sharp and passing empty: And, till she stoop, she must not be full-gorged, For then she never looks upon her lure."^ Bacon has: Whose leisurely and snail-like pacc.^ Shakespeare has: Snail-paced beggary . ^ Bacon says: But touching the reannexing of the duchy of Britain, . . . the embassador hare aloof from it as if it was a rock.^^ In the play of Henry VIII., Norfolk sees Wolsey coming, and says to Buckingham : Lo, where comes that rock That I advise vour shunning." ' Case of Impeachment of Waste. ' History of Henry I'll. "^Richard //., ii, i. ' Tatiiing o/ the Shreii< , iv, i. 'Ibid., iii, 4. ^ History of Henry VH. * Letter to Villiers. June 12, 1616. '•* Richard HI., iv, 3. 5 Macbeth, i, 7. '" History 0/ Henry VH. ^^ Henry I'll I., i, i. IDENTICAL METAPHORS. :;59 Both use the tempering of wax as a nietaph(jr. Bacon : The King would not take his [Lambert's] life, taking him h\\\ as an image of wax that others had tempered and molded.' Falstaff says : There I will visit Master Robert Shallow, Esquire. I have him already temper- ing between my finger and my thumb, and shortly I will seal with him.^ Bacon says : With long and continual counterfeiting, and with oft telling a lie, he was turned by habit almost into the thing he seemed to be; and from a liar to a believer. * Shakespeare says: Like one Who having unto truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory To credit his own //<'.* Bacon says: Fortune is of a woman s nature, and will sooner follow by slighting than by too much wooing/ Shakespeare : Well, \i fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear.* Bacon: The Queen had endured a strange eclipse by the King's flight.'' Shakespeare: I take my leave of thee, fair son, Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon.* Bacon says: The King saw plainly that the kingdom must again he. pt/t to the stake, and that he must Jight for it.' Shakespeare says: They have tied me to the stake : I cannot fly, But, bear-like, I must fight the course.'" And again: Have you not set mine honor at the stake '''^ Again: I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course." > History of Henry VH. ^ Letter to Vilhers, 1616. " History of Henry VII. "^ 3d Henry Il'\ iv, 3. « Merchant of Venice, ii, 2. "> Twelftli Niglit, iii, i. ' History of Henry VII. ' History of Henry VII. " Macbeth, V, 7. ■* Tempest, i, 2. "^ ist Henry J'l., iv, 5. "^ Lear, iii, 7. 360 PARALLELISMS. Speaking of the rebellion of Lambert Simnell, Bacon says: But their siunv-ball did not gather as it went. Shakespeare says: If but a dozen French Were there in arms, they would be as a call To train ten thousand English to their side; Or, as a little siioiv, tumbled about, Anon becomes a mountain.' Both conceive of truth as something buried deep and only to be gotten out by digging. Bacon says: As we can dig truth out of the mine.- Shakespeare says: I will find Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed Within the center." Both compare human life to a pilgrimage. Bacon: In this progress and pilgrimage of human life.'* Shakespeare: How brief the life of man Runs his erring pilgrimage ; That the stretching of a span Buckles in his sum of age.-^ Both use the comparison of drowning to express overwhelmed or lost. Bacon: Truth dnnvned in the depths of obscurity.* Shakespeare says: While heart is droivned in cares.'' I drowued these news in tears. ^ Bacon says: But men are wanting to themselves in laying this gift of the gods upon the back of a silly, slow-paced ass." ' King John, iv, 4. ^ As You Like It, iii, 2. ^ History of Henry I 'II. ^ Wisdom of the A ncients — Prometheus. ' Haniiet, i, 2. , '' 2d Henry VI., iii, i. * Wisdom of the .■\ncients — Sphynx. ^jd Henry VI., ii, i. ' \]'iscip)n of the Ancients — Prometheus. IDENTICAL METAPHORS. 361 Shakespeare: If thou art rich thou art poor, For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows. Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, And death unloads thee.' In both we find the strange and unchristian thought that the heavenly powers use men as a means of amusement; and both express it with the same word, sport. Bacon says: As if it were a custom that no mortal man should be admitted to the table of the gods, but for sport " Shakespeare says: As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods: Thev kill us for their sport} Bacon says: • Your life is nothing but a continual actiui; on the stagc.'^ While Shakespeare has: All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players.^ We find Bacon making this comparison in the address of the Sixth Counselor to the Prince: I assure your Excellency, their lessons were so cumbersome, as if they would make you a king in a play, who, when one would think he standeth in great majesty and felicity, is troubled to say his part.* And we find Shakespeare making use of the same comparison in sonnet xxiii: As an imperfect actor on the stage. Who with his fear is put beside his pan. Bacon says: The maintaining of the laws, which is the Iwdgi' and fence about the liberty of the subject.'' Shakespeare uses the same comparison: There's such divinity doth hrdgc a k'ing.** Bacon says: The place I have in reversion, as it standeth now unto me, is like another ' Measure /o7- Measure, iii, i. ^ As i'ou Like It, ii, 7. "^ Wisdom o/ihe Ancients — Nemesis. " Gesta Grayoruin — /,//(• atid Works, vol. i, p. 340, ' Lear, iv, i. ' Charge against St. John. * Mask for Essex. " ftaiulrl, iv, 5. o 62 PARALLELISMS. man's ground reaching upon my house, which may mend my prospect, but doth not fill my barn.' While Shakespeare indulges in a parallel thought: Falstaff. Of what quality was your love, then ? Fo7-d. Like a fair house built on another man's ground; so that I have lost my edifice by mistaking the place where I erected it.^ Bacon says: Duty, though my state lie buried in the sands, and my favors be cast upon the waters, and my honors be committed to the wind, yet slandeth surely built upon the rock, and hath been and ever shall be unforced and unattempted.' And Shakespeare says: Yet my duty, As does a rock against the chiding flood, Should the approach of this wild river break ' And stand unshaken yours.'* Bacon, speaking of popular prophecies, says: My judgment is that they ought all to be despised and ought but to serve for winter talk by the fireside} Shakespeare says: Oh, these flaws and starts (Impostors to true fear) would well become A woman's story by a winter s fire. Authorized by her grandam.* In the Advertiscincut Touching:; an Holy JFar, Bacon uses the com- parison of a fan, separating the good from the bad by the wind thereof. Speaking of the extirpation of the Moors of Valencia, one of the parties to the dialogue, Zebedous, says: Make not hasty judgment, Gamaliel, of that great action, which was as Christ's fan in those countries. And in Troihis and Cressida we have the same comparison: Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan, Puffing at all, winnows the light away.'' Bacon says: Though the deaf adder will not hear, yet is he charmed that he doth not hiss. Shakespeare says in the sonnets: My adder sense To critic and to flatterer stopped is. ■ 1 Letter to the Lord Keeper. •• Henry VIIL, iii, 2. ^ Merry IVives 0/ Windsor, n, 2. '•''Essa.y Of Pro/>hecies. s Letter written for Esse.x. * Macbeth, iii, 4. ' Troilus and Cressida i. 3. IDENTICAL METAPHORS. 363 Another very odd and unusiuil comparison is used by both: Bacon, referring to the rebellion of Cornwall and the pretensions of Perkin Warbeck to the crown, says: But now these huhhles began to meet as they use to do upon the top of the -aui/er. ' And again: The action in Ireland was but a bubbler '' Shakespeare says, speaking of the witches in Macbeth: The earth hath bubbles as the ivater has, And these are of them.* And again: Seeking the bubble, reputation, Even in the cannon's mouth. ^ .\nd do but blow them to their trials, the bubbles are out.^ Bacon says: But it was ordained that this winding-?'?;!' of a Plantagenet should kill the true tree itself.^ Shakespeare says: That now he was The 17')' which had hid my princely trunk. And suck'd my virtue out on 't.' Here it is not a reference merely to the ivy, but to the ivy as the destroyer of the tree, and in both cases applied metaphorically. Bacon says: Upon the first grain of incense that was saeri Jieel upon the altar of peace ai Boloign, Perkin was smoked away.^ Shakespeare: Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, The gods themselves throw incense.^ H-ere is a curious parallelism: Bacon: The last words of those that suffer death for religion, like the songs of dyiui;- swans, do wonderfully work upon the minds of men, and strike and remain a long time in their senses and memories. '° ' History of Henry VU. ^ As You Like It, ii, 7. ' Tempest, \, 2. ^ Ibid. 5 Hamiet, v, 2. 8 History 0/ Henry VU. * Macbeth, \,T,. '^ History 0/ Henry III. ^L,-ar,v,i,. '" Wisdom 0/ the .-iticicnts — Dioiiiedes. 364 PARALLELISM^^. Shakespeare says: And again: And again: The tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony.' Then if he lose, he makes a swan-X\\i^ end, Fading in music* 'Tis strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale, faint swan. Who chants a doleful hymn to his own deatk.^ Here we have in both not only the comparison of the words of dying men to the song of dying swans; but the fact is noted that the words of such men "enforce attention" and "strike and remain a long time" in the minds and memories of men. In both, the liming of bushes to catch birds is used as a meta- phor. Bacon says: Whatever service I do to her Majesty, it shall be thought to be but se>~i'itiuin viscatiiiii, lime-twigs and fetches to place myself.* Shakespeare says: They are li/i/ed with the twigs.^ Myself have /i//ied a bush for her.' O limed soul, that, struggling to be free.' Like lime-twigs set.^ Mere fetches, the images of revolt.'' In both, sickrress and death are compared to an arrest by an officer. Bacon says, alluding to his sickness at Huntingdon: This present arrest of me by his Divine Majesty. Shakespeare says: This fell sergeant, Death, Is strict in his arrest. ^^ And in sonnet Ixxiv Shakespeare says, speaking of his death: But be contented; when that fell arrest. Without all bail, shall carry me away. 1 Richard II., ii, 1. * All's Well that Ends Well, Hi, 5. " Merchant 0/ I 'en ice, iii, 2. * 2d Henry VI., i, 3. 3 King John, v, 7. ' Hamlet, iii, 3. ^Letterto F. Greville — /.//c and Works, ^ 2d Henry I'l., iii, 3. vol. i, p. 359. ' Lear, ii, 4. ^"Hamlet, V, 2. IDENTICAL METAPHORS. 565 Bacon speaks of The hour-glass of one man's lifc.^ Shakespeare says: Turning the accomplishment of many jwrrj Into an hour-glass} In Bacon we have the odor of flowers compared to music: The breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air ( where it comes and goes like the warbling of music) than in the hand.^ Shakespeare reverses the figure, and compares the sounds of music to the odor of flowers: That strain again; — it had a dying fall; Oh, it came o'er my soul like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odor.^ Bacon says: That repose of the mind which only rides at anchor w^on hope.* Shakespeare says: See, Posthumus anchors upon Imogen/ Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue. Anchors on Isabel.' Bacon says: The desire of power in excess caused the angels to fall} Shakespeare says: I charge thee fling away ambition . By that sin fell the angels} We have in Bacon the following curious expression: These things did he [King Henry] wisely foresee. . . . whereby all things/^/ into his lap as he desired.'" Shakespeare says: Now the time is come That France must veil her lofty plumed crest, And let her heady'^z// into England's lap}'^ ' Advance}nent 0/ Learning, book li. " L'yiiil>clint\ v, 5. ' Henry V., prologue. " Measure for Measure, ii, , ' Essay Of Gardens. " Essay 0/ Goodness. * Twel/tli Night, i, i. " Henry I'll/., iii. 2. s Med. Sacra— Of Earthly fJope. '» History 0/ Henry 1 7/. ^^ Henry 11., v, 2. 366 PA KA LLELISMS. We all remember Keats' touchintJ^ epitaph: "* Here lies one whose name was writ in water. We find the original of this thought in Shakespeare: Noble madam, Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues We write in water.' And if we follow back the pedigree of the thought we find it in Bacon's High treason is not written in iccr And this reappears in Shakespeare thus: This weak impress of love is as a fit^ur-j Trench'd in ice, which with an hour's heat Dissolves to 7vater, and does lose his form.^ Bacon: Your beadsman therefore addresseth himself to your Majesty.'' Shakespeare: Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine.'' In the following we have a striking parallelism. Bacon says: In this t/ieaiei'ui man's life it is reserved, etc." Shakespeare says: This wide and universal llieater Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play.'' And we have the same thought presented in another form. Bacon says: Your life is nothing but a continual acting:; upon a stage.* Shakespeare says: All the world's a stage. And all the men and women merely players.'' Bacon says: For this giant bestrideth the sea; and I would take and snare him by the foot on this side.'" 1 Ih-nry Till., iv, 2. 2 Coil. Sent. ^ Tivo Gentlemen oj" J'eroiia, ill, ■2. ^ Letter to the King. ^ T'zvo Centletuen 0/ Vcro7in, i, i. ' Adi'anceinent 0/ Learning. ''As Voii Like It, ii, 6. ** Mask. * As Von Like It, ii, 7. ^0 Duels. IDENTICAL ME TAPHOKS. 367 Shakespeare says: His legs hcsirid the ocean} And again : Why, man, he doth best ride the narro^a world Like a Colossus." Bacon says: Many were glad that these /iv7;-.v and uncertainties were oTer/doivn , and that the idie was cast.'" Shakespeare says: The ague-fit of /;■,//• is overhlozi'ii} Again: At 'scapes and perils 07'erhloivitJ' Bacon says: Religion, justice, counsel and treasure are the io\xx pillars i^^i government.^ Shakespeare says: Brave peers of England, />///(?;-.>■ of the state." The triple ////(/r of the world." These shoulders, these ruined ////(/ry.^ I charge )'Ou by the law. Whereof you are a well-deserving ////<7r."' The seeds of plants furnish a favorite subject of comparison with both writers. Bacon speaks of ideas that Cast their seeds in the minds of others." He also refers to The secret seeds of diseases. '-' Again he says: There has been covered in my mind a long time a jy'c» Essay OfDesfiatcIi. '3 Letter to I2arl of Northumberland. 368 PARALLELISMS. The which observed, a man may prophesy, With a near aim, of the main chance of things As yet to come to life; which in their seeds And weak beginnings lie intreasured.' He also speaks of The seed of honor.* The seeds of time.^ Bacon compares himself to a torch: I shall, perhaps, before my death have rendered the age a li^ht unto posterity, by kindling this new torch amid the darkness of philosophy.'' Again he says: Matters should receive success by combat and emulation, and not hang tipoir any one mans sparkling and shaking torch} Shakespeare says: Heaven doth with us as we with torches do. Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike As if we had them not.* Speaking of Fortune, Shakespeare says: The wise and fool, the artist and unread, The hard and soft, seem all affin'd and kin: But in the wind and tempest of her frown. Distinction, with a broad and powerful yi?;/, Puffing at all, winnows the light away; And what hath mass or matter, by itself Lies, rich in virtue and itnmingled? And in Bacon we have the same comparison of the winnowing fan separating the light from the heavy. He says, speaking of church matters: And what are mingled but as the chaiT and the corn, which need but 2i fan to sift and sever them.** Shakespeare says: Be thou as lightning in the ej'es of France.' Bacon, describing Essex' expedition against Cadiz, said: This journey was like lightning. For in the space of fourteen hours the King of Spain's navy was destroyed and the town of Cales taken.'" 1 2d Henry IV., iii, i. * Wisdom of the A ncients — Prometheus. 2 Merchant of Venice, ii, 9. ' Measure for Measure, i, i. ' Macbeth, i, 3. ' Troilus and Cressida, i, 3. ^ Letter to King James, prefaced to Great '* The Pacification of the Church. Jnstauration. ^ King Joint, i, i. '" Consid. touching War with Spain. IDENTICAL METAPHORS. -60 Bacon called one of his great philosophical works The sea ling-hid Jer of the intelligence, Shakespeare has: Northumberland, thou ladder, wherewithal The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne.' Bacon says: It is the wisdom of crocodiles that shed tears when they would devour.'^ Shakespeare says: Gloster's show Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile With sorrow snares relenting passengers/' Says Bacon: The axe should be put to the root of the tree.* Says Shakespeare: We set the axe to thy usurping root.' But the field of labor in this direction is simply boundless. One whose memory is stored with the expressions found in the two sets of writings cannot open either one without being vividly reminded of the other. Both writers, if we are to consider them, for the sake of argument, as two persons, thought in the same w^ay; the cast of mind in each was figurative and metaphorical; both vivified the driest details with the electricity of the imagination, weaving it through them like lightning among the clouds; and each, as I have shown, was very much in the habit of repeating himself, and thus reiterated the same figures of speech time and again. ' Richard I J., V, i. ^ 2ti Henry VI., iii, i. 2 Essay Of Wisdom /or a Man^s Self. ■• Proceedings at York House, ^Sd Henry VI., ii, 2. CHAPTER III. IDENTICAL OPINIONS. A plague of opinion ! A man may wear it on both sides like a leather jerkin. J'roi/us ami Cressida, Hi, J. WE come now to another group of parallelisms — those of thoughts, opinions or beliefs, where the identity is not in the expression, but in the underlying conception. We find that both writers had great purposes or intentions of working for immortality; the one figuring his works as "banks or mounts," great earthworks, as it were; the other as great foundations or "bases" on which the future might build. Bacon says: I resolved to spend my time wholly in writing, and to put forth that poor talent or half talent, or what it is, that God hath given me, not, as hereto- fore, to particular exchanges, but to banks or mounts of J)erpetuity, which will not break.' Shakespeare says: Were it aught to me I bore the canopy, . With my extern the outward honoring. Or /aid great bases for eterttity. Which prove more short than waste or ruining.* Here the same idea runs through both expressions — *' banks of perpetuity" and "bases for eternity." Both believed that a wise government should be omniscient. Bacon says: So unto princes and states, especially towards wise senators and councils, the natures and dispositions of the people, their conditions and necessities, their fac- tions and combinations, their animosities and discontents, ought to be, in regard to the variety of their intelligence, the wisdom of their observations and the height of their station where they keep sentinel, in great part clear and transparent.^ Shakespeare says: The providence that's in a watchful state Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold; Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps; ' Toiiclihig a Holy U'ar , "^ Sonnet c.rxv. ^ .lth'a>icei;-:ent oj' Lea>n!ng^,hoo\i\i, IDENTICAL OPINIONS. 371 Keeps place with thought, and, almost like the gods. Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. There is a mystery (with whom relation Durst never meddle) in the soul of state; Which hath an operation more divine Than breath, or pen, can give expression to.' Both had noted that envy eats into the spirits and the very bod}^ enedic(us.* In Much Ado about Nothing we have : Get you some of this distilled carduus benedictus and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for a qualm/ Both believed that murders were brought to light by the opera- tion of God. Bacon speaks of the belief in the wounds of the mur- dered man bleeding afresh at the approach of the murderer, and says: It may be that this participateth of a miracle, by God's judgment, who usually bringeth tmirders to light. Macbeth says : It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood; Stones have been known to move and trees to speak Augurs, and understood relations have By magot-spies, and choughs and rooks, brought forth The secretest man of blood." Bacon speaks of The instant ocqa^\ox\ flying aivay irnconcilably.'' Shakespeare says: The flighty purpose never is o' ertoofi Unless the act go with it.* Church speaks of Bacon's Great idea of the reality and boundless worth of knowledge . . . which had taken possession of his whole nature.' 1 2d Henry I'l., iii, i. ' Muck Ado about Nothing, iii, +. ■^Speech about Undertakers. ' Macbeth, iii, 4. ' Hamlet, iii, 2. ' Speech as Lord Chancellor. ^ Natural History, cent, .x, 8963. ' Macbeth, iv, i. " I'.icnn. •^. 21 ■. IDENTICAL OPINIONS. 377 Shakespeare says: There is no darkness but ignorance.' Oh, thou monster, ignorance ! ' Bacon says: There is no prison to the prison of the thoughts.* Shakespeare has the same thought: Hamlet. Denmark's a prison. Rosencrantz. Then is the world one. Ham. A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards and dungeons; Denmark being one of the worst. Ros. We think not so, my lord. Ham. Why, then, 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so: to me it is a prison.^ As this book is going through the press Mr. James T. Cobb calls my attention to the following parallelism. Bacon, in the Novum O ?-!;^aii!i»i, referring to the effect of opiates, says : The same opiates, when taken in moderation, do strengthen the spirits, render them more robust, and check the useless and iiiflantDiaiorv motion.^ Falstaff, describing the effect of wine on the system, says, speak- ing of the " demure boys," like Prince John: They are generally fools and cowards; which some of us should be, too, but for inflammation.^ This y/^ovd inflammation is uncommon; this is the only occasion on which it appears in the Plays. Shakespeare speaks of Sermons in stones and g;ood in e^'etylhiiii;. Bacon says: There is found in C7ig?\. double nature ui good.'^ And here we have a curious parallelism. Bacon says: It is more than a philosopher morally can digest; but, without any such high •conceit, I esteem it like the pulling out of an aching tooth, which I remember, •when I was a child and had little //^//c.so/'/'r, I was glad of when it was done." ' Tivclftli Night, iv, 2. ^ Hamlet, ii, 2. '' Advance in e 11 1 of Learning; "^ LoTes Labor Lost, iv, 2. * Novum Organuin. book ii. book ii. ■^ Mask for Earl of Esse.x. ^ 2d Henry Il'..\\, t,. " Letter to Essex. ;78 PARALLELISMS. While Shakespeare links the philosopher and the tooth-ache together thus: For there was never y&X. fhiiosop/icr That could endure the looth-aclie patiently; However, they have writ the style of gods, And made a pish at chance and sufferance." The various modes in which fortunes are obtained had occurred to both writers. Bacon says: Fortunes are not obtained without all this ado; for 1 know they come tumbling into some men's laps; and a number obtain good fortunes by diligence in a plain way.'^ Shakespeare says: Some men are born great; some achieve greatness; and some have greatness thrust upon them.'' That is to say, greatness ''tumbles into their laps." And to both had come the thought that while fortune gave with one hand she stinted with the other. Bacon says: It is easy to observe that many have strength of wit and courage, but have- neither help from perturbations, nor any beauty or decency in their doings; some again have an elegancy and fineness of carriage, which have neither soundness of honesty nor substance of sufficiency; and some, again, have honest and reformed minds and can neither become themselves or manage business; and sometimes two of them meet, and rarely all three. •• Shakespeare says: Will fortune never come with both hands full? . . . She either gives a stomach and no food — Such are the poor in health; or else a feast. And takes away the stomach — such are the rich That have abundance and enjoy it not.' Bacon says: It is not good to look too long upon these turning wheels of vicissitude, lest we become giddy.* Shakespeare has: Fortune, good-night; smile again, Turn thv 'wheel? Again: Giddv Fortune' s furious fickle inheciy ' Much Ado about Nothing, v. i. ^ Advancevtent of Learning, book ii. =" Twelfth Night, iii. 5. ■• IdTancement of Learning, book ii. '•• 2d Henry 11 "., iv. 4. " History 0/ Life :<><ariations.^ The Plays were written, in part, to illustrate the characteristics of that wonderfully compounded creature, man. And in them we find: What a piece of work is man ! How noble in reason ! How infinite in f acuity! In form and moving, how express and <7iri/s. But where there is moisture enough or superfluous, there wine helpeth to digest, and desiccate the Dwisture? ' Coriolamis, iv, 5. < In Praise of Henry Prince 0/ Wales. - 1st Henry /I'., iv, 2. ^ Sonnet l.xx. ' Civil Character 0/ A ugiisius Cmsar. * Wisdom of the A ncients — Sphynx. ' Natural History, S 727. 388 PARALLELISMS. And again: I see France, Italy or Spain have not taken into use beer or ale; which, per- hcips if they did, would better both their healths and their co/>ip/exioiis.^ And Shakespeare puts into the moiitli of Falstaff, who was "moist and full" enough, in a state of ''constant dissolution and thaw," as he said himself, the same opinion: A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there ail the foolish and dttll and cr7i(tv 7'a/io!-s v/hich enViron \t. . . . It illuminateth the face; which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital commoners, the inland petty spirits, muster me all to their captain, the heart, who, great and puffed up with this reti- nue, doth any deed of courage.^ Here we have the same belief as to the virtues of wine, and the same reason, the drying or desiccating of the superfluous humors; and in both cases we have the belief that the spirits of the man are acted upon by the wine — a belief we shall touch upon hereafter. And in Bacon we will find another reference to this ascending of the spirits into the head. He says: The vapors which were gathered by sitting fly more up into the head.'' But the identity of belief upon this point goes still farther. Each writer held to the opinion that the children of drunken men were more likely to be females than males. Bacon says: It hath been observed by the ancients, and is yet believed, that the sperm of drunken men is unfruitful. The cause is, for that it is over-moistened and wanteth spissitude; and we have a merry saying, that they that go drunk to bed get daughters.^ Shakespeare says: There's never any of these demure boys come to any proof; for their drink doth so overcool their blood, and making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male green-sickness; and then, when they marry, they get wenches. . . . If I had a thousand sons, the first principle I would teach them should be, to for- swear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.'' And again: He was gotten in drink. Is not the humor conceited? His mind is not heroic, and there's the humor of it.® And we find the same thought, that great vigor and vitality causes the offspring to be masculine in gender, in Macbeth's exclamation to Lady Macbeth: 1 Natural History, % 705. ^ Natural History, § 734. ^2(1 Henry I]'., iv, 3. 2^rf Henry H '., iv, 3. •• IImcI., § 723. " Me>-ry Il'irrs 0/ II indsor, i, 2. IDENTICAL OPINIONS. 389 Bring forth men children only, For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males.' Both writers recognize the vast superiority of the intellectual forces over the bodily. Bacon says: The mind is the man. ... A man is but what he knoweth.' Shakespeare has the same thought: In nature there's no blemish, but the iniud.^ 'Tis the iiiiiid that makes the body rich.^ I saw Othello's visage in his ntind} Bacon says: Pain and danger be great only by opinion.' Shakespeare says: For there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so." The discrimination which we find in Shakespeare between appe- tite and digestion, and their relations one to another, reappears in Bacon. Macbeth says: Now good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both.^ Bacon speaks of Appetite, which is the spur of digestion.' Both writers believed that the strict course of justice shotild be moderated by mercy. Bacon says:- : He [the King] must always resemble Him whose'great name he beareth . . . in manifesting the sweet influence of his mercy on the severe stroke of his justice.'" And again: In causes of life and death, judges ought (as far as the law permitteth) in justice to remember merc}', and to cast a severe eye upon the example, but a merciful eye upon the person." ' Macbeth^ i, 7. ' Letter to the Earl of Rutland, written in ^ Praise of Knowledge. the name of the Earl of Essex. ' Twelfth Nighty iii, 4. ' Hamlet, ii, 2. * Taming of the Shretv, iv, 3. * Macbeth, iii, 4. * Othello, i, 3. 9 History of Life and Death. ^'"B.^^&Y Of a King. " Essay Of fudicaturr. -QO PARALLELISMS. The same humane spirit is manifested in tlie Shakespeare writings: II is ail attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest (iod's When mercy seasons justice.' And again: Wilt thou draw near the nature of the k"<-1s ? Draw near them, then, in being merciful. - And again: Alas, alas ! Why, all the souls that are were forfeit once; And He that might the vantage best have took Found out the remedy: How would you be, If He, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are? Oh, think on that; And mercy then will breathe within your lips Like man new made.^ Both were keenly alive to the purity and sweetness of the atmosphere. In his History of Life and Death ^ Bacon discusses "the healthful- ness of the air" and the modes of testing its purity, as by exposing, a lock of wool or a piece of flesh, etc. He says in another place: At Gorhambury there is sweet air if any is.* And again: The discovery of the disposition of the air is good . . . for the choice of places to dwell in; at the least for lodges and retiring-places for health. •> And in the same chapter in which he discusses the purity of the air in dwelling-houses and the mode of ascertaining it, he refers to birds: Which use to change countries at certain seasons, if they come earlier, do show the temperature of weather according to that country whence they came.' For prognostics of weather from living creatures, it is to be noted', that creatures that live in the open air, sub dio, must needs have a quicker impression from the air than men that live most within doors; and especially birds, that live in the air freest and clearest.* And again he notes that Kites flying aloft show fair and dry weather, . . . ff)r that they mount most into the air of that temper wherein they delight.* '^ Merchant pf l'enict\\\,\. ""gaQietc. ' Ibid., §8i6. ^ Titus Andronictts, i, 2. ^ Letter to Buckingham, 1619. ^ Ibid., §822. ' Measure /or Measure^ ii, 2. • Natural History, § 808. ' Ibid., § 824. IDENTICAL OPINIONS. 391 And we have the same set of thoughts — the sweetness of the air in special places, and the delight of birds in pure air — in the famous words uttered by Duncan and Banquo: Duncan. This castle hath a pleasant seat: the air Nimbly and gently recommends itself Unto our senses. Banqiio. This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, By his loved 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 observed The air is delicate.' Both refer to the effect of terror upon the rising of the hair. Bacon says: The passions of the mind work upon the body the impressions following: fear causeth paleness, trembling, the standing of Hw hair upright, starting and shriek- ing} Shakespeare says: The time has been, my senses would have cooled To hear a r{\^\.-shriek; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir As life were in 't.'^ Both, while to some extent fatalists, believed that a man pos- sesses to a large extent the control over his own fortune. Bacon says: Chiefly the mould of a man's fortune is in his own hands.'* And again : It is not good to fetch fortune from the stars.^ While Shakespeare says: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars. But in ourselves, that we are underlings.'' And curiously enough, both drew the same conclusions as to reading character by personal appearance, while they held that, as Shakespeare says : There's no art To read the mind's construction in the face.'' 1 Macbeth, i, 6. » Macbeth, v, 5. ^ History of Henry I 'II. "^ Natural History, §713. ■• Essay Of Fortune. ^ Jidius Ccrsar, i, 2. ■' Macbeth, i, i. 39- PARALLELISMS. And again : No more can you distinguish of a man Than of his outward show, which, God he knows, Seldom, or never, jumpeth with the heart.' And Bacon arafued : Neither let that be feared which is said, Fronti nulla fides: which is meant of a general outward behavior, and not of the private and subtle motions and labors of the countenance and gesture. - And this distinction, between the revelations made by the mere cast or shape or controlled attitudes of the face, and the expres- sions of the face or motions of the body, appears in Shakespeare: There was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gestures.^ Again we find it in Ulysses' wonderful description of Cressida: Fie, fie upon her ! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip. Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive [motion?] of her body.'* And we find Bacon observing: For every passion doth cause, in the eyes, face and gesture, certain indecent and ill-seeming, apish and deformed motions.-' And again he says: So in all physiognomy the lineaments of the body will discover those natural inclinations of the mind which dissimulation will conceal or discipline will suppress.'' And we find Shakespeare putting into the mouth of King John these words, descriptive of Hubert: Hadst thou not been by, A fellow by the hand of riature marked. Quoted and signed to do a deed of shame.' And Bacon says: For Aristotle hath very ingeniously and diligently handled the features of the body, but not the gestures of the body, which are no less comprehensible by art, and of greater use and advantage. For the lineaments of the body do disclose the disposition and inclination of the mind in general, but the motions of the counte- nance and parts do not only so, but do further disclose the oresent humor and state of the mind and will.® And in this connection we find another parallelism. Bacon says: It is necessary to use a steadfast countenance, not wavering with action, as in ' Richard 1 1 [., iii, i. ^ Advancement of Learnings book ii. 3 Winter' s Tale, v, 2. ■* Troiliis nnii Cress /liit, iv, 5. ^ JVisciom 0/ the Aticients — Dionysitis. ^ Natural History, cent. i.x. ' King John, iv, 2. ^ Advancement oj" Learning; book ii. IDENTICAL OPINIONS. -07i hope, I do reject as wavering and weak.'^ Shakespeare says: For thou hast been As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing; A man that fortune's "bufifets and rewards Has ta'en with equal thanks; and blessed are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please.^ And the expression of Bacon quoted above, "the mind which only rides at anchor upon hope," is paralleled in Shakespeare: If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks, Be anchored in the bay where all men ride.* Both believed in the universal presence and power of goodness. Ba:on said: The inclination to goodness is deeply implanted in the nature of man; inso- much, that if it issue not toward man it will take unto other living creatures.*' And again: There is formed in everything a double nature of good." And again: For the affections themselves carry ever an appetite to good, as reason doth.'* Shakespeare has: There is some soul of goodness in things evil Would men observingly distill it out.'* ' Civil Conversations. ^ Sonnet c.x.xxvii. " Hamlet, iii, 2. e Essay Of Goodness. * Med. Sacrce — Of Earthly Ho/>e. ' Advancement of Learning, book ii. '^Hamlet, iii, 2. ^Vo\A. '■' I li-nry I '., iv, i. 394 PARALLELISMS. And again: And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks. Sermons in stones, and good in cj'ciytliing-} Bacon says: And we willingly place the history of arts among the species of natural history, because there have obtained a now inveterate mode of speaking and notion, as if art were something different from nature, so that things artificial ought to be dis- criminated from things natural, as if wholly and generically distinct. , . . And there has insinuated into men's minds a still subtler error, namely this, that art is conceived to be a sort of addition to nature, the proper effect of which is mere words and rhetorical ornament.'^ Shakespeare has the following: Perdita. For I have heard it said. There is an art which in their piedness shares With great creating nature. Polixenes. Say there be; Yet nature is made better by no mean. But nature makes that mean; so. o'er that art. Which vou say adds to nature, is an art that nature makes. Here we have, in the same words, a reference to an opinion, held by others, that art is an addition to nature, and a dissent from it by the writer, in each case. And that other thought, that man's art shares with God the creative force and faculty. Judge Holmes shows had also occurred to Bacon: Art or man is added to the universe; and it must almost necessarily be con- cluded that the human soul is endowed \\\\h providence, not without the example, intention and authority of the greater providence.^ That is to say, that man is a sort of a deputy of God to carry forward the work of creation. And we find Shakespeare alluding, in the same spirit, to "the providence that's in a watchful state,"' as if "the human soul," gov- erning the state, "was endowed with providence." And we find the same thought, that man is a species of lesser God, to whom the creative force has been delegated, expressed again in these lines: We, Hermia, like (wo artificial gods. Have with our needles created both one flower. Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion.^ > As You Like It, ii, i. ^ Ardhorship o/S/iak., p. 5x2. ^ Intell. Globe, chapter iii. * Troilus and Cressida, iii, 3. ^ Midsuiniiier Niglifs Dreatn, i, 2. IDENTICAL OPINIONS. 395 Both believed that sickness or weakness left the mind open to the influence of external spirits. Bacon says: So much more in impressions from mind to mind, or from spirit to spirit, the impression taketh, but is encountered and overcome by the mind and spirit. . . . And, therefore, they work most upon 7ocak minds and spirits, as those of women, sick persons, superstitious and fearful persons.' Shakespeare makes Hamlet say: The spirit that I have seen May be the devil; and the devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and, perhaps, Out of my weakness and my melancholy, (As he is very potent with such spirits), Abuses me to damn me.- Here we have precisely the same idea. The author of A New Study of Shakespeare, Mr. W. F. C. Wigston, calls attention to the following parallelism. Bacon says: It is evident that the dullness of men is such, and so infelicitous, that when things are put before their feet, they do not see them, unless admonished, but pass on. Shakespeare says: The jewel that we find we stoop and take it, Because we see it; but what we do not see We tread upon, and never think of it.' Both had observed the fear that men have of making their wills until the last moment. Bacon says: When their will is made they think themselves nearer the grave than before. ■* In Shakespeare we find the following: Slender. Now, good Mistress Anne. Anne. What is your will ? Slender. My will? Ods-hart-lings, that's a pretty jest indeed. I ne'er made my will yet, I thank Heaven: I am not such a sickly creature, I give Heaven praise.^ Mrs. Pott calls attention to the following parallelism. Bacon has in his Promus this note: It is in action as it is in ways; commonly the nearest is the foulest." • Natural History, § goi. < Essay Of Death. "^ Hamlet, ii, 2. ^ Merry Wives 0/ Il'/intsnr, iii, 4. ^ Measure /or Measure, \\, I. ^ Pro»!ns,'Ho. $1,2. .39^ PARALLELISMS. Shakespeare has it: [Your heart] is too full of the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way.' That is, tlie foul way of murder, which was the nearest way to the crown. I might continue this chapter to greater length; but I think I have given enough to show that the same wonderful parallelism which exists between the forms of expression in the two sets of writings extends also to the opinions and beliefs set forth therein. It will, of course, be easy for a dishonest mind to treat these parallelisms as Richard Grant White did those in Mrs. Pott's Promus — that is, ignore the strongest ones, and select the least striking and put them forth as the strongest. But in the long run truth is not to be arrested by such tricks, nor can a great argument ±)e conducted by men who are mean enough to resort to them, ^ Macbeth y i, 2. CHAPTER IV. IDENTICAL QUOTA rroXS. And these same thoughts people this Httle world. Richard II., '!\j- IF the two minds were one, if they thought the same thoughts, and employed the same comparisons and expressions, it might be that we would find them quoting the same things from the same books. I remember a few instances of this kind, and many more might be found b}' a diligent examination of the two sets of writings. Bacon says: In this they fall into the error described in the ancient fable, in which the other parts of the body did suppose the stomach had been idle, because it neither performed the office of motion, as the limbs do, nor of sense, as the head doth; but yet, notwithstanding, it is the stomach that digesteth and distributeth to all the rest.' In Shakespeare we have the following: There was a time when all the body's members Rebelled against the belly; thus accused it: That only like a gulf it did remain r the midst o' the body, idle and unactive, Still cupboarding the viands, never bearing Like labor with the rest; where the other instruments Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, And mutually participate; did minister Unto the appetite and affection common Of the whole body. The belly answered, . . . " True it is, my incorporate friends," quoth he, " That I receive the general food at first. Which you do live upon: and fit it is; Because I am the storehouse and the shop Of the whole body. But, if you do remember, I send it through the rivers of your blood Even to the court, the heart, to the seat o' the brain, And through the cranks and offices of man: The strongest nerves, and small inferior veihs, From me receive that natural competency Whereby they live."^ ' Advancetnent o/ Learning, book ii. ^ Coriolamis, i, i. 397 398 PARALLELISMS. And here I would refer to the anecdote which Bacon tells in his Apophthegms: Sir Nicholas Bacon, being appointed a judge for the northern circuit, . . . was, by one of the malefactors, mightily importuned to save his life, which, when nothing that he had said did avail, at length desired his mercy on the account of kindred. ' ' Prjnhee," said my lord Judge, ' ' how came that in ? " " Why, if it please you, my lord, your name is Bacon and mine is Hog, and in all ages hog and bacon have been so near kindred that they are not to be separated." " Ay, but," replied Judge Bacon, " you and I cannot be kindred except you be hanged, for hog is not bacon until it be well hanged." Shakespeare has this: Evans. I pray you, have remembrance, child: Acciisativo, hung, hang, hog. Quickly. Hang hog is Latiri for Bacon. I warrant you.' Bacon says: Such men in other men's calamities are, as it were, in season, and are ever on the loading part; not so good as the dogs that licked Lazarus' sores, but like flies that are still buzzing. '- Shakespeare says: Ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth; where the glutton's dogs licked his sores. ^ Bacon says: Philo Judsus saith that the sense is like the sun; for the sun seals up the globe of heaven [the stars] and opens the globe of earth; so the sense doth obscure heavenly things and reveals earthly things.^ When Lorenzo contemplates the heavens by night, thick ''inlaid with patines of bright gold," he speaks of the music of the spheres, and adds: .Such harmony is in immortal souls. But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in. we cannot hear it.^ Bacon says: For of lions it is a received belief that their fury and fierceness ceaseth toward anything that yieldeth and prostrateth itself. ** Shakespeare has the following: Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you, And again: Which better fits a lion than a man." For 'tis the nature of that noble beast To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead.^ ' Merry Wives cf Windsor , iv, i, ^ Essay Of Goodness. ' 1st Henry II'., iv, 2. •* Apo/>litliegnis. '•' Merchant of I'enicc, v, i. " Med. Sacrce — Exaltation of CJiarity, ' Troilus and Cressida, v, 3. " As You Like It, iv, 3. ID EN TIC A L QUOTA TIONS. 399 Bacon says: But these three are the true stages of knowledge, which, to those that are puffed up with their own knowledge and rebellious against God, are indeed no better than the giant's three hills: " Ter sunt co)iati iiii/>ouriy Tclio Ossaiii, Scilicet a tque Ossa: frondosuni i)ivolverc Oly/upuin." [Mountain on /noun tain thrice they strove to heap: Olympus, Ossa, piled on Pcliojis steep.] ' And we find Shakespeare employing the same quotation: Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead; Till of this fiat a mountain you have made, To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head Of old Olympus. . . . Till our ground. Singeing his pate against the burning zone, Make Ossa like a wart.- Here we have the three mountains natTied in the quotation — Olympus, Pelion, Ossa— and the comparison in bjDth cases is that of piling one on top of the other. Describing the chameleon, Bacon says: He fccdctli not only upon the air, though that he his principal sustenance.'* Again; And so feed her [the Queen] with expectation.'' We turn to Shakespeare, and we find the following: A7;/^.^ How fares our cousin Hamlet ? JIai/i. Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's dish; I eat the air, promise- crammed. You cannot feed capons so.'' Bacon says: And therefore the poet doth elegantly call passions tortures, that urge men to confess their secrets. Shakespeare says: Better be with the dead. Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstacy." Bacon has the following: It was both pleasantly and wisely said ... by a Pope's nuncio, returning from a certain nation where he served as lieger; whose opinion being asked touch- ' De Augmcntis, book iii. ■« Letter to Esse.x, October 4, 1596. 2 Hamlet, v, i. » Hamlet, iii, 2. ' Natural History, % 360. <■• Macbeth, iii, 2. 400 rARALLELlS.y.S. ing the appointment of one to go in his place, he wished that in any case they did not send one that was too wise; because no very wise man would even imagine what they in that country were like to do.' While Shakespeare puts the same quotation thus: Handel. Ay, marry, why was he sent into England ? 1st Clo'cvit. Why, because he was mad; he shall recover his wits there; or, if he do not, it is no great matter there. Hamlet. Why ? ist Clown. 'Twill not be seen in him; there the men are as mad as he.' In The IVisdoi/i of the Ancients Bacon quotes the fable of Orpheus, and says: So great was the power and alluring force of this harmony, that he drew the woods and moved the very stones to come and place themselves in an orderly and decent fashion about him. Shakespeare says: Therefore, the poet Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods; Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage But music for a time doth change his nature.^ For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews, Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones.^ Judge Holmes calls attention to the following instance. In Plutarch's Life of Antony is told the story of Timon's tree. North's translation reads as follows: Ye men of Athens, in a court-yard belonging to my house grows a large fig-tree, on which many an honest citizen has been pleased to hang himself: now, as I have thought of building upon that spot, I could not omit giving you this pub- lic notice, to the end that if any more among you have a mind to make the same use of my tree, they may do it speedily before it is destroyed. Bacon alludes to this story as follows, in his essay Of Goodness r Misanthropi that make it their practice to bring men to the bough, and yet have never a tree for the purpose in their gardens, as Timon had. While Shakespeare, in the play of Timon of Athens^" says: Tivion. I have a tree which grows here in my close, That mine own use invites me to cut down. And shortly must I sell it. Tell my friends, Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree. From high to low throughout, that whoso please To stop afifliction, let him take his haste, Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe. And hang himself. ' Advancement o/ Learning, book ii. ' .Merchant of Venice ^ v, i. "^ Hamlet y v, i. * Tzvo Gentlemen of Verona, iii, 2 *Act iv, scene i. IDENTICAL QUOTATIONS. 401 Henry Lewis, in his Essays of Bacon, points out an instance where the two writers refer to the same incident. Bacon, in his essay Of Prophecies, says: Henry VI. of England said of Henry VH., when he was a lad, and gave him water, "This is the /(?r/ shall enjoy the crown for which we strive." In Shakespeare we find the same event thus alluded to: Come hither, England's hope. If secret powers Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss, . . . Likely, in time, to bless a regal throne.' The same author also calls attention to this parallelism. In the same essay Of Prophecies Bacon refers to A phantasm that appeared to M. Brutus in his tent, and said to him, Philippine interum me videbis — (Thou shalt see me again at Philippi). Shakespeare, in Julius Ccesar, has: Brutus. Speak to me what thou art. Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. Brutus. Why comest thou ? Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi.^ Aristotle says : Usury is merely money ooru of money; so that of all means of money-making this is the most contrary to nature. * Bacon quotes this; he says: It is against nature for money to I'cgct money. ^ Shakespeare also quotes it : When did friendship take A breed oi barren metal of his friend?^ Bacon says: There is an observation among country people, that years of store of haws and hips do commonly portend cold winters; and they ascribe it to God's provi- dence, that, as the Scripture saith, reacheth even to ihe falling of a sparrow.^ Shakespeare says: There's a ^'p^c\2i\. providence in they'«//of a sparrow.^ And again: He that doth the ravens feed, Yea, providently caters for the sparrow.' Bacon says: The wisdom of crocodiles, that shed tears when they would devour.* ^Jd Henry I'/., iv, 6. = Essay Oy Usury. 5 ]^atural History, § 737. "^Julius Ccpsar, iv, 3. •• Merchant 0/ Venice, i, 3. " Hamlet, v, 2. ''As You Like It, ii, 3. " Essay Of ]Visdotn. 402 PARALLELISMS. Shakespeare says: As the mournful crocodile With sorrow snares relenting passengers.' Bacon, referring to a popular belief, says: This was the end of this little cockatrice of a king [Perkin Warbeck], that was able to destroy those that did not espy him first.^ Shakespeare alludes to the same superstition: They will kill one another by the look, like cockatrices."^ Shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice.^ A cockatrice hast thou hatched to the world. Whose unavoided eye is murtherous?^ Bacon says: The parable of Pythagoras is dark hut true. Cor ne edito — (eat not the heart).* Shakespeare says: I sup upon myself, And so shall starve with feeding^ The canker ^;/(?7i:' thy heart.^ Bacon says: Princes many times make themselves desires and set their hearts upon a toy, ... as Nero for playing on the harp.' Shakespeare says: Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero, Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn.'" Bacon tells this story: Periander, being consulted with how to preserve a tyranny newly usurped, bid the messenger attend and report what he saw him do; and went into his garden and topped all the highest flowers, signifying that it consisted in the cutting off and keeping low of the nobility and grandees." Shakespeare plainly alludes to the same story in the following: Go thou, and, like an executioner, Cut off the head of too-fast-growing sprays, That look too lofty in our commonwealth: All must be even in our government. '- ^ Set Ilejtry I'l., iii, i. ^ Ku hard III., iv, i. 'Essay Of Empire. ' History of Henry I'll. • Essay O/ Friendsliip. '" ist Henry I'l., i, 4. ' Twelfth Niglit, iii. 4. ' Coriolanus, iv, 2. " Advancement of Learnitig., book ii. * Romeo and futiet, iii, 2. ^ Timon of Athens, '\s, -i,. ^^ Richard II., '\\\, ^. IDENTICAL QUOTATIONS. 403 Bacon quotes: It is not granted to man to love and be wise.' And again: Therefore it was well said " that it is impossible to love and be wise.* Shakespeare says: To be wise and love, exceeds man's might. ^ Bacon saj's: For, aspiring to be like God in power, the angels transgressed and fell."* And again: For from the desire of power the angels fell.* Shakespeare says: Hy that sin fell the angels." Bacon uses this quotation: Cardinal Wolsey said that if he had pleased God as he pleased the King, he had not been ruined.'' Shakespeare puts into the mouth of the same Cardinal Wolsey these words: O Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my King, he would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies.* Mr. R. M. Theobald, in the August, 1887, number of Xhe Journal of the Bacon Society of London, page 157, gives us the following extraordinary parallelism, where both writers clearly refer to the same terrible story Bacon, in the De Ang7nentis, says : What a proof of patience is displayed in the story told of Anaxarchus, who, when questioned under torture, bit out his own tongue (the only hope of informa- tion), and spat it into the face 0/ the tyrant. While in Shakespeare we tind the same story alluded to. In Richard II., i, i, Bolingbroke, being invited by the King to recon- cile himself to Mowbray, and throw down Mowbray's gage of bat- tle which he had picked up, replies: ' Ad7'anccment of Learnings book ii. 2 Essay Of Love. ' Troilus and Cressida, iii, 2. ^ Advancement iif Learning, book ii. ^ Preface to Great Instauration. ^ Henry VIIL, iii, 2. ■" Letter to King James. September 5, 1621. '■Henry flH., iii, 4. 404 PARALLELISMS, O God, defend my soul from such foul sin ! , . . Ere my tongue Shall wound mine honor with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding, in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbor, even in Mowbray s face. The play of Richard II. was published in 1597, and Bacon's De Augmeiitis in 1623; consequently Shakespeare did not borrow from Bacon. Mr. Theobald says: The story is derived from Diogenes Laertius; Bacon's version is taken from Pliny or Valerius Maximus. . . . Where did Shakspere pick up the allusion? Perhaps Pliny and Valerius Maximus and Diogenes Laertius were text-books at the grammar school of Stratford-on-Avon ! Bacon, in his Natural History, says: There was an Egyptian soothsayer that made Antonius believe that his genius, which otherwise was brave and confident, was, in the presence of Octavius Caesar, poor and cowardly; and therefore he advised him to absent himself as much as he could, and remove far from him. This soothsayer was thought to be suborned by Cleopatra, to make him live in Egypt and other remote places from home.' And the same fact is referred to in Shakespeare. Macbeth says, speaking of Banquo: There is none but he Whose being I do fear: and under him My genius is rebuked; as, it is said, Mark Antony's was by Caesar. And in Antony and Cleopatra we have the very Egyptian sooth- sayer referred to : Antony. Say to me. Whose fortune shall rise higher, Ccesar's or mine? Soothsayer. Caesar's. Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side: Thy daemon (that's thy spirit which keeps thee) is Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable. Where Caesar's is not; but near him thy angel Becomes a Fear, as being overpowered; therefore Make space enough between you.- Bacon says: What new hope hath made them return to their Sinon's note, in teaching Troy how to save itself.* Shakespeare alludes to the same fact, thus: And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.'' " Natural History, cent, x, § 940. ' Speech in Parliament. ^Antony and Cleopatra, ii, 3. * 3't /tony T/., iii, 2. IDENTICAL QUOTATIONS. ^05 Bacon says: Aristotle dogmatically assigned the cause of generation to the sun. Shakespeare has it: If the sun breed maggots out of a dead dog. Have you a daughter? . . . Let her not walk in the sun. Conception is a blessing. Etc' Bacon speaks of The ancient opinion that man was a micnnosmus, an abstract or model of the world.*' And Shakespeare alludes to the same thing: You will see it in the map of my microcosm.''' Bacon says: Report has much prevailed of a stone bred in the head of an old and great toad.* Shakespeare says: Like the toad, ugly and venomous, Bears yet a precious jewel in its head." Bacon speaks of taking- the advantage of opportunity in the fol- lowing words: For occasion (as it is in the common verse) turneth a bald noddle after she has presented her locks in front, and no hold taken." Shakespeare says: Let's take the instant by the forward top — for we are old.'' Bacon says: For although Aristotle, as though he had been of the race of the Ottomans, thought he could not reign unless he killed off all his brethren.^ Shakespeare puts into the mouth of King Henry V. this address to his brothers : This is the English, not the Turkish court; Not Amurah an Amurah succeeds, But Harry, Harry. ^ Bacon in his Apophthegius tells this story: The Queen of Henry IV. of France was great with child; Count .Soissons, that 1 Hamlet, ii, 2. 5 j ^ j-,„ j^;/^.^, j^^ \\^ ,_ '^Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii. " Essay O/ Delays. ' Coriolanus, ii, i. ' All's Well that Ends Well, v, 3. ^ Inquisition of the Conz'ersioti of Bodies. ' Advancement of Learnimr. book ii. '■' 2d Henry 11 '., v, 2. 4o6 PARALLELISMS. had his expectation upon the crown, when it was twice or thrice thought that the yueen was with child before, said to some of his friends "that it was but with a pillow," etc. Shakespeare must have had this story in his mind when, in describing Doll Tearsheet being taken to be whipped, he speaks as follows: Hostess. Oh that Sir John were come, he would make this a bloody day to somebody. But I would the fruit of her womb might miscarry. Officer. If it do, you shall have a dozen cushions; you have but eleven now.' Bacon says: Question was asked of Demosthenes what was the chief part of an orator? He answered. Action. What next ? Action. What next, again? Action. A strange thing that that part of an orator which is but superficial, and rather the virtue of a player, should be placed so high above those other noble parts of invention, elocu- tion, and the rest; nay, almost alone, as if it were all in all. But the reason is plain. There is in human nature, generally, more of the fool than the inise; and therefore those faculties by which the foolish part of men's minds is taken are most potent. - Shakespeare refers to the same story and gives the same ex- planation in the following: For in such business Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant More learned than their ears.^ In Henry V. the Bishop of Exeter makes a comparison of gov- ernment to the subordination and harmony of parts in music: For government, though high and low and lower, Put into parts, doth keep in one consent, Congruing in a full and natural close Like music. Some have sought to find the origin of this simile in Cicero, De Republica, but that book was lost to literature and unknown, except by name, until Angelo Mai discovered it upon a palimpsest in the Vatican in 1822. Its real source is in the apophthegm repeatedly quoted by Bacon as to Nero: Vespasian asked of Apollonius what was the cause of Nero's ruin. Who answered: "Nero could tune the harp well, but in government he did always wind up the strings too high or let them down too /cTf."'* ^ zd Henry IV., v, 4. ' Coriolaniis, iii, 2. " Essay Of Boldness. * Apophthegm 51. IDENTICAL QUOTATIONS. 407 Bacon has this story: Queen Isabella of Spain used to say: " Whosoever hath a good presence and a good fashion tarries letters of recommendation." ' Shakespeare says: The beauty that is borne here in the face f The bearer knows not, but eom?nends itself To others' eye.,.'^ Bacon has two anecdotes about the Salic law of France.' He says in one of them: There was a French gentleman, speaking with an English of the law Salique : that women were excluded from inheriting the crown of France. The English said: "Yes; but that was meant of the women themselves, not of such males as claimed by women," etc. And in the play of Hctiry V. we find Shakespeare discussing the same Salic law, at great length, and giving many instances to show that it did not exclude those who " claimed by women," one of which instances is: Besides their writers say King Pepin, which deposed Childerike, Did as their general, being descended Of Blithild, which was daughter to King Clothair, Make claim and title to the crown of France.'' The writer of the Plays had evidently studied the history of this law of another country in all its details; — a thing natural enough in a lawyer, extraordinary in a play-actor or stage manager. Bacon refers to the story of Ulysses' wife thus : Aristippus said : That those who studied particular sciences and neglected philosophy, were Jike Penelope's wooers, that made love to the waiting-women.* Shakespeare also refers to Penelope: You would be another Penelope; yet they say all the yarn she spun in Ulysses' absence did but fill Ithaca with moths." Bacon quotes the story of Icarus: I was ever sorry that your Lordship should fly with waxen wings, doubting Icarus' fortune.'' Shakespeare has the following allusion to the same story: Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, Thou Icarus. * ' Apophthegm 99. o Apophthegm 189. ' Troilus and Crcssida, iii, 3. • Coriolanus, i, 3. s Apophthegms 184 and 185. ' Letter to Essex, 1600. * Henry /', i, i. 8^^/ Henry VI., iv, 6. ^oS PARALLELISMS. And again: And in that sea of blood my boy did drench His over-mounting spirit; and there died My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.' And again: I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus; Thy father Minos, that denied our course; The sun that seared the wings of my sweet boy.- Bacon says: Frascatorius invented a remedy for apoplectic fits, by placing a heated pan at some distance around the head, for by this means the spirits that were suffocated and congealed in the cells of the brain, and oppressed by the humors, were dilated, excited and revived.^ And Falstaff seemed to hold the same view, that the disease was a torpidity that needed to be roused. He says: This apoplexie is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, a sleeping of the blood.-* And Bacon, in a letter to the King, at the time of his downfall, after describing a violent pain in the back of his head, says : And then the little physic [medical learning] I had told me that it must either grow to a congelation, and so to a lethargy, and break, and so to a mortal fever or sudden death. Bacon and Shakespeare both refer to the same fact in connec- tion with the assassination of Julius Caesar. Bacon says: With Julius Caesar, Decimus Brutus had obtained that interest, as he set him down in his testament for heir in remainder after his nephew; and this was the man that had power with him to draw him forth to his death: for when Caesar would have discharged the Senate, in regard of some ill presages, and specially a dream of Calpurnia, this man lifted him gently by the arm out of his chair, telling him he hoped he would not dismiss the Senate till his wife had dreamed a better dream. In Shakespeare we have Decimus Brutus saying to Coesar: Besides, it were a mock Apt to be rendered, for some one to say: Break up the Senate, till another time. When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams. And is it not to the soldier Decimus Junius Brutus, and not to the great Marcus Junius Brutus, that the poet makes Mark Antony * isi Henry VI., iv, 7. ' Hist<'ria Dens, ct Rari. ^3ii Henry VI., v, 6. ■> -zd Henry IV i, 3. IDENTICAL QUOTATIONS. 409 allude (echoing Bacon's astonishment that the heir of Caesar could have participated in his murder) in the following? Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabbed, And as he plucked his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it; As rushing out of doors, to be resolved If Brutus so unkindly knocked or no: For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel. Judge, O ye gods, how dearly Caesar loved him. And we find in another historical instance the minds of both writers, if I may use the expression, dwelling on the same fact. Bacon says, in a letter to King James, February 11, 1614: And I put the case of the Duke of Buckingham, who said that if the King ■caused him to be arrested oi treason he would stab him. The King here alluded to was Henry VIII., and we find the incident thus described in Shakespeare's play of that name. Buck- ingham's surveyor is giving testimony against his master. He says: //"(quoth he) I for this had been committed. As to the Toioer, I thought, I would have played The part my father meant to act upon The usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury, Made suit to come in 's presence, which if granted, (As he made semblance of his duty), would Have put his knife into hir)i} Bacon makes this quotation: The kingdom of France ... is now fallen into those calamities, that, as the prophet saith, From the crown of the head to the sole of the foot there is no whole place.'' Shakespeare uses the same quotation: Don Pedro. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot he is all mirth.''' i^ — I feel confident that, had I the time and did space permit, I could increase this list of identical quotations many-fold. It is certain that these two writers not only held the same views, employed the same comparisons, used the same expressions, ' Henry VIII., i, 2. '^Observations on a Libel — Life aiut Jl'ortcs, vol. i, p. 160. ^ Miicli Ado abojit Xothiug, iii, 2. 4 1 o ' PA A'. I L LEU SMS. pursued the same studies and read the same books, but that their minds were constructed so exactly alike that the same things, out of their reading, lodged in them, and were reproduced for the same purposes. And these mental twins — these intellectual identities — did not seem to know, or even to have ever heard of each other ! CHAPTER V. IDENTICAL STUDIES. Biron. What is the end of study ? King. Why, that to know, which else we should not know. Biron. Things hid and barred, you mean, from common sense ? King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. Lovers Labor Lost, /, /. MANY men study nothing. They are content with the stock of ideas, right or wrong, borrowed from others, with which they start into manhood. But of those who seek to penetrate beyond their preconceptions into knowledge, no two follow the same path and pursue the same subjects. The themes of study are as infinitely varied as the construction of human intellects. And herein, as in everything else, is manifested the wisdom of the great architect, who for every space in the edifice of life has carved a stone which fits it precisely. Many, it is true, are the mere rubble that fills up the interspaces; others are parts of the frieze orna- mented with bass-reliefs of gnomes or angels; others, again, are the massive, hidden, humble foundation-blocks on which rests the weight of the whole structure. But in God's edifice nothing is little, and little can be said to be great. And so in life: one man will devote his existence to a study of the motions of the heavenly bodies through their incalculable spaces; another will give up his whole life to a microscopic investi- gation of the wings and limbs of insects. One will soar on golden pinions through the magical realms of music; another will pursue the dry details of mathematics into their ultimate possibilities: a third will sail gloriously, like a painted nautilus, over the liquid and shining bosom of poetr}?^; while still another will study The doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, With weary lawyers of endless tongues. The purpose of life seems to be put upon the creature even before creation, and Necessity sits on humanity Like to the world on Atlas' neck. 4" ^12 PARALLELISMS. And when we turn to consider what subjects were studied, at. the same time, by the writer of the Shakespeare Plays and Francis Bacon, we sliall find that identity which could not exist between two really distinct intellects. In the first place, we are struck with the universality of thought, observation and study discoverable in both. Bacon *' took all knowledge for his province," and the Shakespeare Plays embrace every theme of reflection possible to man: — religion, philosophy, science, history, human character, human passions and affections, music, poetry, medicine, law, statecraft, politics, worldly wisdom, wit, humor — everything. They are oceanic. Every year some new explorer drops his dredge a thousand fathoms deep into their unconsidered depths, and brings up strange and marvelous forms of life where we had looked only for silence and death. And when we descend to particulars we find precise identity in almost everything. I. Music. Take the subject of music. This is a theme which compara- tively few study, even to-day; and in that almost rude age of Eliz- abeth the number must have been greatly less. Neither does it necessarily follow that all great men love music and investigate it. In fact, the opinion of Shakespeare, that the man who "had no music in his soul" was not to be trusted, has provoked a perfect storm of adverse criticism.' But Bacon's love of music was great. Sir John Hawkins-says: Lord Bacon, in his .Vatiira/ I/isfory, has given a great variety of experiments touching music, that show him to have not been barely a philosopher, an inquirer into the phenomena of sound, but a master of the science of harmony, and very intimately acquainted with the precepts of musical education. - And Sir John quotes the following from Bacon: The sweetest and best harmony is when every part or instrument is not heard by itself, but a conflation of them all, which requireth to stand some distance off, even as it is in the mixtures of perfumes, or the taking of the smells of several flowers in the air. On the other luind Richard Grant Wliite says: Shakespeare seems to have been a proficient in the art of music' ^ Knight's S/ia/c, note 7, act v, Merchant of Venice. "^ Ifi.'ttcty 0/ Afi/s/c. ^ Life and Genius of Shiik., p. 259. IDENTICAL STUDIES. 413 The commentators say that Balthazar, a musician in the service of Prince John, in Much Ado about Nothing,^ was probably thus named from the celebrated Balthazarini, an Italian performer on the violin, who was in great favor at the court of Henry II., of France, in 1577. In 1577 William Shakspere was probably going to the grammar school in Stratford, aged thirteen years. How could he know anything about a distinguished musician at the court of France, between which and Stratford there was then less intercourse than there is now between Moscow and Australia. But Francis Bacon was sent to Paris in 1576, and remained there for three years; and doubtless, for he was a lover of music, knew Bal- thazarini well, and sought in this way to perpetuate his memory. Or it may be that the cipher narrative in iMuch Ado about NotJiing; tells some story in which Balthazarini is referred to. Bacon devoted many pages in his Natural History" to experi- ments in music. He noted that a musical note '\falUug from one tone to another" is "delightful," reminding us of That strain again ! it hath a dying fa!/.'" And he further notes that " the division and quavering, which please so much in music, have an agreement with the glittering of light, as the moonbeams playing on a wave." ^ Who can fail to believe that the same mind which originated this poetical image wrote the following ? 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 nighl Become the touches of sweet harmony.^ And the following lines — giving the reason of things as a philosopher and scholar — are in the very vein of Bacon: The cause why music was ordained; Was it not to refresh the mind of man. After his studies, or his usual pain ? Then give me leave to read philosophy, And, while I pause, serve in your harmony.* Bacon says: Voices or consorts of music do make a harmony by mixture. . . . The sweetest ' Act ii, scene 3. ' Twelfth Night, i, i. ^Merchant of Venice, v, i. *Centuryii. ^ Natural History, ccn\..'\\,%\i->,. ^ Taming of the Shrew, lii, i. 414 P--i RALLELISMS. and best harmony is, when every part or instrument is not heard by itself, but a conflation of them all. . . . But sounds do disturb and alter the one the other; sometimes the one drowning the other and making it not heard; sometimes the one jarring with the other and making a confusion ; sometimes the one mingling with the other and making a harmony. . . . M'hcre echoes come from several parts at the same distance, they must needs make, as it were, a choir of echoes. . . . There be many places where you shall hear a number of echoes one after another: and it is where there is a variety of hills and moods, some nearer, some farther off." Now turn to the following magnificent specimen of word-paint- ing, from the M'idsitmmcr Night's Dream : We will, fair Queen, up to the mountain's top. And mark the musical confusion Of hounds and echo in conjunction. I was with Hercules and Cadmus once. When in a 7>i Shakespearlann, May, 1885, p. 241. ^ U'inter's Tale, iv, 3. ^ Essay Of Gardens. 4x6 PA RA LLELISMS. And again: Thy banks with peonies and lilies brims, Which spongy April stX thy hest betrims.' And again the poet says: O rose of May, dear maid, kind sister. In all this the poet shows the precision of the natural philos- opher. The whole article here quoted, from the pen of Mrs. Pott, can be read with advantage and pleasure. Bacon studied gardening in all its details. His love for flowers was great. Even in his old age, when, broken in health and fortune, and oppressed with cares and debts, we find him writing the Lord Treasurer Cranfield that he proposes to visit him at Chiswick, he adds: I hope to wait on your Lordship and gather some violets in your garden. He says in The Nezu Atlantis : In these we practice likewise all conclusions of grafting and inoculating, as well of 7aiM trees as fruit trees, which produceth many effects. While Shakespeare says: You see, sweet maid, We Many a gentle 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.^ And we find the same thought again: Our scions, put in zvild and savage stocks, Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds.^ Shakespeare has that curious and strange comparison: If you can look into the seeds of time And say which grain will grow and which will not.'* And, in the same vein, we find Bacon devoting pages to the study of the nature of seeds, and of the mode of testing them, to see whether they will grow or not. He says: And therefore skillful gardeners make trial of the seeds before they buy them, whether they be good or no, by putting them into water gently boiled; and if they be good they will sprout within half an hour.* ' Tempest, iv, i. ^ Winter s Tale, iv, 3. ' Henry /'., iii, 5. '^Macbeth, i, 3. '" Natural H istory,%yio. IDENTICAL STUDIES. 417 And again: If any one investigate the vegetation of plants he should observe from the first sowing of any seed how and when the seed begins to swell and break, and be filled, as it were, with spirit.' And here is a curious parallelism. Bacon says: There be certain ci>nt-Jlo7ocrs, which come seldom or never in other places unless they be set, but only amongst corn; as the blue-bottle, a kind of yellow marigold, wild poppy and fiuiiitory. ... So it would seem that it is the loi-ii that qualifieth the earth and prepareth it for their growth.^ Shakespeare's attention had also been drawn to these humble corn-flowers, and he had reached the same conclusion, that the earth was prepared to receive these flowers by the presence of the corn. He describes Lear: Crowned with rank fnmitor, and furrow weeds, With hardock, hemlocks, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel and all the idle weeds that grow In OMX sustaining com} Bacon writes an essay Of Gardens, and Shakespeare is full of comparisons and reflections based upon gardens. For instance: Virtue? a fig ! 'Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are oitr gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners: so that if we will plant nettles or sow lettuce; set hyssop, and weed up thyme; supply it with one gender of herbs or distract it with many; either to have it sterile with idleness, or manured with indus- try: why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our own wills.'* And again: Our sea-walled garden, the whole land, Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up.^ And again: What rub, or what impediment there is, Why that the naked, poor and mangled peace, Dear nurse of arts, plenties and joyful births. Should not, in this best garden of the world. Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage? . . . The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank. Conceives by idleness; and nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burrs.* And the closeness with which both studied the nature of plants ^ Novum Or£^a>ita>i, hooVW. ^Lear,iv,4. ^ Rzckard lT.,\'n, 4,. ^ Natural History, § 482. < Othello, i, 3. * Henry I'., v, 2. 41 8 PARALLELISMS. and their modes of growtli is sliown in the following remarkable parallel. In that most curious and philosophical of the Plays, Troilus and Cressida, we find this singular Comparison: Checks and disasters Grow in the veins of actions highest reared; As knots, by the confliix of meeting saj^. Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain, Tortive and errant from his course of growth.' And we find that Bacon had, in like manner, studied the effect of sap upon the growth of the tree: The cause whereof is, for that the sap ascendeth unequally, and doth, as it were, tire and stop by the way. And it seemeth they have some closeness and hardness in their stalk, which hindereth the sap from going up, until it hath gath- ered into a knot, and so is more urged to put forth. '-' Here we find the poet setting forth that the knots are caused by *' the conflux of the meeting sap," while the philosopher tells us that when the sap is arrested it " gathereth into a knot." And so it seems that both were studying the same subject and arriving at the same conclusions; and both thought that not only were the knots caused by the stoppage of the ascending sap, but that the knots produced the new branches: "so," says Bacon, "it is more urged to put forth." The knots, says Shakespeare, divert the grain from the straight, upright course of growth, to-wit, by making it put forth new branches. Can any man believe that Bacon and Shakspere were engaged at the same time in this same curious study, and reached independently these same remarkable conclusions ? And we see the gardener again in Richard II.: All superfluous branches We lop away, that bearing boughs may live.^ Again : A violet in the youth of primy Nature.'* The thoughts of both ran upon flowers. Bacon says: We commend the odor of plants growing, and not plucked, taken in the open air; the principal of that kind are violets, gilliflowers, pinks, bean-flowers, lime- tree blossoms, vine buds, honeysuckles, yellow wall-flowers, musk roses, straw- berry leaves, etc. . . . Therefore to walk or sit near the breath of these plants should not be neglected.^ 1 Troilus and Cressida, i, 3. '■' Natural History, % 589. ^ Kichard II., iii, 4. ■• Iliiiiitet, i, 3. ^ History 0/ Life and Death. IDENTICAL STUDIES. 419 And again he says: The daintiest smells of flowers are out of those plants whose leaves smell not, as violets, roses, wall-flowers, gilliflowers, pinks, woodbines, vine-flowers, apple- blooms, bean-blossoms, etc' The same admiration for flowers is shown by Shakespeare. He speaks of 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; pale primroses. That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds. The flower-de-luce being one.-' I might till pages with further evidence that both Bacon and the writer of the Plays loved flowers and practiced gardening. III. Thk Study of Medicine. Bacon says of himself: I have been puddering in physic all my life. Shakespeare says: 'Tis known I ever Have studied physic." Bacon writes to Sir Robert Cecil: I ever liked the Galenists, that deal with good compositions, and not the Para- celsians, that deal with these fine separations.'* Shakespeare says: Lafcaii. To be relinquished of the artists. Parolles. So I say, both of Galen and Paracelsus. Lafeati. Of all the learned and authentic fellows.* Macaulay says, speaking of Bacon: Of all the sciences, that which he regarded with the greatest interest was the science which, in Plato's opinion, would not be tolerated in a well-regulated com- munity. To make men perfect was no part of Bacon's plan. His humble aim was to make imperfect men comfortable. . . . He appealed to the example of Christ, and reminded his readers that the great Physician of the soul did not dis- dain to be also the physician of the body.*' « Natural History, §389. ' Pericles, iii, j. ^ All's Well that Ends Well, ii, ;■ "^ Winter's Tale, iv, 3. * Letter to Sir Robert Cecil. * Essay Bacon, p. 276. 420 PARALLELISMS. On the other hand, the celebrated surgeon Bell says: My readers will smile, perhaps, lo see me quoting Shakespeare among physi- cians and theologians, but not one of all their tribe, populous though it be, could describe so exquisitely the marks of apoplexy, conspiring with the struggles for life, and the agonies of suffocation, to deform the countenance of the dead; so curiously does our poet present lo our conception all the signs from which it might be inferred that the good Duke Humphrey had died a violent death.' Dr. O. A. Kellogg, Assistant Professor of the State Lunatic Asylum at Utica, N. Y., says: The extent and accuracy of the medical, physiological and psychological knowledge displayed in the dramas of William Shakespeare, like the knowledge that is manifested on all matters upon which the rays of his mighty genius fell, have excited the wonder and astonishment of all men, who, since his time, have investi- gated those subjects upon which so much light is shed by the researches of modern science. Speaking of Bacon, Osborne, his contemporary, said: I have heard him outcant a London chirurgeon, — meaning thereby, excel him in the technical knowledge of his own profession. His marvelous delineations of the different shades of insanity in Lear, Ophelia, Hamlet, etc., are to be read in the light of the fact that Francis Bacon's mother died of insanity; and Bacon, with his knowledge of the hereditary transmissibility of disease, must have made the subject one of close and thorough study. There are instances in his biography which show that he was himself the victim of melancholy; and there are reasons to think, as will be shown hereafter, that he is the real author of a great medical work on that subject which passes now in the name of another. He seems to have anticipated Harvey's discovery of the circula- tion of the blood. Harvey, in 1628, demonstrated that "the blood which passed out from the heart, by the arteries, returned to the heart by the veins." But Shakespeare, long before that time, had said: As dear to me as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart,'- — indicating that he knew that the blood returned to tlie heart. I find the following interesting passage in Disraeli's Curiosities of Literature : ^^cW'i Principles 0/ Surgciy^ 1815, vol. ii, p. 557. "Julius Ciesaj\ ii, i. IDENTICAL STUDIES. 421 Dr. William Hunter has said that after the discovery of the valves in the veins, which Harvey learned while in Italy from his master, Fabricius ab Aquapendente, the remaining step might easily have been made by any person of common abilities. " This discovery," he observes, "set Harvey to work upon the use of the heart and vascular system in animals; and in the course of some years \v&'wa.'s, so happy as to discover, and to prove beyond all possibility of doubt, the circulation of the blood." He afterwards expresses his astonishment that this discovery should have been left for Harvey, though he acknowledges it occupied "a course of years ;" adding that " Providence meant to reserve it for Iiiiu, and would not let men see zokat was before them nor tinderstand to hat they read. It is remarkable that when great discoveries are effected, their simplicity always seems to detract from their originality; on these occasions we are reminded of the egg of Columbus.' But it seems that the author of the Shakespeare Plays, years before Harvey made his discovery, had also read of the observations •of Fabricius ab Aquapendente, and understood that there were valves in the veins and arteries. And this he could only have done in the original Italian — certainly not in English. And he refers to these valves as " gates " in the following lines: And in the porches of mine ears did pour The leperous distilment; whose effect Holds such an enmity with blood of man. That swift as quicksilver it courses through The natural gales and alleys of the body; And with a sudden vigor it doth posset And curd, like aigre droppings into milk. The thin and wholesome blood. - IV. Shakespeare's Physicians. And it is a remarkable fact that, while the art of medicine was in that age at a very low ebb, and doctors were little better than quacks, Shakespeare represents, on two occasions, the physician in a light that would do no discredit to the profession in this advanced age. Let ine give a few facts to show how reasonable and civilized was the medical treatment of the physicians in Lrar and MacbctJi, compared with that of the highest in skill in the sixteenth and •seventeenth centuries. Sir Theodore Mayern, Baron Aulbone, was born in France in 1573. He was the great doctor of his day. Among his patients were Henry IV. and Louis XIII., of France, and James I., Charles I. and Charles II., of England. He administered calomel in scrtiple doses; he mixed sugar of ' Disraeli, CKrinsittcs 0/ Literatuyi\ p. 412. "^ J/n/i//,-f, i, 5. 422 PARALLELISMS. k-ad in his conserves; but his principal reliance was in pulverized human bones and " raspings of a human skull unburied." His sweetest compound was his balsam of hats, strongly recommended for hypochondriacal persons, into which entered adders, bats, sucking whelps, earth-worms, hogs' grease, the marrow of a stag and the thigh-bone of an ox ! He died in 1655. He ought to have died earlier. Another of these learned physicians of Elizabeth's time was Doctor William Bulleyn, who was of kin to the Queen. He died in 1576. His prescription for a child suffering from nervousness was "a smal yonge mouse, rested." And this state of ignorance continued for more than a century after Bacon's death. In 1739 the English Parliament passed an act to pay Joanna Stephens, a vulgar adventuress, ;^5,ooo, to induce her to make public her great remedy for all diseases. The medi- cines turned out to be, when revealed, a powder, a decoction and pills, made up principally of egg-shells, snails, soap, honey and swine-cresses ! Now, bearing all this mountebank business in mind, let us turn to the scene where the Doctor appears in Alacbeth. We read: Doctor. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your reports. When was it she last walked? Gentlewoman. Since his Majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon 't, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep. Doctor. A great perturbation in nature ! to receive at once the benefit of sleep and do the effects of watching. In this slumbery agitation, besides her walking and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say? Geiitleivoman. That which I will not report after her. Doctor. You may, to me; and 'tis most meet you should. Gentlewoman. Neither to you nor any one; having no witness to confirm my speech. Enter Lady RFacbcth with taper. Lady Macbeth. Wash your hands, put on your night-gown; look not .so pale — I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on 's grave. Doctor. Even so. . . . Will she go now to bed ? Gentlewoman. Directly. Doctor. Foul whisperings are abroad. Unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles. Infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. More needs she the divine than the physician. God, God, forgive us all ! Look after her; IDENTICAL STUDIES. ^2X Remove from her the means of all annoyance, And still keep eyes upon her: So, good night; My mind she has mated, and amazed my sight: I think, but dare not speak. And farther on in the tragedy we liave: Macbeth. How does your patient, doctor? Doctor: Not so sick, my lord, As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, That keep her from her rest. Macbeth. Cure her of that. Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow; Raze out the written troubles of the brain; And, with some sweet oblivious antidote Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart ? Doctor. Therein the patient Must minister to himself. Macbeth. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it. How courteous and dignified and altogether modern is this physician ? There is here nothing of the quack, the pretender, or the impostor. We hear nothing about recipes of human bones, or small roast mice, or snails, or swine-cresses. And this declaration, of the inadequacy of drugs to relieve the heart, reminds us of what Bacon says: You may take sarsa to open the liver, steel to open the spleen, flower of sul- phur for the lungs, castareum for the brain, but no receipt openeth the heart but a true friend.' In Lear we have another doctor. He is called in to care for the poor insane King, and we have the following conversation: Cordelia. What can man's wisdom do In the restoring of his bereaved sense? He that helps him, take all my outward worth. Physician. There is means, madam; Oi. a Lear iv, 4. 424 PARALLELISMS. ^ of the earth " ? It was the very essence of Bacon's philosophy to make those virtues known as "aidant and remediate" of the good of man. He sought, by a knowledge of the secrets of nature, to lift men out of their miseries and necessities. And again, after the Doctor has, by his simples operative, produced sleep, and Lear is about to waken, we have the following: Cordelia. How does the King? Physician. Madam, he sleeps still. ... So please your Majesty, That we may wake the King? He hath slept long. Cord. Be governed by your knowledge and proceed, r the sway of your own will. P/iys. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him; I doubt not of his temperance. Cord. Very well. Pkys. Please you, draw near. — Louder the music there. . . . Cord. He wakes; speak to him. Phys. Madam, do you; 'tis fittest. Co7-d. How does my royal Lord? How fares your Majesty? Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o' the grave. . . . Cord. Sir, do you know me? Lear. You are a spirit, I know. When did you die ? Cord. Still, still, far wide. Phys. He's scarce awake: let him alone a while.' Surely there is nothing here, either in the mode of treatment or the manner of speech, that the modern physician could improve upon. The passage contains Bacon's forecasting of what the doc- tor should be — of what he has come to be in these latter times. V. The Medicinal Virtues of Sleep. And how well did both Bacon and the writer of the Plays know the virtue of those Simples operative, whose power Will close the eyes of anguish. Bacon in his Natural History., §738, discussing all the drugs that "inebriate and provoke sleep," speaks of "the tear oi poppy" of '''■ henbane-seed'' and of ''^mandrake." While Shakespeare is familiar with the same medicines. He says: "i^oi poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever minister thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow'dst once.^ ' Lear, iv, 4. '^ Othello, iii, 3. IDENTICAL STUDIES. 425 And again: With juice of cursed /ir/>i-njn in a vial.' And when the doctor in Lrar says that "the foster-nurse of nature is repose/' he speaks a great truth, but faintly recognized in that age, and not even fully understood in this. And yet in that unscientific, crude era both Bacon and the writer of the Plays clearly perceived the curative power of sleep. Shakespeare calls it Great nature "s second course, Chief )wiirisht-r in life's feast.'- And this curious idea of the noiirisJiin^ power of sleep is often found in Bacon. He says: Sleep doth supply somewhat to noiirisluncnt,'^ Sleep nottrisheik, or, at least, preserveth bodies a lonjj time without other uoufishment.^ Sleep doth ttoun'sk much, for the spirits do less spend the iiourisJnnent in sleep than when living creatures are awake. ' And Shakespeare says: The innocent sleep: Sleep, that knits up the ravel'd sleeve of care; The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath. Balm of hurt minds. *•' And again: O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse.' And Bacon lias something of that same idea of knitting up the raveled sleeve of care. He savs: I have compounded an ointment: . . . the use of it should be between sleeps, for in the latter sleep the parts assimilale chiefly.^ That is, they become knitted together. Bacon and the writer of the Plays seem both, to havti perceived that the wear of life frayed the nervous fiber Shakespeare says of sleep: Please you, sir, Do not omit the heavy offer of it: It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth It is a comforter.'^ Ill, I. ' Hdmlet, i , 5. < Nafurnl Ilistm-y, % 746. ' 2d Henry // '. , i i , - Macieth, ii, 2. ^ Ibid., cent, i, § 57. « Natural Histoyy, cent, i, § 59. '^History 0/ Life and Death. '''Macbeth, ii, 2. " Tempest, ii, i. 426 PARALLELISMS. Bacon says: Such is the force of sleep to restrain all vital consumption.' And again: Sleep is nothing else f)ut a reception and retirement of the living spirit into itself.'- It would almost seem as if spirit was so incompatible with its enfoldment of matter that tlie union could only continue at the price of periods of oblivion, or semi-death; during which the con- scious spirit, half-parted from its tenement, sinks back into the abyss of God, and returns rejuvenated, and freshly charged with vital force for the duties of life. But for centuries after Bacon's time there were thousands, even among the most enlightened of their age, who regarded sleep as the enemy of man, to be curtailed by all possible means. It is therefore a striking proof of identity when two writers, of that period, are found united in anticipating the conclusions of modern thought on this important subject. In the medicinal science of to-day sleep is indeed "sore labor's bath," and above all '' the balm of hurt minds." VI. Use of Medical Terms. But the Shakespeare writings bubble over with evidences that the writer was, like Bacon, a student of medicine. Bacon says: For opening, I commend beads or pieces of the roots of dirduus benedict us. "^ And Shakespeare says: Get you some of this distilled carduus henedictus: ... it is the only thing for a qualm.'* It would be extraordinary indeed if two distinct men not only used the same expressions, thought the same thoughts, cited the same quotations and pursued the same studies, but even reeoni- vierided the same medicines ! Bacon says: Extreme bitter as in ioloijiiinti<.,i. Shakespeare says: The food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to him shortly as hit to- as coloquintida.^ ' History of Life and Peotti. * Much Alio ulwut Nothing, ill, 4. " Ibid. s Natural History., cent, i, § 36. 3 Natural History, % 963. « Otlu-lto. \. 3. IDENTICAL STUDIES. 427 Here we have the writer of the Plays and Francis Bacon dwell- ing upon another medicine, and describing it in the same terms. Shakespeare speaks in Lear of " the hysterica passio." He alst> knew about the vascular membrane lining the brain: These are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia main; and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion.' He also savs: Again; And again : And airain; What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug Will scour these English hence. 7^ Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poisons, Which at first are scarce found to distaste; But with a little act upon the blood, Burn like the mines of sidphur." And nothing is at a like goodness still; For goodness, growing to a p/curisy, Dies in his own too-much.'' And I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of the infected world. If they will patiently receive my medicine.-' No wonder some have argued that the writer of the Plays was a physician. In 1st Henry IT. ''' he refers to the midriff ; in 2J Henry IV. and Othello and Macbeth he describes accurately the effect of intoxicat- ing liquor on the system; in 2d Henry IV.' he refers to aconite : in The Merry Wives of Windsor he drags in the name of Escitlapiiis. In Kin\^ /"^"' 'i^ says: Before the curing of a strong disease. Even in the instant of repair and health. The fit is strongest; evils that take leave. On their departure most of all show evil.* In Coriolanus he says: Sir, these cold ways, That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous Where the disease is violent.' In Lear he says: Crack nature's moulds, all gerntens spill at once That make ungrateful man.'" ' Love s Labor Lo.^t^ iv, 2. ''■Macbeth, v, 3. 3 Othello, iii, 3. ■• ffainUt. iv, 7. ■• .Is You Like It. ' Act iii, scene 3. ' Act iv, scene 4. " King John, iii, 4. " Coriolanus iii, t. '" Lear, iii, .1. 428 PARALLELISMS. In Julius CiTsar^ he describes correctly the symptoms of epi- lepsy. In TiDion of Athens" he gives us the mode of treatment of a still more formidable disease. In Henry V. he furnishes us with a minute description of Fal- staff's death: A' parted even just between twelve and one, e'en at the turning of the tide, for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with fiowers, and smile upon his finger-ends, I knew there was but one way, for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and a' babbled of green fields. ... So he bade me lay more clothes on his feet. I put my hand into the bed, and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone. ^ And it is a curious fact that Francis Bacon studied the signs of death, as he studied everything else, with the utmost particularity and minuteness, and he has put them on record. He says: The immediate preceding signs of death are, great unquietness and tossing in the bed, fumbling with the hands [" I saw him fuvihlc with the sheets," says Dame Quickly], catching and grasping hard, gnashing with the teeth, speaking hollow, trembling of the nether lip, paleness of the face, the memory confused ["a' babbled of green fields," says Dame Quickly], speechless, cold sweats, the body shooting in length, lifting up the white of the eye, changing of the whole visage, as the nose sluirp ["his nose 'was as sJiarp as a pen," says Dame Quickly], eyes hollow, cheeks fallen, contraction and doubling of the eoldness in tlie extreme parts of the body ["his feet were as cold as any stoney says Dame Quickly].'* Here we have the same symptoms, and in the same order. Who is there can believe that these descriptions of death came out of two different minds ? VII. The Same Historical Studies. Shakespeare wrote a group of historical plays extending from Richard II. to Henry VIII., with a single break — the reign of Henry VII. And Baeon eompleted the series iy writing a history of Henry VII..' Shakespeare wrote a play turning upon Scotch history — Mac- beth. Bacon had studied the history of Scotland. He says: The kingdom of Scotland hath passed through no small troubles, and remain- eth full of boiling and swelling tumors.-' Shakespeare wrote a play concerning Danish history — Hamlet. Bacon had carefuJly studied Scandinavian history. He says: 1 Act i, scene 2. '^ History 0/ Life and Death, div. .\, § 30. '^ Act iv, scene 3. "Observations on a Libel — Life and ^ Henry /'., ii, 3. Works, vol. I, p. 161. IDENTICAL STUDIES. 429 The kingdom of Swedeland, besides their foreign wars upon their confines, the Muscovites and the Danes, hath also been subject to divers intestine tumults and mutations, as their stories do record} Shakespeare wrote a play of Jiiliiis Ccesar ; Bacon wrote a biog- raphy or character of Julius Ccesar. Shakespeare wrote a play, Antony and Cleopatra, in which Augus- tus Caesar is a principal character. Bacon wrote a biography of Augustus Ccesar. And he discusses, in his essay Of Love, Mark Antony, " the half-partner of the empire of Rome, a voluptuous man and inordinate, whose great business did not keep out love." And this is the very element of the great Roman's character on which the play of Antotiy and Cleopatra turns. Shakespeare wrote a play of Tinion of Athens, the misanthrope. Bacon speaks of " misanthropi, that make it their practice to bring men to the bough, and yet have never a tree in their garden for the purpose, as Timon had."" VIII. Julius Caesar in thf. Plays. Shakespeare manifests the highest admiration for Julius Caesar. He calls him ''the foremost man of all this world." In Cymbeline he says: There is no more such Caesars; other of them may have crooked noses; but to own such straight arms, none.^ In Hamlet he refers to him as "the mighty Julius." He says: A little ere the mighty Julius fell, The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.'* In 2d Henry /V. he says: For Brutus' bastard hand stabbed Julius Csesar.* On the other hand, Bacon shows a like admiration for Caesar. He says: Machiavel says if Caesar had been overthrown "he would have been more odious than ever was Catiline ;" as if there had been no difference, but in fortune, between a very fury of lust and blood and the most excellent spirit (his ambition, reserved) of the ivorld.^ ' Observations on a Libel — I.i/i- ami * Hatnlct, i, 1. Works, vol. i, p. 162. ^ 2d Henry II'., iv, i. "Essay O/ Goodness. ^ Advancevient 0/ Learning, book ii, ' Cymbeline, iii, i. 43° PARALLELISMS. This is but another way of saying: " The foremost man of all this world." He also refers to Caesar's letters and apophthegms, "' which excel all men's else." ' Shakespeare says: Kent, in the commentaries Ciesar writ, Is termed the civil'st place of all this isle.'-' Bacon refers to Caesar's Co/ni/ir/ifarics, and pronounces them "the best history of the world." ' In the play of Julius Ccesar we see the conspirators coming to- gether at the house of Brutus. In The Advaticemcut of Learning, book ii, we find Bacon describing the supper given by M. Brutus and Cassius to "certain whose opinions they meant to feci whether they were fit to be made their associates " in the killing of Ccesar. Bacon says of Julius Caesar: He referred all things to himself, and was the true and perfect center of all his actions. B)' which means, being so fast tied to his ends, he was still prosperous and prevailed in his purposes, insomuch that neither country, nor religion, nor good turns done him, nor kindred, nor friendship diverted his appetite nor bridled him from pursuing his own ends.'' In the play we find the same characteristic brought into view. Just before the assassination Cassius falls at Caesar's feet to beg the enfranchisement of Publius Cimber. Caesar replies: I could be well moved if I were as you; If I could pray to move, prayers would move me. But I am constant as the northern star Of whose true-fixed and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament. The skies are painted with unnumbered sparks, They are all fire, and every one doth shine; But there is one in all doth hold his place: .So, in the world: 'tis furnished well with men, And men are flesh and blood and apprehensive; Yet, in the number, I df) know but one That unassailable holds on his rank, Unshaked of motion, and that I am he Let me a little show it.'' Here we see the same man described by Bacon, whom " neither country, nor good turns done him, nor kindred, nor friendship diverted . . . from pursuing his own ends." ' A(h Novum Organum, book i 1. ' ■* Natural History, § 605. ' Natural History, cent, x, § 967^ " Natural History, § 696. « Ibid., § 328. ^As Vou Like It, ii, i. 3 Hamlet, iii, 4. « Hamlet, li, 2. * Love's Labor Lost, iv, 3. IDENTICAL ERRORS. 443 Both believed, despite the discoveries of Galileo, that the earth was the center of the universe, and that the heavens revolved around it. Later in his life Bacon seemed to accept the new theo- ries, but at the time the Plays were written he repudiated them. He says: Who would not smile at the astronomers, I mean not these new carmen -aliicli drive the earth about .^ Again he says: It is a poor center of a man's actions, himself. It is right earth, for that only stands fast upon his own center; whereas all things that have affinity with the heavens move upon the center of another, which they benefit. - While Shakespeare also rejected the new theories. He says in Hamlet : Doubt thou the stars are fire. Doubt that the sun doth move.^ Again he says: The heavens themselves, the planets aii////and vellicate the sense.- To vellicate is to twitch convulsively. We find in Hamlet tlie strange word pall : Our indiscretion sometimes serv'es us well When our dear plots Aa pall.''' We turn to Bacon and we find him using the same word: The beer or wine hath not been palled or deaded at all.'' And again: The refreshing or quickening of drink />(?//t7/ or dead.-" In Bacon we have: For if they go forth right to a place, they must needs have sight.* Shakespeare says : Step aside from the d'lrecl J'orth right.'' Through, forth rights and meanders.*' Bacon says: I have 'been p II Me ring in physic all qpy life. ' Macbeth^ V, 4. * Natural History, §385. ' Troilus and Cressida, iii, 3. - ^ Natural History, %%-i^. * Ibid., §314. ^ Tcinjf>cst.,'\\\. ^. » Hamlet, V, I. « Ibid. , r 698. 446 PARALLELISMS. Shakespeare says : The gods that keep such -a piiddcr o'cx our heads.' This word occurs but on this occasion in the Plays. It means bother. There is a word in Henry V'' — imbar — which has excited con- siderable controversy among the commentators. It occurs in the discussion of the Salic law of France: So that as clear as is the summer's sun, King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's claim, King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear To hold in right and title of the female; So do the kings of France unto this day: Howbeit they would hold up this Salic law, To bar your Highness claiming from the female; And rather choose to hide them in a net, Than amply to imbar their crooked titles Usurped from you and your progenitors. I quote Knight's foot-note upon this word: Imbar. The Folio gives this word i/i/bai-ir, which modern editors, upon the authority of Theobald, have changed into ii/ibarc. Rowe, somewhat more boldly, reads 7)iake bare. There can be no doubt, we think, that imbar is the right word. It might be taken as placed in opposition to bar. To <^<7r is to obstruct; to imbar is to bar in, to secure. They would hold up the Salic law "to bar your High- ness," hiding "their crooked titles" in a net rather than amply defending them. But it has been suggested to us that imbar is here used for " to set at the bar " — to place their crooked titles before a proper tribunal. This is ingenious and plausible. I quote these comments to show that the word is a rare and obscure one. The two words, bar and imbar, seem to me to mean substantially the same thing; as we find p/ead and implead, personate and impersfl'iate, plant and itnplant. If there is any difference, it con- sists in :he fact that bar means, as suggested by Knight, to shut out, and hnbar to shut in. In the sentence under consideration it seems that both the title of the reigning French King and the claim of King Henry V. came through the female line, and the Archbishop of Canterbury shows that the French, while their King holds in contravention of the Salic law yet set it up as a bar to the claim of the English King, also holding through the female line, and thus involve themselves in a net or tangle of contradic- tions, instead of amply, fully, and on other and substantial grounds, 1 Lear , iii, 2. " Act i, scene 2. THE IDENTICAL USE OE UNUSUAL WORDS. 447 imbarriiig their titles, inclosing them and defending them from the world. And here again, where we would find the explanation of obscure words in Shakespeare, we are driven to Bacon. In his History of Henry VII. he says: The King forthwith banished all Flemings , . , out of his kingdom; com- manding his subjects likewise, and by name his merchants adventurers, which had a reisance in Antwerp, to return; translating the mart, which commonly followed the English cloth, unto Calais; and entbanrd a\so all further trade for the future. Here we get at the meaning of the word. He not only drove the Flemish merchants out of his country and recalled his own merchants resident in Flanders, and changed the foreign mart, but he also embarred all further trade — that is, denied the Flemish commerce access to his people. And it is a curious fact that in our great American dictionary ( IVebsters Unabridged) the two words, embarred and imbare, are given — the first with the above quotation from Bacon, and the other with the example of the word from Henry V., with a meaning attached, created to suit the emergency, " to lay bare, to uncover, to expose." So tiiat, to attempt to read Shakespeare without Bacon, the commentators are driven to coin new words "which never were, and no man ever saw." We read in Shakespeare: How cam'st thou to be the siege of this mooncalf? ' J. O. Halliwell says in a foot-note upon this passage: A Diooncalf IS an imperfectly-developed foetus, here metaphorically applied to a misshapen monster. But we turn to Bacon, and there we find the real explanation: It may be that children and young catt/e that are brought forth in the full of the moon are stronger and iargcr than those which are brought forth in the wane; and those, also, which are begotten in the full of the moon [are stronger and larger]. ^ So that the term was applied to Caliban with reference to his gross proportions. The curious word starting-hole occtirs but once in the Plays, in Falstaff's interview with the Prince,^ after the robbery on Gads-hill; and it is so rare that it is made the foundation of a foot- ' Tempest, ii, 2. * Natural History § 897. ^ 1st Henry IV'., ii, 4. 448 PARALLELISMS. note. We turn to Bacon, and we tind it used by liim in the same sense: He [Lopez] thought to provide himself with as many starting-holes and eva- sions as he could devise.' Bacon says: So with /iian'L'lfltis consent and applause.'^ Shakespeare says: The rogues are niarvt'lotis poor/' I\Iari Tempest, v, i. 8 Letter to Lord Burleigh, June, 1595. s Natural History, cent, i, § 46. ' Measure for Measure, i v, 3. s Letter to Mr. Davis. '°^J You Like It, iv, i. ^ As You Like It, iii, 2. " Advancetnent of Learning, book ii. * Letter to Buckingham, Sept. 5, 1621. "^ Ibid., book i. « Love's Latior Lost, v, 1. " /" Praise 0/ Kiunvteiit^e. "^ Troilus and Cressida, iii, 3. THE IDENTICAL USE OF UNUSUAL WORDS. 453 Shakespeare has: O ^oX\?,\^^d^ perturbation ! golden care.' A g7-eat perturbation in nature} From much grief, from study a.ndi perturbation of the brain.* Bacon says : She had no props, or supports of her government, but those that were of her own tnaking.* Shakespeare says : The boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop } See where his Grace stands 'tween two clergymen. TviO props of virtue for a Christian prince.^ Bacon also says : There was also made a shoaring or underpropping act for the benevolence.'' Shakespeare says: What penny hath Rome borne, What men provided, what munition sent. To underprop this action ? * Here am I left to underprop his land.' Extirpate occurs but once in the Plays. Prosper says his brother proposed ^^ to extirpate me and mine." Bacon uses this then unusual word in the same sense: But for extirpating of the roots and cause of the like commotions,'*' Bacon says: This depressing of the house of York did rankle and fester the affections of his people." Shakespeare says: His venom tooth will rankle to the death. ''^ They fester 'gainst ingratitude.'^ Bacon says: He saith that towards his latter time that closeness did impair and a little perish his understanding.'^ > 2d Hejiry IV., iv, 5. « Richard III., iii, 7. " Ibid. " Macbeth, v, 1. '' History of Henry VII. ^"^ Richard III., i, 3. ^ 2d Henry IV., I, 2. ^ King John, \, 2.. ^^ Coriotanus, i, g. * Fetic. Queen Elizabeth. ' Richard II., ii, 2. '^ Essay Of Friendship. ^Merchant of I'cnicc, ii, i. '" History of Henry VII. 454 FAR A LLELISMS. Henry Lewis says: The use of the verb thus, as transitive is rare.' But rare as it is, we find it in Shakespeare: Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, Might in thy palace /tvv.iV^ Margaret.'^ Bacon says: I do esteem whatsoever I have or may have in this world but as trash in com- parison.^ And again: It shows he weighs men's minds and not their trash} Shakespeare says: Who steals my purse steals trash} Wrung From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash} Bacon speaks of A shrunken and wooden posture.' Shakespeare speaks of The ruooden dialogue.'* Bacon says: Young men puffed up with the glittering show of vanity.^ Shakespeare says: The sea. puffed up with winds.'** The heart, puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage.'^ Led by a delicate and tender prince, Whose spirit, by divine a.mh\i\ov\ puffed. Makes mouths at the invisible event ''^ Bacon says: To make hope the antidote of human diseases.'^ Shakespeare says: And with some sweet oblivious antidote Cleanse the stuffed bosom.''* * Essay, Bacon, p. i6i. ^ 2d Henry VI., iii, 2. 3 Letter to the Earl of Salisbury. * Essay Of Goodness. * Othello, iii, 2. * Julius Cissar, iv, 3. ' Essay O/ Boldness. " Troll us and Cressida, {,3. ' Wisdom 0/ the A neients — Moiinon. •" Taming of the Shrew, i, 2. ' ' 2d Henry II'., iv, 3. ^"^ Hamlet, iv, 4. " Med. Sacrcf. ^*Maebeth, v, 3. THE IDENTICAL USE OF UNUSUAL WORDS. 455 Trust not the physician: his antidotes are poisons.' The word was an unusual one, and occurs but twice in the Plays. Bacon, in his essay Of Masks, speaking of the decorations of the stage, refers to "oes or spangs," meaning, as I should take it, round, shining spots or spangles, like eyes, which, " as they are of no great cost, so are they of most glory." And in Shakespeare this figure repeatedly appears: All you fiery oes and eyes of light.- And he speaks in the prologue to Henry V. of the play-house as "this wooden O." And he uses the same root in another odd word, anliads — glances of the eye: Judicious (eiliads.^ She gave strange ailiads.^ Bacon says: Pyonner in the myne of truth.'' K picnecr in the mine of truth. '^ Shakespeare says: Canst work in the earth so fast; A -woxXhy pioneer? The general camp, pioneers and all.* This rare word occurs but three times in the Plays. And in Shakespeare we have, as a parallel to Bacon's " mine of truth ": O, Antony, thou mine of bounty } Bacon speaks of -Such natural philosophy as shall not vanish in the. fume of subtle and delecta- ble speculation.'" While in Shakespeare we have: Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs." Bacon says: Neither did they observe so much as the half-face of justice, in proceeding by indictment." * Titnon of Athens, iv, 3. ''Hamlet, i, 5. "^ M idsumtner Nighfs Dream, iii, 2. ^ Othello, iii, 3. ^ Merry IVives 0/ Windsor, i, 3. ' Antony and Cleopatra, iv, 6. "^ Lear, iv, 5. '^'^Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii. ^ Proimis, §1395, p. 451. " Romeo and Juliet, i, i. " Letter to Burleigh. ^-History 0/ Henry I'/f. 45 6 PARALLELISMS. Shakespeare says: Out upon this //(?//-/"(/£-«/ fellowship.' This same Iialf-faccd fellow, Shadow.'-' Because he hath a half-face, like my father, With that half-face would he have all my land.' They both use another very rare word. Bacon says: Seditions and wars arise: in the midst of which hurly-burlies laws are silent.* Shakespeare says: When the hitrly-bnrly s done.^ The news of hurly-luirly innovation.'' This word occurs but twice in the Plays. We will see hereafter that the last syllable is the cipher synonym for Burleigh, — the Lord Treasurer, — Bacon's uncle. Bacon speaks of This ju»ij>ing or flying to generalities.' Shakespeare says: We'dy/^w/ the life to come.* In some sort xX. jumps with my humor.* Jumping o'er times. Turning the accomplishment of many years Into an hour-glass.'" We remember the use of a peculiar word in the mouth of Othello, when he makes his confession to the Venetian senate: Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice. We find the same word in Bacon : Disgracing your actions, extenuating and blasting of your merit." Also: How far a defense might extenuate the offense.'^ Also: In excusing, extenuating or ingenious confession.^'^ It is a favorite word with both; it occurs eight times in the Plays. ' 1st Henry II'., \, 3. * Mac/>eth, i, 7. ^ 2d Henry IV, iii, 2. ° 1st Henry IV., i, 2. 3 Kingjohn. i, i. ^^ Henry !'., i, cho. •• Wisdom o/the Ancients— Orpheus. " Letter to Esse.x, Oct. 4, 1596. ^ Macbeth, i, i. '^ Letter to the Lords. « 1st Henry IV., v, i. " Letter to the King. ' Novum Orgamim. THE IDENriCAL USE OF UNUSUAL WORDS. We recall another very peculiar word in Lear: Oh, how this wcMcr swells up toward my heart.' We turn to Bacon and we read: The stench of feathers, or the like, they cure the rising of the mother^ In Bacon we find : The skirts of my living in Hertfordshire.* In Shakespeare: Here, in the skirts of the forest. ■* The skirts of this wild wood.* Young Fortinbras Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there. Sharked up a list of landless resolutes.'^ Bacon says: Folds and knots of nature.' Shakespeare says : This knot intrinsicate of life untie.** Motives, those strong knots of love.' This knot of amity.'" Bacon says; Then there budded forth some probable hopes of succession." Shakespeare says: This is the state of man: to-day he puts /"<;;/// The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms.'- 457 And again: Bacon: Buckingliain. Every man, . . . Not consulting, broke Into a general prophecy, that this tempest. Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded The sudden breach on't. Norfolk. Which is Inidded out}"' And after he had not a little /vwctf;/;-*/ himself.''' ' l^ear, ii, 4. '^ Natural History, cent, i, §63. •' Letter to Robert Cecil, 1603. * As You Like It, iii, 2. *Ibid., V, 4. '^Hamlet, i, i. ' Preface to Great Instaiiration. ^Antony and Cleopatra, V, ^Macbeth, iv, 3. ">/,?/ Henry VI. " Felic. Queen Elizabeth. ^"^ Henry ?'///., iii, 2. 13 Ibid., i, 1. ■ < History of Henry I Vt. 458 PARA LLELISMS. Shakespeare: 1 all alone l>t'nioan my outcast state.' He so bemoaned \\\'> son.^ This word occurs only twice in the Plays. Bacon speaks of The meeting-point and rendezvous of all my thoughts.^ Shakespeare has: A comfort of retirement lives in this, A rendezvous, a home to fly unto.^ And again: And when I cannot live any longer I will do as I may; that is my rest, that i? the rendezvous of it.^ Bacon speaks of A compacted strength." Shakespeare says: Of imagination all compact.'' My heart is now compact of flint.* Bacon says: Suspicions that the mind itself gathers are but buzzes.^ Shakespeare says: Each btiz, each fancy, each complaint.'" I hear a buzzing of a separation." Bacon: There is a \\\&\y, jocund, and, as 1 may say, a dancing age.'^ Shakespeare: The jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain top.'^ The quotation from Bacon gives us the complete image that was in the mind of the poet: — the dawn was dancing on the moun- tain top. Bacon says: For it is a dull thing to tire, and, as we say, to Jade anything too far,''' ' Sonnet, ' Titus A ndroniciis, v, 3. "^Sd Henry /'/., ii, 5. * Essay Of Suspicion. 3 Letter to Lord Burleigh, 1580. ^'' Lear, i, 4. * jst Henry IV., iv, i. ' ■ Henry VIII., ii, i. ^ Henry V., ii, i. '^ IVisdotn of the Ancients — Pan^ ■ * Aci7iancement of Learning, book ii. '^ Romeo and Juliet, iii, 5. ' Midsummer \iglifs Dream, V, i. '"' Essay Of Discotirse. THE IDENTICAL USE OE UNUSUAL WORDS. 459 Shakespeare says: To let imagination jade me.' Speaking of a young man overthrown and dying, Bacon says: The flo'tijer oi virtue cropped W\\.\\ sudden ciiance."^ vShakespeare speaks of A fresh, wvictvpped /iotuer.'* Comparing her son to the violets that "strew the green lap of the spring," the Duchess says to him: Well, bear you well in this new spring of time. Lest you be nvpprd before you come to prime.'' Speaking of the history of an event, Bacon says: The King hath so ini(Jfled it.'' Shakespeare says: Muffle your false love.* Love whose view is muffled ^XaW."^ Bacon says: The King resolved to make this business of Naples as a 7ureitc/i and means of peace.* Shakespeare says: A noble nature May catch a -wreneh.^ IVreucliiui; the true cause the false way.'" Bacon says: The corruption and ambition of the times (X\s glazed loilh thine eyes. Now, see what good turns eyes for eyes have done: Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for fne Are "windows to my breast, wherethrough the sun Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee: Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art; They draw but what they see, know not the heart.- Here we have not only the same thought, but the same conclu- sion: that the heart can only be read by its acts. Bacon says: And there used to shuffle up a summary proceeding, by examination.'^ Whatsoever singularity, chance and the shuffle of things has produced.'* Shakespeare says: I am fain to shuffle, to hedge and to lurch. ^ 'Tis not so above: There is no shuffling.^ ' A Deciaraiioti py the Treasons. ♦ Gesta Grayoruin — Life and Works, vol. i, p. 335. ^ Sonnet .xxiv. ^ Merry Wives of Windsor, ii, 2. ^ History 0/ Henry I'll. ^ Hantlet, iii, 3. THE IDENTICAL USE OF UNUSUAL WORDS. 461 Your life, good master, Must shuffle for itself.' When we have shuffled off this mortal coil.* Shuffle her avvaj\^ And here, as illustrating the scholarly acquirements of the writer of the Plays, and his tendency to enrich the English language by the creation of new words. I would refer to two instances, which, — although I have observed no parallels for them in Bacon's writings, — are curious enough to be noted here: Dost thou infamonize me among potentates. ■* As he had been incorpsed and demi-natured.^ And here we have a very unusual word used by both — used only once, I think, by either of them. Bacon: To win fame and to eternize your name.* Shakespeare: Eternized in all ages.' Bacon: The vain and indign comprehensions of heresy.' Shakespeare: All indign and base adversities.' I could give many more instances of this use in the two bodies- of writings of the same quaint and unusual words, did I not fear to offend the patience of the reader and extend this book beyond all reasonable proportions. I regret that I am not where I could have access to authorities which would show how many of these strange words appeared for the first time, in the history of our language, in the Bacon and Shakespeare writings. But this will constitute a work for scholars, hereafter. ' Cymbeline, v, 5. "^Hamlet, iii, i. ' Merry Wives of Windsor^ ii, 2. * Loi'e' s Labor Lost, v, 2. * Hamlet, iv, 7. * Gesta Grayoruvi — Life and Works, voL i» P- 336. ^ 2d Henry V/., v, 3. "Letter to the King,. 1612. '> Othello, 1,3. CHAPTER VIII. IDENTITIES OE CHARACTER. I saw Othello's visage in his mind. Othello, i,s. CHARACTER, after all, constitutes the man. 1 do not mean thereby reputation, — for that concerns the opinions of others, and they may or may not be deserved; but those infinite shades of disposition which separate one man from all other men. And as there were never in the world two men who possessed heads of precisely the same shape, so there cannot be two men having pre- cisely the same character. The Creator has a thousand elements which go to make man, and he never puts all of them in any one man; nor does he ever mix a part of them, in his alembic, in the same proportions, for any two men. " In the catalogue we all go for men." Anything, with the human osseous system and flesh on it, is, perforce, a man; but the difference between one man and another may be as wide as that between the primordial cell and the regenerated soul. The writer of the Plays had thought this thought, as he seems to have thought all other thoughts, and he exclaims: Oh, the difference of man and man ! ' When we seek, however, to institute a comparison between Francis Bacon and the writer of the Plays, we are met by this difficulty: We know, accurately enough, what was the character of Francis Bacon — his life reveals it; — but if we turn to the author of certain dramatic compositions, we are at a loss to know when the man himself speaks and when the character he has created speaks. We are more apt to see the inner nature of the writer in the general frame, moral and purpose of the piece, and in those utterances which burst from him unawares, and which have no necessary connection with the plot or the characters of the play, than in the acts performed in the course of the drama, or in the ' Lear, iv, 2. 462 IDENTITIES OF CHARACTER. 463 sentiments put into the mouths of the men who perform them, and which are parts of the acts and parcel of the plots. But, notwithstanding these difficulties, we can perceive clearly enough that the writer of the Plays possessed essentially the same traits of character which we know to have belonged to Francis Bacon. The reader has seen already that both personages, if we may call them such, possessed the philosophical and poetical cast of mind; that they were persons of unequaled genius, command of language, elevation of mind and loftiness of moral purpose. Let us go a step farther. I. Industry. I have shown on page-F27\'//<', that the writer of the Plays was a man of vast industry, and that he elaborated his work with the utmost skill and pains. Knight says: The whole of this scene^' in the Folio, exhibits the greatest care in remodeling the text of the quarto. But let us turn to another play. A comparison of that part of the text of The Merry Wives of JVi>idsor which embraces the scene at Hemes' oak, in the edition of 1602, with the text of the Folio of 1623, will show how elaborately the writer revised and improved his text. I place the new parts of the Folio in italics, and where it repeats the words of the edition of 1602 they are given in quotation marks. In this way the changes are made more conspicuous. In the edition of 1602 we have: Quickly. You fairies that do haunt these shady groves, Look round about the woods if you espy A mortal that doth haunt our sacred round: If such a one you can espy,- give him his due, And leave not till you pinch him black and blue. Give them their charge, Puck, ere they part away. In the Folio of 1623 we have this thus amplified: Quickly. " Fairies," black, gray, green and white. You moonshine revelers and shades of 7iigk(, You orphan heirs of fixed destiny. Attend your office and your quality. Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes. ' Henry V., ii, i. 464 PARALLELISMS. Here there is only one word — fairies — repeated from the par- allel passage in the edition of 1602. The 1602 version continues: Sir Hugh. Come hither, Pead, go to the country houses, And when you find a slut that lies asleep, And all her dishes foul and room unswept, With your long nails pinch her till she cry And swear to mend her sluttish housewifery. In the Folio this speech is put in the mouth of Pistol, but greatly changed in language: Pistol. Elves, lis/ vour names; siletiee, you airy toys. Cricket, to IVindsor chimneys shalt thou leap: Where fires thou find' st unrakcd, and hearths " unswept," There " pinch " the maids as bine as bilberry: Our radiant queen hates "sluts " and sluttery. Here there are but three words that occur in the edition of 1602. In the 1602 copy there is added after this speech: Fairy. I warrant you I wilj perform your will. This line is lacking in the Folio, and instead of it Falstaff says: They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die: I'll wink and couch: no man their works must eye. The 1602 edition gives the next speech as follows: Sir Hugh. Where is Pead ? Go you and see where brokers sleep, And fox-eyed Serjeants, with their mace, Go lay the proctors in the street, And pinch the lousy Serjeant's face: .Spare none of these when they are a-bed. But such whose nose looks plue and red. In the Folio we have this speech rendered as follows: Evans. " Where's Bead ? Go you, and" where you find a maid, That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said. Rein up the organs of her fantasy. Sleep she as sound as careless infancy; But those as ' ' sleep " and think not on their sins, " Pinch" them, arms, leks, backs, shoulders, sides mid shins. But I have given enough to prove that the play, as it appears in the Folio of 1623, was practically re-written, and I might add that in every case the changes were for the better. For instance, in the 1602 edition we have: Go straight, and do as I command, And take a taper in your hand, And set it to his finger ends, And if vou see it him offends, IDENTITIES OF CHARACTER. 465 And that he starteth at the flame, Then he is mortal, know his name; If with an F it doth begin, Why, then, be sure, he's full of sin. This doggerel is transformed irt the Folio into the following: With trial-fire touch me his finger end:- If he be chaste, the flame will back descend And turn him to no pain; but if he start, It is the flesh of a corrupted heart. Speaking of King Henry V., Romeo and Juliet, llie Merry Wives of Windsor and Hamlet^ Swinburne says: Of these four plays the two tragedies at least were thoroughly re-cast and re- written from end to end, the pirated editions giving us a transcript, more or less per- fect or imperfect, accurate or corrupt, of the text as it first came from the poet's hand, a text to be afterivards iiidejinitcly modified and inealettlably improved. . . . But King Henry V., we may fairly say, is hardly less than transformed. Not that it has been re-cast after the fashion of Hamlet, or even re-written after the fashion of Romeo and Juliet; but the corruptions and imperfections of the pirated text are here more flagrant than in any other instance, while the general revision of style, by which it is at once purified and fortified, extends to every nook and corner of the restored and renovated building. Even had we, however, a perfect and trust- worthy transcript of Shakespeare's original sketch for this play, there can be little doubt that the rough draft would still prove almost as different from the final masterpiece as is the soiled and ragged canvas now before us, on which we trace the outline of figures so strangely disfigured, made subject to such rude extremities- of defacement and defeature.' Is it reasonable to suppose that the author who took such pains to. perfect his work would have made no provision for its preservation^ but would die and leave one-half of the great Plays in manuscript ? He knew that the work of his youth was not equal to the work of his manhood, and he labored conscientiously to improve his crude designs. Dowden says: It is the opinion of Dyce, of Grant White and of others that Shakespeare began to work upon Romeo ajid Juliet not later than about 1591, that is, almost at the moment when he began to write for the stage, and, that having occupied him for a series of years, the tragedy assumed its present form about 1595-7. If this be the case, and if, as there is reason to believe, Shakespeare was also during many years interested in the subject of Hamlet, we discover that he accepted the knowledge that his powers were undeveloped and acted upon it, and waited until he believed himself competent to do justice to his conceptions. - De Quincey says of the Plays: The further on we press in our discoveries, the more we shall see proofs of design and self-supporting arrangement, where the careless eye has seen nothing but accident. ' A Study 0/ Shak., p. 104. ''Dowden, Shak. Mind and Art . ji. 51. 466 PARALLELISMS. Swinburne illustrates this question of the industry of Shake- speare by the following excellent remarks: That priceless waif of piratical salvage, which we owe to the happy rapacity of a hungry publisher, is, of course, more accurately definable as the first play of Hamlet than as the first edition of the play. . . . The deeper complexities of the subject are merely indicated; simple and trenchant outlines of character are yet to be supplanted by features of subtler suggestion and infinite interfusion. Hamlet himself is almost more of a satirist than a philosopher. . . . The Queen, whose finished figure is now something of a riddle, stands out simply enough in the first sketch as confidant of Horatio, if not as accomplice of Hamlet. . . . This minor transformation of style in the inner play, made solely with the evident view of marking the distinction between its duly artificial forms of speech and the natural forms of speech passing between the spectators, is but one among innumerable indications, which only a purblind perversity of prepossession can overlook, of the especial store set by Shakespeare himself on this favorite work; and the excep- tional pains taken by him X.o preserve it for aftertime in such fullness of finished form as might make it loori/iiest of profound and perpetual study by the light of far other lamps than illuminate the stage. Of all vulgar errors, the most wanton, the most willful, and the most resolutely tenacious of life, is that belief bequeathed from the days of Pope, in which it was pardonable, to the days of Mr. Carlyle, in which it is not excusable, to the effect that Shakespeare threw off Hamlet as an eagle may moult a feather or a fool may break a jest; that he dropped his work as a bird may drop an egg, or a sophist a fallacy; that he wrote "for gain, not glory," or that, having written Hamlet, he thought it nothing very wonderful to have written. For himself to have written, he possibly, nay, probably, did not think it anything miraculous; but that he was in the fullest degree conscious of its wonderful positive worth to all men for all time, we have the best evidence possible — his own; and that not by mere word of mouth, but by actual stroke of hand. . . . Scene by scene, line for line, stroke upon stroke and touch after touch, he went over all the old labored ground again; and not only to insure success in his own day, and fill his pockets with contem- porary pence, but merely and wholly with a purpose to make it worthy of himself and his future students. . . . Every change in the text of ILamlet has impaired its fitness for the stage, and increased its value for the closet, in exact and perfect proportion. . . . Even in Shakespeare's time the actors threw out his additions; they throw out these very same additions in our time. The one especial speech, if any one such especial speech there be, in which the personal genius of Shakespeare soars up to the very highest of its height, and strikes down to the very deepest of its depth, is passed over by modern actors; it was cut away by Heminge and Condell.' It seems to me that in the face of these facts there can be no question that the writer of the Plays was a man of intense and enormous industry. We turn to Francis Bacon, and we find, as I have suggested heretofore, that he was, perhaps, the most laborious man that ever lived on the planet. Church says of him: 1 Swinbunif, . / Study of ShaX-., \>. 164. IDENTITIES OF CHARACTER. 467 In all these things he was as industrious, as laborious, as calmly per^ severing and tenacious as he was in his pursuit of his philosophical specula- tions.' He re-wrote the Essays^ we are told, thirty times. His chaplain tells us that he had "twelve times transcribed the Novum O rganum with his own hand." Bacon himself says: My great work goeth forward, and, after my manner, I alter even when I add, so that nothing is finished until all is finished. -' Bacon's Pronius of Foniiularics aiiJ Elega/icit's takes us into the workshop of the great artist. There we see him with his blouse on, among his pots and brushes. We see him studying the quality of his canvas and grinding his own paints. These daubs upon the wall are part of his experiments in the contrasts of colors; these rude lines, traced here and there, with charcoal or chalk, are his first crude conceptions of figures and faces and attitudes which are to reappear hereafter, perfected in his immortal works. Here we can trace the genesis of thought, the pedigree of ideas, the ancestry of expressions. We look around us and realize that genius is neither more nor less than great powers conjoined with extraordinary industry. It is better, for humanity's future, that the statue at Stratford- upon-Avon should be taken down from its pedestal. It represents a fraud and a delusion: — a fraud in authorship, and a delusion in philosophy, still more destructive, to-wit: that ignorance, idleness and dissipation can achieve results which mankind will worship through all ages; that anything worth having can come out of nothing. For, in truth, the universe is industry. We are appalled when we think of the intense, persistent, labc^rious, incalculable, awful force, constantly exerted, to keep the vast whole in motion — from the suns to the bacilli. God might be fitly described as the Great Worker: — a worker without a task-master — who never pauses, never wearies, and never sleeps. No man should shrink from labor. Energy is God's glorious stamp set on his creatures. He who has it not is a drone in the hive, and unworthy the notice of his Great Master. And it has • Bacon, p. 57. ^ Letter to Tobie Matthew, 1610. 468 PARALLELISMS. been a shameful and poisonous thing, to tlie human mind, that all these hundreds of years the world has been taught that the most marvelous of human works were produced by accident, without effort, by a slouching, shiftless, lazy, indifferent creature, who had not even force enough to provide for their perpetuation. Let it be known hereafter, and for all time to come, that the greatest of men was the most industrious of men. The notes in the Promus show that Bacon was studying the elegancies^ the niceties of language, especially of colloquial expres- sion, noting down not only thoughts, but peculiar and strong phrases and odd and forcible words. And surely there was no necessity for all this in his philosophical works. He makes a study riot only of courteous salutations, but of the continuances of speech. Take, for instance: It is like, sir, etc., (putting a man agayne into his tale interrupted).' Or: The rather bycause (contynuing another's speech).''' Or: To the end, saving that, whereas, yet, (contynuances of all kynds).^ Would one who contemplated works of philosophy alone, which were to be translated into the Latin language, for the use of pos- terity, devote such study to the refinements of dialogue ? And where do we find any of these elegancies of speech in Bacon's acknowledged writings ? II. CoMMONPLACE-BoOKS. Both writers possessed that characteristic habit of studious and industrious men, the noting down of thoughts and quotations in commonplace-books. The Promus is one of these. Bacon repeat- edly recommends the use of such helps to composition. He says: I hold the entry of commonplaces to be a matter of great use and essence in studying, as that which assureth " copia " of invention and contracteth judgment to a strength.'' And again — discussing how to "procure the ready use of knowledge" — he says: ' Promus, § 1385, p. 44g. * Ibid., § 1379, p. 447. ^ Ibid., § 1378, p. 447. ■* Ad7'anceiiicnt 0/ Learning, book ii. IDENTITIES OF CHARACTER. 469 The other part of invention, which I term suggestion, doth assign and direct us to certain marks or places, which may excite our mind to return and pro- duce such knowledge as it hath formerly collected, to the end we may make use thereof.' And again he says: It is* of great service in studies to bestow diligence in setting down common- places.'^ ' On the other hand, we turn to the writer of the Plays, and we find him, as I have shown on page 78, ante, recommending the use of commonplace-books in very much the sam.e language. He says, in the 76th sonnet: Look, what thy memory cannot contain Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find These children nursed, delivered of thy brain. To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. This is in the very spirit of Bacon's Certain marks or places, which may e.xcite our mind to return and produce such knowledge as it hath formerly collected. And we think we can see the personal habits of the writer of the Plays reflected in the words of his alter ego, Hamlet: My tables: — ^meet it is I set it down, That one may smile and smile and be a villain.' And again, in The Merry Ulves : I will make a brief of it in my note-book.'' III. A Thorough Student. Not only was the writer of the Plays, like Francis Bacon, vastly industrious, but it was the industry of a scholar: he was a student. He combined a life of retirement and contemplation with knowl- edge of affairs, as Bacon did. He realized Goethe's axiom: Es bildet ein Talent sich in der Stille, Sich ein Clutrakter in detii Strom der Welt. The early plays all bespeak the student; they breathe the atmos- phere of the university. Proteus complains: Thou, Julia, hast metamorphosed me; Made me neglect my studies, lose my time. ' Advancement of Learning, book ii. "^Hamlet, i, 5. 2jl3Jj_ I Merry Wives flf Windsor, i, i. 47© PARALLELISMS. Love's Labor Lost is full of allusions to studies: Biroit. What is the end of study ? A'/'fii;. Why, that to know which else we should not know. Biron. Things hid and barred, you mean, from common sense? King. Ay, that is study s god-like reaniipt'ttsf} And, like Bacon, the writer of the Plays believed that books were a means, not an end; and that original thought was a thou- sand times to be preferred to the repetition of the ideas of other men. He says: Study is like the heavens' glorious sun, That will not be deep-searched with saucy looks; Small have continual plodders ever won. Save base authority, from others' books. '^ We seem to hear in this the voice of Bacon. In his essay Of Studies he says: To spend too much time in studies, is sloth; to use them too much for orna- ment, is affectation; to make judgment ivholly by their rules, is the humor of a scholar. And how Baconian are these utterances: Mi pe7-donate, gentle master mine, I am in all affected as yourself; Glad that you thus continue your resolve, To suek the siceets of sweet philosophy. Only, good master, while we do admire This virtue, and this moral discipline. Let's be no stoicks, nor no stocks, I pray: Or so devote to A ristotle's eheeks, As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured: Balk logic with acquaintance that you have. And practice rhetoric with your common talk: Music and poetry use to quicken you; The mathematics, and the metaphysics, Fall to them, as you find your stomach serves you: No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en; In short, sir, study what you most affect.^ Here we find allusions to Bacon's love of philosophy, his dis- like for Aristotle, his contempt for logic, and his studies of music and poetry. And we note, also, the didactic and edticational tone of the essay, natural to the man who was always laboring to instruct and improve his fellow-men. ' Af>rv'.f l.(xl'oy lost, i, i. ^Ibid. ^ 'I'nwiiig of the Slirmv. i, i. IDENTITIES OF CHARACTER. 47' IV. His Wisdom. We know it is conceded thai Bacon was the wisest man of his time, or of all time. And wisdom is not knowledge merely of things. It means an accurate acquaintance with the springs of human tiature, and a capacity to adapt actions to events. And the same trait has been many times noted in the writer of the Plays. Henry Hallam says: The philosophy of Shakespeare — his intimate searching out of the human heart, whether in the gnomic form of sentence or in the dramatic exhibition of character — is a gift peculiarly his own. Henry Giles says of Shakespeare's genius: It has the power of practical intellect. Under a careless guise it implies serious judgment, and in the vesture of motley it pronounces many a recondite decision. . . . Out from its mockeries and waggeries there could be collected a philosophy of common sense by which the gravest might be instructed. I have already quoted (page 150, ante) the expression of Emer- son, applied to Shakespeare: He was inconceivably 7oise; the others conceivably. And of Landor: The wisest of men, as well as the greatest of poets. V. The Universality of his Mind. We know that Bacon's mind ranged through all created nature, and his learning levied tribute on everything underneath the sun. He had "taken all knowledge for his province." Osborne, a contemporary, called Bacon The most iiiti7\'rsal goiius I have ever seen or was like to see. While, on the other hand, I^e Quincey saj's : Shakespeare thought more finely and more extensively than all the other poets combined. Professor Dowden says of Shakespeare : This vast and varied mass of information he assimilated and made his own. . . . He was a center for the drifting capital of knowledge. His whole power of thought increased steadily as the years went by, both in sure grasp of the known and in brooding intensity of gaze upon the unknown.' And the same writer continues: Now, what does extraordinary growth imply? It implies capacity for obtain- ing the materials of growth; in this case materials for the growth of intellect, of imagination, of the will, of the emotions. It means, therefore, capacity for seeing '^ Shak. Mind and Art ^ p. 39. ^ 7 2 ^'^ RALLELISMS. many facts, of meditating, of feeling deeply, and of controlling such feeling. . . . It implies a power in the organism to fit its movements to meet numerous external coexistences and sequences. In a word, it brings us back once again to Shake- speare's resoluic fidelity lo tlic fad } And surely "resolute fidelity to the fact" was the distinguishing trait of Bacon's philosophy. VI. Powers of Observation. Macaulay says of Bacon : In keenness of observation he has been equaled, though perhaps never sur- passed. But the largeness of his mind was all his own."-' And the great Scotsman makes this tine comparison touching Bacon's mind: With great minuteness of observation he had an amplitude of comprehension, such as has never yet been vouchsafed to any other person. The small, fine mind •of Labruyere had not a more delicate tact than the large intellect of Bacon. . . . His understanding resembled the tent which the fairy Parabanon gave to Prince Ahmed. Fold it, and it seemed a toy for the hand of a lady; spread it, and the armies of powerful sultans might repose beneath its shade. ** While, on the other hand, Sir William Hamilton calls Shake- speare The greatest known observer of human nature. And Richard Grant White calls him The most observant of men. VII. His Secretiveness. We have seen Bacon admitting that he was " a rw/r^dr/rrt' poet." Spedding concedes that a letter written in the name of the Earl of Essex to Sir Foulke Greville, about the year 1596, was written by Bacon.' There has been attributed to Bacon a work called An Historical Account of the Alienation Office^ published in 1590, in the name of William Lambarde. Spedding finds ^ that the letters which purported to have been written by the Earl of Essex to the Earl of Rutland, who was about to travel on the continent, containing advice as to his course of studies, were unquestionably the work of Bacon. 1 Shak. Mind cuid A yt, p. 41. ■• See vol. 2, Life and Works, p. 21. '^ Macaulay's Essays— Bacon, p. 284. = Letters and Life of Bacon, vol. ii, p. 5. 3 Ibid. IDENTITIES OE CHARACTER. - 473 Mr. Spedding says: At another time he [Bacon] tries to disguise himself under a style of .assumed superiority, quite unlike his natural style; as in the Temporis Partus Masculus, where again the very same argument is set forth in a spirit of scornful invective, poured out upon all the popular reputations in the annals of philosophy.' We have seen him writing letters to Essex as from his brother Anthony, in which Anthony is made to refer back to himself, and then writing a reply from Essex, the whole to be shown to the Queen. We have seen Ben Jonson alluding to him in some birthday verses: As if a mystery thou didst. And in all this we see the man who under a mask could put forth the Plays to the world; and who, inside the Plays, could, in turn, conceal a cipher. VIII. Splendid T.\stes. Emerson says of Shakespeare: What trait of his private mind has he hidden in his dramas ? One can discern in his ample pictures of the gentleman and the king what forms and humanities pleased him; his delight in troops of friends, in large hospitality, in cheerful giving. Let Timon, let Warwick, let Antonio the merchant, answer for his great heart. When we read this the magnificence of Bacon occurs to our remembrance — his splendid marriage, his princely residence at St. Albans, his noble presents. Hepworth Dixon thus describes his wedding: Feathers and lace light up the rooms in the Strand. Cecil has been warmly urged to come over from Salisbury House.- Three of his gentlemen. Sir Walter Cope, Sir Baptist Hicks and Sir Hugh Beeston, hard drinkers and men about town, strut over in his stead, flaunting in their swords and plumes; yet the prodigal bridegroom, suinpttious in /lis tastes as in //is genius, clad in a suit of Genoese velvet, purple from cap to shoe, outbraves them all. The bride, too, is richly dight, her whole dowry seeming to be piled up on her in cloth of silver and orna- ments of gold.'^ The author of Aiilicus Coqiiitmriie, speaking of Bacon after his downfall, says: And let me give this light to his better character, from an observation of the late King, then Prince. Returning from hunting, he espied a coach attended with a goodly troop of horsemen, who, it seems, were gathered together to wait upon the Chancellor to his house at Gorhambury, at the time of his declension. At ' Pref.icc- ti' part iii, vol. iii, Woi-ks. p. 171. - Personal History 0/ Lord Bacon, p. 181. 474 PARALLELISMS. which the Prince smiled: "Well, tlo we what we can," said he, " Ihis man scorns to go out like a snuff." • Nay, master King! And he will not go out like a snuff; — not till the civilization of the world is snuft"ed out. And the time will come when even thou, — O King, — wilt be remembered simply because thou didst live in the same age with him. IX. His Splendid Egotism. There was about Bacon a magnificent self-assertion. Dean Church says: He [Bacon] never affected to conceal from himself his superiority to other men, in his aims and in the grasp of his intelligence.' He recognized his own greatness, in an impersonal sort of way, as he might have perceived the magnitude of a mountain. Hence we find him beginning one of his great works in the following lordly manner: Francis of V^ertiUim thought thus, and such is the method which he within himself pursued, which he thought it concerned both the living and posterity to t>ecome acquainted with} And again he says: We turn to Shakespeare, and we find him, in the sonnets, indulg- ing in the same bold and extraordinary, although justifiable, ego- tism. He says: Not marble, Nor the gilded monuments of princes, Shall outlive this powerful rhyme. And again: Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade. When in eternal lines to time thou goest: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.^ And again he says: Oh, 'tis the first; 'tis flattery in my seeing. And my great mind most kingly drinks it up} If these were the utterances of the man of Stratford, why did he not assert himself, as Bacon did, in the affairs of his age ? Would ' A'rtliy aiut Rclig!0>i of Shak..,^. 10. ^ Per ides y\\, t,. ' IDENTITIES OE CIIAKACIEK. 477 There is a soul of goodness in things evil, Would men observingly distill it out.' Oh, I have ta'en Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel; That thou mayst shake the superflux to them And show the heavens more just.- XII. His Command Over the Emotions. Ben Jonson says of Bacon: He commanded where he spoke, and had his judges angry or pleased at his devotion. No man had their affections [passions] more in his power. Pope says of Shakespeare: The power over our passions was never possessed in a more eminent degree, or displayed in so different instances. . . . We are surprised the moment we weep, and yet, upon reflection, find the passion so just, that we should be sur- prised if we had not wept, and wept at that very moment.^ XIII. His Wit. Basil Montagu says of Bacon: His wit was brilliant, and when it flashed upon an}' subject it was never with ill-nature, which, like the crackling of thorns, ending in sudden darkness, is only fit for the fool's laughter. The sparkling of his wit was that of the precious dia- mond, valuable for its worth and weight, denoting the riches of the mine.'' And Macaulay, a severe critic, and in many things, so far as Bacon was concerned, an unjust one, says of his wit: The best jest-book in the world is that which he dictated from memory, with- out referring to any book, on a day on which illness had rendered him incapable of serious study. -^ And again he says: But it occasionally happened that, when he was engaged in grave and pro- found investigations, his wit obtained the master}' over all his other faculties, and led him into absurdities into which no dull man could possibly have fallen." And again Macaulay says: In wit, if by wit be meant the power of perceiving analogies between things which appear to have nothing in common, he never had an equal — not even Cowley, not even the author of Hudibras. Indeed he possessed this faculty, or this faculty possessed him, to a morbid degree. When he abandoned himself to it, without re- serve, as he did in the Sapientia Vetertim, and at the end of the second book of the De Augmeittis, the feats which he performed were not merely admirable, but portent- ous and almost shocking. On those occasions we marvel at him as clowns on a fair day marvel at a juggler, and can hardly help thinking that the devil must be in him.' ' Henry J',, iv, i. ^ Macaulay's Essays — Bacon, p, 270. ''Lear, iii, 4. s Jbid., p. 285. 3 William H. Smith, Bacon and S/iak., p. 6. ' Ibid., p. 285. * Works oy Lord Bacon, vol. i, p. 116. 478 r.\RAi.i.i:i.isMs. And Ben Jonsoii says of Bacon; His language, ■7iearc\ ;>. 5,49. 4ic/- y/ght's Dream, i, x. ' " Comedy 0/ Errors, V , 1 . ^^ 2d Henry IV., V. 1. ^'^ Merchant 0/ J'enice, iii, 2, '■'^ Henry I ',, ii, 2. '* Troilns and Crcs.sida, i, 3. '^ /it tins Cu'sar, iii, i. 1 DENT I TIES OF STYLE. 491 It is no wonder tliat the precise and single-minded Hume thought that both Bacon and Shakespeare showed A want of simplicity and purity of diction, with defective taste and elegance. Certainly no other men in the world ever wasted such an afflu- ence of words, thoughts, images and metaphors in their writings. V. Condensation of Style. Another marked feature of the style of both sets of writings is their marvelous compactness and condensation. Macaulay says of Bacon: He had a wonderful faculty for packing thought close and rendering it portable.' We need only turn to Bacon's Essays to find ample confirmation of this "statement. Take one instance, from one of his letters, wliich might serve to pass into a proverb: A timorous man is everybody's, and a covetous man is his own.''' Neither is it necessary to use any argument to demonstrate that Shakespeare possessed in an exceptional degree this faculty of " pack- ing thought close and rendering it portable." Take an example: Who steals my purse steals trash; ' Twas mine, 'tis /lis, and has been slave to thousands. Here is an essay stated in two lines. And here we have another:. Let the end try the man.^ Again : Let proof speak.'' Again : Things won are done; joy's soul lies in the doing. •'> Take this instance: We defy augury; there is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come; the readiness is all.'' It requires an analytical mind to follow the thought here through the closely-packed and compressed sentences. But the faculty is the saine in both. Taine says of Bacon: Shakespeare and the seers do not contain more vigorous or expressive con- densations of t/ipii,!;/i/, more resembling inspiration; and in Bacon they are to be found everywhere.'' 1 Essays— Bacon, p. 285. ^ Troilus and Cressida, i, 2. 2 Letter to the Lord Keeper, April 5, 1594. ^Hamlet, v, 2. ^2d He7iry IV., ii, 2. 'History of English Literature, p. 154. •* Cymbcline, iii, i. .492 PARALLELISMS. VI. Thk Tendency jo Aphorisms. One of the most marked characteristics (jf both sets of writings is the tendency to rise from particulars to principles; to see in a mass of facts simply the foundation for a generalization; to indulge in aphorisms. Taine says of Bacon: On the whole, his process is not that of the creators: it is intuition, not reason- ing. When he has laid up his store of facts, the greatest possible, on some vast subject, on some entire province of the mind, on the whole anterior philosophy, on the general condition of the sciences, on the power and limits of human reason, he casts over all this a comprehensive view, as it were, a great net, brings up a universal idea, cojidoiscs his idea into a maxim, and hands it to us with the words, " Verify and profit by it." . . . Nothing more; no proof, no effort to convince: he affirms, and does nothing more; he has thought in the manner of artists and poets, and he speaks after the manner of prophets and seers. Cogitata et J'isa, 'this title of one of his books might be the title of all. The most admirable, the N'oviim Organii/ii, is a string of aphorisms — a collection, as it were, of scientific decrees, as of an oracle, who foresees the future and reveals the truth. And to make the resemblance complete he expresses them by poetical figures, by enigmatic abbrevi- ations, almost in Sibyllene verses. Idola spec/is, Idola- triiuh, Idola fori, Idola theatri ; every one will recall these strange names by which he signifies the four kinds of illusions to which man is subject.' The words which Taine applies to Bacon's Novum Orgamtm, "a string of aphorisms," might with equal appropriateness be used to describe the Shakespeare Plays. We can hardly quote from them an elevated passage which does not enunciate some' general princi- ple. Hence his utterances cling to the tongues of men like prov- erbs. He takes a mass of facts, as the chemist takes the crude bark of the Peruvian tree, and distills out of it, in the marvelous alembic of his mind, a concentrated essence, which, while it holds an infinitesimal relation to the quantity of the original substance, yet contains all its essential virtues. Let me give a few instances of this trait. Shakespeare says; His rash, fierce blaze of riot cannot last, (i) For violent fires soon burn out themselves; (2) Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; (3) He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; (4) With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder; (5) Like vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. - One would scarcely believe that these five aphorisms, contained in seven lines, stood in this connected order in the play. It would ' Tnincs //rs/ory f J" English Literature, p. 154. '^ Ixiiliani 11., \\, i. . IDENTITIES OF STYLE. 493 naturally be thought that they had been selected from a wide range. The tendency to form generalizations might almost be called a disease of style in both writers. Shakespeare can hardly touch a particular fact without rising: from it to a principle. He says: Take up this mangled matter at the best; Men do their broken weapons rather use Than their bare hands.' Again (i) Our indiscretions sometimes serve us well, When our deep plots do pall; and that should teach us, (2) There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.- Again : Again: Again: = 3 They say best men are molded out of faults. (i) The evil that men do lives after them; (2) The good is oft interred with their bones. (1) Men's evil manners live in brass; (2) their virtues We wrilc in 7vatcr} This last sentence reminds one of Bacon's " but limns the Ki. ■• Ibid., book i. ''V^?,%3Ly Of Nature in Men. "^ Novum Organutn, book ii. 'Essay Of Negotiating. * Natural History, §326. ^ Ibid. * Novum Organum, book i. 496 PARALLELISMS. And again: Whether it be (i) honor, or (2) riches, or (3) delight, or (i) glory, or (2) knowl- edge, or (3) anything else which they seek after.' And again: To (i) assail, (2) sap, and (3) work into the constancy of Sir Robert Clifford."^ We turn to Shakespeare, and we find the same tendency. How precisely in the style of Bacon's Essays are the disquisitions of Falstaff: Yea, but how if honor prick me off when I come on; how then? (i) Can honor set a leg? No. (2) Or an arm? No. (3) Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honor has no skill in surgery, then? No. (i) What is honor? A word. (2) What is that word? Honor. (3) What is that honor? Air. A trim reckoning. Who hath it? He that died Wednesday, (i) Doth he feel it? No. (2) Doth he hear it ? No. (3) Is it insensible, then ? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Detraction will not suffer it.^ And, speaking of the effect of good wine, Falstaff says: It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the (i) foolish, (2) and dull, (3) and crudy vapors which environ it: makes it (i) apprehensive, (2) quick, (3) for- getive; full of (i) nimble, (2) fiery and (3) delectable shapes. . . . The cold blood he did naturally inherit from his father, he hath, like (i) lean, (2) sterile and (3) bare land, (i) manured, (2) husbanded and (3) tilled.'* But this trait is not confined to the utterances of Falstaff. We find it all through the Plays. Take the following instances: For I have neither (i) wit, (2) nor words, (3) nor worth, (i) Action, (2) nor utterance, (3) nor the power of speech. To stir men's blood.'' Again: (i) Romans, (2) countrymen and (3) lovers. . . . (i) As C?esar loved me, I weep for him; (2) as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; (3) as he was valiant, I honor him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. . . . (i) Who is here so base that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. (2) Who is here so rude that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I ofTended. (3) Who is here so vile that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply. "^ Again: (i) Thou art most rich being poor; (2) Most choice, forsaken; (3) and most loved, despised." Again: Alas, poor Romeo ! he is already dead; (i) stabbed with a white wench's black eye; (2) shot through the ear with a love-song; (3) the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft.^ ' Wisdom o/the Ancients ' 1st Henry 11 '., v, i. • Ibid. — Dionysius. * 3d Henry, Il'./\x, ^. ''Lear,\,i. ^History 0/ Henry I'll. ^Julius Cipsar, ill, .;. ^ Romeo tind Juliet, ii, 4. IDENTITIES OF STYLE. 497 Again : Oh, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! (i) The courtier's, (2) soldier's, (3) scholar's (i) eye, (2) tongue, (3) sword. Again: 1 am myself indifferent honest: but yet I could accuse me of such things, that it were better my mother had not borne me: I am very (i) proud, (2) revengeful, (3) ambitious; with more offenses at my beck than I have (i) thoughts to put them in, (2) imagination to give them shape, or (3) time to act them in.' Again: 'Tis slander, (i) Whose edge is sharper than the sword; (2) whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; (3) whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world: (i) kings, (2) queens and (3) states, (i) Maids, (2) matrons, nay, (3) the secrets of the grave. This viperous slander enters.'^ Again: This peace is nothing but (i) to rust iron, (2) increase tailors and (3) breed ballad-makers.^ Again: Live loathed and long, Most (i) smiling, (2) smooth, (3) detested parasites, (i) Courteous destroyers, (2) affable wolves, (3) meek bears, (i) You fools of fortune, (2) trencher fiends, (3) time's flies, (i) Cap-and-knee slaves, (2) vapors, and (3) minute jacks.'* Again: Must I needs forego (1) So good, (2) so noble and (3) so true a master. ^ And again : (i) Her father loved me; (2) oft invited me; (3) Still questioned me the story of my life, From year to year; the (i) battles, (2) sieges, {3) fortunes That I have passed.'' Again: It would be (i) argument for a week, (2) laughter for a month, and (3) a good jest forever.' Again: (i) Wooing, (2) wedding and (3) repenting are as (i) a Scotch jig, (2) a measure, and (3) a cinque pace: (i) the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; (2) the wedding mannerly, modest, as a measure full of state and ancientry; and (3) then comes repentance, and, with his bad legs, falls into the cinque pace faster and faster, until he sinks into his grave.* • Hamkt, iii, i. ■• Titus Adronicus^ ii, 6. ^ 1st Henry /I'., ii, 2. 2 Cymbeline, iii, 4. ^ Henry VHL, ii, 2. * Much Ado about Nothing, iii, i- ^ Coriolanus, iv, 5. * Othello, i, 3. 49'^ PARALLELISMS. Again: Again: Oh, that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder Upon these (i) paltry, (2) servile, (3) abject drudges.' Not only. Mistress Ford, in the simple office of love, but in all (i) accoutrement, (2) complement (3) and ceremony of it.'^ Again: How could (i) communities, (2) Degrees in schools and (3) brotherhood in cities, (i) Peaceful commerce from divided shores, (2) The primogeniture and due of birth, (3) Prerogative of age, (i) crowns, (2) scepters, (3) laurels. Rut by degree, stand in authentic place?-' Again: Hut (i) manhood is melted into courtesies, (2) valor into compliment, and (3) men are turned into tongues, and trim ones, too.'' Again: Again: Again: Again; Again : Again: For she is (i) lumpish, (2) heavy, (3) melancholy. - Say that upon the altar of her beauty You sacrifice (i) your tears, (2) your sighs, (3) your heart.* Had I power I should (i) Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, (2) Uproar the universal peace, (3) confound All unity on earth.'' To be directed As from her (i) lord, (2) her governor, (3) her king.'* To wound (i) thy lord, (2) thy king, (3) thy governor.* Is fit for (i) treasons, (2) stratagems and (3) spoils. "* I might continue these examples at much greater length, but I think I have given enough to prove that both Bacon and the writer of the Plays possessed, as a characteristic of style, a tendency to balance their sentences in triplicate forms. This trait grew out of the sense of harmony in the ear; it was an unconscious arrange- iTient of thoughts in obedience to a peculiar inward instinct, and it goes far to establish identity. ' 3d Henry ?7., iv, 1. - Merry Wives 0/ Windsor, iv, 2. ^ Troilus and Cressida, i, 3. ■• Much Ado about Nothing, iv, 1. '' T1U0 Gentlemen 0/ Verona, iii, 2. 6 Ibid. ' Macbeth, iv, 3. * Merchant 0/ Venice, iii, 2. ' Taming of the Shreiv, v, 2. ^'^ Merchant of I'enice, v, i. IDEXn riKS 01' STYLE. 4<,c> VIII. Catalogues ok Words. The man who thinks in concrete forms solidifies words into ideas. He who has trained himself to observe as a natural philoso- pher, builds in numerical order bases for his thought. He erects the poem on a foundation of facts. He collects materials before he builds. This trait is very marked in Bacon. He was the most observant of men. No point or fact escaped him. Hence he runs to the habit of stringing together catalogues of words. For instance, he says in IVic Expcriiiicntal History: There are doubtless in Europe many capable, free, sublimed, subtile, solid, constant wits. .\gain he speaks of Servile, blind, dull, vague and abrupt experiments.' Again he saj's: Let anti-masques not be long; they have been commonly of fools, satyrs, baboons, wild men, antics, beasts, spirits, witches, Ethiopes, pigmies, turquets, nymphs, rustics, cupids, statues moving, and the like.- Bacon also says: Such are gold in weight, iron in hardness, the whale in size, the dog in smell, the flame of gunpowder in rapid expansion, and others of like nature.* We turn to Lear, and we hear the same voice speaking of False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey.'* Again Shakespeare says: As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends.'' And here is another instance of the tendency to make catalogues of words: Beauty, wit. High birth, vigor of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time.* Again we have, in the same play — the most philosophical of all the Plays — these lines: All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, Severals and generals of grace exact, Achievements, plots, orders, preventions, Excitements to the field, or speech for truce, ' Great Instaiiration. '■' No7'!ii>t Organum, book ii. ^ Macbeth, v, 2. 2 Essay Of Masks. ^ Lear, iii, 4. " Troilus and Cressida. iii, 3. 500 PARALLELISMS. Success or loss, what is, or what is not, serves As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.' And in the famous description of the horse, in I'cnus and Adonis. we see the same closely-observing eye of the naturaHst: Round-hoofed, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long. Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide. High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong. Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide. Prof. Dowden says: This passage has been much admired; but is it poetry m a paragraph from an advertisement of a horse-sale ?'^ And here, in a more poetical passage, we observe the same ten- dency to the enumeration of facts: My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind. So flew'd, so sanded, and their heads are hung With ears that sweep away the morning dew; Crook-kneed and dew-lapped, like Thessalian bulls; Slow in pursuit, but matched in mouth-like bells. Each under each.-^ And in the same vein of close and accurate observation of details, "the contracting of the eye of the mind," as Bacon calls it, is the following description of a murdered man: But see, his face is black and full of blood; His eye-balls further out than when he lived. Staring full-ghastly like a strangled man; His hair upreared, his nostrils stretched with struggling; His hands abroad displayed, as one that grasped And tugged for life, and was by strength subdued. Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking; His well-proportioned beard made rough and rugged. Like to the summer's corn by tempests lodged.-* IX. The Euphonic Test. In Mr. Wilkes' book, Shakespeare from an Amcricaji Point of View, there is contained an essay (p. 430) by Professor J. W. Taverner, of New York, in which he attempts to show that Bacon could not have written the Shakespeare Plays, because of the Euphonic Test. And yet he says: Upon examination of the limited poetry which we have from the pen of Bacon.. 1 find nothing to criticise. Like unto Shakespeare, he takes good note of anj^ deficiency of syllabic pulsation, and imparts the value of but one syllable to the ' Troilus and Cressiiia, i, 3. 3 Midsummer A'ii;ht\i Dream, tv, ' . "^hak. Mind and Art, p. 45. "^ 2d Henry /'/., iii, 2. IDENTITIES OF STYLE. 501 dissyllables Iieat'iii, -clearest, iiuiiiy,ivc>i, goeth; and lo glittering and chariot but the value of two, /precisely as Shake-spcarr would. But he tries to show tliat Bacon could not have written the Plays because it was his custom to run his sentences, as I have shown, into triplets. He says: Bacon, in this feature of the rhythmical adjustment of clauses, attaches to those sentences of his which are composed of triple clauses of equal dimensions, and which possess such regularity which he never seeks to disturb, etc. And he gives in addition to the instances I have quoted from Bacon the following, among others: A man cannot speak (i) to his son but as a father, (2) to his wife but as a hus- band, and (3) to his enemy but upon terms. Judges ought to be (1) more learned than witty, (2) more reverent than plausi- ble, and (3) more advised than confident. And he argues that Shakespeare Does not object to four or more clauses, but he does to three. And therefore Bacon did not write the Plays. Such arguments are fully answered by the pages of examples I have just given from the Shakespeare Plays, showing that the poet is even more prone to fall into the triple form of expression than Bacon — more prone, because there is more tendency to harmonious and balanced ex- pressions in poetry than in prose. But the Professor admits that there "is a kind of melody of speech that belongs to Bacon," and that his ear is exact, "and counts its seconds like the pendulum of a clock." In truth, if any man would take the pains to print the prose disquisitions and monologues of Shakespeare, intermixed with extracts from as nearly similar productions of Bacon as may be, the ordinary reader w^ould scarcely be able to tell which was which.. If such a reader was handed this passage, and asked to name the author, I think the probabilities are great that he would say it was from the pen of Francis Bacon: Novelty is only in request; and it is dangerous to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce truth enough alive to make societies secure, but security enough to make fellowship accursed: much upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. We have here the same condensed, pithy sentences which mark the great philosopher, together with the same antithetical way of balancing thought against thought. 502 PARALLELISMS. Yet this is from Shakespeare. It will be found in Measure for Measiire. ' And we can conceive that the following passage might have been written by Shakespeare — the very extravagance of hyperbole sounds like him: Contrary is it with hypocrites and impostors, tor llicy, in the church and before the people, set //leiti selves on Jiiv, and are carried, as it were, oiif of themselves, and, becoming as men inspired iviih holy furies, they set heaven and earth together.^ There is not a great stride from this to the poet's eye in a fine phrensy rolling from earth to heaven, from heaven to earth; and the madman seeing more devils than vast hell could hold. In short, the resemblance between the two bodies of compo- sitions is as close as could be reasonably expected, where one is almost exclusively prose, and the greatness of the other consists in the elevated flights of poetry. In the one case it is the lammer- geyer sitting among the stones; in the other it is the great bird balanced on majestic pinions in the blue vault of heaven, far above the mountain-top and the emulous shafts of man. 'Act, iii, scene 2. "^Mectitatioiies Sacrir — Of Inif>ostors. ^^^^^v! I BOOK II. mm THE DEMON5TRATiON 'tome hither Jpirit, Jet CevUbdJi fic^ hix Comp^5Jl ion/ free: Untie the Jpell." ^en '^tJ^^ ' c^ ^^/^y^^'^^^^'^^^"^ SoS' PART I. THE CIPHER IN THE PLAYS. CHAPTER I. //OIF I CAME TO LOOK FOR A CIPHER. I will a round, unvarnished tale deliver. Othello, /, J. I HAVE given, in the foregoing pages, something of the reason- ing — and yet but a little part of it — which led me up to the con- clusion that Francis Bacon was the author of the so-called Shake- speare Plays. But one consideration greatly troubled me, to-wit: Would the writer of such immortal works sever them from himself and cast them off forever ? All the world knows that the parental instinct attaches as strongly to the productions of the mind as to the productions of the body. An author glories in his books, even as much as he does in his children. The writer of the Plays realized this fact, for he speaks in one of the sonnets of *' these children of the brainy They were the offspring of the better part of him. But, it may be urged, he did not know the value of them. This is not the fact. He understood their merits better than all the men of his age; for. while they were complimenting him on " his facetious grace in writing," he foresaw that these compositions would endure while civilized humanity occupied the globe. The .sonnets show this. In sonnet cvii he says: My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes. Since spite of him I'll live in this poor rhyme, While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes : And thou in this shalt find thy monument, When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent. And in sonnet l.xxxi he savs: 5o6 THE CJI'III:K l.\ THE FLA YS. The earth can yield me but a common grave, When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. Your monument shall be my gentle verse, Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read; And tongues to be your being shall rehearse. When all the breathers of this world are dead; You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen), Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men. And in sonnet Iv he says: Not marble, not the gilded monuments Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone besmeared with sluttish time. Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity. Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room Even in the eyes of all posterity, That wear this world out to the ending doom. So, till the judgment that yourself arise. You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. There was, as it seems to me, no doubt: i. That Bacon wrote the Plays; 2. That he loved them as the children of his brain; 3. That he estimated them at their full great value. The question then arose, How was it possible that he would dis- own them with no hope or purpose of ever reclaiming them ? How could he consent that the immortal honors which belonged to him- self should be heaped upon an unworthy impostor? How could he divest Bacon of this great world-outliving glory to give it to Shakspere ? This thought recurred to me constantly, and greatly perplexed me. One day 1 chanced to open a book, belonging to one of my chil- dren, called F.very £oy's Book, published in London, by George Routledge & Sons, 1868; a very complete and interesting work of its kind, containing over eight hundred pages. On page 674 I found a chapter devoted to "Cryptography," or cipher-writing, and in it I chanced upon this sentence: The most famous and complex cipher perhaps ever written was by Lord Bacon. It was arranged in the following manner: aaaaa stands for a. abaaa stands for i and j. baaaa stands for r. aaaab " " b. abaab " " k. baaab ", " s. aaaba " ' c. ababa " " 1. baaba " " t. aaabb •' " d. ababb " " m. baabb " ' u and v. J/OIV I CAME TO LOOK FOR A CIPHER. 507 aabaa stands for e. abbaa stands for n. babaa stands for \v. aabab " " f. abbab " " o. babab " " x. aabba " " g. abbba " "p. . babba " " y. aabbb " " h. abbbb " " q. babbb " " z. Now suppose you want t(j inform some one that "All is well." I'irst place down the letters separately according to the above alphabet: , aaaaa ababa ababa abaaa baaab babaa aabaa ababa ababa Then take a sentence five times the length in letters of " All is well " — say it is, " We were sorry to have heard that you have been so unwell." Then fit this sentence to the cipher above, like this: aaaaaababaababaabaaabaaabbabaaaabaaababaababa we were so rr y/o//av cheard t hrt/yrmhavt'beewsounTC'e/l Marking with a dash every letter that comes under a /'. Then put the sen- tence down on your paper, printing all marked letters in italics and the others in the ordinary way, thus: We were jorry to Ii^mc hea;d \\\at y<'U havt- bee// S(' un7i'e/l. The person who receives the cipher puts it down and writes an a under ever\ letter except those in italics; these he puts a h under; he then divides the cipher obtained into periods of five letters, looks at his alphabet, and finds the meaning to be: "All is well." And on page 681 o'' the same chapter I found another alhision to Bacon: Most of the examples given will only enable one to decipher the most simple kind, such as are generally found in magazines, etc.; for if that intricate cipher of Lord Bacon's were put in a book for boys it would be a waste of paper, as we will venture to say that not one in a thousand would be able to find it out. Here was indeed a pregnant association of ideas: 1. Lord Bacon wrote the Plays. 2. Lord Bacon loved them; and could not desire to dissociate himself from them. 3. Lord Bacon knew their inestimable greatness; and 4. Lord Bacon dealt in ciphers; he invent(- H H h h 1 I i i K K k k L L 1 I M M m in N N n n P P P P Q Q q 'I R R r r S S s s T T t t U U u u V V v %■ W W w 70 X z X z X z X Y Y y y 5IO . THE CIPHER IN TIJK J' L.I VS. Then take your interior epistle, reduced to the biliteral shape, antl adapt to it letter by letter your exterior epistle in the biform character; and then write it out. Lei the exterior epistle be: Do NOT GO TILL I COME. Example of adaptation. F L Y aa bab ab abab a bba Do not g(j till I come. I add another large example of the same cipher — of the writing of anything hy anything. The interior epistle, for which I have selected the Spartan dispatch, formerly sent in the Scvtalc : All is lost. A/iiidaius is killed. Ilie soldiers 7vant food. H'e c Atigmefitis: Now, whether any mystic meaning be concealed beneath the fables of the ancient poets is a matter of some doubt. For my part, I am inclined to think a mysterj- is involved in no small number of them. Spedding says: The question is whether the reserve Bacon contemplated can be justly com- pared with that practiced by the alchemists and others, who concealed their discov- eries as " treasures of which the value would be decreased if others were allowed to share it." ... It is true that in both of these extracts Bacon intimates an intention to reserve the communication of one part of his philosophy — '' formula ipsa interpre- tationis ct inventa per eandcDi " — to certain fit and chosen persons. . . . The fruits which he anticipated from his philosophy were not only intended for the benefit of all mankind, but ice/v to be gathered in another generation.'^ Of course all this is expressed obscurely by Bacon, although no man was more capable of expressing it clearly, had he desired so to do. But, putting all these things together, I drew the inference that Bacon proposed to reserve some part of his teaching for another generation, for the benefit of mankind; that this was to be behind a veil, which keen wits might pierce; and he believed that the great writers of antiquity had, in like manner, buried certain mysteries in their works, the keys to which are now lost. ' De Augiiroiiis, chap. 2. ' II Wis, Boston, vol. i, p. 185. ^ Ibid. IfOlV I CAME TO LOOK J-VN A CIPHER. 513 And says Spedding: Thus I conceiv'C that six out <>f the ten passages under consideration must be set aside as not bearing at all upon the question at issue. Of the four that remain, two must be set aside in like manner, because, though they directly allude to the prac- tice of tmjisviitting knowledge as a secret from hand to hand, they contain no evidence that Bacon approved of it. And it is most remarkable that /// l/ie /icxt c/iapter after that in which we find the lengthy discourse about ciphers, already quoted, Bacon proceeds to discuss " the Handing on of tlie Lamp, or Method of Delivery to Posterity," and repeats himself again. He says there are two ways to transmit knowledge: For both methods agree in aiming to separate the vulgar among the auditors from the select; but then they are opposed in this, that the former makes use of a way of delivery more open than the common; the latter (of which I am now going to speak), of one more secret. Let the one, then, be distinguished as the Exoief'ic method, the other as the Acroamatic; a distinction observed by the ancients princi- pally in the publication of books, but which I transfer to the method of delivery. Indeed this acroamatic or enigmatical method was itself used among the ancients, and emploved with judgment and discretion. But in later times it has been dis- graced by many, who have made it a false and deceitful light to put forward their counterfeit merchandise. The intention of it, however, seems to be by obscurity of deliveiy to exclude the vulgar (that is the profane vulgar) from the secrets of knowl- edge, and to admit those onlv who have either received the interpretation of the enigmas through the hands of the teachers, or have wits of such sharpness and dis- cernment as can pierce the veil.' Is it not significant that immediately after the discussion of ciphers, in which he said that there were two kinds of writing, " either by the common alphabet or by a private and secret one," he should proceed to tell us that there are two ways of handing on the lamp to posterity, both of which exclude the vulgar, but one of them is more secret than the other, used formerly among the ancients [he has just given us an example in the Spartan Scxtale\ — an acroamatic or enigmatical method, the "veil" of whose " obscure delivery " can only be penetrated by those who have been let into the secret, or who have wits sharp enough to pierce it. Delia Bacon says of the Elizabethan period: It was a time when the cipher, in which one could write "omnia per omnia" was in request; when even "wheel ciphers" and doubles were thought not unwor- thy of philosophic notice . . . with philosophic secrets that opened down into the bottom of a tomb, that opened into the Tower, that opened on the scaffold and the block. - ' De A ugmentis, book vi. '^ Philosophy of Shak. Plays I 'nfoldcd, p. 10. \ 5 '4 THE CIPHEK JX Til K PLAYS. Ben Jonson, in his Epigrams, says, speaking of the young states- men of London: They all get Porta for the sundry ways To write in cipher, and the several keys To ope the character.' Porta was the famous NeapoHtan, Johannes Baptista Porta. He died in 1615. Says W. F. C. Wigston: It is difficult for us in this free age to understand all this. . . . For the neces- sity that arose for secrecy, and the intimacy of religion, politics and poetry cannot be fully grasped in an age where they have neither necessity nor interest to be in any way inter-related or inter-dependent.'^ And that Bacon expected that in the future lie would have an increase of fame or a justification of his life, seems to be intimated in the first draft of his will: I leave my memory to the next ages and foreign nations, and t.o 7ny oivn coun- trymen after some time be passed. And in the last copy of his will he changes this phraseology, and says: For my name and memory I leave it to men's charitable speeches, and to for- eign nations, and to the next ages. Did he omit the words in italics because they might be too sig- nificant } He always looked over the heads of the generation in which he lived, and fastened his eyes upon posterity. He anticipated the great religious and political revolution which soon after his death swept over England. He believed that the world was on the eve of great civil convulsions, growing out of religious fanaticism, in which it was possible civilization might perish, despite the art of printing. He says: Nor is my resolution diminished by foreseeing the state of these times, a sort of declination and ruin of the learning which is now in use; for although I dread not the incursions of barbarians (unless, perhaps, the empire of Spain should strengthen itself, and oppress and debilitate others by arms, itself by the burden), yet from civil wars (which, on account of certain manners, not long ago introduced, seem to me about to visit many countries), and the malignity of sects, and from these com ■ pendiary artifices and cautions which have crept into the place of learning, no less a tempest seems to impend over letters and science. Nor can the shop of the typographer avail for these evils. ^ 1 Epigram .\cii. The Keiv City. * A A'ev Story of SJiah,, p. 193. ^ Oil the Interpretation 0/ Ncituvi-. IfOlV I CAME TO LOOK FOR A CIPHER. 515 What more natural than that he, the cipher-maker, being the author of the Plays, should place in the Plays a cipher story, to be read when the tempest that was about to assail civilization had passed away, — the Plays surviving, for they were, he tells us, to live when " marble and the gilded monuments of princes " had perished — even to the general judgment. If he was right; if the Plays were indeed as imperishable as the verses of Homer, they must necessarily be the subject of close study by generations of critics and commentators; and sooner or later some one would " pierce the veil " and read the acroamatic and enigmatical story infolded in them. Then would he be justified to the world by that internal narrative, reflecting on kings, princes, prelates and peers, and not to be published in his own day; not to be uttered with- out serious penalties to his kinsfolk, his family, his very body in the grave. Then, when his corpse was dust, his blood extinct, or diluted to nothingness in the course of generations; then, when all vanities of rank and state and profession and family were obliter- ated; when his memory and name were as a sublimated spirit; then, *' in the next ages," "when some time had been passed," he would, through the cipher narrative, rise anew from the grave. So the life that died with shame Would live in death with glorious fame.' " His eye," says Montagu, ** pierced into futttre contingents." That can not be called improbable which has happened. If I had not fallen upon the cipher, some one else woidd. It was a mere question of time, with all time in which to answer it. And this material and practical view sets aside that other and profounder conception, in which the operations of the minds of men are btit the shadowings of an eternal purpose, and all history and ail nature but the cunningly adjusted parts of a great exter- nal spiritual design. CHAPTER IT. HOW I BECAME CERTAIN TJIKKK WAS A CIPHER. A book where men may read strange matters. IN the winter of 1878-9 1 said to myself: I will re-read the Shake- speare Plays, not, as heretofore, for the delight which they would give me, but with my eyes directed singly to discover whether there is or is not in them any indication of a cipher. And I reasoned thus: If there is a cipher in the Plays, it will probably be in the form of a brief statement, that " I, Francis Bacon, of St. Albans, son of Nicholas Bacon, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal of England, wrote these Plays, which go by the name of William Shakespeare." The things then to be on the look-out for, in my reading, were the words J^ra//r/s, Baron, Nicholas, Bacon, and such combinations of Shake and speare, or Shakes and peer, as w()uld make the word Shakespeare. I possessed no Concordance at the time, or I might have saved myself much unnecessary trouble. The first thing that struck me was the occurrence in The Merry Wives of Ulndsor^ of the word Bacon. The whole scene is an intrusion into the play. The play turns upon Sir John Falstaff's making love to two dames of Windsor at the same time, and the shames and humiliations he suffered therefrom. And this scene has nothing whatever to do with the plot of the play. Mistress Page, one of the Merry Wives, accompanied by her boy William, meets with Sir Hugh Evans, the Welsh parson and schoolmaster, — old Dame Quickly being by; — and Mistress Page tells the school- master that her husband says the boy William " profits nothing at his book;" and she requests him to "ask him some questions in his accidence." In the first place, it is something of a surprise to find the wife of a jj^eoman, or man of the middle class, who is able to ' Act iv, scene t. 5 If' irOJr f BECAME CERTAEV THERE WAS A CIPHER. 517 tell whether or not the boy correctly answers the Latin questions put to him. But what, jn the name of all that is reasonable, has the boy's proficiency in Latin to do with Sir John Falstaff's love- making ? And why take up a whole scene to introduce it? The boy ]Viniain nowhere appears in the play., except in that scene. He is called up from the depths of the author's consciousness, to recite a school lesson; and he is dismissed at the end of it into nothingness, never to appear again in this world. Is not this extraordinary? We have also the older form of the play, which is only half the size of the present, and there is no William in it, and no such scene. That first form was written to play, and it has everything in it of action and plot necessary to make it a successful stage play, and tradition tells us that it was successful. But what was this enlarged form of the play written for, if the old form answered all the purposes of a. play ? And why insert in it this useless scene ? Richard Grant White calls it "that very superfluous scene in The Merry Wives of Windsor.'' He acknowledges that "it has nothing whatever to do with the plot." ' Speaking of the contemporaries of Shakspere, Swinburne says: There is not one of them whom we can reasonably- imagine capable of the patience and self-respect which induced Shakespeare to re-write the triumphantly popular parts of Romeo, of Falstaff and of Hamlet, with an eye to the literary per- fection and performance of work, which, in its first outline, had won the crowning suffrage of immediate and spectacular applause.^ But while these reasons might possibly account for the re-writing of the parts of Romeo, Falstaff and Hamlet, there is no literary per- fection about The Merry Wives of Windsor to explain the doubling of it in size; thefe is very little blank verse in the comedy, and still less of anything that can aspire to be called poetry. Why, then, was it re-written? And why, when re-written, was this superfluous scene injected into it? That the reader may be the better able to judge of it, I quote the scene entire, just as it appears on pages 53 and 54 of the Folio of 1623: Actus Quartus. Sc.^xa Prima. Enter AHstris Page, Quickly, JVilliam, Evans. Mist. Pag. Is he at M. Eords already think'st thou? Qiti . Sure he is by this; or will be presently; but truely he is very couragious mad, about his throwing into the water. Mistris Tv^n;' desires you to come sodainely. ' Genius p/~ S/iii/c, p. jS ;. - Thomas Middleton, S/iakea/rariaita. vol. iii, No. 26, p. 6t. 2l8 THE CIPHER IN THE PIAYS. .1 Mist. Fag, He be with her by and by : He but bring my yong-man here lo Schoole : looke where his Master comes; 'tis a playing day I see; how now Sir HugJi, no Schoole to-day? Eva. No : Master Slender is let the Boyes leave to play. Qui. 'Blessing of his heart. Mist. Pag. Sir Hugh, my husband sales my sonne profits nothing in the world at his Booke: I pray you aske him some questions in his Accidence. Ev. Come hither William; hold up your head; come. Mist. Pag. Come-on, Sirha; hold up your head; answere your Master; be not afraid. Eva. William, how many numbers is in Nownes ? . Will. Two. Qui. Truely, I thought there had bin one Number more, because they say od's-Nownes. Eva. Peace, your tatlings. What is (/(?/^() ]VilHaiii? Will. Pulcher. Q». Powlcats ? There are fairer things than Powlcats, sure. Eva. You are a very simplicity o'man : I pray you peace. What is (Lapis).. Willi at? I ? Will. A Stone. Eva. And what is a Stone ( William ?) Will. A Peeble. Eva. No, it is Lapis: I pray you remember in your praine. Will. Lapis. Eva. That is a good William: what is he ( William) that do's lend articles. //'///. Articles are borrowed of the Pronoune, and be thus declined. Singii- lariter nominativo hie, hac, hoc. E7n's — sonnr, — and whose name so mysteriously appears on pages 53, 54 and 56 of the Comedies and Histories ? There was another Sjiot in England with which Francis Bacon was closely identified — Gray's Inn, London. Here he received his law education; here he was lecturer, or '' dcnible-reader ,•" here he gave costly entertainments, masques and plays to the court; here he built his famous lodge; here he retired in his old age. And this word, too- — a few pages from the Sf. Albans I have just quoted — appears in the play. Speaking to his cousin Silence about Sir John Falstaff, Robert Shallow, justice of the peace, says: Shal. The same Sir John, the very same. I saw him break Scoggan's head at the Court-gate, when he was a crack not this high; and the very same day did I fight with one Sampson Stock-fish, a Fruiterer, behinde Greyes-Inn} As Shallow and his light, and Samj^son Stock-fish the fruiterer, and the whole play, were the work of the imagination and never had any real existence, why locate the battle, which has nothing to do with the plav, or with Falstaff, or with anything else, behind Francis Bacons law scliool ?' What had the man of Stratford to do with Gray's Inn, that he should thus drag it into his play, neck and heels, when there was not the slightest necessity for it ? And then again, right in this same scene, and a few lines prior to the words I have just qiu)ted, I found another mysterious William who bobs up into the text of the play without the least particle of connection with the plot, and then settles down again forever under the waters of time, just as the boy William di-,<. Uavy, Davy, Davy, let mu see (Davy), let me see; iri/Iiaiii Cooke, bid him come hither. . . . J)iirv. And as^aiii, sir, shall we sowe the head-land with Wheate? Shallow. With red W'heale Davy. l^>ut for \\"i!li,!ui Cookt- . are there no vounjr Pi.sjeons? D.jvy. Yes Sir. William the Cook does not "come hithei." And a little further on Shallow again refers to hini. Slialknv. Some pigeons Davy, a couple ot shorl-legged Heiines: a ioynt of Mutton, and any pretty little tine Kickshawes, tell ll'illiain Cooke. And so William Cook goes off the scene into oblivion. And then there is another William Da-,'}'. Sir, a new link to the bucket must need, be had. And, sir, do you mean to stop any of Williaiu' s wages, about the sack he lost the other day at Hinckley Fair? And Still a third William flashes upon us for an instant, like a dissolving view. * Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance ll'illiam X'isor, of Woiicot, against Clement Perkes of the hili. . Hut X'isor, like the rest, disappears in vacuum. And in As You Like //' another William comes in, to go off again. He has no necessary coherence with the ])lay; the plot woidd proceed without liim. He proposes to miirry Audrev, but the clown scares him off, and, after having fretted hi<; brief five minutes on the stage, he wishes the clown "(rod rest you, merry sir 1 " and steps out into the darkness. He is a temporary fool, and he answers no ])urpose save to bring in the word W'illiani. ' .Act \-. scene 1 . 532 THE cirjii-.R jy THE pla vs. Win. Good even Audrey. .///(/. God ye good Even IVi/liiti/i. C/o-tC'it. Is thy name William^ IVill. William, sir. Clown. A fair name. Wast borne i' ih Forrest here? Mill. I, sir, I thank Ciod. I found also that the combinations, S/urkc and spfare, or sphere... or Shakes and/^r/-, or spiii\ or spare, occur in all the plays. The word Shake or Shakes is foi/iul in every play in the Folio, ami in Pericles, whielt 7C'as not printed in the Folio. In many cases the word Shake or Shakes is evidently forced into the text. In A IPs Well that Fnds Well we have: Cloioii. Marry you are the wiser man: for many a man's tongue shakes out his masti-r's undoing.' Again: Again : Again: Again: But I must shakr fair weather. - And like the tyrannous breathing nf the north Shakes all our buds from growing.;' First, Marcus Brutus, will I shakr with you.^ Servaiil. If you did wear a beard upon your chin I'd s/iake it in this quarrel. And, again, the voluble old nurse in Romeo and Juliet refers to» an earthquake that occurred when she was weaning Juliet: When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool! To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug. Shake, quoth the dove-house.'' And observe how singularly, in such a master of rhythm and language, the word shake is forced into this speech of Hamlet,., when he is swearing Horatio and Marcellus: As I, perchance, hereafter may think meet To put an antic disposition on — ■ That you, at such times seeing me, never shall With arms encumber'd thus, or thus head shake, Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, etc." ' Act ii, scene 4. ^ Cymhelhie, i, 4. '' Koiiitv nmi Jitliif, i, 3. ^ Jti Hcityy \'l.,\,x. "^ Julius C(esar,\\\, \. '• ! Ir.iiild .\, =,. J/OIV J BECAME CERTAIN THERE WAS A CIPHER. 533 In the 2 J Heuiy IV., when the swaggering Pistol is below ,and asks to come up, Dame Quickly protests against it, but Falstaff reassures her, that he is not a swaggerer, but a cheater : Cheater call you him? I will bar no honest man my house, nor no cheater; but I do not love swaggering. I am the worse when one says, swagger : Feele masters how I s/iakc. And this is the same Dame Quickly who, a little before, in the •same play, threatens to throw the ponderous Falstaff into the channel, and who "cares nothing for his thrust" if she "can but close with him! " Any one can see that her act, in turning to Fal- staff and the servant, and asking them to "feel how she shakes," is forced and unreasonable. Clifford says to Cade's followers: Who loves the king, and will embrace his pardon, Fling up his cap and say — God save his majesty I Who hatcth him, and honors not his father, Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake, S/iakf he his weapon at us, and pass by.' Is not this a forced and unnatural expression ? Would it not have been sufficient to have taken the affirmative vote on the ques- tion, or, if he put the negative, to have required some more natural sign ? And again, lago says of poor Cassio, after he has made him drunk: I fear the trust Othello puts in him, On' some odd time of his infirmity. Will sn.ikc' this island.'^. And when we turn to the last syllable of Shakespeare's name we find evidence that it too is forced into the text. In isf Henry / V.;' facing that page 53 which we liave found so pregnant, these lines stand out as if in connection with the J^acon and the Nicholas Bacon opposite them: War. Peace, cousin, say no more. And now / 7vill iDiclasp a secret book. And to your ijiiiek conceiving discontents ril read you matter, deep and dangerous. As full of peril and adventurous spirit As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud On the unsteadfast footing of a Speare. 3 _',/ rfcnrv /■/., iv, 8. ^ Othello, ii, 3. ^ Art i, scene 3, on page 52. Oo4 J] IK CirJIER LX rilE PLAYS. As a spear did not usually exceed ten feet in length, we are forced tt) ask ourselves, What kind of a stream could that have been which it was used to bridge ? One coidd more readily leap it by the aid of the spear, than cross on such a frail and bending structure. Again, after F'alstaff has been exposed by Prince Hal and Poins, in his prodigious lying about the battle which he pretended to have fought, to retain the plunder they had taken from the trav- elers, his knavish followers, Peto and Bardolph, as soon as his back was turned, proceed to testify against him; Prill. Tell me now in earnest how came Falstaff' s sword so hacked ? Pclo. Why he hacked it with his dagger; and said he would swear truth out of England but he would make you believe it was done in fight, and persuaded us to do the like. Hard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with .^/ivcr-grass, to make them bleed, and then to beslobber our garments with it. This is ingenious; btit would not blades of grass have done as well without particularizing the species of grass ? Again, in 2d Hoiry VI., York says, speaking to the King, of himself and the crown: That gold must round engirt these brows of mine; Whose smile and power, like to Achilles' spear. Is able with the change to kill and cure.' This comparison of a man to a spear, and a medicinal spear at that, is not natural. I had observed that the word bcaco)i in that day was pro- nounced the same as bacon. This is shown in an anagram tpioted by Judge Holmes, from a volume of poems of the same Sir John Davies to whom Bacon wrote the letter alread)^ quoted, in which he referred to himself as a concealed poet: To the Right Honorable Sir Francis Racon, Knight. I,(>rd High Chancellor of England : . m ' Beacone Anagr"" - ' Beacon Thy virtuous Name and Office joyne with Fate, To mtike thee the bright Beacon of the state. In fact, it is well known that the English of Shakespeare's day was spoken as the peasants of Ireland now speak that tongue. Elizabeth's court were delighted to hear that A l>a.<;tc without discoorsc of ray son Would have monicd longer. ' .Alt V, sroni' i. J/Olt' I BECAMl-:. C1:R'JAL\ TnJ:RI: 11. IS A CIPIIER. 5:15 The Irish obtained the Enghsli t.ony;uc jusl as the aristocracy of that age spoke it, and, with the conservatisni of a province, retained it unchanged, and so it happens that the despised broi^tic of tlie sister island rei)resents today, like a living fossil, the classic speech of Engfend's greatest era. The spelling of the Folio of 1623 gives us the proiuinciation of a great many words. I note a few. Ugly is spelled oiigly:'^ Jioard is spelled Iiooi d , - rcticat is spelled rcti-ait;' ^A'r^/v/ is spelled ahoord;^ iiiiirdcicr is spelled //nirf/icrcr ; ' Si'co/id is spelled siicond ;'' earth is spelled carfr;'' grant is spelled grai/iit." As a rule the c had the a sound; thus beacon became bacon; and even beckon had the same sound, and both were used in the cipher as the equivalent for Bacon. Hence I think the words in Hamlet — • It hccliotis you to go away with it''' — are the sequel to Francisco. And again: lago hcckojis me.'" In Trail us and Cressida we have;: The wound of peace is surety, Surety secure; Imt modest doubt is called The bciuon of the wise, the tent that searches To the bottom of the worst." This is very forced. Modest doubt becomes a blazing signal fire, and this again becomes a probe to search a wound! And this in a master of expression, who never lacked words to set forth his real meaning. In I.ear^ Kent speaks of the sun as The lu-aroii to this imder globe. The commentators could not understand that the part of the earth on which the sun shone coidd be "the under globe;" and so they inserted in the margin: " looking up to the inoon^ The neces- sities of the cipher constrained the sentence. In a great many instances the word Baco/i seems to have been made by combining Bay with con, 01 can, wliich in that day was pro- '^ 2d Ilcnry IV., iv, t. "Jbjd.^ jy^ i_ ^Mbid., iii, 2. * Tcntpest, i, i. ^ Richard II., v, 6. '• 1st Tfcn7-y IF., v, 2. ' Ibid. f" Ibid., V. 5. ^Hainlet, i, 3. ^"Oihel/o, iv, 1. " '/'>(>//us ttitd Cti-jis/da, ii, 3. 53 6 THE CIPHER IN THE PLA YS. nounced with the broad sound like coii^ as it is even yet in England and parts of America. In such a desperate bay of death.' The other day a bay courser.''^ To ride on a bay trotting horse.-' I'd give bay curtail.* He seems to have been fond of the bay color in a horse. Why, it hath bay windows.* The (^rty-trees all are withered.* Brutus, bay me not.'' And then we have: Ba, pueritia, with horn added. Ba.^ Proof will make me cry ba.'^ Ana when we come to the con^ it is still more forced. Thy horse will sooner con an oration."* The cipher pressed him hard when he wrote such a sentence as this: It is not the horse will deliver an oration, or the horse will study an oration, but the horse will con it. And again: But I can him no thanks for it." Yet, thanks, I must you con}'^ This is sheer nonsense. Then several curious facts presented themselves. We seem to have many references in a cipher narrative to different plays and poems. I have already called attention to that instance of the word Adonis, — Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens,'^ — ■ and the difficulty the commentators had to discover what it meant. In the same play, in the same act, scene 2, I found the word Venus: Bright star of J'enus, fallen down. This gives us the two words of the name of the poem of Venus and Adonis, the "first heir of the poet's invention." ' Richard llf., iv, 2. ''Julius Crpsar, iv, 3. '•< Timon of Athens^ i, 2. ^ Love s Labor Lost, v, i. "^ Lear, iii, 4. ^ Two Gentlemen 0/ I'erona, i, 1. '^AlVs Well that Ends Well, ii, 3. " Troilus and Cressida, ii, i. * Twelfth Night, iv, a. " AlVs Well that Ends Well, iv, 3. ^ Richard U., ii, .\. '- Timou of Athens, iv, 3. ^■^ 1st Ilenrv 11., i, 6. now I BECAME CERTAIN THERE WAS A CIPHER. 537 In Titus Aiidroiiiius^ we have all the words necessary to con- struct the name of his second poem, The Rapt- of Lucrcce. The words of the name of Marlowe's play, Did(\ Queen of Car- I/iage, all appear in The Merehaiit of Venice. The name of Marlowe's play Doetor Faustus appears in 'J'/ie Merry Wives of Windsor, Faustus beiny; in the possessive case, "Doctor Faustuses."' The name of Marlowe's great play I'anduoiaine appears in The Merry Wives of Windsor very ingeniously concealed. The Welsh- man says, in his broken English, The tevil and his tarn.'' Again : What wouldst thou have, hoor.'^ And it is to be observed that this word boor occurs nowhere else in the Plays; neither does tani. The word boors, in the plural, is found once, and once only, in The Winter s Tale :^ but even that would not make the second syllable of Tainburlaine. The last syllable was probably formed by a combination oi' lax and ///. When the court tay at Windsor." The ins, of course, are numerous in the play. Richard Simpson, in his valuable work, The Sehool of Shakspere,^ has an interesting discussion upon the play of Histriomastix, which he supposes to be written by Marston. In it the author introduces Troilus and Cressida, and Troilus makes a burlesque speech in which this line occurs: And when he s/iaki'x his furious .prd/Y. This Mr. Simpson believes to l)e an "allusion to Shakespeare." And strange to say, w^hile Shakespeare seems to be alluded to in the Histriovuistix in this burlesque Troilus and Cressida, in the real Troi/us and Cressida the Histrioniastix is plainly referred to. While Marston mocks Shakespeare in his play, the real Shake- speare probably tells, in cipher, something significant about the Histrioniastix in his play; for it is conceded that there was a battle of wits at this time, participated in by Jonson, Marston and others. ' Act iv, scenes i and 2. "^ Merry Wives, iv, 5. -'Ibid., i, t. -• Ibid., i V, 5. •'■ Act v, scene 2. " Ibid., ii, 2. ' Voi. ii, p. 3. •^38 J'Jii'. cjriiER JX THE /'la)s. In Troiliis and Crcssida the word try occurs only once: Let me i^o and /;;r. ' The first part of this word Histriomastix could he easily con- structed of his-try-o. The his and o occur repeatedly: O when degree is shaked.'-' Tlie last part of the word i/iastix is given as niasf/'ck Speak, Prince of Ithaca, and be't of less expect That matter needless, of importless burden, Divide thy lips, than we are confident. When rank Thersites opes his nmslii-k jaws. We shall hear music, wit and oracle.'* In the first place "the rank Thersites" has no place here. He is not in the scene. The debate is between Ulysses and Agamem- non. Ulysses asks Agamemnon to "hear what Ulysses speaks," and Agamemnon replies as above. But what is " mastick " ? There is no such word in the language. It is printed in the Folio with a capital initial, "as marking something emphatic," says Knight. In some editions the word had been changed into //lasfh'c, simplv because the commentators did not know what it meant. But both Simpson and Knight, although they had no idea of a cipher, thought that it was an allusion to the play of Hislrioiiuutix. T/l' Massaor of Pan's, another of Marlowe's plays, may be alluded to in the /st Hiiiry VI. : The general wreck and iims.uinr.^ This word is found only in three of the Flays, and in two of these the word Pan's occurs. In /sf Hairy V/. it occurs in the same scene with //lassacrr. Orleans, Pa>-is, Guysors, Poictiers.'' In Richard HI . we have: Destruction, blood and )nassacTc.'^ In the same play we have: Crowned in J'aris.'^ George Peele's play, The Arraignjnciit of Paris, seems to i;,- referred to in Hamlet : Our person to arraign in ear and car." ' I'roiliis ami Crcssida, iii, 2. ^ ist Henry /'/., i. i. ' Ibid., ii, ;;. -Ibid., i, I. ^ Ibid., ii. 'Hamlet 'v. ^ Ibid., i, 3. " Richard III,, ii, 4. //()Jl- / BECAME CF.RTAEX TIIEKE WAS A CJJ'JJEE. 5J9 Will he tell us what this show /lu-an/. First what T)anskers are in Paris.- This is the only time ttie word Fan's is used in Hamlet. Ben Jonson's play of Cynthia's Revels seems to be referred to in Romeo and Juliet and in Pericles. It is remarkable that Cynthia appears only twice in the Plays, and each time in the same play we- ll nd the word Revels. The jiale reflex of Cvii/Iiia' s brow."' With this night's /vrv/,.-.-' This is the only occasion revels appears in Romeo and Juliet^ In Pericles we have: Hv the eve of Cv)illna hath.' And again : Which looks for other /vrvA.'' This is the only time the word revels appears in Pericles. Marlowe wrote the poem of Hero and Lcandcr. In the Shake- speare Plays Leander occtirs in but three plays, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Much Ado About jVothin^^ and As You Like Jt, and in each of these plaxs the mime of Hero occurs, -a\-\(\. only once in any other play, to-wit, Romeo and Juliet ! This is certainly remarkable, that out of all the I'lays Leander should occur in but three and Hero in l)ut four; and in three out of four it matches Leander : In The Two Gentlemen of W-rona we have: Scale another Herd s tower.'' And again: Young I.Ciindir.^ In Much Ado vye have: It is proved, mv lady Itrro.'^ And again: /.rc!ii(/,T. the gootl swimmer."' In As Von Like !f \vc have: Though Ilnn had turned nun." And again: Lcandcr, he would liave lived.'- In the last four instances the words occur in the same art and scene. ' IlaiiiUt. iii, -. ' l''a>o Cetitlcmoi 0/ Wroiui. ii, i. •^Ibid., ii, T. "Ibid., i, 1. '^ Roinfc and Ji,•■<'/<■ blood. '^ A man to bow in the Iiaiiis.''^'' And badest me bury love." 1 . 1.V ) -OH JJA:- It, V, 1 . •'' thid., iv, 2. ■' Act Hi, scene 2. ^Ibid., Hi, ^ '■ I'amingofihe Sln-ew, Induction. "'Act ii, scene 4. 3 Ibid.! iii! '1 ' Ibid., iv, 3. ' ' Act ii, scene s- "^Lovi's Laltor Lost, v, :>-. " H'id., Induction. //OW I BECAME CEKTAIX EJ/ /■/,'/■: H.IS .1 < '//'// A A\ 541 In Hamh't we have the name of Bacon's dear friend Hctirnhain. pronounced Battenham, to whom he erected a monument at (irav's Inn: T(j batten on this moor.' Together with most weak liaiiisr « I observed also the name Ra^vlcy (the name of his ciuiphun) in Hniry /'.; Their children ra-cly left^ — while the combination .S» Walter Raleigh thus appears in Richard III.: Sir Jl'dlti-r Herbert.-* The air is AV/ti' and cold.' A book of prayers on their pillow An'.'' And again in Troiliis a/td Crrssida, thus: Cold palsies, ;v?t<' eyes." Drink up the lu's and dregs.'* While the combination ra7c> and lay is found in The J ferry JVives of JVindsor, Love's Labor Lost and five other plays. The name of Bacon's uncle, Burleigh, is found in The /'//;7i'-b()ned clown.'' Now the hurly7'//;-/i''.f done.'" The news f)f hurly-/'///7i' innovation." I observed another curious fact, that the name of the play Meas- ure for Measure seemed to be very often referred to in the dramas; and in many cases the words ran in couples. Thus the word meas- ure appears in the Merry Wives of Windsor only twice: To measure our weapons. '- To guide our measure round about.''* In Twelfth Night it likewise appears only twice: In a good tripping measure}^ After a passy measure}' In Measure for Measure itself the play seeins to be referred to„ in the cipher narrative, thus: No sinister measure}^ And measure still for measure}' 1 Act iii, scene 4. '' Act v, scene i. " Act v, scene 5. - Act ii, scene 2. * Act iv, scene i. '^ Act v, scene i. 3 Act iv, scene I. ^ 2ii Henry l'/..i\', to. '^ Act v, scene i. 4 Act V, scene 3 — Act iv, scene 5. '" Macbeth, i, i. '* Act iii, scene 2.. 5 Act V, scene 3. ' ' rst Henry Jl '., v, i. " Act v, scene i.. " Act iv, scene 3. '^ Act i, scene 4. "42 'J J /I: ciJ'iiF.R ix riir. ri A vs. In A Winter's Tid(' llic word also ()CCui-> twicr, ami oiil}' twice: McastDi- nie. ' The iiirasiirc of the couit.-' In llic Comedy of lin-ois it also appears twice only: . Not lUi-nsiii;- her from hip Id hip.'' Took iii,-tt.u(i\- of niv Ijoily."* In Machct/i we tiiul thr same dualism: Anon we'll drink ;i /iiiui.uirt-.'' We will perform in iiicasiin-/' In Troilus and Ci'cssida we have the same word twice: By ii/idsiiic' of their oliservant toil." I'air denies in all fair inrdsiiir.'^ In A'/nx lAor also it appears in this double foini: If you will /ncasniY your lul)ber's lenirth.'' And every //wasinr fail me.'" Ill Othello we have it ao^airi twice, the last tim ' in the possessive case, as if he was speaking of Alcasiire for A/easures success, thus: 'Would fain have a mrasiDr to the health." Nor for iiit'dsmrs of lawn.''- If the reader will examine the subject he will hnd that the word Jiieasiire runs in couples all through the other plays. It is either matched with itself in the same play, as in As You Like It, where it occurs in three couples; in Love s L^abor Lost, where there are also three couples; \\\ Rieliard J I ., where there are two couples; \w 3d Henry J^I., where there are also two couples, and in Antony and Cleo- patra, wdiere there are also two couples; or it is found in the end of one play, matching with the same word in the beginning of the next play in the Folio, for the cipher narrative is oftentimes contin- uous from pla}^ to play. The name of the plays now generally attributed to Shakespeare, the first and second parts of The Contention of the Houses of York and Lancaster, is found in the /.s/ and 2d Henry /J\, thus: ' Act ii, scene I. "^ Act iii, scene 4. " Act i, scene 4. - Act iv, .scene 3. '• Act v, scene 7. '" .Act iv, scene 7. 2 Act iii, scene 2. ' Act i, scene 3. ' ' Act ii, scene 3. ■* Act iv, scene .;. " Act iii, scene 1. '- -Act iv, scene 3. jfoi\' I n/:cAMi': cf.rtaix '/•///■:a-k was a cii'iiek. 54: In the very heat And pride of their contrntion } And dialls the signs of leaping-Z/c/zj-f-j-.'- As oft as Z(r;7rrt'.r/,;- doth speak.'' His uncle York} The name reappears, abbreviated, in tiie l)e_SJ^inninij of j sf H<-ur\ / I '. : T!ic times are wilij, Contcnlion like ;i horse.-"' Hcl7vcc)i liie royal fieid of Shrcwslnirv.'' The gentle archbishop of York is up.'' Under the conduct of young Laucastcr^ And tlie entire name, as it appears upon tlie title-page of tlie original quarto, is given \\\ jil Henry J'/., ^'T/ic Coiifciitioii of the two Pamoiis Houses of York ami Lancaster^ Thus: ^Co (.luarrel. but a slight <-(^iil,-nlioti ."^ Would buy /ri'(' hours' life.'" Were he as fttiiioiis and as bold." The colors of our striving /iciisrs.^'- Strengthening mis-proud )'(';■/•.'' () /.ainas/t-i\ I fear thy overthrow." The wortl lontciition is an unusual one and appears in but fotir other plays, viz.: Henry / '., Troiliis and CressiJa, Cynibeline and Othello, and in each case I think it has reference, in cipher, to the play of The Contention of }'ti/-h and La /waster, one of the earliest of the author's writings. It is not found at all in thirty of the plays. And how strained and unnatural is the use of this word contention ] It is plainly dragged into the te.xt. As thus: CoiiL-n/ii'/i (like a horse Full of high feeding) madly hath broke loose.'"' And let the world no longer be a stage To feed contention in a lingering act. The genius of the author drags a thread of sense through these sentences, but it is exceedingly attenuated and gossamery. The name of Bacon's early philosophical work. The Masculine Birth of Time, appears in three of the plays. The word masculine ' Act i, scene i. "Act i, scene i. " Act ii, scene i. ^ Act i, scene 2. '' Act i, scene 2. ''^ Act ii, scene 5. ^ .\ct iii, scene i. '-' .\ct i, scene 2. '^ Act ii, scene 6. ■' .\ct i, scene 3. " Act i, scene 2. " Act ii, scene 6. ■'' Act i, scene I. '" Act ii, scene 6. '■'■ 5■ /f-'., ii, 2. 544 THE CiriJEK JX THE FLA VS. is an unusual word in poetry; it occurs but three times in the entire Folio, and each time the words /n'rf/i and fii/i<' accompany it, either in the same scene or close at hand. For instance, in Twelfth Ni^ht, in act v, in the same scene (scene i) we have all three of the words, masculine, birth, time. In ist Henry F/., masei/Ii/ie is in act ii, scene i, while birth and time occur in act ii, scene iv. In Troiliis and Cressida they appear in act v, scene i, and act iv, scene 4. The Advancement of Learning, the name of one of Bacon's great works, is found in The Te'mpest, 2d Henry IV. and Hamlet. The words Scaling Ladders of the Lntelligence are all found in Coriolani/s. With these and many other similar observations, I became satis- fied that there was a cipher narrative interwoven into the body and texture of the Plays. Any one of the instances I have given would by itself have proved nothing, but the multitude of such curious coincidences was cumulative and convincing. Granted there was a cipher, how was I to find it? CHAPTER III. A VAIN SEARCH IN THE COMMON EDITIONS He apprehends a world of tif,'ures here, But not the form of what he should attend. ^ 1st Henry //'., i,j. IF there was a cipher in the Plays, written by Francis Bacon, why should it not be Bacon's cipher, to-wit: a cipher of words infolded in other words, " the writing infolding holding a quintuple proportion to the writing infolded " ? And if I was to find it out, why not begin on those words, Francis, Bacon, Nicholas, Bacon's, son, in the ist Henry IV., act ii ? I did so, using an ordinary edition of the Plays. For days and weeks and months I toiled over those pages. I tried in every pos- sible way to establish some arithmetical relation between these significant words. It was all in vain. I tried all the words on page 53, on page 54, on page 55. I took every fifth word, every tenth word, every twentieth word, every fiftieth word, every hun- dredth word. But still the result was incoherent nonsense. I counted from the top of the pages down, from the bottom up, from the beginning of acts and scenes and from the ends of acts and scenes, across the pages, and hop, skip and jump in every direction; still, it produced nothing but dire nonsense. Since it was announced in the daily press of the Ignited States that I claimed to have discovered a cipher in the Shakespeare Plays, there have been some who have declared that it was easy enough to make any kind of a sentence out of any work. I grant that if no respect is paid to arithmetical rules this can easily be done. If the decipherer is allowed to select the words he needs at random, wherever he finds tliem, he can make, as Bacon savs, " anything out of anything; " he could prove in this way that the Apostle Paul wrote Cicero's orations. But I insist that, wherever any arithmetical proportion is preserved between the words selected, it is impossible to find five words that will cohere in 545 546 THE CIPHER i.\ the plays. sense, orrammar or rhetoric; in fact, it is very rarely that three can be found to agree together in proper order. To proye this, let me take this yery page 55 of ist Hoiry //'.. on vyhich Nicholas Hacon is found, and ti-y the tenth, twentietl;, fiftieth and hundredth words: The tenth words are: TOy — //,- — bids, — a, — can, — and, — found, — how, — loohs, — on,— F, — ripe, — loc, — once, — l>raiu\ — -wc, — thrive, — shorf, — Heii^h, etc. The twentieth words are*: //, — a, — a/id, — //cw, — on, — > ip<\ — o/icc, — 7i the Bisli(i|i of Wiiicliester. 5-0 THE cjriiKR rx THE J' LA vs. them will follow the author's death! Bacon is never obscure unless he intends to be so. And in this I think he means as fol- lows: . . . -\s for my Essays and the Shakespeare Plays, I will continue them — pre- serve them for posterity. I am aware that those plays would give more luster and reputation to my name, if I acknowledged them, than my philosophical writings; but I think there is a certain glory which should follow a man, by rising up long after his death, rather than accompany him by being published in his own name l)efore his death. If he does not hint at this, what does he mean ? Surely there is no great distinction between a man publisliing his writings a year before his death, and having his executors publish them a year after liis death; and why should the one be an " untimely anticipation of the other"? And just about this period Bacon writes to Sir Tobie that "it is time to put the alphabet in a frame ; " and we will see that the cipher depends on the paging of the great Folio, and the paging is as a frame to tlie text. And side by side with the Novum Oi\(;a/Niin and the De Aiii^nicn- tis, mighty pillars of his glory, appears, at the same time, this noble Folio, which, as Collier says, ** docs credit to the age, even as a speci- men of typography."' And at the same time Lord Bacon sends some " great and noble token " to Sir Tobie Matthew, and Sir Tobie does not dare to name the work in his letter of thanks, but, in the obscure way common to the correspondence of these men, says: " The most prodigious wit that ever I knew, of my nation and of this side of the sea, is of your lordship's name, though he be known by another." That is to say. Sir Tobie, writing probably from Madrid, says: " Your lordship is the first of wits — you are the greatest wit I have ever known, either in England, ' my nation,' or Europe, ' on this side of the sea," though you have disguised your greatness under an assumed name." And "a great and noble token," indeed, is this F"olio. The world has never seen, will never see such another. It is more lustrous than those other immortal books, the JVovu/zi Orgainiin and the Dc Ai/giiicntis, and its columnar light will shine througli all the ages. It is another Homer — more vast, more civilized, more varied, more complicated; multiplied in all forms and powers a ' luigh's/i Dvanxiiic Poetry^ vol. iii, p. 313. THE GREAT TOLIO EDITION OF ibjj. 551 thousand-fold. And no f)ther name than Homer is worthy to be mentioned beside it. Collier says of the Folio: As a specimen of typography it is on the whole remarkably accurate; and so (iesiroLis were the editors and printers of correctness that they introduced changes for the better even while the sheets were in pnjgress through the press.' Even to-day it must be a subject of admiraticm. Its ponderous size, its clear, large type, its careftil punctuation, its sid)stantial paper, its thousand pages, all testify that in its day it was a work of great cost and labor. • I had read somewhere that it was very irregularly paged, and when I procured my fai-siiiiilc copy I turned first to this point. I found the volume was divided, as the iiulex showed, into three divisions. Comedies, Histories and Tragedies; and that the paging followed these divisions, commencing at page i in each instance. This was not unreasonable or extraordinary. In some cases there are errors of the printer, plainly discernible as such. For instance, page 153 of the Comedies is printed 151, but the next page is marked with the correct number, 154; page 59 of the Comedies is printed page 51; page 89 of the Histories is printed 91; 90 is printed 92, etc. But as a whole the Comedies are printed very regularly. In each case the first page of a play follows precisely the ntimber of the last page of the preceding play. Between Twelfth Night and The \]lnt('rs Tale there is a blank page, but even this is taken into account, although it is not numbered. The last page of Twelfth Alight \% 275, then comes the blank page, which shoidd be 276, and the first page of The Winter s Tale is 277. I call attention to this particularly, because it goes to prove that the great changes in the numbering of pages of some of the Plays, in the Histories, are not likely to have been the result of negligence. The Histories begin" with King John, on page i, and the pages proceed in regular order to page 37, in the play of Riehard II., which is misprinted 39. Riehard II. ends on page 45; the next play, 1st Henry IV., begins on page 46; then pages 47 and 48 are missing, and the next page is 49; and after this the paging proceeds in due order, with the exception of the apparent typographical errors on pages 89, 91, etc., already referred to, to the end of the 2d Henry IV., ^ £t!£-/is/i Dran:at'i<- l^retry, vol. iii, p. 31;;;. :^5:: THE CIPHER EY THE PLAYS. which terminates on page loo. Then there is an Epilogue, which occupies an unnumbered page, which would be, if numbered, loi; then another unnumbered page is devoted to the names of the characters in the play; this should be page 102. The next page is the opening of the play of Henry I'., but, instead <)i being page 103, it is numbered 69 ! If, after this number, 69, the pages had proceeded again, 104, 105, 106, etc., in regular order, we might suppose that the 69 was a typo- graphical error. But no; the paging runs 70, 71, 72, 73, in perfect order, to 95, the last page of the play, and the next play, isf Henry /F., begins on page 96; and so the paging continues, in due order, with one or two slight mistakes, which are immediately corrected, to the end of Henry VIII., on page 232. Here again we have a surprise : The next page, unnumbered, is the prologue to Troilits and Cres- s/la. It should be page 233; the next, on which the play opens, is also unnumbered, but should be page 234; the next page is numbered, but instead of page 235 it is page 79 ! The next is 80, and , e, etc., aa, ld\ ee, etc. But in the Troiliis and Cressida the signatures are all composed of the printers' sign for a para- graph, ^, mixed with g, thus: g, I2, gj, H, 1^2, %j, and the last page of the play is marked 1"^1[, then a blank leaf, and then the Tragedies open with aa. But as the twelve pages of the signa- ture X, which composed the last part of Henry V/II., w^:>uld have properly extended over into two pages of T^roilns and Cressida, it is evident that there must have been more doctoring here. A printer will see at once that Troilns and Cressida must have been set up by itself, and marked by different tokens, so as not to conflict with the rest of the work, which therefore 7vas not Jinis/ied ; and consc- (juently that it would have been most natural for the printer to have paged it regularly from page i to the end, or made the paging" correspond with the last page of Henry /'///., or not paged it at all. There is no reason for paging two leaves 79 and 80, and leaving the rest blank. And there is no reason why, when the pressmen stopped the press to correct the accidental errors in the paging in (ither instances, they should have left these errors standing. It seemed to me beyond a question that these inconsistencies in the paging were jnade to order. Roberts, the actor, asserted that Henry Condell was a printer by trade;' and it is very possible that the Folio ( f 162,^ may have ' Collier's I-'.in:. Iii-aiii. /Wt>-y\ iii, V 7- THE GREAT FOLIO EDITION OF 1623. 5:^5 been set up under liis immediatf supervision, c;n(l lience ihese frregularities perpetuated by his orders. Being satisfied that there was a cijiher in ihe Phiys, and tliat ii probably had some connection with the paging of the P'olio, I turned to page 53 of the Histories, where the line occurs: I have a gammon of BACt)N and two razes of ginger.' I commenced and counted from the top of tiie column down- ward, word by word, counting only the spoken words, until 1 reached the word B.-^con, and I found it was the 371st word. I then divided that number, 371, by fifty-three, the number ol the page, and the quotient was seven! That is, the number of the page multiplied by seven produces the number of the word Bacoii^ Thus: 53 7 371 This I regarded as extraordinary. There are 938 words on the page, and there was, therefore, only one chance out of 938 that anv particular word on the page would match the number of the page. But where flid that seven come from which, multiplying 53. |)roduced 3 7 1 = 7) (i-cv// ? I found there were seven italic words on the first column of page 53, to-wit: (i) Morfi/iier, (2) G/e/i- 'ihnve}\ (3) jMortii)te)\ (4) Douglas, (5) Charles, (6) JJ'a///e, (7) Robin. If the reader will turn to the fae-siinih\ given herewith, he mav verify these statements. There are 459 words on this column, and there was, therefore, only one chance out of 459 that the numl)er of italic words would agree with the cjuotient obtained bv dividing 371 l)y c;3. For it will be seen that if Charles W'aine had been united by a hyphen, or if i^niine^ being the name of a thing, a wagon, had been printed in Roman letters, the count would not have agreed. Again, if the word Heii:;h-ho (the 190th word) had not been h3'phenated, or if Chamber-lye had been printed as two words, the word Bacon would not have been the 371st word. Or if the nineteenth word, infaifh, had been printed as two words, the count would have been thrown out. If our selves (the sixty-fourth and sixty-fifth words) had been run together as one ' /.■.' Ilon-y IV., ii, i. .556 THE CIPHER IX THE PLA T.^. word, as they often are, the word Bacon would have been the 370th word, and wouki not have matched ^^•ith the page. Where so many minute points liad to be considered, a change of any one of which would have thrown the count out, I regarded it as very remarkable that the significant word Bacon should be precisely seven times the number of the page. Still, standing alone, this might have liappened accidentally. I remembered, then, that other significant word, Saint Albans, in act iv, scene 2, page 67, column i. And the shirt, to say the truth, stolen from my host of .S'. Alboiifs. I counted the words • on that column, and the word S. Alboncs was the 402d W'ord. I again divided this total by the number of the page, 67, and the qiaotient was precisely 6. 6 402= " S. Albones." I counted up the italic words on this column, and I found there were just six, to-wit: (i) Bardolph, (2) Pete, (3) Lazarus, (4) Jack, (5) Hal, (6) John. This was certamly extraordinary. There were on that page 890 words. There was, therefore, but one chance out of ou shall have her (Master Broome); Master Broome, you shall cuck- old Ford. Now, if there was any typc~)graphical reason for putting one of these Master Broomes in brackets, why was not the other simi- larly treated ? Multitudinous instances of the same kind can be found in the Folio. If the use of brackets was uniform, we might consider it a habit of the writer, or a vice of the printers of that era; but such is not the case. It is well known that the 2d Henry IV. is but a continuation of the 1st Henry IV. The latter ends with the death of Hotspur on the field of Shrewsbury; the other opens with Hotspur's father receiving the news of his death. The characters in the two plays are the same; the plot is the same; the two are practically one. Yet we find in the ist Henry IV. the brackets used very sparingly, while in the 2d Henry /T'. the pages are literally peppered w^ith them. There are nine pages in the ist Henry IV. that do not con- tain a bracket word, to-wit, pages 54, 57, 61, 65, 66, 67, 69, 70, 72; while there is not one page in the 2d Henry IV. which does not contain words in brackets. In the last ten pages of the ist Henry IV. there are but seven words in brackets, while in the first ten pages of 2d Hemy IV. there are three hundred and fifty-nine! Take the following sentence, in the speech of the King, on page 85 of 2d Henry /T'., and observe the ridiculous extent to which brackets are used, where there was really no necessity for them: But which of you was by, (You cousin Nevil, as I may remember), When Richard, with his eye brim-full of Teares, (Then checked and rated by A'orthuinho-land) Did speak these words (now prov'd a prophecy): Northumberland thou Ladder, by the which My cousin Biilliiii^brookt' ascends my Throne: (Though then, Heaven knows, I had no such intent, Rut that necessity so bowed the State ^60 T.HE CIPHER IN THE PIA VS. That I and Greatnesse were compelled to kisse:) The Time shall come (thus did bee follow it), The Time will come that foul Sinne gathering head Shall breake into Corruption. Here we have a sentence, containing ninety-three wo/ds, of which forty-six are in brackets, and forty-seven not in l)rackets I And scarcely one of these bracketings is necessary. Now when you remember that there are nine pages in the ist Hcmv IV. without a bracket word, and ten consecutive pages with but seven, is it natural or reasonable to find here, in a continuation of the same play, forty-six bracket words out of a total of ninety- three? Must there not have been some reason for it ? Compare these totals: Total bracket words. Total hyphenated words. 1st Henry IV Ill 224 2d Ilcnry IV 89S 307 Why should there be more than eight times as many bracket Avords in the second part of what is practically one play as there is in the first part ? Now all these evidences were, as I have said before, cumulative; they all pointed in the same direction. If I find in the sand the tracks of many feet, directed to all points of the compass, I cannot predicate what direction the multitude took, or meant to take. But if I come across numerous tracks all pointing in the same direction, I can reasonably conclude that those who owned those feet moved toward the point so indicated; and if I find the tracks of a vast multitude, with every foot pointed to the north, and the ground trampled and cut by artillery wheels, and the herbage crushed, and the limbs of the very trees torn down, I should be a fool indeed if I doubted my own senses, and failed to conclude that an army had juissed there and was marching northward. And so this accumulation of testimonies forced me, in despite of all doubts and hesitations, to the fixed and positive belief that the text of some of the Shakespeare Plays, perhaps all of them, contained cipher-work. To be sure, it took me some time to reason out how the book could have been printed so as to make the paging match with the cipher story; and the conclusion I reached was this: That Bacon, Vv-hcn he resolved to tell, in this secret manner, the history of THE GREAT FOLIO EDITION OF 162J. 561 his life and his era, and had selected his own short acting plays, in their first brief form, for the web into which he would weave his story (for we find The Merry Wives, Henry V., Romeo and Juliet, Ham- let and other plays still existing in that original form, without the significant cipher words), determined that some day he would publish his cipher-plays in foiio volume; and the cipher was con- structed altogether with that end in view. To insert the cipher he had to double the size of the original plays; and this is the reason we have them " enlarged to as much again," as is stated in the pre- face to some of the quarto editions. Now then, Ricliard II. having ended on page 45 (and probably Richard II. and King John constitute jointly a cipher narrative, united, just as we will see hereafter that the ist and 2d He/irv IV. are united), he then made his calculation that the ist Henry IV. would occupy twenty-eight pages and this would make the first X>A'g^ oi 2d Henry IV. page 74. Upon this basis he worked; for it is my impression that those coincidences I have just shown, of Francis — Bacon — Niciiolas — Bacon's — son, are either parts of a cipher different from that which I have worked out, or that they have no relation to the cipher proper, but were put there to lead some subsequent investigator along to the conviction that there was a cipher in the Plays. And I should conclude that Bacon made a mistake in his estimate, and that the ist Henry IV., when finished, contained but twenty-six pages. Hence he was driven to the expedient of dropping two pages, or one leaf, out of the count; and, hence, in the Folio, page 49 follows page 46. But, having settled upon page 74, he begins his work. He writes his text on the basis of the equivalent in words of what he thinks each column of the Folio, when printed, will contain, using either large sheets or two sheets bearing the same number. For instance, the first column of page 74 contains 294 words. These could be readily written on one sheet of paper; and the same is true of the second column, which contains 270 words. When he comes to page 75, the first column of which contains 468 words and the second 541, if he had not single sheets large enough for these he used two or more, giving them the same paging, as, for instance, 75' or 75 \ etc. The number of words on a column was largely dependent on the necessities of the cipher; hence, we will 562 THE CIPHER IX THE FLA VS. find three hundred and odd words on one column, and six hundred and odd on another. Let the reader turn to our fac-similcs, and compare the second column of page 76 with the second column of page 80. Both are in prose, and each contains one break in the narrative, caused by the entrance of characters. Yet the first has 615 words, while the other contains 553 words. And, to get the 615 words into the second column of page 76, the type had to be crowded together very closely, and w-e have the words, "Doth not the King lack subjects?" printed (as the reader will see, by look- ing near the bottom of the column) thus: Doth not the K. lack subjects? On the second column of page 64 of ist Henry IV., all in prose, and containing also one break, there are but 472 words; while on the first column of page 62 of the same play, all in prose, with three interruptions, there are but 375 words. There could as well have been 500 words printed on that column as 375. But we will see, as we proceed, that the necessity the cryptologist was under to use the same significant words more than once (counting from the bottom of the column up, as well as from the top of the col- umn down) determined the number of the words on the column; even though he had to print King as simply A'., to get them all in, in the one case; or to put in such phrases as the following, heavily leaded, in the other case, as on page 64: Enter the Prince niarc/ii?7g, and Falstaffe nieeis him playing on his Tritnchion like a Fife, Compare this with the first column of page 79, where a similar stage direction has not even a separate line given it, but is crowded in at the end of a sentence, thus: Page. Away you Scullion, you Rampallion, you Fustil- lirian: He tucke your Catastrophe. Enter Ch. Justice. Here the writer did not allow everi room enough to print the word Chief in full. Now, having the Plays written on sheets, and so paged as to correspond with a prospective Folio, Bacon was in this dilemma: If he did not print the Plays during Shakspere's life-time, with the cipher in them, and Shakspere's name on the title-page, men would THE GREAT FOLIO EDITION OF 1623. t^^T^ say in the future, as they have said recently, that the Plays were really Shakspere's, and that he (Bacon) had stolen them and inter- jected a cipher claiming them. And so he published some of them in quarto. But as the paging of the quarto would begin with page I, while the cipher was founded on page 74, or page 69 (as in Henry V.), or page 79 (as in Troilus and Cressida), it was absolutely impossible to decipher the inner story. But, to make assurance doubly sure, Bacon cut out of the quarto whole sentences that were in the Folio sheets, and set into the text of the quarto sen- tences and whole scenes that were not in the Folio; so that the most astute decipherer could have made nothing out of it, how- ever cunningly he might have worked. And this is the explana- tion of the fact that while the editors of the Folio of 1623 assure the public that it is printed from " the true originall copies," and that all previous quarto editions were " stolne and surreptitious copies, maimed and deformed by the frauds and stealthes of injuri- ous impostors that expos'd them;" and that the Folio copies were ^''perfect of their limbs and absolute in their numbers, as he (Shake- speare) conceived them," nevertheless, the publisher of Shake- speare to-day has to go to these same very much denounced quartos for many of the finest passages' which go by the name of the great poet. And here is another curious fact: Bacon was not content to publish the Plays during the life of Elizabeth and his keen-eyed cousin, Cecil, with a different paging; but where the word Bacon occurred, in the quartos, it is printed with a small b, so as not to arouse suspicion, instead of with a capital B, as in the Folio ! And most of those curious bracketings and hyphenations which so mar the text of the great Folio, like ^'' smooth-comforts-false" etc., are not to be found in the quartos. One can fancy Francis Bacon sitting at the play — in the background — with his hat over his eyes — watching Elizabeth and Cecil, seated, as was the custom, on the stage, enjoying and laughing over some merry comedy, little dreaming that the internal fabric of the play told, in immortal words, all the dark- est passages of their own dark lives — embalmed in the midst of wit and rollicking laughter, for the entertainment of all future ages. And so the long-suffering and much abused genius enjoyed 564 THE CIPHER IN THE PLAYS. his revenge, even under the very nose (if power; so he rose superior to The law"s delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns Which patient merit of the un\vf)rthy takes. And when the time came to " put the alphabet in a frame " all he had to do was to have Condell and Heminge contract with the printers to print the Folio in columns, precisely as ordered, Bacon himself secretly correcting the proofs. Or Bacon may have bought the type and had it printed at Gray's Inn, or St. Albans, or at the house of Condell or Heminge. If printers were told to follow copy precisely, and put exactly as many words on a column as there were on a sheet of the original manuscript, they would, of course, do so; and only in this way can the extraordinary features of the Folio of 1623 be accounted for. And if the printers needed a reason, to allay suspicion, it could be given in the pretended reverence of the actor-editors for the work of " their worthy friend and fellow, Shakespeare; " for it follows, of course, that Heminge and Condell, or one, at least, of them, was in the secret of the real authorship. And this also explains why one-half the Plays were not pub- lished until 1623, and why for nearly twenty years so few were put forth. The author could never know how far suspicion might be aroused by the curiously garbled state of the text. But in 1623 the generation that had witnessed the production of the Plays was mostly dead; Burleigh and Cecil and the Queen were all gone; and Bacon himself was nearing the last mile-stone of his wonderful career. There was but little risk of discovery in the few years that remained to him between 1623 and the grave. The great Folio was the culmination of Bacon's life-work as re- garded one portion of his mighty intellect; even as the De Aiigmeii- tis and the Novum O rgani/iii were the culmination of his life-work as to the other side — his philosophy. And side by side, at the same time, he erected these great pillars, the one as worthy, as enduring, as world-sustaining as the other. CHAPTER V. LOST IN THE WILDERNESS. I'olonius. What do you read, my lord ? Ilanilet. Words, words, words. H mil let y ii, 2. HAVING satisfied myself, in this way, that, beyond question, there was a cipher narrative in the Shakespeare Plays, I commenced the task of deciphering it. It has been an incalcula- ble labor, reaching through many weary years. I had but one clue: that the cipher words were to some extent the multiples of the pages on which they occur. But the problem was, In what order do they follow each other? What is the sequence of arrangement ? My first conception of the cipher narrative was that of a brief statement of the fact that Francis Bacon was the real author of the Plays. The words constituting this sentence might, I thought, be widely scattered, and but two or three to a play. On page 84 I found the word William. I dare say my cousin William is become a good SchoUer.' In the subdivision above this, in the same column, being the end of act iii, scene 2, there were three hyphenated words, and thirty- five words in brackets. If you deduct 3 from 86 it leaves 83, and on page 83 we find: Feele, Masters, how I shake. * If you deduct 35 from 87, the next column, it leaves 52, and on page 52 we have : The uncertain footing of a Spcare. Here, I thought, I have a clue: — Williajii Shakespeare. But, unfortunately, the rule would carry me no farther. Then I was perplexed as to the true mode of counting. Was I to analyze words into their meaning and count them accordingly? Was zc'hafs, as in "what's the matter," one word or two words, "^ 2d Henry //'., iii, 2. "^ 2d Henry /?'., ii, 4. 5^5 566 THE CIPHER IN THE PLA YS. "what is"? Was otJi clock, one word, two words or three words?' Was tJi other to be counted as two words, as "the other," or as one word, "t'other"? Were the figures loo to be counted as one word, or as "one hundred," two words ? As I was working in the dark, it was a long time before I arrived at Bacon's purpose, and then I found that he adopted the natural rule, that the typographical consideration governed, and a word was a group of letters, separated by spaces from the rest of the text, whether it meant one, or two' or a dozen objects. The only exception seems to be where the word is merely slurred to preserve the rhythm of the blank verse, as in: Had three times slain th' appearance of the king.' Here the ///' is counted as a separate word. At different stages I was led, by coincidences, to adopt one theory and then the other, and I recounted and numbered the words from time to time, until the text was almost obliterated with the repeated markings. I give herewith one page, page 79, of 2d Henry IV.,"^ which will show the defaced condition of my facsimile, and at the same time give some idea of the difficulty of the work. Many times I struck upon clues which held out for two or three points and then failed me. I was often reminded of our Western story of the lost traveler, whose highway changed into a wagon-road, his wagon-road disappeared in a bridle-path, his bridle-path merged into a cow-path, and his cow-path at last de- generated into a squirrel track, which ran up a tree ! So my hopes came to naught, many a time, against the hard face of inflexible arithmetic. I invented hundreds of ciphers in trying to solve this one. Many times I was in despair. Once I gave up the whole task for two days. But I said to myself: There is certainly a cipher ' e; and what the ingenuity of man has made, the ingenuity of ^x\ ought to be able to unravel. My own preconceptions often misled me. Believing that eacli cipher word belonged to the page on which it was found, I did not look beyond the page. At last, in my experimentations, I came across the word vol- ume. '^sd Henry //'., ii, i; 2d col., p. 75, Folio. ^ Act ii, scene i. / I -iiirf'i1 BM(i i iV' iii iii" i niirirVT; ii °"''' """'"'"' ■ '"<' '""",.„«.>fr,r- S^ a' "> .^ '^^H j^ 3f" Xj^ a? X 3^ /'}' /SO- TheffcondTart o/Kjng HenTy t he Fo urth. ml V*rfl. f/aff.Wt are Times rubie<3s.>iulTinie biil:,^? Aad t>kc thou this (O chouehctofmea accuri'J) " P^^itt Camt, fttiml^; ihktgs frtftm vOfficeri r.vig, iKiiSntre. /j HtiieJIiM Mr.f''»g,baucyoueniredihcA£tion?y()/^ Ftr-g. ifi^eoietd. \ ^ HiDiclfr. \vheO youi Yeoman/ 1» it a luflyyeomam »jll he (land to it ? \-^^>^"i ^Tixg. Sirrah, y hetj't Snt re ? /p QO^ F«>^. 5n<»-f,yvcniuftflTreflSir^^'f/J.^jDh my mofl worftiipfijll Lord.ind'tpleafeyour r ofEaftcheap, and he »lTi^| j^jg Ci. /»^. For what fumffTe? «»/?. It u tnoK then-fbr fome(a)y Loid)iti» fotaJI:aU fnuc.Wi'tiith eJlerttte out of houfe andhiome', hSIrilh poiall iliy fubftancc into thitfat belly'^hRT bui'^ All hate feme of it out againc, OTi will t i J^ftl A o .IkiitheMSe.,, A *^ ™ ■'^\-^ ^ ^»lfi. fWinki^ am at likcjo tide the ^Si, if anj.vantage of^tOH pd^t o ger^C - -iA.,^_=_^^ '^^'tl ^"^ JoW^s'wft>i^nlgBryiiy,^hat a man ^ goijienlper wojWVndurethutempcftot'kxclamation^ /r /ofrftjc af^ri^d to inforct a poore W|ildowc to fo yi-. , ->frftoc afnffn'd to inforcc a poore W)ildow< ' ^digh a ^crailcuo come hy her ownc i /^r^/y^'SVhal u1Fc groffcfeftWif that 1 o»st thee? H'P. 1 goodM.^iKD-r.Ihauecni 5o.It may fhaoccjcollfomco^sou' I g 0- '-"^^^i^'AlIs iht_^y; taTcTlfoedofwW : he fta in oune owne houfe^gd th«fflflft bcilily: he car ifTOj weapon be out. m. \ 'ic aU. Vil ft. heftahdM whatmifchecfehed^.ifWr^eaponbeout. Hcewili f-*# foyne like any diucll.^rwalfpaie neither man, woman, IjJ-S')";' norchiidc'jti^* ' .V^'T^^i^^' F.giyr Tf T^ O clofe with him.I care not for his tl>ful\^ .^-fiafifc. Jvttiior I neither ; He beat yoiir^elFow. 'jj^ Tang, in bft tiff hiai once;if"he come bTR within ffj Vic. ^ d. ^ ^ H'fl. I am Tndone with hij *oingn wjHant Kjf is an inhnitiiiethingjrpon^mylcorc.^epd M fWjholdhim luffigood SI i»4W letfeuiWiafc, he c'o'mes coiuuiu- antly w Py-Corner(fauiiig y&St f3«nhoods)to buy^ fiu die, feihee is indited to ilinnet to the Lubbjts head: LqtiAardfticei.to M-Smcethei the Silkman.I pra'ye^ce<* ijK Emon isenter'd.and my Caft^ ogjihly ki#wn pRhe «5rld.let him be brouoht in to l^nf^er: A Ao Mitki ^A?ia"'' '''*'°" Wednefday i/i Whufon wrtt*^ itjfVfllge broke thy head for li'k'ning higit87l' 5 itiah of Wmd/or;Tbou_didft fwrare tori^rWS(^ then, and calmc godip <'B3 on nrfirc'^ 44jJ «ijrld,let him be brought in to ff^nlwer: A t do Mitlic T^l it a lor^ ohejbijjf prote lone women to beare: & 1 ha I borne ■^ bwnftrfifbomc, and haue bin fub'ifoff, and I -^ i'ar.%._ .u?, J .„ ^.„ rW.r'rRlf rhaii^f , ,. bVchouEhl'o.i. ; "ere_is tK. no^flyMlJb^e^ngA"'' a woman iKouia o£ma4f;an7aR--?8tf""> '° *•"" ' ucry Knaueswtongi.^ £«rr A;/;:;.- — ' ''~*'"^> Yotiaet^coflies, aiS thayriant Malnicfey-Nofc i'*/- 'Uo//> w{th>SqiJ5o'fp^t^fftts,d5your oftceSiM^.^*!^ id^m^ Ihy-j^oundjf^artyli^d mike itJe<- my I'/ ''V ^"'" V"'P''Ja''^^"* " "^"f "Of goodwife ' ^a^'"-^j<>ife?ofre in then, and calmc godm i (f onimin^^n c6 biftrow a fTiefTeofVincoar,- ft" Mdgo4ddifhofPrawnes:whcieby e.t ibine : whereby I to W ind?Anddidftiiotthou (whenfKe^«j ^(».le$)dS?re.mfr^^o more familiar VJith luchpoore •^pt f.lc.f>yln5,^#^ lone they (hould call ntcMadam ? ^'•A. ! did ft;ynoT!si(reme;and bid mee fetch th"^^, . , c no* lo thy B6ok-oath,d#y it'lSKd'/filutt^"'*; : My Lord.this is a pfeore road tW^a"^ ftie fayts V, v'downcibtfewn (hi^^^ldeftf^hlikc ai 1 f>tn ID »o6d cafc^ ilfl^idih it.po fety haih'^ il^ " »r I Her »Ti6t lor thf fe foolj(*,Sffrcers. I befeechilO! f hiuetedteffe/gainRthem.,^ .-^t^.: -^^ ' Sir /«A«,rii j«A».ram well icqoiime j ^i^i yoS^ ■-.I'^hinn th»lti)F.-5.if. ,Hi. Clf. ...ft, t?:._5. brow, nof mcK lie tlKow rnie thett/ oUt ih ou/thou baftardly rogCc.Muftier.'nJ^r- Fw, Fa/fi. Villaincs head: thfow the Que Wo/? Jhrmw me in the channel Wijjthau?wdti . „ . 1^^ tfiouHoiiyi(ucklc vUlaine.wilt thou kill Gods ol'- flctr^'afl the Kingsi" "Q thMhony.ftod Rogue, thou art al^;^3ih thi^ttome your pJacc.youtUmc ^fi^jjhojpd haue bene well oo yout way Stand !f^ him Fellow {wherefore hang" • ^■'^''.ii^hinp tht >.nibrow, i)ofTheii,rong«fwo(jif^' it: I d vpai jhe ealie-yeelHing Ip y<>/'••^ *< in ti^h rt^ Lord, . '*< ipra- ly.You tall hd»fe^j|Soldnes,ii,. If: mj^ wilcurtfie^dfiy nothing,1il Sit: < -3 T^m ("JSit Saw cinelTe: "j/ L •. . A e."J&^rtu^u$: No, "d(yourhumble<%rfmebretCf>vv,llJ;beyW- (it^.l&ytSyoiiJdrfirc^g^ccfc- ^^^fg'j^ "Vp^")'*^/ emp^oyrnen^m thTKitTos /CwSreS — j '*/., 7<5u Ipeakcif hauing poWer to'So wrong : Bin ^ an wer in th) cfEftk^yout Reputation, and fausfte the ■pore WothinJ ''*' ~"ij3 ^— -^ --—■ .'Jtf. Qjmehi^Hoftefle^^^ \^ij*rM;t<5»n: :*./«!#. No*M«fterCn» ■> ■i-.-Oi / r»^ LOST IN THE WILDERNESS. 567 Yea, this man's brow, like to a Title-leafe, Fore-tels the nature of a Tragicke Volume.^ I said to myself, if Bacon tells the story of the authorship of the Plays, he would be very likely to refer to this volume, or a volume. I counted the words. Volume was the 208th word on the first column counting from the top. I could not make 208 in any way the multiple of the page, 75. At a venture I added the total number of words on the preceding column, 248, to it, making 456. This, also, would not fit to page 74 or 75. Again I experi- mented. I added the total on the first column of page 74, 284 words. The sum then stood: On the first column of page 74 284 On the second column of page 74 248 On the first column of page 75 208 Total 740 = ' ' VOLUME. ' I divided 740 by seventy-four, the number of the page on which the count commenced, and I had exactly te/i ! 74X10=740. And there were ten words in brackets on the first column of page 74! Here was a revelation. I noticed the significant word mask in the same context with volume: Northumberland. Yea, this man's brow, like to a Title-leafe, Fore-tels the Nature of a Tragicke Volume: So lookes the Strond when the Imperious Flood Hath left a witnest Usurpation. Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? Morton. I ran from Shrewsbury (my Noble Lord), Where hateful death put on his ugliest Mas/ce To fright our party. Note the artificial character of the language, "a witnessed usurpation" — why witnessed 2 Again: Why would death put on a mask ? Is not the bare death's-head terrible enough ? A mask would subdue its horrors. I labored, over mask. I said to myself, Shakespeare was Bacon's mask. I could not match it with 74 or 75. At length, after much experimentation, this question occurred to me: Why might not the cipher run up the columns as well as down? I ' 2d Henry 11'., i, i. 568 THE CIPHER IN THE PLAYS. shrank from the proposition, as I did from every suggestion which increased the complexity of the work; but at length I went to experimenting. I first discovered a curious fact, that while the tenth word from the top of a column was, of course, the tenth word, you could not obtain the tenth word from the bottom of a column by deducting ten from the total of words on that column. If the reader will turn to the fac-sifnile, given herewith, on page 75, he will see that there are 447 words on the first column. If now he deducts ten from 447, the result is 437, to-wit, the word doing; but this is really not the tenth word from the bottom, for if he starts to count each word (skipping the two words in brackets), he will find that the tenth word is jne^ the next subsequent word to xioing. Thus: (i) gainsaid, (2) be, (3) ^'^ (4) great, (5) too, (6) are, (7) you, (8) 7vrong, (9) such, (10) me. The reader will therefore find, in accordance with this rule, that wherever I count /// a column in these pages, I deduct the number from the total of the column and add one, thus: 447 10 437+1 = 438 If now we apply this rule, and add together the words on the two columns of page 74, viz., 284-1-248 = 532, and deduct 532 from 740, we have left 208. We have seen that the 208th word from the top was the word volume. Now let us count 208 words up the same column: 447 208 23g+ I = 240 The 240th word is mask! If the reader doubts my accuracy, let him count up the column for himself. This might be a coincidence, but repeated experimentations proved that it was not, and that the cipher goes up as well as down the columns. Now, if we regard the first word of the first column of the first page as the starting-point of these words, we have the words 7>ol- ume and mask radiating out from that first word and going forward, the one down, the other up the column. Now let us start LOST /A' THE WILDERNESS. 569 from this same first word, and count backivard until we reach the 740th word: On second column of page 73 there are 237 words On first column of page 73 there are 169 " Total on page 406 ' ' If we deduct 406 from 740 the remainder is 334. The 334th word on the next column (second of page 72) is therefore. If we count up the column we have: Total words on column 58S Deduct 334 254+1 = 255 The 255th word is image. Now let us commence again at the top of the first column of page 74, and count down that column, and backward, until we reach the 740th word. We have: First column of page 74 284 words Second column of page 73 237 " First column of page 73 169 690 " If we deduct this 690 from 740 the remainder is 50. The fiftieth word down the next column is but. Let us count the fiftieth word up the column, thus: Total 588 Deduct 50 538+ 1 = 539 The 539th word is own. If we commence at the top of the first column of page 75 we have: 10X74 = 740 On first column, page 75 447 Remainder . . 293 The 293d word is his. Up the column it is the 2i5-i6th word, greatest. We found that the words mask and volume were the 208th words on that column. The 208th word on the first column of page 74 is wrath. After a long time, by a great deal of experimentation, I discov- ered that the count runs not only from the beginnings and ends of acts, scenes and columns, but also from the beginnings and ends of such subdivisions of scenes as are caused by the stage direc- tions, such as "Enter Morton," "Enter Falstaff,'-' "A retreat is sounded," " Exit Worcester and Vernon." " Falstaff riseth up," etc. \_ 570 TBE CIPHER IN THE PLAYS. If now we count the first subdivision of the first column of page 75, we will find it contains 193 words. If we start at the last word of the 193 and count upward and down the next column, we will lack thirty-nine of 740, thus: In subdivision first column, page 75 193 words. Second column, page 75 508 " 701 " Remainder 39 " 74^ " The thirty-ninth word from the top of the second column of page 75 is the word a. Now le^ us count thirty-nine up the next column (first column of page 76), thus: 498 39 459+1 = 460 The 460th word is said. We have seen that after counting the whole of page 74 (532), we needed 208 to make up 740, and that the 208th words yielded volume, mask and 7vrath. If we take that remainder, 208, and commence to count forward from the beginning of scene 4, page 73, column 1, we will find that the 208th word is slwivii, the 129th word on the 2d column of page 73. Again, if w^e com- mence at the same starting-point — the beginning of scene 4 — and count up, w^e find ninety words, which, deducted from 208, leaves 118; if now we count down the next column (2 of 72), we find that the ii8th word is a, while, if we count up, from the top of the second subdivision in the column (171st word), the 11 8th word is (53-)-! = 54) the word hide; while if we count down from the same point, the beginning of scene 4, page 73, there are 79 words; these being deducted from 208, it leaves 129: and the 129th word, counted down from the same 171st word, makes 300, the word prove; and up from the bottom of the next subdivision, 346, it makes (21 7 + 1 = 218) the w^ord counterfeit, which was used in that age for picture. Thus Bassanio says, on opening the casket, and finding therein Portia's miniature: What find I here? Fair Portia's counterfeit? What demi-god Hath come so near creation?' ' Merchant of Venice, iii, 2. \- LOST IN THE IVILDEKXESS. 57^ If we again take that remainder, 208, and begin to count from the top of the fourth scene, ist column of page 73, then we have 208 — 90 = 118, as before; and this, carried up the next column, yields 588— 118 = 470+1=471, Percy. If we now arrange these words together in some kind of order, we have Percy — said — /;/ — greatest — wrath — prove — image s,,07c>u — nJ>o;f — /lis — volume — hut — a — counterfeit — mask — hide my — otvn. But near the word volume, as I have shown, is the word title-leaf and near the but is the word face (57th word, 2d column of page 72), so that we can imagine a sentence reading something like this: Percy said he was in a state (134 — 2, 75) of the greatest ivrath, and would prove that the counterfeit image shojun upon the title-leaf of his volume is Intt a mask to hide ny own face. I said to myself: Although this interpretation may not be cor- rect, it is certainly surprising that such a concatenation of signifi- cant words should all be produced by finding the 740th word from points of departure clearly related and coherent; for in every case the count is from the beginning or end of page 74. Then I observed that if we multiplied 74 by 12 instead of 10, the result was 888; and if we commenced to count from the top of the first column of page 72, the result was 494, total on first column of page 72; this, deducted from 888, leaves 394,- which is the very significant word plays. Then I said to myself, Volume oi plays. Do the multipliers of 74 alternate? This led to making a series of tables of all the words produced by multiplying 74, 75 and 76, the three pages embraced in scene 1 of act i of 2d He my /J\, and a comparison of these revealed the following startling facts, which forever put an end to any doubts that might still linger in my mind as to the existence of a cipher in the Plays. If we multiply the last page in the scene, page 76, by 11, the number of bracket words on the first column of page 74 (count- ing the hyphenated word post-horse as two words), the result is, 76 X 11 = 836. Now, if we commence at the beginning of column i, page 74, and count forward to the 836th word, excluding bracket words and counting hyphenated words as one word, we have: 572 THE CIPHER EV THE PLAYS. On page 74 532 In first column page 75 304 Total 836 The 304th word in the first column of page 75 is the word found. If now we start from the top of the ?iext page, page 75, and again count to the 836th word, in the same way, excluding the bracket words and counting the hyphenated words as single words, we have the following: On first column page 75 447 On second column page 75 389 Total 836 The 389th word is out Here we have the combination " found out " — by the satne count from the beginning of two consecutive pages. This is remarkable; but it might be accidental. But here comes the astonishing feature of the discovery, which could not be accidental: If you multiply 75, the number of the second page of the scene, by 12, the number of words in italics on the first column of page 74, the result is 900. We found that the 304th word, found, on the first column of page 75, was the 836th word from the beginning of page 74, exclud- ing the bracket words and counting the hyphenated words as single words. How would it be if we counted in the bracket words and counted the hyphenated words as separate words ? Let us see: The word found is the 836th word. Bracket words, first column, page 74 10 Bracket words, second column, page 74 22 Bracket words, first column, page 75, preceding /(?//«^/ 13 — 45 words. Hyphenated words, additional, first column, page 74 8 Hyphenated words, additional, second column, page 74 . . . 2 Hyphenated words, first column, page 75, preceding /i. The first subdivision contains 28 words, the second 209 words; the column contains 237 words, besides three words in brackets, " (as we heare)," on the seventh line from the bottom. If these are counted in, then the column contains 240 words, and the second subdivision contains 212 words. This column, then, gives us these modifying numbers : Words in first subdivision 28 Words in second subdivision 209 Words in second subdivision, phis the bracket words 212 Words in column 237 Words in column, plus the words in brackets 240 Words from end of first subdivision to end of column 209 Words from beginning of second subdivision to end of column 208 Words from beginning of second subdivision, plus bracket words 211 582 THE CIPHER IN THE FLA VS. But it will be found hereafter that the modifying numbers found on page 73 are not used in the cipher narrative until the same has been first modified by the numbers obtained, in the same way, on page 74. That is, page 74 is used before page 73. We therefore turn to that page. The first column of page 74 contains no breaks or subdivisions. There are 284 words in the text, besides 10 words in brackets, 7 hyphenated words, and i hyphenated word inside a bracket — the word post-horse, on the fourth line. This gives us, therefore, the following numbers: Total words in column 284 Total words in column, plus words in brackets 294 Total words in column, plus hyphenated words 291 Total words in column, plus hyphenated and bracket words 301 Total words in column, plus all the hyphenated and bracket words in the column 302 We pass now to the second column. Here, as in the first col- umn of page 73, we have three subdivisions; and these two col- umns — the first of 73 and the second of 74 — constitute the magical frame on which the cipher principally turns, and it is from the marvelous interplay of the numbers found therein that the cipher narrative is wrought out. The first subdivision of the second column of page 74 con- tains 50 words; the second, 168; the third, 30; and the reader will observe hereafter how those figures, 50 and 30, play backward and forward through the cipher story; and he will see how the whole story of Shakspere's life, as well as Marlowe's, radiates out from that central subdivision, containing 168 words, or 167, exclu- sive of the first word. The second column of page 74 gives us, then, these figures: Number of words in first subdivision 50 Number of words in second subdivision 168 Number of words in third subdivision 30 Number of words from top of column to beginning of second subdivision .... 51 Number of words from beginning of second subdivision to end of same 167 Number of words from beginning of column to end of second subdivision. . . . 218 Number of words from beginning of column to beginning of third subdivision . . 219 Number of words from beginning of column to end of column 248 Number of words from beginning of third subdivision to end of column 29 Number of words from end of second subdivision to end of column 30 Number of words from end of first subdivision to end of column 198 Number of words from end of column to beginning of second subdivision. . . . 197 THE CIPHER FOUND. 583 But there are in this column 22 words in brackets and 2 hyphenated words. These are in the second and third subdivis- ions, and modify them accordingly. That is to say, there are 21 words in brackets in the second subdivision and i in the third; and there is i hyphenated word in the second subdivision and i in the third. Hence we have these additional numbers: Number of words in second subdivision 168 Number of words in second subdivision, plus 21 bracket words i8g Number of words in second subdivision, plus i hyphenated word i6g Number of words in second subdivision, plus 22 bracket and hyphenated words igo Number of words in third subdivision 30 Number of words in third subdivision, plus i bracket word 31 Number of words in third subdivision, plus 2 bracket and hyphenated words. . 32 The multipliers which produce the root-numbers are found in the first column of page 74. They are: 10 (the number of bracket words); 7 (the number of hyphenated words); 11 (the number of bracket words, plus the one hyphenated word, post-horse^ included in the bracket); and 18 (the total of bracketed and hyphenated words in the column). We have here, then, the machinery of Bacon's great cipher; and, as we proceed with the explanation of its workings, the wonder of the reader will more and more increase, that any human brain could be capable of compassing the construction of such a mighty and subtle work. The cipher story I shall work out in the following pages is but a small part of the entire narrative in these two plays. I break, as it were, into the midst of the tale, like one who overhears the mid- dle of a conversation between two men: he has not got it all, but from what he gleans he can surmise something of what must have preceded and of what will probably follow it. The root-numbers out of which the story grows are as follows: 505- 506, 513, 516, 523. These are the keys that unlock this part of the cipher story, in the two plays, ist and 2d Henry IV. They do not unlock it all; nor would they apply to any other plays. They are the product of multiplying certain figures in the first column of page 74 by cer- tain other figures. The explanation of the way in which they are obtained I reserve for the present, intending in the future to work 584 THE CIPHER IN THE FLA YS. out the remainder of the narrative in these two plays, which I here leave unfinished. It may, of course, be possible that some keen mind may be able to discover how those numbers are obtained and antici- pate me in the work. I have to take the risk of that. My publishers concur with me in the belief that the copyright laws of the United States will not give me any exclusive right to the publication of that part of tlie cipher narrative in the plays which is not worked out by myself. I shall therefore have worked for years for the benefit of others, unless in this way I am able to protect myself. "The laborer is worthy of his hire," and if such a discovery as this could have been anticipated by the framers of our copyright laws, they would certainly have provided for it. For if a man is entitled to gather all the benefits which flow from a new application of electricity, as in the telegraph or the telephone, to the amount of millions of dollars, certainly there should be some protection for one who by years of diligent labor has lighted a new light in litera- ture and opened a new gate in history. Neither do I think any reasonable man will object to my reserv- ing this part of the cipher. My friend Judge Shellabarger, of Washington, said in an address, in 1885, before a literary society of that city: If any man proves to me that in any writing the tenth word is oiir, the twen- tieth word Father, the thirtieth word rvho, the fortieth word art, the fiftieth word in, the sixtieth word heaven, and so on through the whole of the Lord's Prayer, we must confess, however astonished we may be, that such a result could not have occurred by accident; but that these words must have been ingeniously woven into the text by some one, at those regular and stated intervals. And if this be true when the cipher word is every tenth word, would it not be equally true if the Lord's Prayer occurred in the text at intervals represented by the following figures? loth word. i8th word. 27th word. loth word. 1 8th word. 27th word. Our Father^ who art in heaven, loth word. iSth word. 27th word. loth word. 1 8th word. 27th word. haUo7i'ed be thy name: thy kingdo?n loth word. i8th word. 27th word. loth word. i8th word. 27th word. come; thy 7vill be done on loth word. 1 8th word. 27th word. loth word. 1 8th word. 27th word. earth as it is in heaven. THE CIPHER FOUND. 585 That is to say, if the cipher narrative moves through the text not 10, 10, 10, etc., but 10, 18, 27; 10, 18, 27; 10, 18, 27, etc. And if this be true of a short writing, Hke the Lord's Prayer, does it not amount to an absolute demonstration if this series of numbers, or any other series of numbers, extends through many pages of narrative, from the beginning of one play to the end of another? Instead of the cipher story in these Plays being, as some have supposed, a mere hop-skip-and-jump collocation of words, it will be found to be as purely arithmetical, and as precisely regular, as either of the examples given above. 4-rfthcit» Young/Ziirrjf Percy, and braoe i^rchihU, Thar euer-valiani and approoucd Scot, At Holmeden met, where they did fpcnd A lad and bloody houre; As by difcharge ot their Artiileric, And fli.ipeofhkciy-lioodthc;iewes was told; For he that brougjlii tlicm, in the very hcato And pride of their canieiition, did take horfc, Vncertaine of the iffae any way. .K'tx^ Heereis a dcere ani true induftrious friend^ Sit H'altet !LVtf«r,new lighted from his Hotfc, Strain'd with the variation of each loyle. Betwixt that HolfHfdon,zr\th4t the true Piince,roay(for recreation fakc)proue a falfe thecfe ; for the pooreabufes ofihetime,wanc countenance. Far- wcll.you fhall findc mc m Eaftcheape. ' Prin. FatwcllthelatteiSoiing. Faiewell AlholIov;n Summer. Poy. Now, mygBedfwces Hony Lord, ride withvi tomorrow.ilhaucaiefliocxccuic:, that I cannot man- nagc alore. F.tl/laffe, Harney. P.nJJiil, and qads-hiH, fliall robbc thoCe men that wee hr-ue a!i rady way-laydc, your fclfcandI,wilnotbetherc:3ndiAhcn(hey hauc the boo- ty, if you a'nd I do not rob ihcm,^cut this head from my fiioulders. Prin.^vK how fhil w^ part with them in fctting fonh? Ptyn. \Vhy,we wil fct forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of n ectiiig, whcrin it is at our plea- fiire to faile ? and then will they aduenturc vppon the ex- ploit thcinfelucs, which they fliall haue no foonet atchie- ucd, but wcc'l fct vpon them. PrtA. l.bnttis! ke that they will know vs by out hoifesby our habiiSjSnd by cucry other appointment to beoui felues. Toy. Tut our hotfes they fhali not fee. Tie tyc them in I the wood, out vizoids wee will change aftei wee Icaue { them : and furah, 1 haue Cafes of Buckram for the DoncCj to immaske ournotcd outward garments. Prin. But I doubt they will be too hat d for vs. £ein, WcU.for two of ihcm, I know them to bee as true bred Cowaids as eiier turn'd backc.and for the third if he fight longer then he fecjreafon,IIeforfwear Armes, The veituc ofthisleft will be.thcincoroprehenfjblelyes that this fat Rogue will tell vs,when we meete at Suppers how thirty at leaft he fought with, what Wardes, what blowcs,^whatextrcn^itiesheendured;a^d in thercproofc ofthii, lyes the ieft. TriK. Weil, Ik goe with thee, prouide vi all things neceffary, and meete roc tomorrow night in Eancheap& there lie fup. Farewell. f £>■», FarewclLroy Lor^. ExitPmta, Prin. I know you all, and will a-while rphold The vnyoak'd humor of your idleneflc : Yetheetein will I imitate the Sunne, Who doth permit the bafe contagious cloudcs To fmothet vp hii Beauty from the world. That when he plcale againe to be himfeife. Being wanicd,he may be mote wondrcd ar. By breaking through the foulc and vgly niiils Of vapours, that did feeme to (Iran'gle him. If all the yearc were playing holidaics, To fport, would be as tedious as to worke ; But when they Icldomc come, they wiflit-for cosne. And nothing plcafeth but rare accidents. So when this loofebchauiour I throw off, And pay the debt 1 neucr prorailed ; By how much better then my word I am. By fo much fhall 1 falfifie mem hopes, And Lke bright Mettall on a (ullen ground : My reformation glittering o'rc my fault. Shall fhew more goodly, and attraft rnor*; eyes. Then that which hath no foyle to fct it off, lie fo offend, to make offence a skill, Redeeming ttme^\vhen men thinke leafl I will. Sc(£rja Tertia, Eater the Kin^,Northnh}krl.wdJf^orcefier,HotJpnrref Str IS^dser "Blnnt, and others. King, My blood hnth bscnc too cold and temperat^ Vnapt to f^irre at the le indignities. And you haue found me ; for accordingly. You tread vpon my patience : But be furc, I will from henceforth rather be my Selfc, Mighty, and to befear'd, then my condition Which hath beenc fmooth at Oylt,fofc as yoflgDowne, And therefore loft that Title of refpeft, Which the proud foulc ne'rc paycsjbut to the proud, H-'or. Our hojjfe (my Soueraigne Liege)littlc defcruei The fcourge of greatneffe to be vfed on it, And that fame gteatncfic too, which out owne handi Haue holpe to make fc portly. Nor, My Lord. King. Worcefter get thee gone : for I do fee Danger and difobedience in thine eye. O fir.youi prefenceis too bold and peremptory. And Maiefbe might ncuet yet endure The moody Frontier of a fcruant brow, You hauegoodleauetoleaue vs. When we need Yourvfe and counfelUwe (hall lend for you. You were about to fpeake. North, Yea, my good Lord. Thofe ^ TheFirfi Tan ofJ^in^Henry tbeFmrtL Hot. Buefoft Ipray you ; did King Riehardxkta. Prodaimc my ft other Manimttj Heyrtto the Crowne ? , ' 'Xfltt. Hedid, myfeffedicfheareir. Hot. Nay then 1 cannot blame his Coufin KIn<», That wifli d him on the Darren Mountaines (laru'd. But fhall it be, thacyoulhat let the Crowne , Vpon the head of this forgctfull man. And forhts iake.worc thc-detefted bloc Of murtherous fubomation? Shall it be. That you a world of curfes vndergoe. Being the Agents, or bafe fecond meanes. The Cords, the Ladder, or the Hangman rather ? O paTdoiijif that I defcend fo low, To /hew the Line, and the Predicament Wbcrcinyou range vnder this fubtill King. Shall it for fti3nie,be fpoken in theCe daycs. Or fill vp Chronicles in time to come. That men of your Nobility and Power, Did gagethcm both in an vniutt behalfe (As Both of you, God pardon it, haue done) To put downr Ru:hard, that fwect loucly Rofe, And plant this Thome, this dnkevUuIJtv^Srook;^ And (hall it in more fhamc be further fpoken. That you are foord, tiifcardcd.and fliookeoft' By him, for whom thefe fhamcs ye vnderwent ? No : y« time ferties, wherein you may ledcerne Your baflifh'd Honors, and rcflore your fclues Into the good Thoughts of the world againe. Reuenge the geering and difdain'd contempt Ofthts proud King, who ftudies day and nighc To anfwer all the Debt he owes vnto you, Ei.cn with the bloody Payment of your deaths s Therefore I fay • i^o>^ Peace Coufin. fay no more. And now 1 will vnclaspc 2 Secret booke. And to your quicke conceyuing Difcontcnts, lie rcade you Matter, decpe and dangerous. As full ofpcrill and aducnturoui Spine, Astoo're-walkca Current, roaring lou3 On the vfiRedfaft footing of a Spcarc. Hot. 11 he fall in, good night, or hoke or fwitnme : Send danger from the EalJ vnto the VVctt, So Honor crofTe it from the North to South, And let them grapple : The blood more Ibrres To rowze a Ly«n,then to ftart a Harc- JVor Imagination offome great exploit, Driues him beyond thebounds ofPatiencc. Hot. By heiuen, me thinkes it were an eafieleap, Toplucke bright Honor from the pale-fac d Moone, Or diue into the bonome oi the deepe, WherePadome-line could neuer touch the ground, And pluckc vp drowned Honor by the Lockcs : Sohethat'dothredeemcher thence, might wcarc Without Co-rruall,all'lier Dignities: But out vpon this halfe-'fnc d Ecllowfhip, iFbr. Hcappreheiids a World of Figures here, Bnt not the forme of what he fhould attend : Good Coufin giUe me audience for a-while. And lift to me. Hot. 1 cry you mercy. fFo-/. 1 hofc fame Noble Stoites That arc your Ptifoncrs, .,Hot. illckccpethcm alL By iicauen, fie iT.^ll eat haue a Scot of them :\;\ No. jf a Scot would hue his Soulcjhe Ihallnot.i ' lie keepe them, by thb Hand. M^or. You ftarc away. And lend no care vnto my purpofes. Thofe Ptifoncrs you fliall keepe. Hot. Nay, I will ; that's flat : He faid, he would not ranfome Mommeri Forbad my tongue to fpeakcot .l/en/wo-. But 1 will finde hira when he lyes afleepc. And in hiseare. He holla Mortimer. Nay, He haue a Starlirig {hall be taught to fpeake Nothing but Mortimer, znd giue it him. To keepe his anger ftill in motion. U^or. HearcyouCoufiuraword. Hot, All ftudies heerc I foleninly defie, Sauehow to gall and pinch rhis BuRiuqdroohei And that fame Sword and Buckler PrTnce of Wales. But that I thinkehis Father loues him not, And would be glad he met with fomc mif chance^ I would hauepoyfon'd him with a pot of Ale, ivor. Farewell Kinfinan : lie talketo you When yon arebctter tempei d to attend. iVar.'.Why what a Wafpe-tongu'd & impatient foole Art thou, to breakc into this Womans mood, Tying thine cate to no tongue but thine ownc T Hot.Why look you, I am whipt & fcourg'd witbiodi, Nctled,and ftung with Pifmires.whcn Ihcarc Of this vile Politician "Buninglirooke. laSjchards time : What de'ye call the place ^ A plague vpon't, it is in Glouflerihite : 'Twas,wherc the madcap Duke his Vnclekepi, His Vndc Yorke,K here I jlrfl bow'd my knee Vnto this King of Smiles, this Bullmiheokei VVhen you and he came backe ftom' Ranenfpurgb. Nor. AtBarkJeyCafilc, Hot. You fay true : Why what a caudie dcale of curteHe, This fawning Grey hound then did proffer met Looke v;hen his infant Fortune came to age, And gcnde H^rrj Percy, and kinde Ccufin : O, the Diuell take fuch Coiizcners,God forgiueme. Good Vnde tell your tale, for 1 haue done. fyor. Nay, if you haue not, coot againe, Wee'l flay your leyfure. Hot. 1 haue done inCooth. ff^or. Then once more to yout Scottifh Prifoners. Deliuer them vp w'thout their ranfome flraight. And make the i!)ow^/.C<«r. What Oftlcr;comc away.andEchangd.'Come away, a.dr. 1 haue a Gammon of Bscon, land two razes of G5nger,tobe deliuered at fatreasCharing-crofle. XcCar. TheTutkiesinmy Pannier arc naitc fiarued. WhacOftler? A plague on thee,haft thou nrtK?ran eye in thy head PCan'ft not hcarc ? Andt'were notasgooci a deed as drinkc, to break thepate oftheej am a very Vil- binc. Come and b&hang'd,haft no faich in thcc ? Enter Cudt-htH. Qad. Good'morrow Carriers. What's a cloclcc? Car, 1 thinke icbe two a clockc. Cad. J prqthec lend mc thy Lanthomc t» fee my Gel- V dingintbeftable. I ,Car. Nay fofe Tptay ye, I know a trick worth cw« of chat. Cad, Ipretheclendmethine. ■a.Ctfr. !jWhcn, canft tell f Lend meethy Lanthorue (quoth.a) marry He fee thee hang'd drft. Cad. SiriaCattier:What'timcdo you mean to come to London? ilC/ir. Time enough to goc to bed with a Candle, 1 warrant thee. Come neighbour t-^f»g^w, wee'll.call vp the Gentlemen, they wilWong with company, for they haue great charge. ExtuMt EfftW Chamherlaint, Gad. What ^o, Chamberlaine ? Cham. At hand quoth Pick-pUtfe, Gad. That's cuen as faire,as at hand quoth the Cham- bcrlaioc : For thou varieft no more from pickhtg'ofPor- fes, then giuing dire£lion, doth from labouting . Thou lay ft the plot, how. (^bapf. Good morrow Maftet Gads- Hill, it holds cur- rant that 1 told y^ou yeftetnight. There's a Ftanklin in the wildc of Kent, hath brought three hundred Markes with him in Gold: I heard nim tell it to one of his company lad ni ght at Supper ; a kinde of Auditor, one that hath abun- dance of charge too (God knowcs what) they are»p al- ready, and call for Egges and Butter. They will away prefcntly.^ Cad, Sirra, if they ineete not with S .Nicholas CIark»^ lie giue thee this nccke.. (^bam. No, Jle none of it : I prythec ktcp that for the Hangman, fori know thou worrtiipftS.Nitholas as ttiin ly as a man of filflnood may. Cad. WhattalkeftthoutoineofiheHangman? If I hang, llemakeafatpayrcofGallowes. JFor, ifl.hang» old Sir Fohn hangs with mee, and thoM know'lt hee's no Starucliiig. Tut, there arc other Troians that ^ dream'ft not of, the which (for fpott fake} are content to doc the Profeffion fome grace ; that would (if matters fhould bee look'd into) for their owne Credit fake, make all WhoFe. lamioynedwiihnoFoot«la!id»Kakcrs, no Long-fiaffc fix-penny Rrikcrs, none of theft mad Muftachio-purplc- hu*d-MaIc\vormcs, but with Nobility, andTranquiliiie; Bourgomaftcrs, and great Oneycrs, fuch as can hoId« in, fuch as will firike fooner then fpcakc ; and fpeakc (boner then drinke- and drin\-e fooner then pray: and yet Hyp, for they pray continually vnto their Saint the Ccjnmon- wealth i or rather, not to pray to her, but prey on her:for they tide vp & Jownc on hcr,and make hir their Boots. Cham. What,thc Commonwealth theit Bootesi WiH ffic hold out water in foule way? Gad. She wilKfiie will; luftice hath liquor'd her. We fteaie as in a Caftlccockfurc: we haue the receit of Fern- fccde,wewalkeinuifible, (liaKfs. Nay , 1 thinke rather^ ^bu are more beholding to the Night, then to:hefernfeed,fotyour walking in- uifiblc. Cad. Giue me thy hand. Thou (halt haue a iharc in our purpofe. As lama true man. Chaii, Nay, rather let mce hauclt, as yowwela falfe Thcefc. Cwf. Goctoo: H«iw(7 is a common name to all men. Bid the Oilier bring tfte Gelding out of the liable. Fare- well.ye muddy Knaue, Exemt. e t Sena H The Firjl^artofK^n^ Henry the tmnk Sc^naSecmda, £fifet'P.rt»ee,PojHer^gndPeto. Poifies. ComefiicIter,fhcIcer, Ihaueremoaedf/rJ?/?/)' Horfe,and fidft^s like a gum d Vduet. PriH, Stand'clofe. Enter faljhffe. '^al,' PoinesJ'oines, and be hang'd Poiatf, Pritt. Peace yc fat-kidney'd Rafcall, whac a brawling doflthoultccpe. ¥al. What /*«/»3lJ.GiLemy Horfc you Rogues : giue me my Horfcand be hang'd; Tfifl. 'Peace ye fat guttes,- lye downe, lay tliine ear* cttffe to the ground^and Kft irthou can bcarc the ittiisl TrattcUcrs. :'JP*t. Haae you asy t eaaers to lift roe vp agalnljtlng downe ? He not bearc nnne owne fleflb fo far ztooi again, for aili tbe coine in thy Fathers Exchequer.What a plague meane yeto colt mc thus ? PriH.Thovi ly'ft.thou arc nor coltcd,ihou arc vncoIlcS. Fdtl prethec good Prince f/««; Sirra lacke.thy horfc ftands behfnde the he^ig^ when thon necd'ft him, there thou {halt findehim. Fare* wcll.andttandfaft.' Wdl. Now cannot I ftrVke him.if I fhouldbe hang'd. , ^Prm.JNed, where are our difgulfcj ( 7'ow. Hecrc hard by : Stand clofc> Pal. Now my Maftcfs, happy man be his dole, fay I x euerymanto his bufineflc 3'nteh' Trauellers. Tra. ComeNeighboif: the boy lliall leadeoutHosres dowhc the hill : Wee'l vvalkc a-foot a wbile^and cafe our Leggcs* ThteueSi Stay. Tr*. Icfubleflevs. Jd. Strile down with them, cut the villain j throaff; a whorfon Caterpillars : Bacoi) fed Knaues, they Jiate vs youth jdownc with them.fleece ihem.J 7rroughtthQfehorle4fi:QlheShtriffe? \ 55 Ser. Onehorfe,myXord,hc broughceueanoWi. ^o/^u WbatHotlc ? A Roane,a crop earc.is it not. Ser. It IS my Lord, HoL ThatKoancflianbcn^Thranc. Well, Ivwil) baxkchimftraight. E/^froaff^bidJSMtZnr lead biro totth, into the Parke. L,a. Bniheareyou.my Lord. flot. What fay'ft Uiou my Lady J X'(t. Whatisitcarriesyouaway? Hot. W hy,my horfe(my toue^my hor(c. La. Oucyoumadrheaded Ape, a WcazellbatbjiW fuch a dcale of Spleene, as y ou are^o.fii withi Ih footh lie know your bufinefle/f^fr;, that I wjlh I-fcate my Bro- chcc.tell me if thou fpeak'ft inielKorno* Hot, Cdme, wilt thou fee me ndc? And when I am a horfebacke. 1 will iwcare I loue thee infinitely. But heatkc you Kate^ I muft not haue you hencetotth,queftion me,, Whether I go : nor reafon whereabout* Whetli^t I muft, I mutt: and to conclude, This Euening muft I leaue thce,gent|e Kate. Tknowyouwifcbut yetnofurth«wif« Then Harry ipercies wife. Coriftant ^ou arc. But yet a woman : and for fecrccie,*' No Lady clofecLFor 1 -will bcleeuer Tnou wilt not vtier what thou do'ft not know, And fa farrc wiltl rruft thee,gentleKate,, td. Howlofarrc? //(If .Not an inch further. Buibarlce you Kate^] Whither T go, thither (hall you go too : To day will I fet forth, to morrow you* Wni this rontent you Kaie i Zrf. It muft of force. SxtHHt Scena Qmrm^ £nttr Prinee:attdPointti, Prin; TVW.pretheecomeoutoftbasiatMOmcj^ lend nie thy hand to laugh a little; Tolnes, Where haB hem Hall ? 3?m. Witliibree or fourcLoggeirheads j amongft 1 or fourefcorcHoglheads. I haue founded the vctie bafc firing of humility, Sirra,Tam fwotn brother to a leafti of Drawers. and can call them by their name$.3sT«>?fJ)»f%, and Francis. They.iake italteadv vponthfiir confidence; that though I be but Prince of Wales, jet lain jfee King of GuTieficrtellingmc flatly I am no proud lack like Falf /tafftthoi a Corinthian.a lad of mettle.-.:3 good boy, and when 1 am King of England,! fliall command al mc good Laddcs in Eaft-chcape. They caff drinking dcepc,;dy- •ing Scarlet J and whcnyou breath in youtwaciin^jjhcn e ? they 56 TheFtrfl Tart ofK^ng Henry the Fourth, cbeyxryhemjandbidyouplay it off. To conclude, I am i"o good aproficient ia one quarter of an houre.that I can drinjce with any Tinker in his owne Languap^c duringmy life. I tell thee Nei^^o^x haft loft much honor, that thou wcr't no: with me in this action : b\Jt fwcct Ned,io fwee- ten which name of Nf(i,I giue thee this peni worth of Su- gar, clap: cucn now into my hand by an vndcr Skinker, cncihatneucrfpakcotherEnglirn inhislifc, then Eight pjtlltags nfidji.xpeKCe, and, Ton art rfckctne : with this fliril z6ii\(.'\on,ey4Kon,sy^»c>i Jir, Score a Pinto fBiifiiird in the Hdfe Moone ,01 fo. But Ned, to driuc away time till Vd. y?4^con)e, Iprytheedocthou Hand in fomeby-roomt, whilcl queftion my puny Drawer, to what end hee gaue nic the Sugar, and doncuer Icauc calling Tntncis, that his TalMo me may be nothing but. Anon : ftcp afide, and lie ftiew thee a Prefident. Poines. FrAncU. PriH, Thou art pcrfciS. Posn. Francis. Enter'Drawer. Ttah. Anon,anon fir ; looke downc tnto the Pomgar- WtttRalfe, Prince. Come hither Fr.tficif. Fran, My Lord. Pri». How long haft thou toferuc, Francis? Fran. Forfoothfiucyeare$,3ndas much as to— — P0i>f. Francii. Fran. Anon,anonfir. Priu. Fil!cyearcs^ Bctlady a long Leafe tor the clin- king of Pewter. But Francis, dareft thou be Co valiant, at to play the coward with thy Indenture, & fiiew it a faire paiteof heeles,and run from it? Fran. O Lord fir, lie be fworne vpoii ali the Books ia England,! could finde in my heart. Paift. Francis. Fran, Anon^anon fir, Prin, How old art thou,Fr ? Fran. Let me fee, about Michaelmas nextl fiialbe— Pei». Francis. Frait. Anon fir, pray you ftay alittlcniyLord.- Prin. Nay but hatke you Francis, for the Sugar thou gaueft rae,'twas a peny worth,wss't not > Fran. O Lord fir, I would it bad bene two. Priif. I will giue thee for it a thoufand pound : Aske rocwhcn thou wilt,3nd thou (balthaucit. Poin. Francis. Frav. Anon,anon. JPrin.Anon Francis? No Francis.but to raorrow Fran- cis : or Francis,on thurfday :or indeed Francis when tho" wilt. But Francis. Fran. My Lord. Pritf, Wilt thou rob this Leathctneletkin, Chriftall button, Not-patedjAgat ring, Piike flocking, Caddice garter. Smooth tongue,Spaniili pouch. Fran. O Lord firjwho do you mcane r , Priir. Why then your browne Baftardis youronety drinke : for lookc you Fr3ncis,your white Canuas doub- let will fullcy. In B.irbary fir,it cannot come, to fo much, Fran. What fir f Pcin. Francis. Prm. Away yonRogue,doftitiouhcare them call? fffirethsf both Citllhl'n, the DrtW/erJiands amazed, vet ki-orvhigV'bichffay logo. , Enter Vintner Viiit^ .Whatyftand'll thou ftill^and hear'ft fuch a Cal- ling PLooketoihcGutfts within. My Lord, oldcSir lehu with halfe a dozen more,arc at the doorc : fliall ] ]« them in? Pria. Let than alone awhilcjand then open the door? Poines, Enter Peinet. Pom.^Mon,mon{v. Prin. Sirra, FalJ}«ffe and the reft oftheTheeucs,ateat ths doorejftiall we be merry ? Poin. As mcrrie as Crickets my Lad. Butharkeyee What cunning match haue you made with this ieft ofthe Drawer? Come,what's thciflue? Prin.l am now of all humors,that liauc flicwed them. fclucs humors, fincc the old dayes of goodman yiJam, to the pupil! age of this prcfent twelue a dock at midnight. What's a clocke Francis ? Fran. Anon,anonfir. Prin. That eucr this Fellow fhould haue fewer words thcnaParret, andyet thefonncofaWoman. Hisindu- flry is vp-ftaires and down-ftaircs, his eloquence the par- cell o*^a reckoning. I am not yet offcrcies mind/he Hot- Ipurre ofthe North, he that killes me fome fixe or feaucn do7.cn of Scots at a Brcakfaft, waflies his hands.and faies to his wife ; Fie vpon this quiet life, I want worke. O my j fwcet H.pry fayes flie, how many haft thou kill'd to day? Gi.ic my Roane horfe a drench (faycs hee) and anfweres, fome fourtecne,an houre after : a triiSe.a tr.iflc. J prethee call mFal(}ajfe,l\e play Percy, and that danm'd Brawne fhall play Dame C^lortimer his wife,/?;»»,f3ycs the tlrun- kard. Call in Ribs,call in Tallow. Er.ter Falfiaffe. P««. 'Welcome lackcjwherc baft thou beene? Fal. A plague of all Cowards I f3y,iand a Vengeance too, marry and Amen. Giue me a cup of Sacke Boy. Eic' I Icade this lifelong, He fowe nether ftoc'.-es, and mend them too. A plagueof all cowards. GiuemcaCap of Sacke, Rogue. Islhereno Vertne extant i Prin. Didft thouncQci: fee Titan kifle a difli of Butter, pittifuU hearted Titan that melted at the fwcete Taleof the Sunne?Ifthondidft,thcn.behold that compound. Fal. YouRogue^hcere'j Lime in this Sacke too:th«rc is nothing but Roguery to befound in Villanous manjyet a Coward is worfc then a Cup of Sack with lime. A vil- lanous Coward, gothywayesoldlacke', die when thou wilt,if manhood.good manhood be not forgot vpon the face of theearth,thenaml a ftiotten HeriTng : there liocs not three good men vnhang'd in England, & one of them is fat,and gro wes oId,God helpe the wbile,a bad worldl fay. I would I werea Wcauer.I couldfing all manner of foiigs. A plague ofall Cowards,! fay ftill. Prin. HownowWooIfacke,whatmnttcryou? Fal. AKings Sonnef Ifl do notbeate thee out ofthy Kingdomc with a dagger of Lath, and driue all thy Sub- ic(5ls afore tlice like a fiockc of Wilde-geefe, Ileneuct wcarchaireon my face move. You Prince of Wales? Prin, Whyyou horfon round manrwhat's the matter? Fal. Are you not a Coward? Anfwer me to that, aird ?«■»« there?' " ' Prin. Ye fatch paunch, and yeccsUmeeCowarAlfe ftab thee, Fal. I call thee Coward ? He fee thee damn'd ere I call the Coward; but! would giuea thoufandpound Icould runasfaftasthotfcanft. Youarefiraight enoughinthe flioulderj, you care not who fees your backe : Call you . that ^heFirJlTa rt of Henry ihe Fourth. 57 that backing of your friends? a plague vpon fuchbac. king; giuc mc them that will face me. GiucmeaCup of Sack, I am a Rogue if I drunke to day. . Frittce. O Villainc^ thy Li£pes iit (carce wip'dj fince ,thoudrunk'ftIaft.> Wtklfi, All's onie for that. Htdrinkes^. Aplagucof r.11 Cowards (lill.fay I, ¥ri>!ce. What's the matter ? ; TalJI. What's the matter? here be foure of vs, hane ta'ne a thoufand pound this Morning, Pmce. Where is hjacl^ f where is it ? Wdfi' Where is it ? taken ftom vj^it is; a hundred vponpoorefoure of vs. Fn»ce. What, a hundred, man? Ealfi. I am a Rogue,if I were not athalfc Sword with a dozen of them two houres together. 1 haue fcapcd by miracle. 1 am eight time* thtuft through the Doublet, fourc through the Hofe, my Buckler cue throug'n and tnrough, my Sword hackt likeaHand-faw,tfcc^y7^»«?w. Ineucrdealt better fince I was a man: all would not doe. A plagi'c of all Cowards: let them fpeakc; if they fpeake more or lefTe then truth^they are villaincs, and the fonnes ofdarkncde. frince. Spcake (irs,how was it ? Ctd, We fourc fst vpon foroe dozen. Wttlji' Sixtccnc.at Icaft.my Lord-. Ctid, And bound them, Peta. No,no, they were not bound, Valji. You Rogue, they were bound, eueryman of them, or I am a lew e!fc,an Ebrew lew. Cixd. As wc were ftiating/ome fixe or feuen frcfii men fetvponvs. Talft. And vnbound the reft , and then come in the other. Tr'mce. What^fbuglit yee with them all ?' Faljl. All ? I know not what yee call all : but if I fought not with fiftie of them, 1 am a bunch of Radifn : if there were not two or thtec and fiftie vpon poore olde lackey then am I no iwo-legg'd Creature. Pom. Pray Heaucn, yoa liaue not murtheied fome of them. . falft. Nay, that's paft praying for, I haue pepper'd two of them: Two 1 am furel haue payed, two Rogues inBuckrom Sutes. 1 tell thee what, Hal, if I tell ihce a Lye,fpit in my facc,call me Horfc; thou knowefl my olde word: here I lay .and thus Ibore my point; foure Rogues in Buckrom let driuc at me. Priwcf. What/ourc? thou fayd'ft but two.cuen now. Falfl. Foure Wit/,! told thcc fourc:. fern. l,I,he faid foure. Ttilfl. Thefe foure came all a-froat,and mainely thruft 4t mc ; I made no more adoe. but lookc all their feucii points in my Targuet.thus. frwce. Seuen P why there were but foure.cuen now, ftdfti In Buckrom. pein, IjfourCjin Buckrom Sutes. ftilfi-. Seucn,by thefe Hilts,or I am a Villaine elfe- Trift. Prethee let him aionc,we (liali haue more anon. J'rf^. Doeftthouhearcmc,H«// PrtH. Land markc thcc too, Jack^^ Falfl. Doc fojforit is worth the iiRningtoo: theft: nine in Buckroni,th3t I told thee of. frin. SOjtwo more alreadie. Falfi. Their Points being broken^ Pow. Downc fell his Hofe. ^ttlfi. Began to giueroe ground : butl followed sne clofcjcme in foot and handjand with a thought,feuen of ihce'eueulpay'd, Prin. O jr.onflrous ! elcuen Buckrom men grawne out of two ^ Tatfi^ EutastheDeuill woiJd haue it, three mif-bc- gotten Knaues/m Kendall Greene, came at my Back, and let driue at me; for it was fo darke^ffe/.that thou could'ft not ftc ihy Hand. Prin. Thefe Lyes are like the Father that begets them, grortc as a Mountaine,optn,palpablc. Why thou Clay- bray n'd GutSjthou Knotty, pated Foole.thou Horfon ob fccnc greafie Tallow Catch, Fttlfi, What,arithouro2dr art thou mad? isnot;he truth,thc truth ? Priu. Why, how ctfuld'rt thou know theie men in Kendall Greene, when i: was fo darke, thou could'P; not fee thy Hand i Come.tell vs your reafon:what fay'P. thou to this? Poin. Comc,you! reafon /jc^^ycurreafon, F.tlfti What,vpon compullion ? No : were I at the Strappado, or all the Racks in the World, I. would not rellyou on compulfion. Gi'ue you a reason on tomi-ulfi- on ? If R.ca!ons were as plentie as Black-bertiesJ v>^ouid giue noman a Realbn vpon compulfionjl. Prin. He be no longer guiltie of this fmnc. This fan- g'jineCow.ird,tbis Berf j>rcfler,this Horf-bac''.-breakcr, this huge Hill of Fiefh. ^Falfl. AwayyouScariieling,youElfe-skin,you dried Neats tongue, Bulles-piffcll, you ftocke.firti:0 for breth to vtter. What is like thee? You Tailors'y ard,y ou Hicath you Bow-cafcyou vile ftandingtucke. PrtTi, Well, breath a-while,and then to't againe • and when thou haft tyt'd thy fclfe in bafe comparifons^ hearc mcfpeakebuttbusi "Pain. Markciacke» T>ri». Wc twojfaw you foure fet on foure andbownd them,and were Mafters of their Wealth : mark now how aplaineTalelhallputyoudownc. Then did vje two, fet on you foiire,and with a word, outfac'd you from your prize, and haue it : yca,and can (bew it you in the Hcufe . And FAlJ}ajfe,yoa laried your Guts away as nimbly, with as quickc dexteritie,and roared for mercy, and ftill ranne and roar'd, as eucrl heard BuU-Calfe. What a Slaueart thou, to hacke thy fword as thou haft done, and then fay it was in fij?,hr. What trick? what deuiccS? what ftarting hole canft thou now findoutjto l"dc thee from this open and apparant fliatKc ? Poines. Come, let's heaie lacke : What tricke haft thou now? Fal. I knew ye as well as he that made yc. Why hears ye my Mafters, was it for me to kill the Heire apparant? Should i furne vpon the true Pif ince? Why , thou knovveft I am as valiant as Hsrcules : but bcwate. Inftind, the Lion will not touch the true Prince : Infl, 3 is a great matKer. I was a Coward &n [nftin&. I fhall thinkethe bejfsr of my felfe, and thee, during my life : I, foi a valiacE Lion, and thou for a true Prince. But Lads.I am glad you haue tb*Mony . Hoftc-Te.clap to the doores: watch Eo night, pray to morrow. Gallants, Lads,Boyes, Harts of Gc-icS, all the good Titles of Fellowfcip corac to you . What, (hall we be merry? fliall we haue, a P!ay extcmpory. Prsn. Content,£nd the argument Iball be^ thy tunijig away. Fat. AjHo more of that K<3//,and thoulousf^ me. e>it(r Hofiefe. Hojt. My Lord, the Piincc ? Pfirt. -- < 58 PriH. How now Doy Lady the Hottcfl'e , what fay'ft .thou CO ere ? hojlejfe. Matry,my lord, there ba Noble man cFthe Comt at doorc would fpeakc with you: hce fayes,hee comes from your Father. Prw. Giue him as much as will make him a Royall m3rf,and fend him backs againe to my Mother. FAlfi. What manner of man is hce ? Hopejfe. An old man. F<»//?. What doth Crauitie out of hi? Bed at Midnight? Shall I giuehimhis anfwere) Prin.. Prethee doe lAc^f^ TaIJi, 'Faith.and Ilc.fcndhirn packing. Exit, , Prince, Now Sirs : you fou<^ht fiiiic ; To did you Peto, fo did yo\X Bardnt.- youari Lyons too, you ranne away vpon inftinft j you will not togch the true Prince;- no, fie. Bard. 'Faith,! rartne when I (aw Ctliers runnc. Pritt. Tell mee now in earned, how came Fnlfiajfes Sword fo hackt i Peto. Why,he hackt tt \/ith his Dagger, and faidjhee would iwcare truth out of England.but liee would make youbeleeue it was done in fight,andperftvaded vs to doe the like, ZBard' Yea,and to tickle out Nofes with Spear-gralTe, C3 make them bleed, and then to beflubbcr our garments with it, and iwcave it was the blood of true men, I did thatldid not this feuen yteres before, I bluflK to hcare his monftrous deuices. Pria, O Vdlaine,thouftoIcftaCup of Sicke eigh- teeneyeeres agoe, and were taken with the banner, and euer fince thou haft bluflit extempore : thou hadft fire and fword on thy fide, and yet ihou rsnft away ; what inRindl hadfi thou for it ? "Bard. My Lord, doe you fcc thcfe Meteors ? doe you behold thcfe Exhalations ? Prin. 1 doe. "Bard, What ihinke you they portend? Prin. Hot Liucrs,and cold Purfes. 'Btrd. Choler,my Lord.if rightly taken, Trin. No,if tightly taken, Halter, Enltr Pdfiafe. Hcere comes leane /'<«c^(?,hecre comes bare-bone. How now my fweet Creature of Bombaft, how long is't agoe, /<»ci^,fince thou faw'ft thine ownc Knee ? Palfi. My owne Knee ? When T was about thy yeerei {Hal) I was not an EaglcsTalcnc in the Wafle, 1 could haueerept into any Aldcrmans Thumbe-Ring : a plague of fighing and griefe, it biowes a man vp like a Bladder. There's villanous Newes abroad : heere was Sir lehn 'Brahy from your Father ; you mufl goc to the Court in the Morning, The fan:e mad fellow of the North, Pir^-; and hee o\ Wales, that gauc e-^wrfww the Baftinado, and made Lwifir Cuckold, and fwore the Deuill his true Lieoc-man vpon the Croflc of a Welch->hooke; yvhata plague call you him? Pair). 0,C/endower, Talfi. Ovfift^Oivoi ; the fame, and his Sonne in Law LMortimer, and old Werthnmlierlatid, and the fprightly Scot of Scots, Dcw^g/rf/, that runnes a Hotfc-backc vp a Hill perpendicular. Prin. Hce that rides athigh fpecde.and with aPifioU killi a Sparrow .^ying,' f«»^/*, that Spirit Pct'9', an J that Deuill G/fWflwr.' Art not thou horiiblc afraid ? Doth not thy blood thfH at it ? Prin. Not a whit: IlackeromcofihyinfiindK FAlfi. Well thou wilt be horriblcchiddc to morrow, when thou commefl to ihy Father ; if thou doe loue jnc, pradble an anfwctc. Prm, Doe thou ftand fonny Father,3nd examine met vpon the particulars of my Life. Talfi, Shall 1? content : This Chayre (hall. bee mj State* this Dagger my Scepter, and this Cuihion ray Crowne. P.rin. Thy Scatc is taken for a Ioyn'd-StooIc,thy Col- den Scepter for a Leaden Dagger, ^ad thy precious rich Crowne.tor a pictifull bald Crowne. \ Falfl, Wcll,and the fire of Grace be not quite out of thee now fiialt thou be moued. Giue me a Cup of Sacke to make mine eyes looke reddc, that it may be thought! haue wept, for I muft fpeakc in palTion, and I will doc it in King Cambyfes vainc, pTw. WclljhecrcismyLcgge. Fri/iiF. And hccre is my fpeech: ftand afideNobilitie, Hofleffe, This is excellent fport.yfaith, Titlfi. Wcepe not, fweet Qucenc, for trickling tearea areviine, Hoflefe. O the Fadicrjhowhec holdes his counte- nance ? F<»^'?.ForGods fake Lords.conuey my truftfuUQrecm Forteares doe ftop thcfioud-gatesof hereyes* Bcfiefe. O rarc,he doth it as like one of tbefc harfosry Players,ascucrlfee. falji. Peace good Pint-pot,peaccgoodTicklc.braiiia, ^rfrry, Idoenotonelymaruell where thou fpendeftiBy time ; but alfo, how thou art accompanied : For ihou^ the Caniomile.ihe more it is trodcn.ilie fafier it gtowcs: yet Youth, the more it is wafted, the fooner it wearcs, ihou art my Sonne: T haue partly thy Mothers Word, partly my Opinion ; but chiefely, a villanous tritk J oi thine Eye,3nd a fooiifli hanging of thy nether Lippe^' 'lail doth warrant me. If then thou be Sonne to mee, hciie lyeththepomt: why, being Sonne to me, art thou fa poyntedatf Sh.ill the bleffcd Sonne of Heaucn prouca Micher, andeaceSlack-bcrryes?' aqueftion not to bee askt. Shall the Sonne of England proue a Thceft , and takePurfes*? aqueftiontobeaskt. There is a thing, /ftrr/, which thou hait often heard of.an(t it islcno twne to many 6c The Firft ^ art of Kmg Henry the FourlL jHeJf. His Letters beares his mindc,not 1 his mindc. rvor. ] prctheetdlaie,dothhekcepchisBed? • .MeJ. He did.my Lo.d,foure dayes ere.I fet fottho And atlhe time of my departure thence. He was much fcar'd by his Phyfician. f*V. il would the flate of time had fiift beenc whole. Ere he by fickneflc had bcene vifited : Hii health wasneucrbeiierworth then now. Bot^.Sick? now? groope now? this fiekncsdothinfeft The very Life- blood of our Enterprife, 'lis C3rchinghithcr,eueri to our Campe. He writes me here^that inward ficknefie. And that his friends by deputation Could not fo foorte bcdia wiie: nor did he thinl,£ it meet. To lay fo dangerous and deare a tru/t On any Souk rcmoudjbut on his ownei Ycc doth he giae vs bold aduertiftmcn'ri That with our fmall coniuntlion wc (iiould on^ To fee how Fortune is di'poi'd to v s t For,as he wtites.thcre is no quailing now, Becaule the King is certainely poffeft Of aIlourpurpo(€s.':,\Vhatiay yoiitoit ? War, Youi Fathers frt^ncfle is a niayme to vs. Jht^. A periiloiisGafh.a very Limme loptoff j And ycCjUiiaithjii; Jsjj/jchis prcfent want Seemes more then wefhall fiilue it. \\ etc it good;ro fet tht exa6l wealth of all'.our ftcitcs All at oneCaPi i To fct-fo rich a mayne OnthenicehazardofonedonbtfuU houre. It were not good ; for therein fhould we. rcade The very Bottome,and the Souleot Hopcj The'^erv Lift.ihc very vtmoli Bound Of all our fortunes. Dowg. Faith,and('. -wee dioufd. Whcre.nowremainesa'i'wcec rcuerfion. AVe ma/ boldly fpeit'S^vpotf the hope Of vvhat IS to conic m : A comfort of rctyrsmentliues in tliis. TJotjp. A Kaniieuous,a.Home.to (lycmno, If that thcD'cuill and Mifchance lookebigge Vpon the Msydenhead of our Affaires. fyor/Batycil would your EatherLKaiibccne.hc:«: rhc O ulicie and Hcire of our Attempt Brookes no dittihon';. IrwIUbe thought 3 By fo.nsjthat know not-why he is away, That wifedonic;loya!tie,and mecre didike of our proceedii;}',s,kcpt.the Earle from hcncff> And thinke,how ftich aivappiehenfion May turnethetydcof fcarefull Faition, And brecdc a kindcof queilion'm our caufe : For wcil you know.wce cf the offring fide, Mr.ft kcepe aloofe Ii om Oiid atbirrement. And Hop iiU light- holes, cue vyloope/romwhcnce i| 1 b.t eve oi rcafoii may jnie in vpon vs : !1 (li ; xbfcncc nZ your f-athcr drawcs a Curtainc, Thai fncwes.the igiioranc a kiiide of fearc. Before iioLdrcaiTiUif, j \hiR ; Touitraync too farrc. ■ .1 rathcr';of bis abfcncemake thisvfe; ilvlen^i^a LuHrcand more qrcac Opinion, i^yitCCtiDarc to your great Lnterprizc, Th£'f'trt',Vc Eark were here : iormcn mud thinliCj J.IjJVVc.w.ithpjthishcIpccanmakeaHead 'io p.'.ijh agauill the Kingdomc ; with his helpc, \Vc ilvill o'rc-turne it topfic-ttiruy dcwue : Yet .^1! goes w.cli,ye:aUour ioynts are whole. Jjcwgv As heart can thinkc : There is tioc fuch a word fpoke of in Scotland, AtthiiDicame of Feare.- Mttter Sir Richard VisriiB», 'Notp My Coufin Tifr^iJur^welconieby my Soule, Firw.Pray God my newesbe worth awclcome,Loii, The Eatk of Wtftmcrland,fcuen thoufand firong. Is marching hither-wards, vvith-Prince lahn. Ho'ij^, No harrae: what more? Virn. And further, 1 hauc learn'd, ' The Kinghimfelfe in perfon hath fpt forih^ Ot hiihet-wards intended fpecdily, "VVithftrongandmightiepreDaration: Hot [p. He fhali be welcome too. Where i? his Sonne, The mmble'.footed Nlad-C3p,Prince of WaieS^ And his Cumrades.thatda&thc Wdrld afidc, And bid it pafie? Tern. Airfarninir,aHin Arme?; * All plum'd like Ertridgesj that with the Winde Bayted like Eagies,haiting lately bath'dj Glittering in Golden Co'ates.likc Imaged, As fail of fpjrit as the Moneth of May, And gorgcouips theSunncat Mid-lummef» V/anton as youthful! Goates,wildc a* youngBulIs^ i faw young Hnny vyith his Beuer on. His Cufiies on his thfghcs'jgallantly arm'<}. Rile from the ground hkefeathercd t^w^. And vaultcd_wich fuch.eafc into his Scat, As if sn Angcil dropt. downe from the.Clouds, Toturnf .arid.windc a fierie, Ptgafnf And wic?«',W.ere;cpmc« Fwi. Tli.?reJsmoTene7,'cs? I learned in Worccftct,as 'rode along, Hc'carinot ciraw.his Powerthis four'ct(;encj"d3y?5. Potpg-. Tbat.'s tliC.worUTidingsvthat ti heareiOJ yet; rVor. J.b}' my, fsiih.that beares a frcfiy found Hotjp. Whai-iuay the; Kings wholCi'Battaile rcacft YUtO ? rVr, To chirty tfioufand, Wdt. Forty let it bcj: My Father and Ghndorver.WxWgho'^ awrsy* Th'powres ofvs,m3y fetueJogreataday, Come.let vstakc a niufter rpsedily j Doonicf:lav is neere; dye all,dyc merrily* Vow. Talkenotofnying lamoutoffeare Of deathjor dsatUs haadjior this onshalfe y earc. gxsisnt Omner.t ScenA The HrftTart ofK^g Heury the Fourths 67 •? ScanaSecmdao Enter Faljiafe and BArda/^h, Talfi. Sirdo!ph,^et thee before to Couentry, fill me a Bottle of Sack, our Souldiers (hall march throoghrwee'ic to Sutcon-cop-hill co Night. "BArd. Will you giuc me Money, Captained Fdls}. Lay out,lay out. '£ard. This Bottle makes an Angell. F/c/y?. Andifit-doc, take it for thy labour : and if it make twentic , take there all, IlcaniwcretheCoynage. Cid my Lirutcnsn: /'.tj mce:? me at the Towncs end. "Bard. 1 will Captainc : farewell. Exit. Tdj{, If I be not afliam'd of my Souldiers, I am a fowc't-Curnet : I haiie mif-vj'd the Kings Prefle dam- nably. I haue got, in exchange of a hundred and fikie Souldiers, three hundred andodde Pounds. IprciTemc none but good Ho«fe.hoidcrs,Yeomens Sonnes:enquirc meoutcontraftcdBatchelers, fuch as had becne ask'd twice on thc-£anes; fuch a Commoditie of warme flaues, ashadaslieuehearc theDcuill, as a Drumme ; fuch as feare the report of a Caliucf.worfe ihcn a ftruck-Foolc, bra hurt wilde-Ducke. Iprcft me none but fuch Toftcs and Butter.with Hearts in their Bellyes nobiggerthen Pimics heads, and" they hsue bought out their feruices: And now, my whole Charge confifts of Ancients, Cor- pot£ls,Licutenants,Gentlemen of Companies, Slaues as ragged as Luz^rta in the painted Cloth,where the Glut- tonsDogges licked his Sores; and fuch. as indeed were neucr Souldiers, but dif-catded vniuft Seruingmen,youn- gerSonnes to younger Srothers.reuoltcd Tap fiers and Oftlers.Tradc-falne, the Cankers of a calme World,and long Peace, tenne times more dis-honorablc ragged, then an cld-fac'd Ancient; and fuchhaue I to fill vp the roomes of them that haue bought out their feruices: that you would thinke, that I had a hundred and fiftie totcer'd ProdigalIs,lateiy come from Swme-keeping,from eating DraffeandHuskes, A mad fellow met ma on the way, and told me.I had unloaded all the Gibbets,and preft the dead bodyes. No eye hath fecneuichskar- Crowes: He not march through Couentry withthem,that's flat. Nay, and the Villaincs march wide betwixt the Lcgges, as if tbeyhad Gyues on ; for indecde, I had the moli of them out of Prifon. There's not a Shirt and a halfc in all my Company ; and the halfe Shirt is two Napkins tackt to- gether, and thrownc oucr the fliouldcrs like a Heralds Coat,without fleeues; and the Shirt, to fay the truth, Aolne fiommyHoll of S. Alboncs, or the Red-Nofc Inne-keeper of Dauintry Bui that's all onc.thcy'Ie findc Liitnen enough on euery Hedge. EtitCT the Prince ^And the Lord effyejimerltind. frinct. How now bLowne lackj how now Quilt ? Falfl. What Htill How noiw mad Wag, what a Deuill do'ilthouinWacwickfliire? My good Lord of VVeft- merlandj'cry you mercy, I thought yourHonour had al- ready beene at Shrewsbury. JVefi. 'faith.Sir/oAw.'tismore then time thar I were tnere.andyoutoo: but my Powers are there aireadie. The King,l can tell you, lookcs for vs all : we mufl away ftll to Night. F*!fi. Tut,neuer feare mc,l am as vigilant as a Cai,t6 fteale Creame. Prince. I thinke to fteale Creame indeedjfor tliy theft hath aireadie made thee Butter : but tell aie,/<»c;^,whofc fellowes are thefe that come after ? Falfi. Minc,f/4/,mine. Prince, 1 did neucr fee fuch pittifuU Rafcalt. Faljl. Tut,tut,good enough to toffe: foode for Pov/- der, foode for Powder: tbey'le fill a Pit,as well as better: tufii man.mortall mcn.mortail men, Wejim. I, but S it lohn, me thinkes they arc exceeding poore and bare,too beggarly. Talji, Faithjfor their pouertie,! know not where they had that 5 and for their barencffe, J am fare they neucr Icarn'dthatofmc. Pr/wf.No.Uc be fwoi-'^.vnleire you call rhrce fingers on the Ribbes bate. But f... J.makehaftejftfrcjr is already in the field. F,tlfi, What jj the King encamp'd? ffeflm. Hce is. Sir hhay I feare wee fiiall (lay too long. FalJI. vVelljto the latter end of a Fray, and the begin- ning of a Feafl, fits a dull fighter, and a IsecneGuefta Exiunt. Scoena Tertia, Sr.terHotjfiisr^K'-srcfliir.Dowglaf^And fjotjp. Wcc'Ie fight with him to Night, fyorc. It may not be. D9tv£. You giue him then aduaniage. Z,'er>j. Not a whit, F.ei[j). Why fay^you fo } lookes he not for fiippJy? Z^er», So doc wee. Hotjp. His a certainCjOurs is doubtfuEI, f^grc. GoodCoufifl be aduis'd^ftirte net tonight< Ver», Doe not.my Lord. Doo'g. You doetjot counfailfi well ; You fpeake it out of feare,and cold heart. Vcm. Doe me no (lmdcT,DeTvj^Cu: by my Life, And I dare well maiataine it with my Life, If wcll-rcfpeit, I would you would accept of Grace and LouCi Hetjp, And'tmaybclbwceflialJ. . £!Hnt. Pray Heauen you doe. Extmh Scena Quarta, Sntifthe Arch'Bi!hof cfTarke.dfid Sir MkhcU. u4rc&.Hie,good t\t M'.che!l,\itMc this fcaledEriefe Withwingedhaftetothe Lord Marlhall, This to my Coufin Scrsope, and all the reft To whom they arc diredcd. If you knew how much they doe import, You would make haQe. Sir Mich. My good Lord,I guefle their tcucr. j4rch. Like enough you doe. TomorroWjgood Sir Jlig, Prmce of Whales , Lord. laha ofL^ncaJier, barle offVefimerIa>9d,Sir Waller Blunt y andF.iljUfe. King. Kowbioodily the Sunnc begins topeere Abouc yon busky hill : the day lookes pale Athis diftemperaturc, Frin. TheSouthernewinJe Doth play the Trumpet to his purpofes. And by his hollow whiftling in the Leaucsj Fortels aTcmpefi.and abloft ring day. King . Then with the iofers I't it fympathize. For nothing-can fecme foule to thofc that win. The Trumpet finuds, Enteriycrce^er, King. How now my Lord of Worfier? 'Tis not wtll That y^p and 1 fhould meet vpon fuch tearmcs, As now ws meet. You haue decciu'd our truft. And made vs dofie our eafie Robes of Peace, To crufh out old Umbes in vngentlc Steele ; This is not well, csy Lordjthis is not well. What fay you to it ? Will you againe vnknit This churlilh knot of .lU-abhorred Warre? And niouc in that obedient Otbe againe, Where you did giue a faire and naturall light. And be no more art cxhalj'd Meteor, A prodigic of Fe.ire, and a Portent Of broached Mifcheefe, to the vnborne Times? vyor. Hcare mc,my Liege : Fpr mine owne part, I could be well content To cntertainc tbc Lagge.end of my life With quiet houres : Fori do protcit, I haue not fought the day of ^j^ diflikc. King. You haue nor fought it : how comes it tben? Fal. Rebellion lay in his way,and he found it. Prin. Pcace,C!iewet, peace. I^or. Itplcas'd your Maiclty,to turneyourlookcs Of Fauout, from my Sclft, and all our Houfc j And yet I muft remember you my Lord, We were the firfl, and deareft of your Friends : Foryou, my ftaffe of Office did I breaks In Rtchnrds'iwne, and pqafted day and night Toroeetc you.oathe.way^Vld kiffc^our hatidj When yet you were in place, and in account Nothing fo flrong and fortunitc, as I ; It was my Selfc, my Brother, and hii Sonne, Thst brought you home,and boldly did out-dtre The danger of the tiii;e, Tou fwore to vs, And'you did fweare that Oath at Dcncafter, That you did nothing of purpofc 'gainfi the StatCj Norclaimc no further, then your new-falnetighf^ TKcfeateof G4«K?,.Dukedome.ofLancafter, To this, we i ware our aide ; But in Jhort (jsace-, It rain'd "downe FortunclE'cwring onyout head, Andfuch a floud of Grcatnefie felionyou. What with our helpc,wh3c with the abfenc King, What with the iniuries of wanton time, 7 hcfeeming fuffcranccs that you had borne, And the contrarlouTWindes thar held the King So long in the vnlucky Irifh Warier," Th.it all in £ng~!and did repute him dea J: Arid from this fwarme of faire aduantageJj You tooke occaiion to be quickly woo'd^ To gripe thegeneralU'way lirco'your handj Forgot your Oath to vs atDoncafter, And being fed by vs, you vs'd vs fo. As tliac vngentle gull thcCuckowci Bird, Vfcth the Sparrow, dicfoppreflc out Ncft, Grew by our Feeding, to fo great a bulkcj T hat euen our Louc cJurft not come neere your fighc For feare of fwallowing : But with nimble wing We were inforc'd lor (afety fike,- to flye Out ofyour light, and raife this prefent Head, Whereby we ({and oppofed by fuch meanei As you your felfe, haue forg'd againft your felfe. By vnkindc vfage, dangerous, countenance, And violation of all faith and troth S worne to vs in yonget enterprize. Kin, Thefe things indecde you haue artJCuTaced, Prodaim'd at Market Croflcs read in Churches. To face the Garment of Rebellion With fome fine colour, that may pliafe tlieeyc Of fickle Changelings, and poorcDifcontentJ^ Which gape, and rub the Elbow at thcncwej Of hnrly burly Innouation : And neuer yet did Infurreflion want Suchwater-coIourSjtoimpainthis'Cflufc; Nor moody Beggars, rtaruing for a tirac Of pell-mell hauocke,anJconfu(iotL Vrtn. In bothour Armies, thcrcis many a foule Shall pay full dearely for this cncoaater. If once they ioyne in triall. Tell yourNephew, The*Prince of Wales doth ioync with all the world In praife oi Henry Percie : By my Hopes, This ptefent enterprize fee off his head, 1 ^iiotthinkeabrauerGentleman, More a(Siue,yaliant,or more valiant yong, More daring,or more bold,is now aliue, j To grace this latter Age with Noble deed*. For m^' part, r may fpeake it to my fbaiBC^ I haue a Truant beene to Chiualry, And fo I heare, he doth account me too s Yet this before roy Fathers Maiefty, I am content that he fliall take the oddcs Of his great name and cftimation, AndwiU.to faue the blood on either fide, Try fortune with him, inaSinglcFigbi' Kwg. And Prince of Wales.fodare WC Y.cnCCt thee. Albeit, confidecations infinite ih 50 Ih 100 150 200 250 300 17t Ih 350 400 450 500 403 -(,0)- 3/4 504- (0)- -iA. 70 The Firjl l^art ofK^mgHenry theFmnL Domakcagainft ic:No good Worfter,no, Wc louc our people well ; cucn thofe i»c loue That arc milled vpon your Coufins par: : KtA will they take the offer of our Grace : Both he, and they, and you ; yea.cuery man Shall be my Friend againe, and lie be his. So lellyour Coufin.and bring me word.j Whatbe«illdo.- But ifhc will not yeeld. Rebuke and dread correftion waite on vs, \nd they fhall dp iheii Office. So bee gone. We will not now be troubled with reply. We offer faitCj take it aduifedly, Bxit jygrcejler. Trifi. Ic will not be accepied.on my life. The ZJow^teand the Hotjpurrt boih together. Are confident againft the world in Armeg. Kii>£. Hence therefore, cuery Leader to his cliarge> For on their anfwei will we fct on them ; And God befiiend cs, as our caufe is iuft. E^-suut. Manet Prince and Ffilfixfe' Tdl. Hal, if thou fee roe downc in the battell. And beftride me, fo'; 'tis a point of fricndfnip. ?n».Nothing but a Coloffuj can do thee that ftendfhip Say thy prayers, and farewell. VaI, I would it were bed time //.j/,and all well^ Tria. Why,tbouow'flheaucnadcath. Faljlt Tis lot due yet: I would bee loath to pay him before his day. What neede 1 bee fo forward with him, ihatcalls not op tre? Well, 'tis no mat.nrr,Honorprickei me on. But how if Honour pricke me off when I come on? How then? Can Honour fettooalegge?No : plan arroe ? No : Or take away the giee& of a wound ? No. Honour hath no skill in Surgeric.then ? No.What is Ho- nour ? A word. What is that word Honour ? A yre : A trim reckoning. Who hath it ? He that dy'de a Wednef- day. Dothhefeelcit?No, Dothhes heareiiPNo.lsit iafcnfiblc thcn?yca,to the dxad But wil it not liue witn the liuing? No. l/Vhy r Dcirailion wil not faflier itjiher- forc He none of ic. Honour is a meere Scutcheon, and fo ends my Catcchi Tine. o^^ £xtr ^Hter WorcifltTf andStr T^chard V.eriian. IP'or- O no.my Nephew muil not kno w,Sir Richard, The liberall kinde offer of theKingw Ffr.'Twerebcfthedjd. fVor, Then weare all vndone. It is nor pofliblc.it cannot be. The King would kcepe his word in loiyiTg v», Hcwillfufpedlvsfliil and findc a timp To punirn this offcnccin others faults : Suppofition,a!l out liues, fhall be ftucke full ofeyes ; FovTreafonU but trufted like the Foxe, Who nc're fo tame, Xp chcriHit^and lock'd vp, Willhauc awildctrickej^f his Anceflors : lookc howhecan,orfadoraifiuUy, Interpretation will mifquote our lookeSi And we (hall fecdc like Oxen rf. a ftall. The better chcriflit, (iill theasaKr death. My Ncphewes trcfpsfir may be well forgot, khsU* the excufc ofyouth,And hcate of bloody T78-C0J And an adopted name of Ptiuiledge, Ahaire-brain'd Hotjpmre, goaern'd by aSplcsncj All his offences liuc vpon my head. And on his Fathers. We did traine him on And his corruption being tane from ?s, W c as the Spring of all, (hall pay for all ; Therefore good Coufin, let not Harrj know In any cafe, the offer of the King. Ver. Deliuer what you will,IIe (ay 'tUfo. Heete comes your Co^n. Zmer HotJpHTrt^ Hot. MyVnkleisreturn'd, Deliuer vp my Lord of Weftmerland, VnkJCjWhat newc-l Wer. The King will bid youbattellprefently, Bois'.Dcfie him by the Lord of Wel^nicrland. Het. Lord Dowglas ; Go you and tell him fc. Dorf, Marry and fhall.and vcric willingly. £xit DovfgUi, TFor. There is no feeming mercy in the King. Hot, Did you bcggeany^God forbid. iVor. I told him gently of our grceuancer, Ofhis Oath-breaking: which he mended thi;;^ By now forfwearing thit he is forfworne, He cals vs Rebels^'Ttaitorr jand will fcourg; With haughty attnes, this hatefull ramc in vs. Entir Derpglat. 3)erp. Armc Geniiemcn, to Armes, for 1 haue thrown Abraue defiance in K'mgHe»r:ej teeth; And Weftmerland that was ingag'd did bears ir. Which cannot choofc but bring h\(p quickly en. f^er. The Ptinceof \V'ale> ftept forth before the king, And Nephew, chaileng'd you to (ingle fight. Hot. O, would the quarrel) lay vpon our heg^. And that no man might draw fhorc breath to day. But 1 and Harrji Monmouth. Tell me,iell mee, fclow Qiew'd his Talking ? Scem'd it in contempt ? f^er. Ho, by my Soule : I neuer in my life Did heare a Challenge vrg'd more modeiily, Vnlefll* a Bcotherfhcuil J a Brother dare To gentle exercifc, and proofc of Armer.. He gauc yjou all the Duties of a Man, Ttimm'd vp your pi^ilcs with a Princely tongue. Spoke your dsferuingi like a ChtoniclCj Making you euct better then his praife. By ftill difpraifingpraife, yalew'd with you : And which became him likc;,^ Prince indeed. He made a blufTiiDg citall of hirofelfe, ^nd chid his Trewain youth with fuch a Gracr^ As tfhc mailed there a double fpitic Of teaching, and of learning inftantly : There did he paufe. But let me jjj] the World, If he oot-Iiue the enuie of this day, England did neuet owe fo fweet a hope, So much mifconftrucd in his WantonncfTe. . Hot. Coufin, Tthinke thou art coatcored On his Follies ; neuer did I heare Of any Prince fo wiloe at Liberty. But be he 85 he will, yet once ere night, I will imbrace him with? Souldicrs srrac. That he fhall (hrinke vndcr my cunefic. AaOKjarmc with fpecd. And FelIoWs,Soldiers,Friends, Better ccnfider ^jfj^y; you haue to io. That I that haue not ^gU ihe gift of Tongue, Can ■(Oj - 3A. l/i 50 100 \h liO JO 250 300 350 ^00 450 454^ T 50 100 150 200 The Ftr fi Tart ofKjpg Henry theFwrtk 71 25(> 300 350 400 1/t 45(' Can life your blood vp with pcrfwaficn. Ent er a Olfeffenger, Mff- My Lord,heere arc Letter J,fji- you. Hott I cannot reads tlicm now QGcntlcmcn* the time of life is (tort ; Tofpcnd that fiionncflcbafcly.wcre too long, Iflifc did ride vpon a Dials pome, Still ciding at the atnuali ol'an houre , And if we liuc, wcllueto ireadcoaKings: Ifdyc;brauedeath,wlicn Princes aye with \i^ Now for oiiv Conlcienccs, the Arn.es is faire, Wticn the intent for bearing them is mft. Enicj another cjl ic^eyigcr. Mef, My Lord prepare, the Kuii;- comes on tipacf. JUt. 1 thanke him, that he cuts me from my t...^; For I profclTenot talking: Qucly this. Let each man do his beft. And hccre J^drawaSworJ, VVhofe worthy temper 1 intend to ftaiuc With tbebcft blood that I can raecte wichall, fn the aducature of this pcrillous day. Now Efperance/^ivf)', ^ fc-t on : Sound all the lefty luttruments of Warre, Andby that Mil fukc, Ice V sail imbracc : For heauen t,o earth, fomc oi\i)i neuer fnail, A fccond time do fuch a curtcSie. "jhe eiKbrdcejheTnimj/ets found, the Kinrrentsreth with hii power, alar am vnto the (iM cell. 7 hen eater Dowg!as,aKdS(T JVulter'Blnnt. j5/tf.Whac t thy name, that in battel thus y croflcii mc? What honor doft thoufecke vpon my head? 1)079. Know then my name is DowgUs, And I do haunt thee in the battcU thus> Bccaufe fome Cf Umc, thji: thou arc a King, Blum. They tell thee \iM£. Dow. The Lord <)f Stafford deere to day hath bought Xby likcneil'e : for inftcd of thee King Harry, TbisSwordhaih ended him, fo fhallitthcej VnlelTe thou yeeld thee as a i^rifoner. ;'.• Bla. I was not borne to yeeldjchou haughty Scot, And thou fna! v finde a King ihAt viill reucnge tords Staftords death. Fiii^ht, Blunt t( fl.iiae, then enters FLitfpur, Hot. O DowgU!^\^A^ thou tought^Huimedonthus Tncuerhad triiimj)hcd ore a Scot. £'9w- 4lL's done,a!]'s won,herc brearhlcs lies the king Hot. Where.'' Hot. This DoK'£ias} No,I know this face full well : AgallantKnight he was, his name was "Blunt,. Scmblably fijai;fi;14 like the King himlelfe. Dovo, /\h foole : go with thy foiUe whether ;t goes, A borrowed Title haft thou bought toa decre. Why didft thou tell me, that thou wer'ti^Kuig ? Hot. The King hath many marching in his Coats. 25W. fclofflby roySword,! will kijt all his Coates, Ik murder all his Wardtobffpeece by pccce, Yntilll meefcthcKing, Hat, Yp.andaway, ,Out Souldiers ftand full iakdy for tVe day. Exeunt ^larnm,a>ide>iter F.il/lijfe folm. TnU Though I could fcapc ftiorrfree at Lo«don,I fear tHe(hQtbecre : here's nofcoEing,buc vpoJUthe pate.Soft whvees it at hir». FaL If Percy be aiiue, lie pierce him ; if he do come in myway/o:ifhedpnot, ificomeinhis (wjlhngly) lee himmakcACarbonadoofmc; 1 like not fuchgrinnini; honouras Su- fVMter hath : Giue mee life, which if I an faue, fo ; if not,honour comes vnlook'd for, aud rhpfe an ^"'- 212-(1)- ^^" 50 100 Scena Tertld. i/iLvrnmfixcHrftons, enter theKingfhs Prince^ Lqr.d luhn ofLaKcaller, wd Enrlc cflVeJinierUnd, King I prethee H^vry withdraw thy felfe, ihcu ysa^- dcHtoo much; Lord Suhn ofLanca/ler,e,o you with iuia» P. lob. Not I, my Lot d.vnlefle 1 did bleed too. prim JJscfeechyour MaieSy make vp, Lesft you renremeuc do a»aie yout fnendSf King, I will do lo : My Lord of V^^meilaad leadc him to hiiTent. Weji, Co.ne a.y Lord, !le lead^ you.to your Tent. Prii. Lcid me my Lord? I do not need your hclpc. j And heauen forbid a (liallow ftraiclifhould drit'.e The Prince of Wiles from luch a field as thji. Where ftaiii d Nobility lyes trouen on. And t{,e b>'?^ Armcs triumph in maflacrcs. loh. We breath too long; Come cflfia Wclirerland, Our doty this way lics,for hcaueas fake cxsEOS Pri:-] By heauen thouiiaft dcceia d me Lancifler,^ I did mi. chinke thee Lord of fuch a Ipint ; Before, 1 laiui thee as a Brother, loi^n ; But now, I doriQi££i rhee as my Soule. King. 1 faw liim hold Lord PjX£]l at the poinr. With luftier maintenance then 1 did loflix fcr Offuch an yngrowns Warriout. Pri>}. OthisBoy.UojJsn'ettalltovsaU. Exit. Ehter Dowglas. Dow. Another Kiog'They grow liketjg^sal^ beaiisi T am thzDorvgUs., fatall to all thofc Tiatwcate thofc colours ontherD. Whstartthoa Xbat Cflgoiflsfeit'fl the pctfon of a King ? KiKg.lhQ Kinghimfelfe ;. who tm^ gticyes at h«t So 168- 10 j -\ti -^^-w 150 u) 200 250 300 350 100 ^ III ,■.■■-.,■ I ^— ^W — I -Mill — . II I — ■- -. I ^- — So.nwny of his ftjadowes thou haft mcc. And not thevety King. IhauctwoBoyes Seekc Ttrcj and thy fclfc about the Field : But feeing thou fsU'ft oj^nitf fd luckily, I will affay thee : Co defend thy fclfe. 'Dev. J featcchoaart another counterfeit: Andyctiofaiththoubear'^lihceHVeaKing: But mine I am fufc thou att.whoerc thou be, And thus I v?tn thee. 1h^ fight ^ the Khing iu danger, BnterPrtnec, Tritt. Hold vp they head vile Scot,or thou ait i;Icc Ncaer to hold it vp againc : tlie Spirits Of valiant Skerlj.Siafftrd,'BHtnt,Kt in my Armtsj It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee. Who neuer p^omifecbjbuthcmeanej to pay. Thtyrtght,'Dowglasfytth. Cheercly My Lord: hov fits's your Grace ? S'uNiehlat Gsmfey hath for fuccourfcnt. And fo hath Oifton : He to Cliften ftraight, Kin£. Stay,and breath awhile. Thou haft redeenfd thy loft opinion. And niew'd thou raak'ft fome tender of my life In this faire tefcue thou haft brought to niee, TriH, O heaucn, they did mc too nmch jniory. That cuev fiid I hearkned to your death. If it were fo, I might haue let aloue Theinfultinghandof D(;w^//tjoucryou^ Which would haue bene as fpeedy in your end. As all the poyfonous Potions in the world. And fau d the Treacherous labour of your Sonne. Ji:, Make vp to ^/»/t«»,lle to Sir nkholas Canfej. :^xlt Enter Hatjptir. Hot. If I miftake nor, thou art Harrj Moftrnmh, Prit$. Thou fpeak'a as if I would deny my naoie. Hot. My aimz Is H'trriePercic. Pria.Why then I fee a very valifint rebel of that name. 1 am the Prince of Wales^and tbinkc not "Percy ^ To fiiare withmc in glory any more ; Two Starres keepe not their motion in onC Sphere, Nor can one England brookc a double leignc, QiH.xr>yTercy,md the Prince of Walcr. Hat, Nor (hill it Harry, for the hourc is come To end the one of vs; and wodIJ^o hcauen. Thy nansein Atmcs, were now as greatas mmc. Pn». lie make it greater.ete 1 part fropi thee,' And all the budding Honors on thy Cteft, lie crop,tOiaake a Garland for my head. Hot. I tanno longer brooke thy V'stihieJ. F^^r. Enter Falfiafe. Fal. Well faid /f.?^.to it //,i/. Nay you (hall finde np Boyes play hcerc,! can tell you. Eater Tioxopas h f fight smth TMflajfe who fals down 41S tfheroere dead. The Prtrce'kiltelh Percte. Hoi. Oh W;iro',chou haft rob'd inc of roy youth : I better brookc the lofTe of brittle life. Then thofe proud Titles tboo ball wonne of me. They wound my thoghts wotfe,then the fword my flefli: But thought's the flaiie of Lire,3ndLife,Tiincsfoole J And Time, that takes itirucy of all the world, Mnft haue a ftop. O, I could Prophefie. But that the Earih,and the cold hand of death. Lyes on my Tongue s No Percy,t.\\ou,in duft Aiidfoodfor— — — Prin. For WonT!e»,braue fer^ .Farewell great hean: 111" weau'd Ambition, how much art thou fhtunke?. I When that this bodic did containe a Ipitit, m - 1&) - lA AKingdomeforitwastoofmallabound: But now tv/o pace? of the vileft Eartht Is roomc enough. This Earth that bcascs the dca4* Beares not aliucfo ftoura Gentleman, If thou wei'tfenfible of curtefie, I ffiould not make fo greata fhew ofZcale. Butletmyfauourshidethyniangladface, 50 And euen in thy bchalfe.lle thanke my felfe For doing thefefayre Rites cfTendetneffe. Adieu,and takcthy'praife :m\\ thee to heauen. Thy ignomy fleepe with thee in the graue. But riot «membred in thy Epitaph. What? Old Acquaintance? Could not all thisflcflj 100 Krtpein a little lifes'Poore lackc,faiewcll ; I could haue better fpar'd a better mati. O, I (hould haue a heauy miflfc of thee. If 1 were much in louc with Vanity. Death hathnot fttucke fo fat a Deere to day. Though many dearer in this bloody Fray ; 150 Imbowell'd will I fee thee by and by^ Till then.in blood,by Noble Pereie lyc. Exit, T^tfiaferifetbvp, I TAlJf.^ lmboweUd?lf thou imbowd! roeeto day.llc giuc jcpaleauc to powder me,and cat me too to moroWi Twai t-me to countcrfet, or that hottc Termagant Scot, ^;td paid i/«e fcot and lot too.Counteileii? I sd) no cotin* cctfeit; to dye, is tobe a counterfeit, forhceUbu: t^ii counterfeit of a man.who hathnot the life of » Oian : Bitt to counterteii dying^when a man thereby liucth,js to be nocounterfeit,bui thctrue and petfefl image of life iU" deede. Thebettcrpart of Valour, is Difcretioni in the | which better parr, I haue faued my life. I arBafftaidec^i rbis Gun-powder Percy though he be and fo was he, but we rofe both at an mftant.and fought alonghoureby Shrewsburic clccke. If I may beebelce- uedjfo • if not.let them th^t fh.ould reward Valour.beate the finne vpon their owne heads. He take't on my death I gaue him this wound in the T hi gh r if the man » verea- liuCjand would deny it, I would make himcatea lp«« of my fword. lohn. This i 8 the ft tangeft Tale that e'r? I heafd, FriM, This is tb€ ftrangeft Fcliow^Brothcr hh». Cornel "~ y55-(0) -3h 00 :50 00 \h oO in 400 ^50 ■00 550 "The H rJlTa rtofKjng Henry the Fourth. Come bring your luggage Nobly on your b»ckc ; 75 oO 1A,X00 150 For my partjif a lye may do thee grace, llcrgiidicwithtliehappieft tcarraeslhauc, •- 27 t^f Retreat ii fmndedi nisi rumpers found Rctreat.che day is ours : Come Brother, let's lo the highcft of the field, Xo fee what Friends arc lining, who arc dead. Exeunt F^f. lie follow as they fay, for Reward. Hcethatrc- war(is»?5ff,lteiaen reward bim, If I do grow grea: again, flcgrowlcffe? For He purge, andleaucSackc. and hue dcanly.as a Nobleman fhouIJ doT — 00 — Exit Sc{€na Omrta, ThcTrutKfersfiund, Emit the. King, Prince ofif'ales, Lord lohn efLttnc/tfier, EarU Bfwel}merlgnd, mth fforcc/fer £)■ VerKon Prifoners. King. Thus euer did Rebellion finVc Rebuke. IlUfpiiited Worcefier.did wc not fend Grace, Pardon, and tearmcs ofLoucto all of you i And woiild'ft thou turnc our offers contrary > Mifufeche tenor of thy Kinfmans truft? Three Knights vpon our party llame lo day, ANob!eEstlc',andmany:2 creature elfe. Had bccnc aliiic this houre. If like a Chriftian thou had ft truly borne Betwixt out Armies, true Intelligence. h''or. What I banc done, my fafcty vrg d me to. And I embrace this fortunepaticnrly, Smccflot to be auoyded, it lals on mcc. King, Scare Worccfter to dcath,^jyjjt/^r»w! too ; Other Offenders we wiJJ paufcvponi Exit fr'trcefier and Vtrnot?, How goes the Field ? Frin, The Noble Scot Lord DewglAS^ when hce faw The fortune of the day qui;c turn'd from him, ' The Noble Percy flaine.and all his meni vpon the foot offeai-e.fled with the refl ; And fallingtrbm a hill, he was fo bruia'd That the purfuers iooke him. At ray Tenc The DovfgUs IS, and I bcfeech your Grace. 1 may dilpofcofhUri. KiKg. With all my heart, Prin. Then Brother //)&» of Lanc3?er; - To you this honourable bounty (hail belong -. Go to the Doi^gUsfinA dcliuer bim Vp to his pleafurc, ranfomleffe and free : 'Ris Valour (hewne vpon our Grcfts to day, Hath taught vs how to cheiifh fuch hi^h deeds, Eucn in the bofome of our Aduerfaries. King. Then this rcmaines : that wc diuidc our power. You Sonne lohn.znfi my Coufin Wcfimerland Towards Yorke {hall bend you.wiih your deercft foced To meet Northumbes land, and the Prelate Soeepd Who(as wc heare)arc bufily in Armet. My Selfe, and jTou Sonne Hitrrjr will towards Wales, To fight with Chndevgr.iDd the Earlc ofMarch. Rebellion in this Land (hall lofehis way; Meeting the Checke of fuch another day : And fince this BuSncflc fo faire is done, :, Lee vs not leaue till all our owne be wonne. Exeunt. 50 10( 15< (3) •20( FINIS. » — 74- The S econ our tk Concainrngliis Death : and the Coronatioa of King Henry the Fift. Qy(llus Primus . Scoena Trima.^ I N D V C T I O N, £>3ter 'S^monri ipen^yoiirBares ;Fof v/hicl>of you will fiop \]\ q yent.of HsairingjWiicr.-Iond R->itnor fpeakcs? !, fromiiSsOiieni, to the drooping Weft fDi^cking the windc my Po(i-hovfc) ftill vnfold The hSti £<;inm?iiced-ontIiLs Ball ot'Earth. Vpon my Tons^ne, contbiiall S]an lers ridCi The '.Mhich, in euery J: anguagc, ] pronounce, Stuffing ills Fdres of tliero wit!) falfe Reports : I rpeakcoi Peace, while couertEnmitic (Vndei- the fmile of Safety)'.voLinds thcWorld : And who but Ra'mostr, who but oiiely I MakefearfuU Muftsrs.and prepar'd tkfeajie, Whirft thsbiggeycare, fwolne with fomc other griefcs, I Isthoap,ht: with chiide, by the fierne TyratUjWarr?, And itf, ^jsnh matter? l^uxonr, is a Pipe ElowRs by Surjsiifes, i^aJiJiCSj Conieduresj And of to eaficj and fi phiae a (igp. That the blunt Monfter, with vncountad lieads, The Rill dilcordant, wauering Multitude, Can play vpon it. But what ncedc| thus My wclUknowncBody to Anathomize Among my houfl^old ? Wliy is Rumoarhetxc} I run before King ILmicfy'iStoty, WllO in a bloodie field by Shrewsburifi Hath beaten riowne yong HotJp!iire,zud hjs TfOopeSj Qncnching the fl:»me cf bold RebelUon, Eucn with che Rebels blood. But what meane I Tg fpeake fo true at firft ? My Office is ToW^U* abroad, that Harry {JHorifHouth fell Vnder the Wrath of tiJ^UIf Hotjpxrret Swotd : And thar.the Kinpi, before the Dotvalat Ra^r Stocp'd his Annointed head, as low as death. This haue I rumoiu'd through the pcafant-TownsJ* BMwecne the Royall Field af Sbrewsburic^ Aadthis Woroic-catcn-FJole cf ragged Stons, Wiierc Hoifparres Eiilwr, old Northumberlar>d, Lyes crafty ficke. The Poflcs come tyring on, And not a man of them brings other newcs ,TK?D they haue learn dofMe. 'ProiniJwwsww Tongues-, They bang fmooth'ComftaLti-falfe, wciib then True- Scena Secunda . Ettter Lord "Bardo/fe, and the Pcnera L.'Sar. Who kcepes the Gate becrc hci ? Where is the Earic? For. What.Oiall I fay you are ^ £ttr. Tell thOu the Earlc That the Lord Bardolfe doth attend hiflj tieere. Fsr. His Lorjlfhip is walk'd forth into the O^chaM , Pleafe it your Hanoi, knocks bu£at:theGacc), And he himfelfe will difwcr. Enter Narthfimiirland, L .Tar. Heeie comes the Earlc. Nor. What newes Lerd Bjsrdolfe} Eu'ry tniujiic now Should be tLe Father of Ibme Stratagem; The Tiaies arc wilde : Contention (lik^- a Horfc Full of high Feeding) madly hath b.oke loofe. And bcatcs dawoe all before liim» L.Bar. Noble Earle, I bring you certaine as^^ from Shrewsbury. AV. Good,andhcauenvvilL L.Bar. As good as heart can wsfli ; The King is almoff wounded to the ^^tii ; And in the Forrj'Ks of my Lord your Sonne, prince Harria flaine out-right ; and both the BInpits Kill'd by ^ hand o^'Dm^glas. Yong Prince lohtt^ And Wef^merland. and Stafford, fled the Field. And Hairie Monmouth's Bra wne (the Hulke Sit Uhi) Is prifoncriiayourSortnSi O/uch aDay^ (So foughtj, fo follow'd, and fo fairely wonBs) Came not, till ooxi., to dignific thsTjiaics Since Ctefars Fortunes. Ner. Ha-vvisUlis dertu'd? Saw you the Field? Came you from Shrewsbury ? , L.^<«r.Ifpake with one (my L.)that came ftdthense^ A Gentleman wdJ bred,andcfgood name. That freely tendet'd me t^iefe newcs for true. Nir. Hcere comes my Seruant Tr^JWCT-x.whotn J fene On Tuefday loft, to liflen after Newcs. EntsrTr^tierst L.'Sar. Mylprdjloacr-rodhimonthewayj Atid he is fuiniOid with no certainties. More then he (haply)may retailc from mc. iW':W,) ■'■' I ■ II U I I llllll IJ. t ■ ■ , 7^ Your Spirit is too true, your Fsares too ccrtaine. Nerih. Xcsfor all Ehjs,fay not that Percies dead. I ifiga (Grange ConfefTion in th;..' 5ye : Thou fliak'ft thy headj and hold fl it FearCjOrSinne To fpeake a irutjj,. If he be flainc,fay fo : ThcToi^gueoffc-nds asJU that reports his deaeh ; And he doth tinnc that dotlx bclyc the dead : Not he,whichfaycs the dead i^notaliuc: Yet the fiiftbringer of vnwelcomeNewes I jjiith bui a loofiiig Office : andhis Ton^nej Sounds cuer aiisi as a fuller Bell Remembrcd, knoUing a departing Friend, L.'Bar. X^annoi thinkc(my Lordjycur (on is dcado Mor. I am forry, J.fiiould force you to belecuj That, which 1 wouidiaheauen,Ihad not fcenc. But tbefe mine eyesjiaaihim in bloody ftaiC;, Rcnd'ring faint qii!f.cance/;weatied,and OKE-Sjffsath'd) To Henrie 4/i3;;;3?i:,ii6,whofe fw jfi wrath Ijcaic downe The neuer-daunced I'ercie to vilteatth, From whencc(with life)he neuer mo?e /p:ung ?p. In &yy j his death (whofc fpirit lent a fire, Euen toihe'dullcftPcazantinhisCampe) Being bruited onc^^tcjoke fire find hcate nwny From the beft temper a Courage in his Troope^i _For|iayahis Mctdc, v/as his Party fteel'd ; Which once.in him abated, all the reR Turn'd on chcmfelues, like d-jil jaiheauy Lead J And as she Thing, ^.hat's hcauy jnitfelfej Vpon enforcenientjflyes with greateu fpscjcj So did giij.Mcn,heauy in K. ■ "/r:nes\oSs, Lend to ihis weight, ludlhgiitncffc with their Fsare, That Arrowes fled not fwificrifljatauLthcir ayme. Then did our Soldiers fayming at their lafety) Fly from the fifiiiL Then was tha: Noble Worcefler Too fooneta*neprifoner:aad.that furious Scor, (The bloody DovcgUi) wbcfe well-labouring fwor J Hid three times flaias th'appearsnce of the King, Can vailchis ftomackc, auJidid grace the fliame Of thofethat funi'd their barfep^ : and inhisflighrj Stumbling in Fcare,W3$ tookc. The f iimme ofall^ Is, that the Ring hath wonne : sad hath ff nt ant A fpeedy power, to encounter you my Lord, Vnder the Condu(5l of yong Lancafter And Wellmcrlaiid. This i s the Newcs at full. North. For this,! ftiall luufttime enough to moUfK-. InPoyfoii,thereiiPhyficke : aasithisncwa (Hailing bccnc wcll)that would haue made me iickc. Being ficke. haue in fome meafure,fnadc me well. And as the.Wretch.whofe Feaucr-weakned loyn:*. Like firengthlefle Hindgej,b:icklc vnde r life. Impatient of hi? Fit, breakcs like a Hrc Out flihis keepers armes : Euenio, my Limbca ( Weak'aed with grecfc) being now inrag 'dwith greefc. Arc thrice thcmfelues. Hence therefore thou nice »:fu::ch. A fcalie Gauntlet now^wsth ioy nts ofSceele Muft fflouet his hand. And hence thoo fickiy Quoifsj Thou atta^uard too wanton for the head. Which PrineeSjflcfh'd jjujiiX^onqueft.aymc to hit. Now biude my brgwes with Iron,and approach The ragged'ft houte,that Time and Spight isssJuing Tofrowne vpon th'enrag'd Northambcrland, Let Hcauen kilTcJEsrth : now let not Natures hand iKeepe the w ilde Fjaqi confin'd : Let Order dye, {^nd let the world no Ipjigy he a Hagc To fecdc Contention in a Ikig'ring A£t;i But let one fpirit of the hirft-borncCi<»«# •">0'^ 508 - (38) - il, -g Reigne 50 Ih 7 6 The fecond Tart of K^ ing Henry the Fourths, Reigie in all bofomes, chat each heart being fee On bloody Coiirfes. the rui1e Scene iiiay end. And darknciTe b; the biiricr of the dead. (Hcnor. LlBar Sweet Barlc,du!orce not wirc'ior. The Hues of.iU yout louing Complices Leanc-on your health, the which if you giuc.o'ie To flormy Paflion, murt perforce decay. You caft th'cucni of Wj£fe(iTiy Noble Lord) And fumm'd the accompt of Chancc,bcfore you laid Letvs make head : Itwasyourprefurmize, That in the dole of blowe8,your Son might drop. You knew he walk'd o'rc perils, on an edge Morclikcly to fall in, then to get o'rc : You were aduis'd his flefh was capeable Of Wounds, and Scarres 5 and that his forward Sptric Would lift him, where moft trade of danger ranft'd ^ Yet did you fay go forth : and none of this (Though ftrongly apprehended) could reflraina The ftiffc-borne Adiion : What hath then befaine ? Or what hath this bold entetpriz-c bring forth. More then thit Being, which was like to be ? L.Bar. We all that are engaged to this lofle. Knew th.it we ventut'd on fuch dangerous Seas, That if we wrought out life,was ten to one : And yet wc ventui'd for the gaine propos'd, Choak'd the refpefl of likely perill fear'd, And fince wc are o'rc-Ser,venturc againc. Comc.we will all put forih; Body,and Goodi, TWor.Tis more then time : And (my moft Noble Lord) I hcarc for certaine, and do fpeakc the truth : The gentle Arch-billiop of Yorke is vp With well appointed Powres : he is a man Who with a double Surety bindes liis Followers. My Lord (your Sonne)hsd cnely but the Coipcj, L'ut fhadowcs, and the ftiewes of iren to fight, f-or that fame wo>ti(Rebe!lion) did diuide The adtion of their bodies, from their foisjes. And they did fight with queafincfle, conHrain'd As men drinke Potions; that their Weapons pniy Seerh'd on our fide : but for their Spirits and Soules, Ttiis word (RebellionJTt had f£02.e them vp, As Fifh are in a Pond. But now die Billiop Ttirnes Inlurrcftion toRchgion, Suppos'd fincerc.snd holy in his Thoughts : He's foUow'd botn wUnCodyjand wkh Mindc : And doth enlarge his Rifing, with ttieBlood OffaircKing Richard, fcrap'd from Pomfret fioncs, Deriues from h£auen,his Quarrcll.and his Caufe J Tels ihem,he JotfT&eftiide a bleeding Land, Gafping for life, vnder great BuU'mgbrookff And more,and kfie.do flocke to follow hir,?. North. I knew of this before But to fpeakc truth, This prcrent"^eere had wip'd it from my ip.indt. Go in with me^n- counccll oucry man The apteft way for fafety, and teuenge : Get Pofl?,and.Letter3,an Jmake Friend's with fpced, . Neaer Co fey^,nor neuer yet more need. ^^§_ Exeunt. ~ " ScenoTmia. (i*)"^^ Enter Fiil[}.jife,and Pa(re. F.i/.5irra,you giant,v;h:it Insii thcDoft.to my water? Pag. HeTit^fir,thcvvaterit klfe wasa good healthy ' vtratcr:but foFThe party that ow d it,he might haue mote I'BiIcaTes then h" V^sw for. ftiL Men ofall forts take a pride to gird at mee; the 408 -(14) - oh., brainc of this fooiifh compounded CJay-man, is not able to inuent any thing that tends to laughter, .^ more then 1 iniientjorisinuentcdonme. lamnoconely wittyin my felfcjbnt thccaufe that wit !_s in other men. Idoeheere walkc before thee, like a Sow, that hath o'revMhelm'd all her Litter, but one. If the Prince put thee into my Set- uice for any other reafon, then to fct mee otf, why then I baiicnoiudgcmcnt. Thou horfon Mandrake, thou ait fitter to be woroe in my cap, then to wait at my hceles. I was neuer niann d with an Agoi till now : but I willfette you ney ther in Gold, nor Siluer, but in vilde apparell.and fend you backe againc to your Mnficr. for a lewciL The /««e»(i// (the Prince your Mafter) whofeChin is-notyet fiedg'd, I will fooncr haue a beard grow in the Palme of ' my hand, then he IKall get one on his cheeke : yet he will not fticke to fay, his Face is a Face-Royall. Hesucn may finifli it when he will, it is not a haire ai-oiffe ^et : he may ,keepc it ftill at a Face-Royall , for a Bcibct iKall netiet came fix pence out of it; and yet he will be crowing, s.-s if he had writ man euer fince his Father was a Batchellour. He may kccpe his owne Grace, but he is almoft out df mine, lean alTujc him. What faid M.^Dow^/fi/ow, about the Satten for ray (hort Cloakc,and Slops ? Ttig. He laid fir.youfliould procure him better Affu- rance,then!S<«r^*//J' .* he wold not take his Bopd & yours, he lik'd not the Security. Vd. Let him bee damn'd like the Glutton, ma^ liii 7'onguc be hotter,a horfon AchstojheL ; a Rafcally^yea- /prfooth-knauf icarco Gentleman in hand, and then ftandvponSeciri The horfon fmooth-pates doe now wearc nothing butliigh (hoes, and bunches of Keyes at their girdles : and if a man is through with them inho- nefi Taking-vp, then they muft ftasidvpon Securitie: I had as hcfe they would put Ranj-bane inmymouth, ai offer to floppc it with Security. 1 look'd hce iiliouldhaue fent me two and tv;enty yards sf Satten (as I sm true Knight) ancl he fends me Securuy. Well,hc may fleep in Security, for he hath the hornc of Abundance : and the lightneffcofhis WifelTiines through it, and yet cannot he lee,though he haue his owne Lanthbrne to lighthim, Where's 'Bariilfct Tag. He's gone into Smithfieldeo buy your worfiiip a horfe. "^ Val, 1 bought him in Paules,and hee'l buy mee a horfe inSmithfield, If I could get mee a wife in the Stcwes, I '^ereMann'd,Hors'd,and Wiu'd. ,. j '^" £nttj Chiefe Itt^ke^ttnd SeraaKt, Tag. Sir, heere comes the Nobleman that corasnictfid tlie Prince for flriKirig"hiiT ,,about "Bardelfe. Fal. Wait clofc,! will not lee him. Ch.Iufi. What's he that goes there? Ser. f/?iJ?<2jjv,anig!y'Jllewbray, and Lord's ardolfi^ ^r.Thushaue you heard our caufcs.Si kno our Means : And my moft noble Friends. I pray you aTT Spcake plainly your opinions of our hopes; Aiid firft(Loid Marniali)what fay you to it ? AJ«xt>. I well allow the cccafion of our Armc^, But gladly would be better fatisRed, Kow (in our Meancs j yvc fliould aduance our felues To looke with forheadFoId ard big enough Vpon the Power and puHance of the King. Hafi. Oar prefenc Muftcrs grow vpon thcFile To fiue and twenty thoufand men of choice : Andou'rSupplies.liueJargely inthehope ■ OfgrcatNorthumFrrl.ind,whofeboromeburnes With an incenfed Fire of Iniiirics. L.Bar. The qucfliosi then(Lord Hafiinns] thndcth . thus Vv^hether out prefent fine and twenty thoufano^^ May hbld-v p-h cad,without Northumberland: ^a^J VVj t^ KTiTi , v; c m n y . L-iar. I marry jtheve's the point: But if without him we be thought to feeble . My iudgcment is,wc fiiouKi not ftep toofarre Jill we had his Afsiftancc by the hand. ForinaTheamrfo bloody fac'd,3s this, Conieflure, Expe>:tation,and Stirmife Of Aydes incettaine^flW.d not be admitted ■Arch. 'Tis very true Lord "BdrdolfeSox indeed It was yong Hatfjinrres cafe, at Shrcwibury. h.Bxr, Ic was(my Lord)who lin'd himklfwith hope, Eiting ^ ayrc, on promife of Supply, Flatt'ringhimfclfc v/ith Pro'ieft of a power. Much fmullcr, then rhe fmalleltofhis Thoughts, And fo with great imagination (Proper to mad mtw ) led his Powers to death . And (winking) leap'd into delhuiSlion. , " PUfi. But(byyourleaue)itneueryetdidh-;_'-, To lay downe likely-hoods,and formes of hope. L.Lat. Yc3,if,thisprcfent quality of warre. Indeed the ir.llant aflion: a caufc on foot, Liucs fo in hope : As in an early Spring, \Vc ice th'appeiring bu Js,which to proue fruite, Hope giucs not fo much warrant, as Difpairc That Frofts will bite them. When wemcanetobuild^ We fitft futacy the Plot.thcn cUaw the Modcllj, And when we fee the figure of the houie. Then muft we rate the coft of the Erc£lionj WKi'ch if we finde out-weighes Ability, What (Jo we then, but draw a-new the Model) In fewer offices i Or atleaR, dcfift To builde at all ? Much more, in this great worTce. (Which is (almoft) to plucke a Kingdomc downc And fct another vp)fliould we furuey Theplot of Situation, and the Modell ; Confent vpon a fure Foundation : Queflion Surucyors, know our ownc cflattfj, How able fuch a Worke to vndcrgo, To weigh againft his Oppo(itc?Or clfc» We fortifie in Papcr,and ihFigures, Vfing the Names of tiien, infiead of men : Like one,that drawei the Modell ofalioufe Beyond his power to builde it; who(halfe througli) Giucs oVe, and leaues his part-creatsd Coft A naked fubiedlEolTie Weeping Clouds, And wafte,for chiirlifh Winters tyfaliffy. Ilafi. Grant that our hones(yetlikc]y of faire byrtli^ Should be ftill-borne . an3mat we now poflcft The vtniolt man of cxpccSaticn : I thin"Kcvv"c arc a Body ftrong enough (EUen as we are) to equaTrvTith the King, Z/.^-ir.What is the King but fine & twenty thoufand ? //^/?. To vs no more : nay not fo much Lord "Bardolfi For his diuKions (as the Tinies do braul) Arc in three Heads : one Power againft the French, And one againft G'.eHdower: Perforce a third Muft take vp vs : So is the vnfirme King In three diuidcd : an^ his Coffers found With hollow Ppaercy,and Emptincfle. c-Yr.Thac he fiiould'draw liis feii'^rall ftrength's togithg And come againft vs in full puiflance Need not be drraded Hafl. If he (hould do fo, He leaues his backe vnarm'd, thcprench.and Welch Saying him at the hecles : ncuer fearc that. L<'Bar. ' Whoisit likcfhould lead his Forces hither JI^J}. The Duke ofTane3fter,and Wcftmerland : Againft the Weifh hirofelfc, and Hiirrie Monmonth. But vyho is fubftituted 'gainft the French, I haue no certainc notice . .Arch. Letvson: And publilh the occafion ofouf ATwci,-, The Common-wealth is ficke of their' owns Choice^ Their ouer.grecdy loue hath '"'irfetted : An hibitation giddy, and vnliire Hath JT^thatbuildethonthe vulgar heart. O thou fond Many, with what loud opplaufe Did'ft thou bedtcneauen with blcfling 'BuHrngbrookfi Before he v/as,what thcu wouIJTFhaue iiim be ? And being now trimm'd in thine owne dcht es, Thou (beaftiy Fecder}3rt fo full of iiim, That thou prouok'ft thy'fdfe to caft him vp So,fo,(thou commonDogge) did'ft thou difgorgC Thy glutton-bofome of the Roysll Richard, And now thou would'ft eate thy dead vomit vp. And howlft to finde it. What trisft is in thefe Times ? Thev,th3twlienig/V/j<8r^liu'd. wpuld haue him dye. Are now become enamour'd on his graii' ° Thou that threw'ft duft vp6n his goodly 1. ) When throijoh proud London he came fighing OH, After th^cfmired hceles ofSaHiag^roohe, Cri'ft now. O Eartiryecld vs that King; agine, —^ And 4:G^-(TTy- 3/t. 461 — (32)- 7/1. '^ (5 100 ThefecondTart ofK^iHenry the FcunL 19 And take thou this (O thoughts of men accurj'd) PafltiHdto Come,feetHes l>ejf; things Prefentyorfi; Mow. Shall we go dr^w ournumbers,and fet ort ? Hall.We areTimcs fubieds.and Time bids, be goat> 150 200 ih{3) 250 1/. 350 450 61 JBhs SccundiiT, Scma Tnma, ^nter Hojtslfe.vairh (wn O^icers.F.wgy^and Snart //»i7fjyi. Mr.frfw.haucyou cntred the Adion ? fdwf. Itisenterd. Hoihfe. Wher'i your Ycomanflsit aluHy ycomgni Will he Ihnd to U ? f /i«^. Sirrsb, where' s Snare f 'Uodffe- IJjgood M.Snare., /jBijrtf, Hecrc,hccre. Fait^. Sn ihll.lt\s more then {brrome(my^ord)itis foralltali Ihaue.hehath eaten mtouircjf houfeandhomciheehath put all my fubftancc into that fat belly ofhij I. burXwill haue f jms of it cue againe^-^tl willride'hicca'Niehts, like the Mare, f/i{/?. IthinkelamasIikcjtQ.rideriieMarcj iCliaue iny vantage of ground.tb get vp. Ch-.IiijL^How cometthis,Sir7«;5«i' Fy^wfiataman of good temper would cndurcthistempeftot exclamation? Are you not sQiam'd to inforcea poorc- Widdcwe to ib rough a courfe.to come by her owncif Ful/}.. What is the grofle fumnjc ihar I owe tiice^ 7y»/?.' Marry (ifthouwcr'taniriticftman)thyfclfc»& themonytoo. Thoudidrtfweatitomec vponaparcell gilt Goblctjfitiing in my Dolphm-thambcr at the round table,by a fea-cole firemen Wednefday in Whiilbn week. when tuc Princcbrokc thy head for lik'ning him toafiij- gingin3nofWindfor;Thoudiiiftl"wearetometheu(as.l was vvafhing thy wound)to marry me.and make meemy l.ady thy wiferCanft y deny it ? Did not: good wife JCeech the Butchers wife come in thcn.and cai me goflip^^iciS;; /;? comming in to borrow a mcffe of Vinegar: teliingys, (he had a good d\{h of Prawnesiwbereby ^ didft dcfire to cat fomc :- whereby I told thee they were ill for a greenc xvound? And didft not thou (wh»n flic was gone downe flaires)defire me to be no more familiar with fuch poorc pcople.faying.ihat ere long they (hould call me Madam? And did'ft "^ not kiffe iTie,3nd.bid mee fetch thee JQ.S? J put thee nOfW to thy Book-oath.denY it if ihoucruift> ' F^!. My Lord,thii is a poorc mad lbule:and (he layes vp & downe the town, that her eldcft foa is likeyou.Shc hath bin in good cafe.& the trutn is^ pouetty hath diffra.: (Sed her : but for thefe rooiifli Officers, I bcfecch jrou^ 1 may baue redreffe againft them. 'Ififi. Sir /oSw.ftr/c^w.I am well acquainted with your maner of wrenching the true caufe,thc falfc way.lt is not a confident brow, nor the throng of wordes, that come with fuch (more then impudcat)faw!l's well. What is the Viewes - my Lord? Ch.Iufi,' Corns all hiiForces backe? Jl^ef. No: FifteenehuadredFoot,fiLiehl3Uai;e^orfe Are roarch'd vp to my Lord of Lancafter. AgainftNorthumbcrhnd.and the Avchbillicp. fal I Comes the Kingbaclce frorr* Waies.my nobjct? Ch.Ififi. You (hall h:iue Letters' of meprcfentryT' Comcig^along With me,gcod M. Comf. pal. My Lord. CbJufl. •What's the matter? Tal. ■ M*rtcr Cmre;-: ft) all i cntreate you with mec to dinner ? C?oB'.^ I muft waite vpon my good Lord hecre. I thankcyou,good Sir/eW ChJffl: Sir M'»>youloyterhecrCtoo long beingyou are to take Sould^crs yp, in Countries as you go. pal. Will you fup witli me.Maftcr Gwj-f? jChJfiJf. What foolilli Maftertaughc you thefe man- ners. Sir /(?^«? FaL Ma'Jer Gowr. if they become mee not.-heewasa Foolcthat taught them mce. This is the right Fencing gcacc (my Lord) tap tor tap .and io part faite. Chjufi: Now the Lord lighten thee, ihouatt a great :i3S - (12 )-'ih (2) 50 iO ScenaSecunda, EhurPntice'TTiim, Point z., .BaYdolfe, and Tdge. 3?>^«r.«Tlultme,I am exceeding weary. P<»j»« Isii come to that? Ihad "thought wearines darft miitfc^ueauach'd one offo high blood. ^JS&e*It'dotnme:4h0Mghitdicre thy pcach-colourdonc5:)Ortobearc thelnuentorieof ih') (•') !'*■ fiiirts, as one for fuperfii;ity,and oneotberifor vfe. But th.-it the Tennis-Court-kcepcrknowcs better theni, for itisaloweT)bcofLinnen with thee, when thou kept'i^ j^qq not'Racke: there, as thou haft not done a great while,be- caufe the reft of thy Low Countrie5,haue made a fhift to eatevpthyfifolland. PoiK. How ill it followcs, after you haiie labour'd fo hard.you fhould talkc (o idleiy? Tell mc how many goodl (^50 yong Princes would do fo, their Fathers lying fo ficke; as yours is? Tr'ti. Shall I tell thee one thing, pointz, ? Poiu. Yes : .ind let it be an excellent good thing. Prin, Itihallferueamongwittesofno higher breed ing then thine, I I'd;!. Goto : I ftintlthepufliofyouronc thing, fW] yoa'l tell. Pri>t. Why, X tell thce,lt is not meet, that 1 fhould be fadnowniyFstherisfickei-albeit I could tell tothcc(as to one It plcafes me.for fault ol abetjer,to call my friend) J could be fad^artd (id indeed too* J; Poin. Very hardly vpon Jbch a fubit£t. Prin. Thout3i!nk'An?e as'farrcm thcDiucfs Boole, as thou,and F(»//?<«^)-for-obdaracie and perRftcncic. Let the end try the man.' But L tell thee, my hartbieeds inward- ly , that my Faiher is fo ficTiti ihd kVeping fuch vild com- pany as thou artjiiath in rcafon taken from me, ail'often- tatronoffo'/row. Poin? The reafon? T'rw.What-would'ftthoutlitnTcorme.tfl fhold weep? Pott}. I wouKlthinke thee a moft Princely hypocrite. Ptiit.. Jcwouldbeeuery mans thought : snd thou art a bleftcd FcIloWjtothinkcasebcryman thinkes Tiieucra mans thought in the-wojld,'keepcs the Rodc-way better tlicn thine : cuery man would thinkeme an Hypocrite in- dccVe." And what accitesyourmoftworfhipful thought tothinkefo? PcZ/j.Whyjbecaufe you haue beeneXolewde, and fo ijiuch ingraffcd to Falfta^e^ Prin. And to thee. Peintu. Nay, I am wellfpolcen of, I can beare it with mine owne cares :the war ft that they can fay ofmc is.thai I am alecoftd Brother, and that I am a proper Fellov^'e of my hands : and thofe two things I confeffe I canoe bclpe. Looke,looke,here romes "Bardolfc. /'r/»f*.= 'Andthe Boy that! ^aaeFafflafe, he nadTiim from me Gbfiftian,and fee it the fat villain haue not trans form'dhim'iftpc, 1 Emer Sardelfe. 'Bur, Sflue your Grace. Prin, And yours,moft Noble !2;f>'io/5fJ', Poit). Gome you pernitiousAflTcjyoubanifull Foolej muft you beblulhing ? Wherefore blufli you now? what a MaidcnlymanatArmes arc you become ? hit fuch 4 matterto get a Pottle-pots Maiden-bead ? Pagt^. He call'd me euen now (my Lord)through (fred Lattice, andl could difccrnenopart of bis face from th* window- 300 :J50 too 450 500 3 (2) \i\\\i - U-v J yli - f'2S)- i;/i Hi 2)50 1/' r 150 ^hefccowdTart ofE^g Henry the Fourth, Si (14.) '200 (2'> 250 1/t aoo •iO 40( window : a: iaft I fpy'd his eyes, and n\z ^tioudic he had' ] nude two holesjn the A!e-wiucs new PeuiGosr, 5: pec-- j pcd througlir ~— — friit. Hathnottlicboyproficed? j "iBm: Away.^ouhorloiivprif^htRabbct.awaj- j fage^ A way, you rafcaliy AlthcM dreame.awa^-. i /'//Vi Ififlriscl VI Boy : wlisc drcan-'e, Boy .' ! Pfige. Marry (my. Loidl ^ilthe.'. dresm li, Qie was dc- Ijuev'dof aFirebrand,and chcfeforc I call him |Ty_'-djrcani< ^mcc, iVCrowncs-worch'of go0d Interpretation • There it is. Boy. poifi. O that this good BioCfomc could bee k^pt From Cankers : WcUjihere isfixpencetoprefcr^jcthce. *Bard, If^oudonotmakehimbehintj'd^inongyoa, th'eg^llowes (hall be wrong'd. ' Princf. And how doth th-f M after. B.irdof^h ? ' "BaY. Well, my good Lord ; he heard of your Gr:cct ^amtning to Tawoe. There's a Letter for yrii. TotH. Deliuer'd with good rcfpcd: And how doth the . Msrtlemas. your Mafter ? IBarcL. In bodily hsalthSfr. ?«■«. '.Marry, the iminorrailpi^tncedes a Pbyfitian.- borthacmouesnothim; thousjh thatbee ficke, it dyes nor. Prince: I do allow this Weti to bee as, familiar with iHc.at my dogge'randheholdi. his place, tor'lookcyou 'ic writes. Peitt.Letter. ■ Tohtt Fafjl.tjfe Knight : (Eueryman'mufl know that.asoft a J hee4iach occalion to name bimfelfe:) Eucnlike thole tha^arckinne to the King, foritiey neuer pricke their finger, but they fay,thereis Tom of the kings blood fpiit. How comes that ( fayes he) that takes vpon him not CO conccine? the anfwer is as ready jj a borvow- t'A cap : I am the Kings poove Cofin,Sir. 'printe. Nay, they vv.ll be kin to vs.biiE they vvil fetch itTrom /rt^/jff.. Eiittft the Letter: ; —^SirJehnFaf^afe, Kmj^hti to the SoKtie of the Kmg^ neerefi^ Father, Harrit Prme of W'ales, greeting. ^ 'piin. Why this is^^Ccrtificate. yrin. Peace. tv/iU imitate the hontrurnhk Ramainesin IreHJtiei foi»i Sure he mcanes brcuicv in breath: fiiort-vvlnded. I commendnff tx) tbc:^ I commend thee .ukA Ileanethee., Bee net too familiar with Point/., for kce mifiifis th\ Fi^mtirsfo pmch, that hefwearcs thou art to marric hJj 5//?fr Nell. Re^ fent fit tile timet tu thou }:->ajfi,i:udfofirewell. Thine ybj yea and no : which is. as mnch f.s tafay, as thoii vfeji him. '• lacke ?sl nartc r^iih nty FawiliArst John vptth ntj- "Broiheys andSilter:(y Sir lolin, with all Europe. My Lord. I will' ftccpe this Letter in Sack, and makchim eatcit. Ff'if, That's'tomalichimeatctwentyofhis Wort[j. Butdoyou vfc mcthus A'fi^? Muf] I qjaiKj'yourS^fter? ;yw». May the Wench haue no worte Fortune. ^I I neuer faid lo. Prifi.WcWi thus wc play the Faolej w'ith the time tl i^efpints-ofrhewiie,luiniheclouds,andniockc vs : Is ^ur Mafter hccre in London ? ^ard. Yes my Lcid. Priv. Where fuppes He ? Doxh the old Sore, feede ill the old FtSflke? "Bard.Ai the old place my Lord, in EaS-cheape. 7'riH. What Company? Page. Ephefiansrov Lord,oftheold Church. Prm, Sup any women with hini.* Pt^6. NoneinyLord^nt ole fccne.'' Piia Put ontwo Leather fr^ may lieauenly glory brighteh it : FofHis.icftuekevponhim.as theSonnc In the gray vc;ultt>f hicauen :and by his Light Did all the Cheualrie of England nioue . •To do biauc Afls. He was (indced)thc Glaffe WherciniheNoble-Youih did dreffe themfc'iUes. He had no Leggcs, rhat pradHc'd not his Gate ; 'And fpeaking thicks Cwhich Nature madehis blemifli) Became the Accents of the Valianf. For thote.that cjt: and,puitingoff his Hat,laid,I will now I take my leauc of thefe fncc drie, round, old-wishcrd I Knights. It anger'd him to the heart : but hee hath for- got that. I. Draw, Why then couevi and fet them do wne : and Ces if thoncauft finde out Sneakes Noyfe ; Miftris Teare- y^«r would faine hauc fome Mufique, i.Drarr, Sitrh3,heere will be the Prince, and Maftcr J>w'«w,9non ; and they will p«t on two of our lerkins, and Aprons, nnd Sir /o6«mufi not know of it : ^ardolph ha:h brought word, i.nratp. Then here will be oidFffer,* it will bean CK- celknt (tratagem. 4;iU -(,!)) -11/i i^efi. Swcer-heart, me thinkes now you are in an ex* ccUcntgoodtempcralitie: yourPulfidge beates;as ttJ. traordinan1y,as heart would dr(ire ; and your Colout (I warrant you ) is as ted as anyRofe : But you hfiui> dmnke too much Canaries, and that's a tnaruellous feat'' thing Wine ; and i* perfumes the blood, ere wee can fay what's this. How doe you now !• Do/. Better then I was : Hem. Hefi- Why that was well faid : A good heart s wortfar Gold. Looke;ihere comes Sir Inhn. EntirFalfiaffe. ° Ealff. ffhttf Arthnrfirli s» Court. "{cm^txt the loidan) Mtivoi AvarthjKing: HownowMiftrisDo/? Ho^. SickofaCalme:yea_good.foot!i. Faltl. So is all her Scdl : if they be onceinaCalnt*, they are fick. Dol. You rauddie Rafcailjis that all the comfort ;^c!» giueme? Falli. You make fat Rafcalls^Miftrls "Dof': Bol, I make them ? Gluttonic and Difeafes make them.I make them no^ Falfl. 1* the Cooke make the GIuttonie,youhelp<: to make the Difcafcs (2>ff/) we catch of you (Z)»/j we catch of you : Grant that.my poore Vertue, grant rhat. tDtf/. Imarry,ouiChaynes,and6urIewels^ Falfi. Your Brooches, S^earles, and O wches j For 16 leruc braucly,is to come hakiig off: you know,to come off the Brcach,with his Pike bent brauely, and to Surge- rie brauely ; to venture vpon rhc charg'd-Chambeu brauely. Hojf-, 'Why this is the olde fatliion : you two neuer meete,butyou fall to fomcdifcord: you are both (JQ good troth) as Rhcumatifec as two drie ToHcs, you can. not one bcare with anothers Confirmities. What the good-ycre? One mufl bearc, and that muft bee you: you are the weaker Velfcll ; ai they (ay, the emptier Veffell. Dui. Canaweake emptic VcHell beare fucb a huge full Hogs-hcad ? There's a whole Marchants Venture of Buideuv-Stuffeinhim: you haue not fccneaHul!ce bettci ftufft in the Hold- Come, He be friends with tbee lach^ : Thou art going to the Warres , and whether I Hiali cuer fet. thee againe^or no, there is no body cares. inter 'JDravftr. Drawer. Sir, Ancient /*;;?<)/? is below, and would fpeake with you, ©«/. Hang him, fwag^ering Rafcall , let him rot come hither : it is the fouie-inouth'dli Rogue in £ng« land. Hofi. If hee fwagger, let him not come here : I mttft liueamongit my Neighbors, He no Swaggerers; I am in good nai je, and fame, with the very befi : fhui the doorc, there comes no Swaggerers heere : I hauc not hud all this while, to haue fwaggcring nowr (but th« doore, Iprayyou, >«/i?. Do fl thou hcare.rioftcCc ? , Hefi.'PtzY you pacifie your fcUc(Sir M»)ihcrc romes no Swaggerers heere, ^ 425 - (13j - in ' I'hefecondT^tofE^mgHenrjthe Fourib. Falfl- Do'ft thou heare? ic is mine Ancient, HoB. Tilly-faIIy(Sir fohn)ncusT cell mc, your ancient Swaggerer comes no cin my doores, I was before M afict TV/'fl.the Deputic, the other day : and as hee faid cotnt, it was no longer agoe then Wcdne{3ay laft : Neighbour §aicklji (faycs hce;7M:ifier Dom5e,oax Miniftcr.was by then : Neighbopr ^Imckly (fayes hee^ rcceiue thofe thsc areCiuili j for (fay to hec) you ore in an illNauie : now hrc faid fo J can tell whereupon : ror(rayes bee) you arc t" honefl Wot!;an, and Wei! thought on ; ilisreforetake hcede what GueCIs you receiue: Rcceiue (fay es hce^no waggeringCompar/ions.Thcrc comes noneheere* You would bieife you to heatc what hee faid, No, ilc ho Swaggerers, "" ' Falfi. Hec's no Swaggerer(Ho{tefle;)a tsme Cheater, iiec: you may fircai;; Liiu ai gently^as a puppie Grey- hound :. hee will not I'waggcrv.'tthaBarbaTie Hennc,'if her feathers turne baekc in any /hew of refinance. Call bimvp (Drawer.} tJofi, Cheater, call you hlcn ? I VJil! barre no honeft snab my houfe,,noi no Cheater : cut I doe not I'oue fwag- gering; lamihe worfev%'henonefaycs,f'^ag^cr : Fccle Msflcrs.how I (Iiakc: looke-youjl warrant you. Dol. Soyoudoe,Hofiefle. ■ HafirDoel} ye3,invcrytratIidoeIjificwerean A - penLeafe : I cannot abide Swaggefets. Surer Pi/ts!.^ and "BaTcLol^h a/sd his, Boy, fifi. 'SaueyoUjSir/^S»i Falfi. Welcome hncKiKpiftd. Hcre{P/7?fi/^l'charge you witha Cup of Sackei riac you difchargc vpon mine Hoffefie. F;^. 1 will difchargcvpon Tier (Sir/*«») withiwo Bullets. ~~ Fatfi. She is PiaoIUptoofc(Sir^ you {hall hardly nf. fend her. Hofl Come. Iledrinkc no Proofes,norno Bullets: 1 will dtinke no more then will doc me eood, for no mans plealute, I. Pi[}-. Then to you {}l[.\{in%Dorothie') Iwill charge you, "Del. Ch.irgeme? I rcorhcyxiu(fcuruie Companion} what?you poore; bafe,r3fcal!y, clieating, lacke-Linnen- Mate: away you mouldicRogtiF^awayj i am meat for yourMaftcr. Pifi. I knowyou,MiilrisZ)»;«^/#. T)oL Away you Cur-purfe Rafcall, yon filthy Bung, away : By this Wiuejllc thtuftmyKnife m yourmouldie Chappesjif you play t^.e fawcie Cuttle withmc. Away youBotdc-AlcRafcail.you Basket-hilt flalelugler.you. Since when, I pray yoUjSir? whati with two Points on yourfhoulder ? much, ?ifi. 1 will murthcr your Ruffe,fo"r this, Hofi. Nojgood Captaine Piftoi -•■■ not hcere . fwcetc Captainc. """ Dol. Captaine ?. thou abhominabk damn'd Cheater^ arttlicunotalliam'd cobecall'd Captainc? If Captaines wercof my minde, they would trunchion you out.for ta- king their Names vpon you,beforeyouhaueearn'd them. You a Captainc? you flauejfor what .' forrcating a poore Whores Ruffe in a B.iwdy.flbufe ? Hee a Captanie? hang hsmRoguCj hee liiiesvportmouldie ftcW'd-Pruinesjand dry'de Cakes. A Captaine.? Thefe Villaines will mafec the word Captaine odious : Therefore Cjptaiaes hao needelooketoir. Bard. 'Pray thee goc downe,good Ancieoi:. Fdfi, Hcarke thee hither,Miftris BoL PiFl. Not I : I tell thee wnat. CorpotaIIS^;^?^i&^ I could tesre her : He be reueng'd on her. Pa^e. 'Pray ch ee go c d o wnc. Pifi. lie fee her damn'd firfl: to P/m«'j damn'd Lake, to the f nfernall Decpe, where Erebus and Tortures vilde alfo. Hold Hookc and Line, fay! ; Downe: downc Doggesjdowne Fates: haueweenot/iVfw here; Hofi. Good Captaine Peefd be quiet, it is very late.: I befeekcyou now,aggr3uateyourCholcr. Fiji. Thefe be good Humors indccde. ShaM Pack. Horfes,and hollow-pamper.d lades of Afiajwhich can- not goc but thiriie miles .i day, compare with Capir, and with Caniballsjand Tro:r.iGreekcs? r;jy, rather damne theoi with YimgCr5tr:ii,raA k; tlic Welkin roatfi: (hall Vvcc fall foule forToyes r ' Hofi. By my tfcth Captaine, ihefe are very bittci V'Ords. : "Biird, Be gone, good Ancient : ihis ■raill. grow to a Erawl3anon. Pifi^ Die menjiikeDoggesiguieCrowneslikcPinnes: Haue we not //«-fa here? Hofi. Ori my word(CaptaiDe)thercsnone fuch here. What the good-yere^doeyouthioke I wouJ i denyeher ? I pray be quiet. Fifl. Then fee<3,and be fac (my £i\Te (/tlipelii ,) Come, giue me fome Sack, SifartHHe me tcrmeme fpertttomecon- tense. Fcarc wee broad-fides fNo,lct the Fietidgiucfire: Giueme(bmeSack: and Sweet-heart lye chou there: Come wee to full Points here . and arc ct ccterds no- thing ? i^^— « pal. ?/i?fl/,lwoaIdbeqnlet. Pistt Sweet Knight,! kiffeihyl^a^s-wIjatJwcehaQe feene the fcuen Starrcs. Dol. Thrufl him downe fiaytes, I cannar. endure fu(rfa a FuflianRafcs!!. Pifi. Thrufi him downe Haytci? knowwe notGallo- w.^yNaggcs ^ Tal. Qil.'^it him downe {^Burdolfh) like alhoac-groat fiiilling: nav.if heedocnoihingbutfoeakenoibingjhce fhall be nothing here, "Sard. ComCjget you downe fiayrej. P/;?. What? fiialiwee hauelncifion? rhall wee cm- brew ? then Death rockc me afleepe,abridgeroydolefull dayes: why then let gricucus,g2ftly,gapj»g Wounds, vncwin'd the Sifters three: Come .^tropotj. fay, HoBl Hcre'sgoodftuffetoward. Fal. GiuerocmyRapier.Boy. JDfl/.,T pretiiee lack,, J pretlice doeoot draw. FaL GetyiSfdowncftayres, Hofi. Here's a goodly tumult: lie fotfweare keeping houfcjbeforcllebcinthefe tirrits,and frights. So^Mur- thci I warrant now. Alas. alaSj putvpyour naked Wca» pons, put vp yout naked Weapons. Dal. I prethce A?ir;^,be quiet, theRafcallis gone i . ^ you whorfon littlevalianc Vjllaine,you, Hoft. Are yoaaoc burr i th' Groyne ? me thought hee made alhrewdTbruft^tyour Belly. fd. Haueyou turn'd him out of doores i Bard. 'Yes Sir : the Rafcall sdrunke: ysu Tiaifc l»urt (Sir) inihefiiouldcr. Fal. A Rafcall to braue me* Deu Ah.youfweerlittJeRogaEiy.otr: alas.pooEcApCf. how thou Iwcat'ft? Com^krmcwipethyFacerCojDej onjyoa whorfon Chops-i Ah Rogae,Iloue thee : Thou 'A 154-(22)-10;i 405 - (eij-CA Sa The fecond^art ofK^g Henry the Fourth, ars as valorous as HeSler of Troy,worth Sue of uigamem' Hon, and tcnnc times better then the nine Worthies : ah Villaine. "" F4I. Arafcslly Slaue,IwinioffetheR©gueijiaBlan- kcc. "" Do/. Doc,if thou tiar'ft for thy heart : if thou doo'ft, lie canuas thee betwccnc a pairc of ShecteT, Entir ij^titjtqsie, TAge, TheMufiqueis come.Sir, "Bd. Let them play : play Sir*. Sit on my Knee, P«/. h Rafcall.bragging Slaue: theTTogue fled frooi me like Quick-filucr, Z)«/. And thou followd'ft him like a Church: thou whotfon little tydic Sartholme'wBorc-pigge.vshen wile thou leauc fighting on daycs,aiid foyningon ni^|nt|,and begin to patch vp thine old Body for Hcauen ? "Enter the Prince a>id Pomes disguis'd, Td. Peace (good Dol) doe not fpcake like aPeaths- head : doc non bid me remember raine end. Dol, Sirrha, wTiat humor is the Prince of? Fal. A good fliallo w young fellow : hee would haue made a good Pander, hce would haue chipp'd Bread well. Dol. They, fay Foiues hath a good Wit. fd. Hee a good Wit f hang him Baboonchis Wit is asthicke as Tewksburie Milliard: there is no more con- ceit in him,thcn is in a Maliet. Dol. Why doth the Prince louehim forhen ? Td. Becaufe their Lcggcs are both ofa bignefle: and hee pbyes at Q^oirs well.and eates Conger and FgnneiT and drinkei off Candles ends for Flap.diagons,and rides the wildc-Marc with the Boycs,and iumpes vpon loyn'd- Hoo'es.and (weares with a good grace, and weares his Boot very fmooth ,like viuo the Signe of the Leggc; and breedes nobatewith telling of difcreeie ftories: and fuch other Gamboll Faculties hee hath, that fhew a weake MindcjaniTanflblcBodyjfor the which thcPrriice admit* him ; fot tfic Prince himfelfe is fuch another : the weight oF an hayre will turnc the Scales betweene their Hnbcr-de-fots . Vrinci. Wouldnotthis Naiieof aWheele haue his Eares cut otf? foin, L"c£ vsbcat him before his Whore. Vr'me. Lookc, if the withet'd Elder hath not his Poll claw'd like a Parrot . Poin. Is it not flrange, that Defirc fiiould io many yeetes oiit4iue performance ? fA. Kiffe me Dol. Tr'tKCs. Satcrne and Ve-^iM4 this yeere in Coniunc^ion ? VV'^hac fayes the Almanack to that? ?«;«. And lookc whether the ficrie Trtgon^ his Man, benoilifping tohisMaders old Tables^hisNote-Booke, his CounccU-kccpct ? F^/. Thoud_c/ft grjemcflatt'ring Bufles. Dol. Nayiruely, I kiffe thee with a moft conftant heart. Fd.- 1 am aide, I am olue. Dol. I loue thee better .then T loue erea fcuruie young Boy of them alL Fd. What Stuffc wilt thou haue a Kirtle of ? I (hall receiueMoneyonThurfdjy ; thou (halt haueaCappe to morrow, A mcrne Song, come t ic gtovses laic, wee will to Bed. Thou wilt forget roc, whm \ aaj gone. "" Do/. Thou wilt fei me a weeping, if thou fty*^ {qj ptoue thai cuer I drcfic my felfc haadfome , lUl thy jc, turne : well,hearken the end. Id. Some Sack,Fir/ifff«f. "Prm.Peiu. Anon,3non3sr. 'Fd. Ha? a Baftard Sonne ofthe King! ? And lit not thou Fo/wWjhis Brother ? ■ Frincf. Why thou Globe of finfull Continentr^what a Life do'ft thou lead if Fd. A better then thou; lamaCentlemanjthouan aDrav^er, Prince. Very true, Sit : and T com'e to draw you cut by the Earei. ~" Hoji. Oh, the Lord prcferuc thy good GracciWcI- come to London. Now Heauen bleflc^at fweete Face of thine: what,are you come from Wales? Fd, Thou whorfon mad Compound of Maieftie t by this light Flefli,and corrupt Blood,th'eu art welcome* Do[. How? you fat FotJe.l fcorne you. Pciij. My Lord, hee will d"!uc you out of your re- uengc,andturneal!toajr.crryERcni, if you take not tbft heat. Prince, You whorfon Candle*inyne you, howvildly didyoufpeakeof meeuen now, before this honeftjV.cr. tuousjciuill Gentlewoman? ~" " Holl. 'Blclfingon yourgood heart, and foCj£e is bf my troth. ^"" Fd. Dldftthouheareme? 'Prtnce. YesrandyouknewmtjSsyou did whm yoft ranne away by Gads-hili : youknew I was atyour back. and IpoTccit on purpofe,to trie my patience. Fd. No,na,no;notfo! I did not thioke, thou waS within hcsyijsg. prince. I {hall driue you then to confcffc the wUrjU abufe, and then I know how tofcandle you, Fd. No abufe {Hdl) on raise Bonor,no abufe. PmcfTTvIot to difpray fc me? ^ call me Pantlcrtandi Bread-chopper, and I know notA\nat^ Fd. Noabufc(£/d/; Poin, No abufe? Fd, No abufe {NiS) in the World : honeft Nedaone. I difpraysd hiia before t^c W itked', tjy| the Wicked might not fall in loue with him: Inwhich doing, 1 haue done the part of a carcfuil Friend.and a true Subied,and thy Father is jj^giUfimethankes fork. No abufe (//<:/;) none (Ned) nonej i^Boyes,none, PriKce. Sec now whether pure FearCjand entire (j|g]Sr ardife, doth not make thee wrong this vcrtuous Gende* woman,to clofe with vs? Is (hee of the Wicked ? Is thine Hoftcire hecreTof the Wicked ? Or is the Boyof ili£ Wicked ? Or honeft Bardo/^h (whofe Zealc burncs JD his Nofc) of the Wicked ? Poi0. Anfwere thou dead Elme.anFwtrft Fd. The Fiend hath priclct downe "Bitrdolj/b irrecouo* rable,and his Face isLuctfers priuy-Kitchin, where hee doth notTing buL roft Mault-Wormes : for the Boy^ tliere isagood AnseUaboot him^but ths Deuillouc*^ bids him too, PrtKce. For tjjie Women? ^ Fd. Fcrone of them, (hee is in Hell alrcadie, anu burnes poore Soules : for the other, i owe hej; Mo- ney ; and whether flicc bee damn'tj for char, I k::pw not. Hcji. No,l warrant you. Fd. No. 50 100 150 443 -(a)- UA 465 -(11) - 7A 200 Ih 250 (1) \h (1) (1) 300 (1) (1) 350 (0) 400 1/ \h l/i 150 50 The CecondTart of K^ig Henry the Fourth. 8y 100 Vi n (1) 150 200 (3) 250 (3) Ih 300 lA tal. No,I chinke thou arc not: J thinkc thou^t quic (ortlibf. Marry, theie is another Indiflcncnc vpon thcf . ior Tuffering fleUi to bee eaten in thy houre. contraiy to the Law, lot the which I thinke thou w_ik howlc. tJaB. All Vifluallers'doe To : What is a loynt^ MuitoOjOr twojin a wholeLcnc ? Pftnce. YoUjGenclcwotnao. S)oU W ha t fayes yoorGraec? ivi^. His Grace fay es that , wbkli hisj^ rcbcHs Hoft. "Who knocks fo lowd at doorc? Lookeipthe dooie there,f?rf»f*r 2 Eater Tett. Priitet. Ptf/»,how now? what ncwei? Peta. The King,your F3thcr,is at Weftjninfter, And there arc t wentie weakc and wearied PofteS) Come from thcNorth»and jj I came along, lniet,and ouer-tookc a dozen Captaincs, ii2r«*hcaded,fwcatiDg,knocking at the 1 aufrnes, ^ad asking euery ogf for Sir lohtt Falfidffe, Wrmce. By Hcauen (Pames)l feck me much to blame, foidlytoprophane the precious time, t7hea TempcliofCommotion,Iike the South, fsarne with black Vapour, doth begin to melt, ^inS drop vpon our bare vnarmed heads. GincmemySword,andClo3Ke: f##.good night. Exit. XaUI. Now comes in the fwectcft Morfell of the cl^ht, and wee muft hence, and leaue icvnpickt. More isaocVing ajthe doorc? How now ?. what's the mat- ter? ^ard. You muft away to Court.Sir.prcfently, &. dozen Captaincs {lay at ^ftUfi fot you. Filjt. Psythe Kiufitians.Sirrha: farewell Hoftefle, frrewell Pol . You fee (my good Wenches) how nicn of Merit aTs fought after : ^ vndefcrucr .mayilcepejWhen the man of Aftion is call'd on. Farewell good Wenches: iflbenotfcnc away pcfle, IwiU fee youagaiue,ercI goe. Do[. ^cannot fpeake -. if my heart bee not readie to burft — Well (fvjccte lacks) haue a care of thy felfe!"" Fulji: Farewell, farewell. Exit, Hoft. \ yell. fare thee well : I haue knowne thee thefe twentse nine. veeres. come Pcfcod-timc : but an honefter » and truer-hearted man-— Well . fare thee well, Bard." Miftiis Teare-fl?esT, Hofi. What's the matter? Bard. Bid Miftris Teare-fhset COiT.cto my Maftcr. Hofi. OhrunricZ>3/,runnc: iaaafi,good2?o/, Exefsnt. JcIhs T'crtius. Scena Trim a. Ih 350 Efirer the Kivg,with a "Page. Kt'ij^.Goe.call the Earlesof Surrey ,and q£Warwick ; but ere they come, bid them ore-reade thcle T-ptrpr<; andwelt confider of thcra : make good fpeed. Exit. How many thoulandof my poorcft SljbieSs r\re atiiyshoWreafleepc? OSleepe.O gentle Stcepe, Natures loft £imje, how haue 1 frighted thee, That thou no morp;^iif weigh my eye-lids downc, AndfierpemySences in F^^roptfnlnFffp ? Why rather (Sleepe) lyeftthou in fmoakie Cribs, Vpon vneafieiiaiiads (^retching thee. And huifht with buffing Night, flyesteihyflumberj Then in ihe perfum'd Chainbers of the Great ? Vnde r the Canopies of cofily Si_ce, And lull'd with founds af fwtcteft Melodic ? O thou dull God,why lyeft thou 5Sdih the vilde. In loathfome Bcds,and leau'li the Kingly Coufibj, A Watch.cafc,or a common Larum-Bell ? Wilt thou,vponi)ip high and giddie Maft, Scale vp the Ship-boyes Eyes jiid rock his Braines, In Cradle of the rude imperious Sur g e. And in thcvifitationof the Wmdes, Who take illfi Ruffian Billowcs by the top, Curling their monftroushcads,aaLd hanging them With deaff'ning Clamors in the flipp'ry Cloudsj Thnr with the hurlcy^Dcath it felfe awakes i Canft thou (O parciiU Sleepe) g"'f thy Rcpofe- To the wet Sea-Boy, in an hourejiirude: ' And in the caimeff.and moff ililleli Night, With ail appliances, and meanes to boote. Deny it to^King ? Then hspry Lov/e,lyc down?, Vneafie lyes the tkad^thac weares a Crownc. Enter Warwiche and Surrey. ff^ar. Many good-morrowes to your Maicfiie. King. Is it good-morrow, Lordt? pyar. ' Tii One a Clock, and paft, A'j^ff. Why then good-morrow toyouaII(my Lordsr) Haue you read o're ihs Letters that I fent you f' fVdr. We haue (my Liege.) Kiiig. Then you pT/-Fi»p the Body of our Kingdome, How foule it is : \viu£ ranke Difeafes grow. And with what danger,nccrc the Ueau of it ? war. It is but as a Body,yct ijj.ftrmprr'd. Which to his former flrength may be reOord. With gnnd adnice.and little Medicine : My Lord NorchttmherUndvnW foonc hacool'd. Ki»g.O\\ Heauen.chat one might read the Book a£Fate, And fee the rcuolution of the Times Make t y^fMinrnlnp'; jcuelland the Continent ( Wcjric of folide firmencfre)mclt it felfe into the <<•? • and other Times, to fee The bcachic G irdle of tJbaOcean Too wide for Ne^tunes hippes ; how Chances mocks 4aiChangcs fill the Cuppe of Alteration With diners Liquors. 'iknot tcnnc yeeresgor.ff. Since Richard,3ad Northumberktid, great frifn<3 <. Did fcali together ; and in two yeeres after, Were flipy at Warres. It is but eight yeere* fince, This rirrnr: vvas the m3n,ncercfl my Soulc, Who,like a guibci, loyl'd in roy Affaires, And liyd his Louc and Ij£e vndci my foot : Yc3,for my fake,euen to tUaeycs of 'S^chari Gauc him defiance. But which of yAU was by (You Coufin Neutljii I may remember) When Rich(ird,c gathering head. Shall brealie into Corruption : fo went on. Fore-telling this fame T imes Conditionj And the diuifion of oiir Amitic. l^'ar. There is'a Hiftoric in all tnens Liues, Figuring the nature of the Times deceas'd: The which obferu d, a man may prophccie With a nccre avmc,of the mainc chance of things, As yet not come to Lifc,which in their Seedcs And wcakc beginnings lye entreafurea : Sucli things become the Hatch and Brood of Time j And by the neccTTarie forme of this, King X/c^'jr^rnight creates perfect guefle, That great Nonhifmbertafid^ then falfc to hitrij Would of that Sced,grovv to a greater falfcnefTej Which (hould not findc a ground to roote vpon, Vnleffe on you. King. Are thefe things then NccefTitics? , Then let vs mccte them like Necefficics ; And thai fame word,cuen nowcryesout onvs: They fay ,the Bifliop and Northumberland Are fifiic thoufand ftrong. I'Var. It cannot be (my Lord;) Rumor doth doub!e,like the Voicc.and Eccho, The numbers of the feared. Plcafe it your Grace To goe to ted, vpon my Life (my Lord) The Pow'is that you alrcadie haue fenc forth, Shall bring this Prize in very cafily. To comfort you the morej hauc recciu'n k cettalne inftancCjthat CUndour is dead. Vour Maieflic hath beene this fort-night ill, And thefe vnfeafon'd howtcs perforce muft addc , Vnto yout SickncfTe. Kin^- 1 will tike your counfailc : And were thefe inward Warres once out of hand , Wee would (dcare LordsJ vnto the Holy-Land, ExcHnt. i(;o-(o5 )- a/i Snier Shallorv and Silence : with AfoHldie, Shadow, IVart^ Feeble, 'Buil-calfe. Shal. Come-on,come-on .come-on : giue mce your HandjSir ; giuemec your Hand-, Sit : an early fiirrcr^by the Rood. And how doth my good Coiifin Silence ! SiL Good-morrowjgood Coufin Shiijlow. Shal. And how doth my Coufin, youTE:d-fc!!ow ? and you r faireft Daughter, and mine, my God-D'aughier Ellers? SiL Alaska blackeOuzell (Coufin J'iW/oii'.) Shal. By yea and nay, Sir, I dare fay my Coufin William is become a good Scholler? lice is atOxfoidfiill,ishce not? SiL IndeedcSifjtomycoft, Shal. Hce muft then to the Innes of Court fiiortly : I was once of Clements Inne ; where (l ihinkc) thc^ will lalkc of mad Hhatlerv yet. SiL Ycu were call'd luftic ShaOoxv thcn(Coufin.) Shal. 1 was call'd any thing : and 1 woul J haue done any thing indcedc too.and roundly too. There was I,and little loha Doit of Staftordfhirc, and blackc Gcorgc'Bare and francis T ick^hoKC, HinA iViU Scfuele a Cot-fal-man, you hadnotfoure fuch Swmdgc-bucklers in all the Innes of Court agaiiic : And T may fay to you, wee knew where the "Bona-K^ba's were, and had the bell of them all at commandcment. Then wzilacke ¥nlJiajfe(no\v S'ltldni] alJoy , and Page to Thomat i.Motvbray^ Duke of Nar. folke. Sil. This Sir loh^ (Coufinj that comes hither anon a« bout Souldlcri ? Shal. The fame Sir lohn, the very fame : I faw him breake Scoggans Head at the Court-Gate, when hee wai aCrackjnot thus high: and the very fame day did I fight with one J'4?«p/ci»5;oc;^-/i/77, a Fruiterer, behinde Greyes. Inne. Oh the mad dayes that I haue fpent ! and to fee how many of mine okie Acquaintance are dead ? Sil. Wee fiiall all follow (Coufirt.) Sha!. Certaine: 'tis certaine: very furc, very furc: Death is certaine to all, all fiiall dye. How a good Yokt of Sullocki at Stamford Fayre ? Stl. 1 ruly Coufin,! was not there. Shal. Death is certaine. lsold£tf«^/irof yourTowne lilting yet ? ^"" StL DeadjSir. Shal. Dead i Sec, fee : hee drew a good Bow : and dead? hee flioc a fine fhoote. /#/;;; of Gaunt loued him well, and betted much Money on his head. Dead? hee would hauc clapt inthcClowiatTwelue-fcorc,and carryrd you a fore-hand Shaft at fouretcene, r.nd foure- teencandahalfcjihat it would halSedonc a mans heart good to fee. How a fcorc of Ewes now ? Ssl. Thereafter as they be : a (core of good Ewes may be worth tcnne poundsi ShiiL And is olde Dcuble dead ?-J94- (6 )- 10 /v Zmer''BiirdoIph and hts Bej^ Sil. Heere come two of Sir lohn Talfiaffes Men (as I thinke.) Shal. Good-morrow,honeit Gentlemen. Tard. I bereechyou,which is I'uflice Sh.-illotr ? Shal. 1 am ^e^frfi/,'.j//oK'(SiF)apooreEfquircofihis Countic, and cne of the Kings lufticcs of the Peace: What is yout good plcafure with me ? Ba>d, My Captainc (Sir) commends him to you : tny Captaine^SU-^?;!* Faljlajfe : i tall Gentleman, and a iiioR gallant Leader. Shal. Hce grcetes me well . ( Sir) I knew him a good Back-S word-man. How doth the good Knight? may I aske.how my Lady his Wife doth ? Bard. Sir.pardon : aSouldicris better acconimoda- tcd.then with a VVif?. ShaL iVTswellfaid Sir; and it is well faid, indecdc, coo: Better accommodated? it is good, yea indeede is it : good pUrafes arc furcly.and cu-ry where very com- tncndablc. Accommodated , it comes oX jiccommedo ; very good, a good Phtafc. h •B.ird. Pardon, Sir, 1 haue heard tne word. Phrafe' call yon it ? by this Day, I know not the Plirafc : hut I will maintains the Word with my Sword, to bee a Souldict-iike Woro , and a Word of exceeding good Command. Accommodated : that is' when a man is (as thev fay) accommodated : or, when a man is, being ■^ ^^ whereby 50 l/l (3) 00 (1> l/i 150 200 1) /(, ter.o ih aoo (3 ; 1 h il) (1) 350 (1) 2h 00 jO i/i 3G2- (.39)- S/i ISO -(15)- 14A 50 ThefecoiidTart ofE^gMenry the Fmnh, 87 ivO i.>o (2) :0!: 250 30 850 1/t 400 wlicrcby he tliought to be accommodaceJ , Avhich .is an excellciuihing. 5^^/. icisvcrv iuft : Loo! gl^d CO fee you well, good M . Ra^en Hhal- &8':Mafter5'»w?Earal3s I thinkc ? Sh*l. No ilrJol», it is my Cofin Siknce : in Commifli- 011 with nice. , Tal. Good M. Sitcncc^ 5c well befits you (liould be of the peace. ^//. Your good Wotfhip. is. welcome. fal^yx-, this is hoc weather (Gentlemen) baueyou p:ouided me h^crc halfe adozcn of fufficicnt ujen?. SM. Nfarryhaue weliriWillyo^ific? Fal, Letrocfeethent,lbcfcechyoa. Shil. Where's theRolljWheres the Roll? Where's thcRoU? Ltimeiec, Iccmc fee, let me fee : fojfo.fo.fo : yea miny^K, Rafht Mouhiif :\ct them appears as I call: l;ttb?n»dofc», lecthemdofo: Lecince fee. Where is /idoHl. Heerc.ificpleafe you. ^hal. Whatthinke you (Sit /»/;«) a good limb 'd fel- low: yong.ftrong, and of good friends, laL Is thy name Mo»!di£ ? fjltwl. Yca.ifitpleafeyou. TaI. .Tis the rhorc time thou were vs'd. Sh^U Ha.ha.ha, mofl cxcclIent.Things that arc tBOul- diejlacke-vfeivery lingular good. WcllfaidcSit lohu^ very well faid. F£»/. Thou art a very ragged Wart. L * ii Ji Wiii ■ ■ ^^tf/.Shalllptickehim downe, Sir7*A«i^ Falfit It were fupcrfluous: for his apparrel is built vp- on his backe, and the whole frame ftands vpon pinsjprick him no more. 5/m/. Hajha.iia.youcan doitfir: youcaadocit ; I commcndyouwcll, Francis Feeble, Veehle. Hcercfir, Shd. WhaiTradeartthou r«^/e? lechle. "JTWomans Taylor fir, Sloal. Shall Iprickehim,fir J FaL You may : But if hchad beenea mans Tav^otjhe wouldhaueptickd you. Wilt thou make as many holes in aiv enemies Bat- taile,as thou haft done in a Womans petcicoce ? FeebU, .1 willdocmy goodwill fir, youcan haueiio morc„ Falfi. Well faid,good Womans Tailour: WellCyde Couragious Feeble : thou wilt bee as valiant as the wrafh- fuU Doue,or moft magnanimous Moufe. Pricke the -.' gg old: I 446 -(0) - 3 A 88 HyeficondTiirt cfKjpg Henry the Foi^th. old ! ccfiaine fti«e°s qld : aod had Robin Nt^ltt-vc'iirkc , by old Niiht.wi>rke,^^(orc I csmc to Clement! nne. Sil. Tltai's fifcre fTue yceres a goe. S/W. Hah, Coufin5»/t')howtochufe aman? Care 1 torTheL)mbe,tiieTiKwef, ihe ftature, bnike^ and bij^f'.c aficmblanc e of a nun ? giue mec the fpirit (MaSet.?WW.) Where's ff^an? you fee what B fagged appearance it is : bee fhall charge you, and difcharge you, with the motion cf ;i Pewterers Ham. mcr f come off. andjon, fwificr then hee that gibbets on SieErcwcriBuckec, And this fame halfe-fac'd fellow, Shmm; gine me this man : hee prcfcnts no niarke to the EiJCiBie, the foR.man may with as great ayroc leuell at Ihie edge of a ?en-kmfe j and for a Rctraitj how fwiftly Kill this fftf/f, the WomansTaytor/runnc cff. O, glue mc the fpare nren, and (pare me the great ones. Putmc a Ctlymt iniH ly^ru htind, Bardolph. jSard. Hold /F.trf.Trauetfe : t.hus,thus,thu$. Falfi. Come,man3gc me your Caiyiicr : fo; very well, , go-too,very goodjcxceeding good. O.giuemealwayes a;litlle.leane,old,chopt,bald Shot. Well laid (f.wr,thou asta good.Ssab s haldjchere is a Tetter for ihee. Sh:}l. Hee is not his Craftiiinafler, he* doth ocl aoe itTight. 1 rcmcn.ber at Mik-end.Greenc.whcn J I^y I ac Clcmenu liinc. J was then SirZ)ip>op, iJUoxrhraj^/IaitiP^f^ }ye>lmeTUnd, Caleuiltt "^ifh. AYhiT is this Forreft call'd? Hafi. lis Gualtrce Fortefl, and't fiiJI pJkaCeyeu* Grace. , "Bift}. Viae ftand(my Lords)snd fend difcouercrs forth, To know the numbers of our Enemies. mU, Wc< PART II. THE CIPHER NARRATIVE, CHAPTER I. THE TREASONABLE PLAY OF Rl GUARD II. A most contagious treason come to light. Hon-y /"., zp, S. AFTER the Table of Contents of this book, especially that part of it which relates to the Cipher narrative, had been published, the remark was made, by some writers for the press: "Why, history knows nothing of the events therein referred to." And by this it was meant to imply that if the history of Elizabeth's reign did not give us these particulars they could not be true. The man who uttered this did not stop to think that it would have been a piece of folly for Francis Bacon, or any other man, to have labori- ously inclosed in a play a Cipher narrative regarding things that were already known to all the world. The reply of the critics would have been, in the words of Horatio: There needs no ghost, my Lord, come from the grave, To tell us this. A cipher story implies a secret story, and a secret story can not be one already blazoned on the pages of history. But it is indeed a shallow thought to suppose that the historian, even in our own time, tells the world all that occurs in any age or country. As Richelieu says: History preserves only the fleshless bones Of what we were; and by the mocking skull The would-be wise pretend to guess the features. Without the roundness and the glow of life, How hideous is the skeleton ! 619 620 TBE CIPHER NARRATIVE. But, at the same time, I admit, that the Cipher narrative, to be true, must be one that coheres, in its general outHnes, with the well-known facts of the age of Elizabeth; and this I shall now attempt to prove that it does. The Cipher story tells us of a great court excitement over the so-called Shakespeare play of Richard II .; of an attempt on the part of the Queen to find out who was the real author of the play; of her belief, impressed upon her by the reasoning of Robert Cecil, Francis Bacon's cousin, that the purpose of the play was treason- able, and that the representation on the stage of the deposition and murder of the unfortunate Richard was intended to incite to civil war, and lead to her own deposition and murder. The Cipher also tells us that she sent out posts to find and arrest Shakspere, intend- ing to put him to the torture,— or " the question," as it was called in that day, — and compel him to reveal the name of the man for whom, as Cecil alleged, he was but a mask; and it also tells 'how this result was avoided by getting Shakspere out of the country and beyond the seas. What proofs have we that the Queen did regard the play of Richard II. as treasonable ? They are most conclusive. T. The Play. If the reader will turn to Knight's BiograpJiy of Shakspere., p. 414, he will find the following: The Queen's sensitiveness on this head was most remarkable. There is a very curious record existing of "that which passed from the Excellent 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 Pandccta 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: Williani Laiiihardc. 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 ve not that?" //'. L. [Lambarde]. .Such a wicked imagination was determined and attempted by the most unkind gentleman, the most adorned creature that ever your Majesty made. Her Alaji-sty. He that will forget God will also forget his benefactor^: this tragedy was played forty times in open streets arid iunises. , . . The "wicked imagination " that Elizabeth was Richard II. 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 TREASONABLE PLAY OF RLCLLARD IL. 621 The Deposition, of Richard IL. "This tragedy was played forty times in open streets and houses." The Queen is speaking six months after the outbreak ot 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 ren- dered popular through the partisans of Essex after his fall, and had been got up in open streets and houses with a dangerous avidity. But this is not all. It will be remembered that Essex had rettirned from Ireland, having patched up what was regarded by Elizabeth as an unreason- able and unjustifiable peace with the rebel O'Neill, whom he had been sent to subdue. He was placed under arrest. I again quote from Knight's Biography of S/iakspere, pp. 413 and 414: Essex was released from custody in the August of 1600, but an illegal sentence had been passed upon him by commissioners, that he should not execute the offices of a Privy Councilor, or of Earl Marshal, or of Master of the Ordnance. 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 carry- ing 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 madness. Essex was surrounded by 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 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 with- out." The door of reconciliation was almost closed forever. 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 persuasions, who had injuries to redress or complaints to prefer. Essex ' always professed a noble spirit of toleration, far in advance of his age; and he now received with a willing ear the complaints of all those who were persecuted by the government for religious opinions, whether Roman Catholics or Puritans. He Avas in communication with James of Scotland, urging him to some open assertion of his presumptive title t(j 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 Theater and the opening of the Blackfriars, Shakspere was, in all likelihood, tranquil amidst his family at Stratford. The winter comes, a*id 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 outdated tragedy of T/ie Deposition of RicJiard IL to be publicly acted at his own charge, for the entertain- ment of the conspirators." 622 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. In the "Declaration of the Treasons of the late Earl of Essex and his Com- plices," which Bacon acknowledges to have been written by him at the Queen's command, there is the following statement: "The afternoon before the rebellion, Merrick, with a great company of others, that afterwards were all in action, had procured to be played before them the play of deposing King Richard II.; 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 extraordinary given to play, and so thereupon played it was." In the State Tiials this matter is somewhat differently mentioned: "The story of Henry IV. being set forth in the 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 humor to see a play, they must needs have the play of Henry //'. 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. But Knight fails to observe that he has jtist quoted from Bacon's official declaration, written with all tlie proofs before him, that it ^vas "the play of deposing King Richard II.'" And the very fact that there is no killing of a king in the play of Henry IV., while there is such a scene in the play of RicJiard II., shows that the writer of the Sfaic I'rials had fallen into an error. Neither is Knight correct in supposing that a play published in 1597 could not have been an outdated play in 1601. It does not follow that because the play was first printed in 1597 it w^as first pre- sented on the stage in that year. Some of the Shakespeare Plays were not printed for twenty years after they first appeared, and a good many plays of that era were not printed at all. And a play may be outdated in a year — yes, in a month. And, moreover, the canny players would be ready enough with any excuse that would bring forty shillings into their pockets, whether it was true or not. Knight continues: A second edition of it [the play of Richard II. ^ 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 " deposing King Richard II.," Shakespeare's play would not assist that object. The editions of 1597 and 1598 do not contain the deposition scene. That portion of this noble history which con- tains the scene of Richard's surrender of the crown was not printed till 160S, 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 neiu additions of the THE TREASONABLE PLAY OF RICLLARD LI. 623 Pai-liainciit Sceane, and the dfposiii!^ of King Richard. As it hath been lately acted by the Kinge's servantes, at the Globe. By William Shake-speare." But Richard Grant White argues that, as there appear, in the quartos of 1597 and 1598, the words, "A woeful pageant have we here beheld," the deposition scene, which precedes these words in the play, must have been already written, but left out in the printed copies. For, says White, if the Abbot had not witnessed the depo- sition, he had not beheld "a woeful pageant." Therefore, the new additions, referred to in the title of the quarto of 1608, were addi- tions to the former printed quartos, not to the play itself. And if the original play, before it was printed, contained the deposition scene, why would it not have been acted ? The play was made to act ; the scene was written to act. So that it is plain, beyond a question, that it was Shakespeare's play of Richard II. which was mixed up in the treasonable events that marked the closing years of Elizabeth's reign. Around this mimic tragedy the living tragedy, in which Essex played the principal part, revolved. And Knight makes this further remark: In Shakespeare'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 purpose were really to hold up to the people an example of a monarch's dethronement. 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. But it must be remembered that no man would dare, in that age, or in any other age under a monarchy, to openly advocate or justify the murder of kings; and hence the writer of the play puts many fine utterances therein, touching the divine right of kings. But the ignorant are taught, as Bacon said, more by their eyes than their judgment; and what they sinv in the play was a worthless king, who had misgoverned his country, deposed and slain. A very suggestive lesson, it might be, to a large body of worthy people who thought Elizabeth had also misgoverned her country, and had lived too long already, and who hoped great things for themselves from the coming in of King James. Now, we will see in the next chapter that a certain Dr. Hay- ward had put forth a pamphlet history, in prose, of this same depo- sition, and had dedicated it to Essex, and that he had been arrested and was threatened with torture. 624 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. If, then, Elizabeth believed, as I have shown she did, that the play of King Richard II. was treasonable; that she was represented therein by the character of King Richard II., and that his fate was to be her fate if the conspirators triumphed, what more natural than that she should seek to have Shakspere arrested and locked up, and submitted to the same heroic course of treatment she contemplated for Dr. Hayward? For certainly the offense of the scholar, who merely wrote a sober prose history of Richard's life, for the perusal of scholars, was infinitely less than the crime of the man who had set those events forth, in gorgeous colors, upon a public stage, and had represented the deposition and killing of a king, night after night, before the very eyes of swarming and exulting thousands. And if, as we will show, the Queen thought that Hayward was not the real writer of his history, but that he was simply the cover for some one else, why may she not have conceived the same idea about Shakspere and his play ? Why was Shakspere not arrested ? The Cipher story tells the reason. And here we note a curious fact. Judge Holmes says: So far as we have any positive knowledge, the second edition of the Richard II., which was printed in 1598, with the scene of deposing King Richard left out, was the first one that I'ore tlic name of JVilliaiii Shakespeare on the title-page; and there may have been some special reasons as well for the publication of it at that time as for a close concealment of the real author's name.' Why should Shakespeare's name first appear, as the author of any one of the Plays, upon the title-leaf of a play which was mixed up with matters regarded as seditious and treasonable? And why was the deposition scene left out, unless the writer of the play knew that it was seditious? And if so, why was such a dangerous play published at all ? And observe the name of the author is given in this first play that bears his name as " Shakespeare^' not as the man of Stratford always signed his name, '■'■Shakspere.'' Was it because of the treasonable nature of the work that the real author allowed Shakspere this hole to retreat into? Was it that he might be able to say : " / never wrote the Plays ; that is not my name. My name is Shakspere, not Shakespeare" i ' T!ie Authorship pf Shut;., vol. i. p. 135. THE TREASONABLE PLAY OF RICH AND IL 625 There are many things here the Cipher narrative will have to explain, when it is all unraveled. Certain it is that there are mys- teries involved in all this business. It was an age of plots and counter-plots. Knight well says: 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 virtuous man may be found." ' And, curiously enough, we here find that not only was one of the Shakespeare Plays mixed up with the events which caused Essex to lose his head and sent Southampton to the Tower, but we will see that Francis Bacon was also in some way connected with the play. And if we will concede that there is a probability that the Queen might have ordered the arrest of Shakspere, as she ordered the arrest of Dr. Hayward, the question is, Why was he not arrested ? If he remained in England, surely he would have been arrested if the Queen had so ordered. And if he had been arrested, we should have had some tradition of it, or some record of it, in the proceed- ings of courts or council. And if he was not arrested with Hayward, then he must have fled. How did he fly ? Who told him to fly? Who warned him in time to get out of the country? All this the Cipher tells. Let me put the argument clearly: 1. Hayward wrote a pamphlet history of the deposition of King Richard II. Hayward was thrown into the Tower and threatened with torture to make him reveal the real author. 2. Shakspere was the reputed author of a treasonable play, representing the deposition and killing of Richard II.; a play which was regarded as so objectionable that the hiring of the actors to play it was made one of the charges against Essex which brought his head to the block. 3. Why, therefore, was Shakspere not arrested ? 1 Knight'' s Pictorial Shak. — Biography, p. 415. 626 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. II. Bacon Assigned to Prosecute Essex for Having Had Shakspere's Play Acted. But this is not all. When the Qeeen came to prosecute Essex for his treasons, the Council assigned to Francis Bacon, as his part, that very hiring of the actors to enact the deposition and murder of King Richard II. And what was Bacon's reply ? I quote from Judge Holmes: Nor was this all. But when the informal inquiry came on before the Lords Commissioners, in the summer of 1600, Bacon, in a letter to the Queen, desired to be spared from taking any part in it as Queen's Counsel, out of consideration of his personal obligations to his former patron and friend. But the Queen would listen to no excuse, and his request was peremptorily refused. It will be borne in mind that the Queen's object in this inquiry was to vindicate her own course and the honor of the crown without subjecting Essex to the dangers of a formal trial for high treason, and that her intention then was to check and reprove him, but not to ruin his fortunes. Bacon made up his mind at once to meet the issues thus intentionally forced upon him, and he resolved to show to her, as he says, that he "knew the degrees of duties;" that he could discharge the highest duty of the subject to the sovereign, against all obligations of private friendship toward an erring friend; wherein, says Fuller, very justly, "he was not the worse friend for being the better subject; " and that if he must renounce either, it should be Essex, rather than the Queen, who had been, on the whole, personally, perhaps, the better friend of the two to him : — well knowing, doubtless, that conduct is oftentimes ex- plained equally well by the basest as by the loftiest motives, and that the latter are generally the most difficult of appreciation. The next thing he heard was, that the Lords, in making distribution of the parts, had assigned to him, "by the con- clusion binding upon the Queen's pleasure directly, nolens volens" that part of the charges which related to this same "seditious prelude"; at which he was very much annoyed. And they determined, he says, "That I should set forth some undutiful carriage of my lord, in giving occasion and countenance to a seditious pamphlet, as it was termed, which was dedicated unto him, which was the book before mentioned of King Henry IV. Whereupon I replied to that allotment, and said to their lordships that it was an old matter, and had no manner of coherence ■with the rest of the charge, being matters of Ireland, and thereupon that /, having been wrottged by bruits before, this would expose me to them more; and it would be said I gave in evidence ?nine own tales." What bruits? What tales? The Lords, evidently relishing the joke, insisted that this part was fittest for him, as "all the rest was matter of charge and accusation," but this only "matter of caveat and admonition": wherewith he was but "little satisfied," as he adds, "because I knew well a man were better to be charged with some faults, than admonished of some others." Evidently, here was an admonition which he did not like, and it is plain that he took it as personal to himself. Nevertheless he did actually swallow this pill; for we learn from other history that on the hearing before the Lords Commissioners "the second part of Master Bacon's accusation was, that a certain dangerous seditious pamphlet was of late put forth into print concerning the first year of the reign of Henry IV., but indeed the end of Richard II., and that my lord of Essex, who thought fit to be patron of that book, after the book had been THE TREASONABLE PLAY OE RLCLLAKD LL 627 out a week, wrote a cold, formal letter to my lord of Canterbury to call it in again, knowing belike that forbidden things are most sought after."' But he who reads the proceedings of this trial will see that the play of Richard II. filled a much more conspicuous place than Dr. Hayward's pamphlet, and that it was to this, probably, that Bacon really alluded when he said he had been "the subject of bruits," and that the public would say " he gave in evidence his own tales." Does it not occur to every intelligent reader that Bacon, in this covert way, really says: "It has been reported that I am the real author of that play oi Richard 11; and now if I prosecute Essex for having had it played, it will be said that I am using my own composition for the overthrow of my friend"? And it seems to me that when the whole of the Cipher story is worked out, we shall find that Bacon was completely in the power of Cecil; that he (Cecil) knew that Bacon was the author of the play; that therefore he knew that Bacon had shared in the conspiracy; and that Bacon had to choose between taking this degrading work on his hands or going to the scaffold with Essex. If such was the case, it was the climax of Cecil's revenge on the man who had represented him on the stage as Richard III. It was humiliation bitterer than death. III. "The Isle of Dogs." And we turn now to another curious fact, illustrative of how greatly the Plays were mixed up in public affairs, and showing the spirit of sedition which at this time pervaded the very air. J. Payne Collier, in his Annals of the Stage, shows that in the year 1597 an order was given by the Queen's Council to tear down and destroy all the theaters of London, because one Nash, a play-writer, had, in a play called The Isle of Dogs, brought matters of state upon the stage; and Nash himself was thrown into prison, and lay there until the August following. What the seditious matter was that rendered The Isle of Dogs so objectionable to the government, we do not know; it must have been something very offensive, to cause a Queen who loved theat- ricals as much as Elizabeth did to decree the destruction of all the theaters of London. But all the details will probably be found ^ Holmes, The Aiitko7-ship of Shak.^ pp, 255-7. 62 8 THE CIPHER NA KRA TI VE. hereafter in the Cipher story, together with an explanation of the causes which induced the Queen to revoke her order. Collier says: We find Nash, in May, 1597, writing for the Lord Admiral's players, then under Philip Henslowe, and producing for them a play called The Isle of I^ogs, which is connected with an important circumstance in the history of the stage, viz., the temporary silencing of that company, in consequence of the very piece of which Nash was the author. The following singular particulars £lre extracted from the Diary kept by Henslowe, which is still, though in an imperfect and mutilated state, preserved at Dulwich College. Malone published none of them: Pd 14 of May, 1597, to Edw Jube, upon a notte from Nashe, twentye shellinges more for the lylle of Dogges, which he is wrytinge for the companey. Pd this 23 of August, 1597, to Henerey Porter to cary to T. Nashe, nowe att this tyme in the fiete for wrytinge of the Eylle of Dogges, ten shellinges, to be payde agen to me wen he cann. I saye ten shillinges. Pd to M. Blunsones, the Mr. of the Revelles man, this 27 of August, 1597, ten shellinges, for newes of the restraynt beying recaled by the lordes of the Queene's Counsell. Here we see that in the spring of 1597, Nash was employed upon the play, and, like his brother dramatists of that day, who wrote for Henslowe's company, received money on account. The Isle of Dogs was produced prior to the loth of August, 1597, because, in another memorandum by Henslowe (which Malone has quoted, though with some omissions and mistakes), he refers to the restraint at that date put upon the Lord Admiral's players. On the 23d of the same month, Nash was confined in the Fleet prison, in con- sequence of his play, when Henry Porter, also a poet, carried him ten shillings from Henslowe, who took care to register that it was not a gift; and on the 27th of August "the restraint was recalled" by the Privy Council. We may conclude also, perhaps, that Nash was about the same time discharged from custody. In reference to this important theatrical transaction, we meet with the following memorandum in the Registers of the Privy Council. It has never before been printed or mentioned: A Letter to Richard Topclyfe, Thomas Fo7i- 'tat the nar- rative given is real, no man can doubt who reads this book to the end. There may be faults in my workmanship; there are none in the Cipher itself. All that I give is reality; but I may not give all there is. The difficulties are such as arise from the wonderful com- plexity of the Cipher, and the almost impossibility of the brain holding all the interlocking threads of the root-numbers in their order. Some more mathematical head than mine may be able to do it. I would call the attention of those who may think that the results are accidental to the fact that each scene, and, in fact, each column and page, tells a different part of the same continuous story. In one place, it is the rage of the Queen; in another, the flight of the actors; in another. Bacon's despair; in another, the village doctor; in another, the description of the sick Shakspere; in another, the supper, etc.— all derived from the same series of num- bers used in the same order. II. The Nicknames of the Actors. In the Cipher narrative, the actors are often represented by nicknames, probably derived from the characters they usually played. And Henry Percy is sometimes called Hotspur, because that was the title given to the great Henry Percy, of Henry IV. 's time. It is an historical fact that Francis Bacon had a servant by the name of Henry Percy. His mother alludes to him, in one of her letters, as, ''that bloody Percy." His relations to Bacon were very close. He seems to have had charge of all Bacon's manuscripts at the time of his death. It is possible Bacon may have intended, at one time, to authorize the publication of an avowal of his author- ship of the Plays. He said in the first draft of his will: But toward the durable part of memory, which consisteth in my writings, I re- quire my servant Henry Percy to deliver to my brother Constable all my manu- THE CIPHER EXPLAINED, \ 641 script compositions, and the fragments also of such as are not finished; to the end that if any of them be fit to be published, he may accordingly dispose of them. And herein I desire him to take the advice of Mr. Selden, and Mr. Herbert, of the Inner Temple, and to publish or suppress what shall be thought fit} It is als'^' ..-nt that Bacon held Henry Percy in high respect. In his last a 'jsays: I give to Mr. Henry Percy one hundred pounds.^ He was not a mere servant; he was ''Master Henry Percy." Did this tender and respectful feeling represent Bacon's gratitude to Henry Percy for invaluable services in a great crisis of his life ? We see exemplified the habit of the actors in assuming the names of the characters they acted on the stage, in Shakspere's remark in the traditional jest that has come down to us: " William the Con- queror comes before Richard III.;" representing himself as Wil- liam the Conqueror, and Burbage by the name of his favorite role, the bloody Duke of Gloster. As illustrating still further how the names of the actors became identified with the names of the characters they impersonated, I would call attention to the following fact: Bishop Corbet, writing in the reign of Charles I., and giving a description of the battle of Bosworth, as narrated to him on the field by a provincial tavern- keeper, tells us that when the perspicuous guide Would have said. King Richard died. And called, a horse ! a horse ! he Burbage cried. ^ III. Queen Elizabeth's Violence. It may be objected by some that the scene in which the Queen beats Hayward was undignified and improbable; but he who reads the history of that reign will find that Queen Elizabeth was a woman of the most violent and man-like temper. We find it recorded that she boxed Essex' ears, and that he half-drew his sword upon her, and swore " he would not take such treatment from Henry VIII. himself, if he were alive." And Rowland White records: The Queen hath of late used the fair Mrs. Bridges with words and blows of anger. ' Spedding, Life and Works, vol. vii, p. 540. ' Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines, p. 96. 2 Ibid., p. 542. 642 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. Mrs. Bridges was one of the Queen's maids-of-honor who had offended her. IV. The Language of the Period. I would touch upon one other preliminary point before coming to the Cipher story. Some persons may think that the sentences which I give as parts of the internal narrative sound strangely, and are strained in their construction; but it must be remembered that the English of the sixteenth century was not the English of the nineteenth century. The powers of our tongue have been vastly increased. It is curious to note how many words, now in daily use, carlnot be found at all in the Shakespeare Plays. Here are some of them: Actually, Admission, Alternate, Alternately, Amuse, Amusement. Amusing, Announce, Announcement, Apologize, Artful, Assert, Assort, Attack, Aware, Brutal, Cargo, Clenches, Completely, Concede, Concession, Coffee, Confinement, Conflagration, Connect, Connected, Connection, Considerable Constructed, Correctly, Decided, Declaration, Degradation, Dejection, Despicable, Director, Disappointment, Disappoint, Disgust, Earnings, Effort, Efforts, Entitled, Era, Exclusively, Exertions, Exhausted, Exorbitant, Failure, Fatigue, Farce, Fees, Fiendish, Flog, Flogged, Fun, Funny, Grasping, Humiliation Inability, Income, Indebtedness, Intense, Interfere, Interference, Lineage, Mob, Occupied, Pauper, Petitioning, Pledged, Popularity, Position, Precarious, Production, Prominent, Promote, Rapid, Rapidly, Rebuff, Recent, Reduce, Ridicule, Risk, Series, Shrubbery, Starvation, State (meaning to declare). Statement, Stating, Surround, Surrounding, Tea, Tobacco, Treated, Tieatment, Valuable, Various, THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 643 To illustrate the difference in the style of expression, between that day end this, let us take this brief letter, written by Bacon in 1620; I went to Kew for pleasure, but I met with pain. But neither pleasure nor pain can withdraw my mind from thinking of his Majesty's service. And because his Majesty shall see how I was occupied at Kew, I send him these papers of Rules for the Star-Chamber, wherein his Majesty shall erect one of the noblest and dur- ablest pillars for the justice of this kingdom in perpetuity that can be; after by his own wisdom and the advice of his Lords he shall have revised them, and estab- lished them. The manner and circumstances I refer to my attending his Majesty. The rules are not all set down, but I will do the rest within two or three days. Or take this sentence from a letter written by Bacon, in 1594, to the Lord Keeper Puckering: I was wished to be here ready in expectation of some good effect; and therefore I commend my fortune to your Lordship's kind and honorable furtherance. My affection inclineth me to be much your Lordship's; and my course and way, in all reason and policy for myself, leadeth me to the same dependence; hereunto if there shall be joined your Lordship's obligation in dealing strongly for me as you have begun, no man can be more yours. I need not say that no person to-day would write English in that fashion. And that we do not so write it is partly due to Bacon him- self, because, not only in the Plays, but in his great philosophical works, he has infinitely polished and perfected our language. He studied, in the Fromus, the "elegancies" of speech; in the Plays he elaborated " the golden cadence of poesy;" ' and in The Advancement of Learning he gave us many passages that are perfectly modern in their exquisite smoothness and rhythm. If the Cipher sentences are quaint and angular, the reader will therefore remember that he is reading a dialect three hundred years old. V. Our Fac-similes. Since the discussion arose about my discovery of the Cipher in the Plays, one of those luminous intellects which occasionally adorn all lands with their presence, and which, I am happy to say, especially abound in America, has made the profound observation that probably I had doctored the Plays of Shakespeare, and changed the phraseology, so as to work in a pretended Cipher ! That rasping old Thersites of literature, Carlyle, said, in his ^Love^s Labor Lost, iv, z. 644 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. acrid and bowie-knife style: " England contains twenty-seven mil- lions of people, — mostly foolsT Now, while I have, as we say in the law, "no knowledge or information sufficient to form a belief" as to the truth or falsity of this observation, touching the English peo- ple, I can vouch for it that, to some extent, Carlyle's remark applies with great force to my native country. And, therefore, to meet the observation of the luminous intellect first referred to, and prevent it being taken up and echoed and re-echoed by multitudinous other luminous intellects, as is their wont, I have requested my publishers to procure, fac-sif/iiles of the pages of the Folio under consideration in my book, copied by the sun itself, from the pages of one of those invaluable copies of the original Folio of 1623 which still exist among us. And consequently Messrs. Peale & Co. proceeded to New York, and, upon application to Columbia College, which possesses the most complete copy, I am informed, in the United States, they were per- mitted, through the kindness and courtesy of the officers of the Col- lege, to photograph the original pages, (pages that might have been at one time in the hands of Francis Bacon himself), directly onto the plates on which they were engraved. The great volume was sent every day, in the care of an officer of the College, to the ar- tists' rooms, and the custodian was instructed never to permit it to be taken out of his sight for a single instant, so precious is it esteemed. And we have the certificate of Mr. Melvil Dewey, Chief Librarian of Columbia College, to the fidelity of the fac- similes now presented in this volume. They are, of course, re- duced in size, to bring them within the compass of my book, but otherwise they are exact and faithful reproductions of the original. The numbers given on their margins, and the underscoring in red ink of every tenth word, were printed on them subsequently, to enable the critical to satisfy themselves that the words actually occupy the numerical places on the pages which I assert they do. Here is the certificate referred to: THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 645 Columbia College Library MlLVn. DswEY. Chief Libn. Mad;s«n »v. 4 49* St . New York. /7 «88' 7 Certificate of the LIBRARIA^ of CoLUMinA College. 646 THE CIPHER NARK A TIVE. VI. Another Brilliant Suggestion. But another of those luminous intellects (whose existence is a subject of perpetual perplexity to those who reverence God) has made the further suggestion that, granted there is a Cipher in the Plays, Bacon put it there to cheat Shakspere out of his just rights and honors ! Bacon, — says this profound man, — was a scoundrel; he was locked up in the Tower for bribery (the same Tower in which Mr. Jefferson Brick insisted Queen Victoria always resided, and ate breakfast with her crown on); and being in Caesar's Tower, and having nothing else to do, this industrious villain took Shak- spere's Plays and re-wrote them, and inserted the Cipher in them, in which he feloniously claimed them for himself. But as Bacon was only in the Tower one night, the perform- ance of such a work would be a greater feat of wonder than any- thing his admirers have ever yet claimed for him. But if any answer is needed to this shallowness, it is found in the fact that the original forms of the Shakespeare Plays, where they have come down to us, as in the case of the first copy of The Merry Wives, Hamlet, Henry V., etc., as they existed before they were doubled in size and the Cipher injected into them, are very meager and barren performances; and that it is in the Plays, '.f and vohime and suspicion had to be so placed that they would sometimes fit the Cipher counting down the column, and sometimes fit it counting up the column; and the necessities of this work determined the number of words in a column or subdivision of a column; and hence the fact, which I have already pointed out, that some columns contain nearly twice as many words as others. And here I would note that the word please^ in Elizabeth's time, was pronounced as the Irish peasant pronounces it to-day, that is to say, Qj&plaze; and it will be seen that Bacon uses please to represent plays. And very wisely, since the word plays, recurring constantly, would certainly have aroused suspicion. The word her was then pronounced like hair., even as the Irish brogue would now give it ; and, to avoid the constant use of her., in referring to Queen Eliza- beth, as her Grace., her Majesty, etc., Bacon uses the word here, which also had the sound of hair. This is shown in the pun made by Falstaff, in the first part of Henry IV., act i, scene 2, where, speak- ing to Prince Hal, he says: That were it here apparent, that thou art heir apparent. In fact it may be assumed that in that age in England the vowels had what might be called the continental sound, that is to say, the a had the broad sound of ah, and the e the sound of a. Thus, reason was pronounced rayson, as we see in another of Fal- staff's puns, which would be unintelligible with the present pro- nunciation of the word: Give you a ;rrtjc« on compulsion? If rcajowj were as plenty as blackberries, I would give no man a reason on compulsion.' Here Falstaff antagonizes raisins with blackberries. In fact, the Cipher will give us, for the entertainment of the ' 1st Henry IV., ii, 3. 654 ^'^^^- CIPHER NARRA TIVE. curious, so to speak, a photograph, or rather phonograph, of the exact sound of the speech of Elizabeth's age. But, having written his internal story and decided upon the mechanism of his Cipher, Bacon had to arrange his modifiers so that they would enable him to use the same words more than once. And it will be seen hereafter that the 50 on the second col- umn of page 74 is duplicated by the 50 at the bottom of column I of page 76, so that such words as lift Jiim itp, and 7C'ipe his face, etc., may be used in describing the keepers caring for the body of the wounded Shakspere, and also of the lifting up of the body of Bacon after he had taken the poison. Now, having constructed his Cipher story, he applies his mechan- ism to it, and he determines that in column 2, we will say, of page 75, the word menshaXX be the 221st word down the column, and the word turned the 221st word up the column; then, in their proper places, he puts the words turned, their^ backs, and, fled, in, the, greatest, fear, S7vifter, than, arrows, fly, toward, their, aim ; and then he constructs that part of the play so that it will naturally bring in these words. But as the Cipher words are very numerous, he is constrained to describe something in the play kindred to the story told by the Cipher. Thus, this flight of the actors is couched in a narrative of the flight of Hotspur's soldiers from the battle-field of Shrewsbury, after he was slain. And, as Hotspur was Harry Percy and Harry Percy was Bacon's servant, whenever there is a necessity to name the servant in the interior story, the name of the Earl of Northumberland's heroic and fiery son appears in the external story. So when the doctor appears, in column i of page 77, to prescribe for Bacon, after he took the poison, we have Falstaff tell- ing the Chief Justice all the symptoms of apoplexy. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, a sleeping of the blood, a hor- son tingling. ... It hath its original from much grief, from study and per- turbation of the brain.' And a little further down the same column we \\dc^^ disease, physi- cian, minister, potion, patient, prescriptions, dram, scruple; all of which words, as we will see in the Cipher story, besides sick, and belly, and dis- comfort, ^.vlA grozvs, in the same column, and hotter, 2^\^i ratsbane, and ' 3d Hefiry I!'., i, j. THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 655 mouth, in the preceding column, are used to tell the story of Bacon's sickness and his treatment by the physician. In the same way, when Percy visits Stratford and labors with Shakspere to induce him to fly to Scotland until the dangers of the time are past, Shakspere's wife and daughter being present, one aiding Percy and the other opposing him, the story is told in scene 3 of act ii of the second part of Hoiry IF., page 81 of the Folio; and this short scene is an account of the effort of Northum- berland's wife and daughter to persuade ////;/ to fly to Scotland, un- til the dangers of the time are past. It must have been very diffi- cult to construct this scene, for the shorter the scene the more the Cipher words are packed into it, until almost every word is used both in the play narrative and the Cipher narrative. In the same way it has been noted recently, by some one, that the names of the characters in Love's Labor Lost, the scene of which is laid in France, are the names of the generals who conducted the great war raging in France during Bacon's visit to that country; and no doubt there is a Cipher story in this play, relating to these historical events, as Bacon perhaps witnessed them, in which it was necessary to use the names of these generals; and by this cunning device Bacon was able to do so repeatedly without arousing suspi- cion. And the name of Armado, the Spaniard, in the same play, was doubtless a cover for references to the great Spanish Armada. And, as a corroboration of this, we find the word Spain, a rare word in the Plays, used twice in Love's Labor Lost, and the word Spaniard also used twice in this play, while it occurs but four times in all the other plays in the Folio. And the word o-;r & 7^=236—20 (5=216. 505 193=312—15 /> & //=297. Observe again the symmetry of this sentence: it all grows out of 505; it is all found in the second column of page 75; the count all begins at the same point in the first column of page 75, and it regularly alternates: 254 — 193 — 254 — 193; — 221 — 312 — 251 — 312; two words go up the column together, and two words go down the column together. Can any one believe that this is the result of accident ? We now have: Our pten turned their backs and fled in the greatest fear. We go a step farther. We recur to the interlocking number 523 and again deduct from it the modifier 30, which leaves 493; we count down from the beginning of the second subdivision, to-wit, Page and Word. Column. 296 75:2 in 249 75:2 the 216 75:2 greatest 297 75:2 fear THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. ' 667 deduct 254, and we have 239 left; and the 239th word in the next column is swifter. We take 523 again, but deduct this time the other modifier, 50, instead of 30, and we have 473 left. We count up the column, this time, instead of down, and, deducting 193 from 473, we Rave 280 left, or, counting in the 15 bracketed and hyphen- ated words in that first subdivision, we have 265 left (the same number that produced well); and this, carried down the next col- umn, counting in the bracketed and hyphenated words, produces the word then, the 243d word in the second column of page 75. And the reader will observe that in the text then is constantly used for t/ian. Here, in column 2 of page 74, we have: That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim T/te7i did our soldiers (aiming at their safety) Fly from the field. We recur again to 505, and, counting down the column, — that is, deducting 254, — we have 251 left, and counting in the 15 bracketed and hyphenated words, we have 236 words left; we go down the next column, and we find that the 236th word is arrows. Again we take 505, and deduct the modifier 50, leaving 455, and, alter- nating the movement, we go up from the beginning of the second subdivision, that is, we deduct 193 from 455, and we have left 262, (the number which produced furious). We carry this up the next column, and the 262d word is the word fy. And if we again take the root-number 523, and count down the first column of page 75, that is, deduct 254, we have 269 left; and if we count up the next column, this brings us to the word toward, the 240th word. We take the root-number 523 again, and, counting up the column, we deduct 193, which leaves 330; we carry this down the first column of page 76, counting in 18 bracketed and hyphenated words, and the 330th word is the 312th word, their. And this illustrates the ex- quisite cunning of the adjustment of the brackets and hyphens to the necessities of the Cipher: this same 312th word was the word their which became part of turned their backs; it resulted from de- ducting 193 from the root-number 505, which left 312; now we find that 193 deducted from another root-number, 523, leaves 330, and as there are precisely 18 bracketed and hyphenated words above it in the column, the 330th word lights upon the same 312th word their. Thus: (568 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 505—193=312 down column 1, page 76 312 76:1 their 523— 198=330— 18 -^ & // " " " " " 312 76:1 their One has but to compare this with the marvelous adjustments shown on pages 571, 572 and 573, ante.^ whereby the same words, fomid and out, are made to do double duty, by two different modes of counting, (the difference between 836 and 900, the two root-num- bers employed, being precisely equal, as in this case, to the number of bracketed and hyphenated words in the text, between the words themselves and the starting-point of the count), to realize the extraordinary nature of the compositions we call the Shake- speare Plays. And observe again, in this last group of words, how regularly 254 and 193 alternate: 254—193 — 254 — 193 — 254 — 193; and two groups of 523 each alternate with two groups of 505 each, thus: 523, 523, 505, 505, 523, 523, 505. But to continue: We recur to 505 again; deduct from it again the modifier 30; this leaves us 475; deduct from this 193 plus the bracketed and hyphenated words inclosed in the 193 words, and we have left 267; we advance up the next column, and the 267th word is the 242d word, aim. Here, then, we have the sentence: Our men turned their backs and fled in the greatest fear, swifter than arrows fly toward their aim. . I might go on and fill out the rest of the narrative, but that will be done in a subsequent chapter. This at least will explain the mode in which the Cipher is worked out. While it may be objected that I have not the different para- graphs in their due and exact order in the sentences I have given, or may give, hereafter, no reasonable man will, I think, doubt that these results are not due to accident; that there is a Cipher in the Plays, and a Cipher of wonderful complexity. And I shall hope that the ingenuity of the world will perfect any particulars in which my own work may be imperfect; even as the complete work- ing-out of the Egyptian hieroglyphics was not the work of any one man, or of any half-dozen men, or of any one year, or of any ten years. There is, of course, a species of incredulity which will claim that all this wonderful concatenation of coherent words is the THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 669 result of chance; just as there was a generation, a century or two ago, which, when the fossil forms of plants and animals were first noticed in the rocks, (misled by a preconceived notion as to the age of the earth), declared that they were all the work of chance; that the plastic material of nature took these manifold shapes by a series of curious accidents. And when they were driven, after a time, from this position, the skeptics fell back on the theory that God had made these exact imitations of the forms of living things, and placed them in the rocks, to perplex and deceive men, and rebuke their strivings after knowledge. With many men the belief in the Stratford player is a species of religion. They imbibed it in their youth, with their mother's milk, and they would just as soon take the flesh off their bones as the prejudices out of their brains. Ask them for any reason, apart from the Plays and Sonnets, (the very matters in controversy), why they worship Shakspere; ask them what he ever did as a man that endears him to them; what he ever said, in his individual capacity, that was lofty, or noble, or lovable; and they are utterly at loss for an answer; there is none. Nevertheless they are ready to die for him, if need be, and to insult, traduce and vilify every one who does not agree with them in their unreasoning fetish worship. It reminds me of an observation of Montaigne: How many have been seen patiently to suffer themselves to be burnt and roasted for opinions taken upon trust from others, and by them not at all under- stood. I have known a hundred and a hundred women (for Gascony has a certain prerogative for obstinacy) whom you might sooner have made eat fire than forsake an opinion they had conceived in anger. And a remarkable feature, not to be overlooked, is, that not only do a few numbers produce some of the twenty-nine words in these sentences, but they produce them all. Thus nearly all come out of 505, towards the last intermixed with 523; and we derive from 312 sent, out, soldiers, fly, furious, fear, their; while from 221 we get men, turned, backs, in; and 251 gives greatest, arrows, etc. It seems to me that if the reader were to write down these words, just as I have given them, and submit them to any clear-headed person, and tell him they were parts of a story, he would say that they evi- dently all related to some narrative in which soldiers were sent out, that somebody was furious, and some other parties were in the greatest fear and had turned their backs to fly. CHAPTER IV. BACON HEARS THE BAD NEWS. Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Hath but a losing office; and his tongue Sounds ever after as a sullen bell Remembered knolling a departing friend. ad Heujy IV., /, 2. THE Cipher grows out of a series of root-numbers. Before we reach that part of the story which is told by the root-numbers 505, 513, 516 and 523, there is a long narrative which leads up to it, and which is told by another series of numbers, which grow in due and regular order out of the primal root-number, which is the parent of 505, 513, 516 and 523. They start at "77/i? Heart of the Mystery^' the dividing line between the first and second parts of Henry IV. and progress in regular order, forward and backward, moving steadily away from that center, as the narrative proceeds, until they exhaust themselves on the first page of the first part and the last page of the second part of the play. Then the primal number is put through another arithmetical progression, and we reach the numbers I have named, 505, 513, 516 and 523, and these give us that part of the story which is now being worked out. And to tell that story we begin, properly, with the very beginning, at " The Heart of the Mystery^' in the first column of the second part of the play of King Henry IV. And here I would observe that as the Cipher flows out of the first column of page 74 its mode of progression is different from the Cipher referred to in the last chapter, for that grew out of the first column of page 75, which is broken into two parts by the stage direction ''■Enter Morton;'" and hence the root-numbers were mod- ified at one time by subtracting the upper half, and at another time by subtracting the lower half; that is to say, by counting up from 670 BACON HEARS THE BAD NEWS. 671 ''Enter Morton,'' or counting down. But the tirst column of page 74 has no such break in it; it is solid; and hence the root-numbers sooner exhaust themselves. And this perhaps was rendered neces- sary by the fact tiiat there are but 248 words in the second column of page 74, while there are 508 words in the second column of page 75. There would have been great difficulty in packing as many Cipher words into 248 words as into 508 words. Hence the dif- ferent Cipher numbers interlock with each other more frequently, and in a short space we find all the Cipher numbers (except 506, which has a treatment peculiar to itself and apart from the others) brought into requisition. The former Cipher numbers, to which I have alluded, ended with some brief declaration from Harry Percy of the evil tidings; and the first words spoken by Bacon are based on the hope that there may be some mistake, that the news may not be authentic. He inquires: '' Saw you the Earl 2 How is this derived V "The Earl," of course, means the Earl of Essex, and the head of the conspiracy. And here I would also explain, that just as we sometimes modified 505 and 523, in the examples given in the last chapter, by counting the words above the first word oi the second subdivision of column i of page 75, to-wit, 193; and sometimes the words above the last word of \.\\e. first subdivision, to-wit, 192: so with this first column of page 74, if we count down the column there are 284 words, exclusive of bracketed and the additional hyphenated words, but if we count up the column we will find that the number of words above the last word of the column is but 283, exclusive of bracketed words and the ad- ditional hyphenated words. And this the reader will perceive is a necessary distinction, otherwise counting up and down the column would produce the same results; and as the Cipher runs from the begin- nings and ends of scenes, and as the "Induction'' is in the nature of a first scene (for the next scene is called "Scena Secunda "), it follows that we must adopt the same rule already shown to exist as to 193, 254, etc., and which we will see hereafter runs all through the Cipher, in both plays. And these subtle distinctions not only show the microscopic accuracy of the work, but illustrate at the same time the difficulty of deciphering it. I place at the head of the column the root-numbers and their 672 ' THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. modifications; and the reader will note that every word of the co- herent narrative which follows is derived from one or the other of these numbers, modified by the same modifiers, 30 and 50, which we found so effective on page 75, together with the other modifiers, 197, 198, 218 and 219, which are also found, as we have already ex- plained, in the second column of page 74. I would also call attention to the fact that just as we, in the pre- ceding chapter, sometimes counted in the bracketed and additional hyphenated words in the subdivisions of column i of page 75, and sometimes did not: so in this case, sometimes we count in the brack- eted and additional hyphenated words in column i of page 74, and sometimes we do not. And as in the former instance we indicated it by the marks " — 15 ^&//," there being 15 bracketed and hyphen- ated words in both those subdivisions, so in the following examples we indicate it by the marks " — 18 b &//," there being 18 bracketed and additional hyphenated words in column i of page 74. Where the figures '21 b'' or ^'' 22 b & h" occur, they refer to the brack- eted words or the bracketed and additional hyphenated words in the same column in which the words are found. I would call attention to the significant words in the narrative that flow out of the modifiers; for instance, 523 — 284=239, from; less 50== 1^^, gentle maft; less 30= 209 — 21 b= 188, a; less 30= 158, whoi/i; 505 — 284=221, I; less 50 = 171, derived; less 30=191, bred; 505 — 284 = 221 — 2\ b in column =200, these; 523 — 284=239 — 21 b in column = 2i8, news; while 523 — 283 = 240, me; — 50^ 190, well; — 30=210, /. Here in two root-numbers, alternated with the modifiers 50 and 30, we produce the significant words: /, derived^ these, netvs,froni, a, 7vell, bred, gentleman, zvhom, I. Surely, all this cannot be accidental? Suppose instead of these root-numbers, 505 and 523, we take any other numbers, say 500 and 450, and apply them in the same way, and in the same order, as in the above sentence; and we will have as a result the following words: came, the, a, name, listen, you, fortunes, Afonmouth, the, that, after. Not only do these words make no sense arranged in the same order as in the above coherent sen- tence, but it is impossible to make sense out of them, arrange them how yovi will. You might put together: after that Monmouth came; BACON HEARS THE BAD NEWS. 673 but the remaining words will puzzle the greatest ingenuity; and then comes the question: Who is Monmouth, and what has he to do with any story that precedes or follows this? But 505, 523, etc., not only produce a coherent narrative on this page, but on all the other pages examined, and the story on one page is a part of the story on all the other pages. I. The Narrative. 533 523 516 516 513 513 505 505 284 283 284 283 284 283 284 283 239 240 232 233 229 230 221 222 Page and 523—284=239—51=188—20 1> & /i=im. 505-284=221—51=170-1 /^=169. 523—284=239—50=189—19 /'=170. 505— 284=221— 50=1 7 1 . 523—283=240—18 /' & //=222— 50=172. 505— 283=222— 30=1 92— 1 9=1 73. 523—283=240. 248—240=8+1=9. 505—284=221—167=54. 523—284=239—7 /t (74:1)=232. 505—284=221. 523—284=239—18 /? & h (74:1)=221— 50=171. 505—284=221—21 /;=200. 523—284=239—21 /;=218. 505—284=221—219=2. 248—2=246+1=247. 523—284=239—30=209—21 /;=188. 523— 283=240— 50=1 90. 505—284=221—30=191. 523—284=239—50=189. 505—283=222—29=193. 523—284=239—18 b & /^=221— 50=171. 248—171= 77+1=78+15=93. 505—284=221—167=54. 248—54=194+1=195 523—284=239—30=209. 505—284=221—18 h & //=203— 19 /;=184. 523—284=239—18 i & /^=221— 1 //=220. 505—284=221—218=3. 523—284=239. 248—239=9+1=10. 516—284=232—21 ^=211. 513—283=230—50=180—19=161. 516—284=232. 248—232=16 + 1=17. 523—283=240. 248—240=8 + 1=9 + 30=39. 523—284=239. 248—239=9+1=10+30=40. 505—284=221—168=53. Word. Column. 168 74:2 How 169 74:2 is 170 74:2 this 171 74:2 derived ? 172 74:2 Saw 173 74:2 you 9 74:2 the 54 74:2 Earl? 232 74:2 No, 221 74:2 I 171 74:2 derived 200 74:2 these 218 74:2 news 247 74:2 from 188 74:2 a 190 74:2 well 191 74:2 bred 189 74:2 gentleman 193 74:2 of 93 74:2 good 195 74:2 name 209 74:2 whom (184) 74:2 my 220 74:2 lord 3 74:2 the 10 74:2 Earl 211 74:2 sent 161 74:2 to 17 74:2 tell 39 74:2 your 40 74:2 Honor 53 74:2 the 674 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 201 74:2 news. 47 74:2 He 329 74:2 is 20 75:1 a 207 74:2 servant This i6S is the middle subdivision of column 2 of page 74. It runs from 50 to 218. as is shown in the diagram, on page 580, ante; it contains 21 bracketed words and one additional hyphenated word; its modifications will appear further on. From 50 to 218 there are 168 words; from 51 to 218 there are 167. Page and Word. Column. 505—283=222—21 /'=201. 516—584=232—80=202. 248—202=46+1=47. 513=284=229. 505—283=222—198=24—4 b + ^=20. 513_284=229— 22 b & //=207. The word servant had anciently the sense of follower or subordinate. Hora- tio, although a gentleman, and a scholar with Hamlet at Wittenberg, called him- self the servant of Hamlet: Hamlet. Horatio, or do I forget myself? Horatio. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. Hamlet. Sir, my good friend, I'll change that name with you. 516— 284=232— 18/' &//=214— 2] /'=193. 193 74:2 of 505—284=221—30=191. 193—191=2 + 1=3. 3 75:1 Sir Here the Cipher, as it begins to exhaust the possibilities of column 2 of page 74, overflows upon the next column through the channel of the subdivisions of 74:2. That is to say, instead of counting 221 down that column, we commence to count at the bottom of the second subdivision. This gives us to the bottom of the column thirty words, which, deducted from the 221, leaves us 191, and this, carried up from the bottom of the first subdivision of the next column, gives us the word Sir. 523—283=240—50=190. 193—190=3+1=4. 505—284=221—30=191—30=161. 505—283=222—198=24. The 198 here is one of the modifiers in the second column of page 74; that is to say, from the top of the second subdivision of the column to the top of the col- umn there are 50 words, and from the bottom of the first subdivision to the bottom of the column there are 198 words; and from the top of the second column to the bottom of the column there are 197 words. 4 75:1 John 161 75:1 Travers, 24 75:1 by 516—284=232—18 b & 7^=214. 248—214=34+ 1=35. 35 516—284=232—30=202—7 //=195. 195 516—284=233—50=183. 248—183=60. 66 523—284=239—50=189. 193—189=4+1=5. 5 74:2 the 74:2 name 74:2 of 75:1 Umfreville. This 189 is the middle subdivision 168 plus the 2i bracketed words contained therein, making together 189. 513—283=230—2 //=228. 513—284=229. 513—273=230. 516—284=232—30=202—20 b & 7^=182. 516—283=233—50=183. 248—183=65+1= 66+15/^=81 228 229 230 182 81 74:2 He 74:2 is 74:2 furnished 74:2 with 74:2 all BACON HEARS THE BAD NEIVS. 675 Word. 516—283=233—50=183—19 /;=174. 174 516—283=233 233 516— 283=233— 30-=203. 248—203=45+1=46 46 516—283=233—30=203—50=153. 248—153=95+1= 96 513_384=229— 30=199. 248—199=49+1=50. 50 516—284=232—30= 202 202 516—283=233—30=203—248—203=43+1=46+2 //= 48 516—284=232—30=202—197=5. 18 ^ & /^ —5= 13-^-1=14. 14 Page and Column. 84:2 the 74:2 certainties, 74:2 and 74:2 will 74:2 answer 74:2 for 74:2 himself, 74:1 when This last count needs a little explanation. In the former instances there was always, after counting in all the words in column i of page 74, a remainder which was carried over to the next column, or, through the subdivision in the second column of page 74, overflowed into the first column of page 75. But sup- pose there is, after deducting the modifier, no remainder to be thus carried to the next column, then we must look for the word in the first column of page 74, by moving up or down that column. And this is what is done in this instance. I might state the matter thus: 516 — 30=486 — 197^289. Now, we are about to carry 289 up the first column of page 74; but there are 18 b & h in that column, which added to 284 makes a total in the column of words of all kinds of 302; — now, if we deduct 288 from 302 we have \i-\-\=ii\=ivhcn. We find the same course pursued to obtain the word of on the eighth line below. 505—283=222—198=24. 193—24=169+1=170. 505—284=221. 248—221=27+1=28+24 ^+/^=52. 505—284=221. 248—221=27 + 1=28. 523—284=239—218=21. 248—21=227+1=228. 513—284=229—198=31. 505—283=222—1 98=24 + 4 /' + /^=20. 523—284=239—218=21. 516—284=232—30=202—18 /'+ A=184— 198=14. 284—14=270—1 + 3 //=274. 516—384=232—30=202=197=5. 248—5=243+1= 516—284=232—30=202—7 h (74:1)=195. 505—283=222—30=192. 505—284=221—168=53. 248—53=195+1=196+1 ^=197 505—284=221—168=53—248—53=195+1=196 +2/' + 7^=198. 523—283=240. 505—283=222—22 /; + ;/=200. 523—283=240—22 -^+7^=218. 505—284=221—167=54—7 h 284=47. 248—47= 201 + 1=202. 505—284=221—18 b & /4=203. 505— 28:3=222— 197=25. 193—25=168+1=169. 505—283=222—197=25. 193+25=218. We have just seen that the root-number was carried upward from the top of the second subdivision in column 2 of page 74 and thence to the next column. Here we see that the root-number is also carried downward from the same point, by deducting 197, the number of words from that point to the bottom of the column. 170 75:1 he 52 74:2 comes 28 74:2 here. a28 74:2 He 31 74:2 is 20 75:1 a 21 74:2 gentleman 274 74:1 of 244 74:2 good 195 74:2 name, 192 74:2 and =197 74:2 freely 198 74:2 rendered 240 74:2 me 200 64:2 these 218 74:2 news 202 74:2 for 203 74:2 true. 169 75:1 He 318 75:1 left 676 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. Word. Page and Column. 214 75:1 the 213 75:1 Strand 15 75:1 after 25 75:1 me, 246 75:1 but, (13) 75:1 being 533—284=239—218=21. 193+21=214. 523—284=239—218=21. 193+21=214—2 /i=212. 523—284=239—30=209—30=179. 193—179= 14+1=15. 505—283=222—197=25. 505— 284=221— 18 <^& /^=203— 50=153+193=346. 505—284=221—30=191. 193—191=2 + 1=3+/^= Here we come to an example that is often found in the Cipher, where the count ends in a word in a bracketed sentence. It is difficult to explain in figures the re- sult; the critical reader will have to count for himself up or down the column, as the case may be, and he will ascertain that my count is correct. Where the number of the word is inclosed in brackets, as in the above " (13) 75:1," it signi- fies that it is not the 13th word by the ordinary count, but the 13th word counting in the words in a bracketed sentence, and that the word itself is in such a sentence. 523—283=240—50=190. 193— 190=3+1=4+^.= (14) 75:] better The accuracy of this count can only be demonstrated by counting from 193, inclusive, upwards, counting in the bracketed words, but not the hyphenated words; and the 190th word will be found to be, by actual count, the word better. 523—284=239- 50—189. 193 189—4+1—5+/;— (15) 75:1 horsed. 505 283—222. 332 74:3 over-rode 505—284=221- -22 ^& 7^=199. 199 74:3 me. 505—284=221- -168=53—7/^=46. 46 74:2 He 523—284=239- -218=21—4=17. 17 75:1 came 523—284=239- -318=31— 3 /'=18. 18 75:1 spurring 505—384=331- 198—23 4 ^ & //— 19. 19 75:1 head. 533—384=339- 50—189 50—139. 193 139—54+ 1—55. 55 75:1 and 505 384—231 -50=171. 193—171=22+1=33. 33 75:1 stopped 533 383—340 -50=190—30=160. 160 75:1 by 505—384=331- -319=2. 447— 2+//=(446). (446) 75:1 me 505 384—331 -50=171. 193—171=22+1=23+3^^ = 36 75:1 to 505—384=331- 50—171. 193—171—22+1—23+ 3^&l/^exc.=37. 37 75:1 breathe Here we count in the bracketed words and the additional hyphenated words not included in bracket sentences. This is indicated by the sign " /;& h exc," mean- ing, count in the bracket words and the hyphenated words exclusive of those in brackets. The expression "came spurring head" means came spurring with headlong speed. It was the customary expression of the day and is found in the text. 505—383=222—50=172. 193—172=21 + 1=23+ 6 /; & 7^=28. 523—284=239—30=309—30=1 79. 51 6— 383=333— 50=1 83 . 516—383=333—50=183+ 193=376. 513—383=230—30=200—15 b & /4=185. 513—283=330—50=180. 533—383=340—30=310. 88 75:1 his 179 75:1 horse, 183 75:1 Upon 376 75:1 my 185 75:1 life 180 75:1 he 210 75:1 looks BACON HEARS THE BAD NEWS. 677 505—283=222—30=192. 523—283=240—30=210—10 -5+2 k exc.=198. 505—283=222—50=172. 505—284=221—18 b & 7^=203—30=173. 523_284=239— 219=20. 193—20=173+1=174. 516—284=232—50=182—14 i> & //==168. 523—283=240—50=190—14 /> & /^=176. 505—284=221—30=191—14 d & 7^=177. 51 6— 283=233— 30=203 523—284=239—50=189 —10-5=179. 523—283=240—50=190 —10/5=180. 505—284=221—30=191 _ 10/;=181. 51&-283=233— 30=203— 30=173— 10^=163. 523—283=240—30=210 —10 /;=200. 505—283=222—198=24 — 3<5=21. 623—283=239—30=309—30=179—10-5=169. Wor-j. Page an<3 Column. 192 75:1 more 198 75:1 like 172 75:1 some 173 75:1 hilding 174 75:1 fellow 168 75:1 who 176 75:1 had 177 75:1 stolen 203 75:1 the 179 75:1 horse 180 75:1 he 181 75:1 rode-on 163 75:1 than 200 75:1 a 21 169 75:1 75:1 gentleman; he Observe here how a whole series of words has in each case the mark "10 -5," showing that the brackets have been counted in in every instance; while above it is a group of words marked "14 -5 & /i," where both the bracketed words and the additional hyphenated words have in each case been counted in. The 10 -5 is only varied, in the first series, once, where it becomes " 3 />," because there are but three bracketed words before the Cipher word is reached, while in the other cases there are 10. 516—284=232—30=202. 447—202=245+1=246. 246 523—284=239—50=189. 189 523—284=239—30=209. 209 513—284=229—50=179. 447—179=268+1=269+8-5 277 516—283=233—30=203—30=173. 447—173=274+ 1=275. 275 75:1 doth 75:1 look 75:1 so 75:1 dull, 75:1 spiritless I would here call attention to another curious fact. We see in the above that 173, counting down the column, is hilding (or skulking — hiding), while up the column it is spiritless, — the 275th word; — and if we count in the bracket words it is 7voe-begone. While we will find hereafter that when we take 523 and count from the top of the second column of page 74, downwards, 248 words, we have 275 words left, and the 275th word is the same word, spiritless, and if we go up the column it is the same word, hilding. This is another of the many proofs, like " fottiul-oiit," that the words are many times cunningly adjusted to do double duty. 513—283=230—30=200—30=170. 193+170=363. 363 75:1 and 616—283=233—30=203—30=173. 447—173=274+1 =275+8-5=283. 523—284=239—30=209—30=179-17^=178. 513—284=229—50= 1 79. 523—283=240—30=210—30=180, 523—284=239—30=209—50=159. 523—284=239—50=189—50=139. 523—284=239—50=189—50=139. 193—139= 54 + 1=55+6 l> & /-=61 61 75:1 was 283 75:1 woe-begone 178 75:1 The 179 75:1 horse 180 75:1 he 159 75:1 rode 139 75:1 upon 678 jnE CIPHER NARRATIVE. Word. Page and Column, 193—179=14+ 193—139= -180=13+ -159=288+ (23) 55 (22) 297 383 45 75.1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 sore-spent and almost half dead from spurring. My instinct tells me some thing is •wrong. 523—284=289-30=209-30=179. 1=15+8 /'=(23). 523— 284=239— 50=189— 50 (74:2)=139. 54+1=55. 523—283=240—30=210—30=180. 193- 1=14+8 /;=(22). 523—284=239—30=209—50=159. 447- 1=289^8/^=297. 523—283=240—50=190. 193+190=383. 513—284=229—50=179—30=149. ' 193—149= 44 + 1=45. 516—283=238—50=183. 193—183=10+1=11 + 7/^= 18 523—283=240—50=190—50=140—10 <^=1 30. 130 523—284=239- 30=209. 194+209=403. 403 513—284=229—218=11. 193+11=204— 2 //=202. 202 513—283=230—198=32—22=10. 447—10=437+1= 438 516— 284=232— 50=182— 10 /;=1 72. 172 516—283=233—30=203. 193+203=396. 396 523—284=239-50=189. 193+189=382. 382 513—283=230—198=32—22 (^=10. 447—10=437+ 1=438+2 /'=440. 440 Here the " 22 ^ " represents the 22 bracketed words in the 198; that is, from the end of the first subdivision of column 2 of page 74 to the bottom of the column there are 22 words in brackets. 513—283=230—30=200—30=170. 513—283=230—198=32. 513—283=230—218=12. 447—12= 2 /;=438. 513—283=230—30=200—30=170- 1=157. 523—284=239—198=41—7 /'=34. 523—283=240—50=1 90. 51 3— 283=230— 2 1 8=12. 505—283=222—198=24. 447—24= Here we begin to call into requisition the modifiers in the first column of page 73; heretofore, the modifiers we have used have been altogether those in the second column of page 74; hereafter, in this part of the story, we will find those of the first column of page 73 coming more and more into use, until all the words grow out of 505, 523, 516 and 513, less 284, modified by the modifying numbers in col- umn I of page 73, to-wit, 28, 62, go, 142 and 79. The reader is asked to observe that every one of the last seventy-five words is found in the first column of page 75, while the preceding part of the story was all found in the second column of page 74; and the reader can see for himself that this, part of the story follows the other in natural historical order. 523—284=239—198=41—9 h & //=32. 32 516—283=233—50=183—28=155. 193—155=38+1= 39 513—283=280—30=200. 193+200=393—8 ^=385. 885 513—283=230—50=180. 180 523—284=239—50=189. 447—189=258+1=259. 259 170 75:1 He 32 75:1 asked 435+1=436+ 438 75:1 me 14 (J & 7^=156+ 157 75:1 the 34 75:1 way 190 75:1 here; 12 75:1 and 423 + 1=424. 424 75:1 I 75:1 asked 75:1 him 75:1 what 75:1 he 75:1 is BACON HEARS THE BAD NEWS. 679 513_284=229— 21 8=1 1 . 513—283=230—30=200- 516—284=232—50=182. 505—283=222—30=192. 518—283=230—50=180. 51 6— 283=233— 50=1 83- 513—284=229—218=11. 523—284=239—1 98=41 . 528—283=240—50=190- 1=348. 505—283=222—50=172. 10 /; & 7^=286. Word. 447—11=4864-1=487. 437 -10 /'=190. 190 193—182=11 + 1=12. 12 193+192=385 385 193+180=373. 873 -90=93. 193—93=100+1=101 11 447—41=406+1=407. 407 -90=100. 447—100=347+ 348 447—173=275+1=276+ 286 Pagre and Column. 75:1 doing 75:1 here, 75:1 and 75:1 what 75:1 are 75:1 the 75:1 tidings 75:1 from 75:1 the 75:1 Curtain? The "Curtain Play-house" was probably the meeting-place of Harry Percy, Umfreville and the other young men. To Percy it must have been a regular resort, for it is probable he was the intermediary between Bacon and Shakspere. 505— 284=221— 50=1 71— 90=81— 50=31 . 31 516—284=232—30=202—50=152. 193—152=41 + 1=42+6/; & /;=48. 48 516—284=232—30=202. 193—202=6+1=7. 7 75:1 75:1 75:1 He told me This needs a little explanation: it is difficult to state it in figures in the same way as the other examples. We have 202 to carry up the first subdivision of 75:1, but there are only 193 words in that subdivision, which would leave a remainder of 9; but suppose we add in the /' & h words, we then have in the subdivision not 193 but 193 + 15=208; now if we deduct 202 from 208, we have: 208 — 202^6+1=7. 75:1, iiii\ as above. 523—284=289- 505—283=222— 52=245—2= 505—284=221— 518—284=229— 516—284=232- 505—284=221- 505—283=222— 505—283=222- 505—284=221— 513—284=229- 1=65+1 //= 505—283=222- 3 /;=25. 523—283=240- 516—283=233- 50=189—62=127. 127 50=172—90=82=30—52. 193+ =243. 243 50=171—90=81—30=51. 193+51=244 50=179—50=129—10 /;=119. 119 50=182—62=120. 120 50=171—50=121. 121 50=172—50=122. 122 -50=172-50=122. 193—122=71 + 1= 72 -50=171—1 //=170. 170 -50=179—50=129. 193—129=64+ =66. 66 •50=172. 193—172=21 + 1=22+ 25 -80=210—198=12. 193+12=205—2//. 203 -30=203—10 6=193. 198 75:1 that 75:1 our 75:1 party 75:1 had 75:1 met 75:1 ill 75:1 luck; 75:1 and 75:1 he 75:1 gave 75:1 me 75:1 the 75:1 news We return now to the second column of page 74, and we learn what the news was that Percy received from Umfreville. And here we have a testimony to the reality of the Cipher which should satisfy the most incredulous. The reader will remember that I gave on page 580, ante, a diagram of what I called T/it' Heart of the Mystery, in which I showed that this part of the Cipher originated out of certain root-numbers, 505, 506, 513, 516, 523, modified, first by the 68o THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. fragments of the scene in the second column of page 74; and, afterward, by the fragments in the first column of page 73. And up to this point in the Cipher story all the modifications (with two or three exceptions at the end of the narra- tive) grow out of those modifiers which are found in the second column of page 74, to-wit, 50, 30, 218, iq8, etc. Now we come to the modifiers in the first column of page 73, to-wit, 27 or 28, 62 or 63, 89 or go, 78 or 79, 141 or 142, etc. If what I have given was the result of accident, the probabilities are that the application of these modifiers would bring out words that could not be fitted at all into the story produced by the modifiers on page 74, and that would have no relation whatever to the news brought by Umfreville. And here I would ask the incredulous to write down a sentence of their own construction upon any subject, however simple, so that it contains a dozen or more words, and then try to find those words in any column of the Shakespeare Plays. The chances are nine out of ten they will not succeed. Take these last eleven words, which, without premeditation, I have just written down: tlie chances arc 7tiiie out of ten they will not succeed; turn to the first column of page 75 and try to find them. There is no chances in the column; it occurs but twice in the whole play, and the nearest instance is on page 85 of the Folio, twenty columns distant. There is no nine in the column, it occurs but once in the whole play, on page 84 of the Folio, eighteen columns away. Even the simple little word they cannot be found in that column. Neither can ten; it appears on page 76, two columns distant. The word succeed is not found in the entire play. The nearest approach to it is succeeds, on page 97 of the Folio, forty-four columns distant. If the reader will experiment with any other sentence he will be satisfied of the truth of my statement. You may sometimes examine a whole column and not find in it such a common word as ;V or cr or 7vere. In fact, there are 114,000 words in the English language, and the chances, therefore, of finding the precise words you need for any given sen- tence, upon a single page of any work, are very slight indeed; for the page can at most contain but a few hundred words out of that vast total; and, if we reduce the vocabulary from 114,000 to 14,000, the same difliculty will to a large extent still present itself. Therefore, even though it may be claimed that I have not reduced the Cipher story to that perfect symmetry which greater labor might secure, I think it will be conceded by every intelligent mind that the results I have shown could not have come about by accident, but that there is a Cipher in the Plays. To resume : We saw by the Cipher words given in the last chapter that the Queen was furious and had sent out soldiers to arrest somebody, and that the play-actors had taken fright and run away ; and we will see hereafter that the Queen had beaten some one savagely and nearly killed him. Now, we have just learned how the news was brought to Bacon ; how Harry Percy (for I will show hereafter that it was Harry Percy) had been over-ridden by a messenger from the Earl (of Essex) who had told him the news. Now, if there was no Cipher in this text, the next series of modifications, to-wit, those of the first column of page 73, would not bring out any words holding any coherence with this narrative, but a haphazard lot of stuff having no more to do with it than the man in the moon. But what are the facts ? Let us, for the purpose of making the explanation clearer, confine ourselves to 505 and 523. Now, I showed that if we commenced at the beginning of column I of page 74 — that is, if we deducted 2S4 down the column, and 283 up the column — we would have as a result certain root-numbers, thus: 505—284=221. 523—284=239. 505—283=222. 523—283=240. (f^z j^Ofc^^i^ iVMUt u^m "Vij—i}r {yii'Uj Jr^n, ^JT^ jt'^wyyvnci 'Uctu pta^ 'A (p. :>>Y u) VKi4/vC-r 'VV fvS vK, CXJ^'^Co i)ej zt ^3Cr)em ^-MiicL ta^ti^^ oLtactv^ f \ I Letter from the Lord Chancellor Verulam (Francis Bacon) to the University of Cambridge, upon sending to their library his Novum Organum. (Reduced fac-sitnih ) • BACON HEARS THE BAD NEWS. 68l And I showed that if we modified these numbers, so obtained, by 30 and 50, the modifiers in the second column of page 74, we would have these results: 221—50=171. 239—50=189. 223—50=172. 240—50=190. 221—30=191. 239—30=209. 222—30=192. 240—30=210. And I showed that these root-numbers produced, alternately counting and not counting the bracketed and additional hyphenated words, the sentence I have given: — " I derived these iieivs from one whom I spake with on the zaay here, a 7vell- bj-ed gentleman whom mv Lord the Earl sent to tell your Honor the news." Now, let us take these same root-numbers and deduct from them the modifiers in the first column of page 73, and see what the news was that Umfreville brought from Essex. We have 505 — 283=222. Let us deduct the words below the first word of the last subdivision of column i, page 73, to-wit, 78, from 222: 222 — 78=144. The 144th word in the second column of page 74, counting in the one hyphenated word, is Field, the 143d word, printed in the Folio with a capital F. Now, Richard Field, son of Henry Field, of Stratford, was a printer in London. In 1593 he printed Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis., and the work was published and sold, Halliwell-Phillipps tells us, at the White Greyhound, St. Paul's Churchyard, by his friend John Harrison, publisher.' In 1594 Field printed the AV/t? ^yZz^r/rr^. How he came into this business is not clear. Or the Field here, and so often referred to in the Cipher narrative, may have been Nathan Field, the player, who was one of the principal actors of the day. It is true that Collier thinks Nathan Field was the son of the Puritan preacher John Field, and if so he would have been too young in 1597 or 1598 for the part suggested; but Collier may have made a mistake. Nathan Field was more likely a Stratford man. Now, let us take the root-number 523, deduct 284, and we have 239 ; let us deduct from this another of the modifiers in the first column of page 73, to-wit: 90, being the nnmber of words above the first word of the third subdivision, and the remainder is 149 ; now, let us count down the second column of page 74, again count- ing in the one additional hyphenated word, and we find that the 149th word becomes the 148th word — is. Now, take again the same root-number, 222; modify it by deducting one of the numbers of the second column of page 74 (for thus the modifiers of pages 73 and 74 interlock with each other), to-wit: 50; we have left 172; now, again deduct the modifier 78, which we have seen produced the word Field, and we have left 94 ; we carry 94 up the second column of page 74 and we reach the word a, the 155th word. We return again to the root-number 239, which produced the word is, and again deduct the same modifier, 90, and we have : 239 — 90=149, and the 149th word, in the second column of page 74, is prisoner. Here we have: Field is a prisoner, thus expressed: Page and Word.. Column. 505—283=222—78=144—1 //=143. 143 74:2 Field 523—284=239—90=149—1 //=148. 148 74:2 is 505—283=222—50=172—78=94. 248—94=154+ 1=1.55. 155 74:2 a 523—284=239—90=149. 149 74:2 prisoner, But let us go on with the story. The 28 used hereafter is the number from ' Outlines Li/e 0/ S/ia/cs/eye, p. 70. 682 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. the top of the column i of page 73 to the top word of the second subdivision, inclusive ; the " 17 b & h " means that in carrying the number up the column we count in the bracketed and additional hyphenated words in the column, in the space passed over. Word. Page and Column. 505—283^222—78=144. 144 74:2 and 523—284=239—50—189— 28—161 . 248—161—87 + 1=88+17 ^& //=105. 105 74:2 is 505—283—222—78—144. 248—144—104+1— 105+2 //=107. 107 74:2 wounded 523—284=239—78=161 . 161 74:2 to 505 283—222 79—143. 143 30—113. 113 74:2 the 523 284—239 50—189 79—110. 110 74:2 death; 505— 284=22 1—30=1 9 1—90=1 01— 7 /'=94. 94 74:2 and 523 284 239 188 (167+21 <^) 51 27 (73:1)— 24. 24 74:2 Bardolfe 505—284 221 30_191 79 (73:1)_112— 7 <^_105. 105 74:2 is 523—283—240—18 b & //— 222— 62 (73:1)— 160. 160 74:2 novr 505 283—222 79—143. 248—143—105 + 1—106. 106 74:2 almost 523 284—239 50—189 90—99. 99 74:2 as 505—283=222—50=1 72—79=93. 93 74:2 good 523 283—240 90—150. 248 1^0-98+1—99. 99 74:2 as 505 283—222 79—143 50—93 + 193—286 l/'&Zi- = 279 75:1 dead; 523—284=239—50=189—62=127. 248+127=121 + 1=128. 122 74:2 slain; 523—283—240 50—190 62—128. 128 74:2 killed 505—284=221 30—191 63—128. 248—128—120+ 1=121 +2 //=123. 123 74:2 out-right 505 284—221 30—191 62—129. 129 74:2 by 523 284=239 50—189 79—110 7/^-103. 103 74:2 the 505—284=221—90=1 31 . 131 74:2 hand 523—284=239—90=149. 248—149=99+1=100+ 15 /'= 115 74:2 of 505—284=221—79=142. 142 74:2 the 523 167—356 90— 266— 15 3 & ^—251. 251 74:1 old 505 283—222 79—143—50=93 7/^- 86. 86 75:1 jade. "Bardolfe" was probably a nickname for Dr. Hayward; — we will see him described hereafter as anything but a gentleman in appearance. I have shown, on page 30, a/i/t', that the country so swarmed, at that time, with graduates of the uni- versities of Oxford and Cambridge, who made their living as beggars, that Parlia- ment had to interfere to abate the nuisance. Here we have the excited Percy telling the news. It will be observed that through twenty-nine instances the root-numbers 505 and 523 alternate without a break; and it will also be observed that through thirteen instances the numbers 505 — 283 222 alternate regularly with 523 — 284=239; and that every word of this connected story grows out of these root-numbers, modified by the modifiers 30 and 50, belonging to the second column of page 74, or 90 and 89, or 28, or 79 and 78, or 62 and 63, the modifiers found in the first column of page"73. Can any one believe that order can thus come out of a chaos of words by a coherent rule if there is no ^ Cipher here ? If I had the time to do more accurate work, all the above passages could be reduced to perfect symmetry, as could every word of the Cipher narrative. BACON- HEARS THE BAD NEWS. 683 The faults rest upon the neglect of certain subtle distinctions. For instance, the modi- fier 50 becomes, when counted upward from the last word of the first subdivision of column 2 of page 74, 49; just as we see that 79 becomes 78, in the first column of page 73, if we count from the beginning of the third subdivision, instead of the end of the secend; just as we saw, in column i of page 76, that there were 50 words from the end of scene 2 downward, but 49 words from the beginning of scene 3 downward. In the same way there are 30 words from the end of the second subdivision of column 2 of page 74, but only 29 from the beginning of the third subdivision; and we will find this 29 playing an important part hereafter in the Cipher. Now, if we use 49 or 29, where I have employed 50 or 30, we may thereby alter the root-number from 240 to 239, or from 221 to 222, and thus restore the harmony of the movement of the root-numbers. But it would require another year of patient labor to bring this about. And it is these subtle differences which make the work so microscopic in its character; and if they are not attended to closely, they break up the symmetri- cal appearance of the narrative. But the reader will find, as he proceeds, that these distinctious are not invented by me to meet the exigencies of this part of my work; but that they prevail all through the Cipher story. Thus the evidences of the reality of the Cipher are cumulative; and where one page does not carry con- viction to the leader, another may; and where both fail, a dozen surely cannot fail to satisfy him. And the reader will observe that twenty-six words of the twenty-nine in the above example all originate in the first column of page 74, and are found in the second column of the same. One might just as well suppose that the complicated movements of the heavenly bodies resulted from chance, as to believe that these twenty-six words, together v^'ith all the other seventy-nine words given in the beginning of this chapter, could have occurred, /;/ the second coliiiiin cf page 7^, by accident, and at the same time match precisely with the same root-numbers which we have seen producing coherent sentences on page 75, and which we will find hereafter to produce coherent sentences on all the pages of these two Plays, so far as I have examined them. In other words, to deny the existence of the Cipher, the incredulous reader will have to assert that one hundred and five words out of the tivo hundred and forty-eight in that column, did, by accident, cohere arithmetically with each other, and with certain root-numbers, to make the connected story I have given ! It will require a vaster credulity to believe this than to believe in the Cipher. Where the word dead'\s found in the above example the Cipher story overflows into the next column, just as it did to produce the narrative of Umfreville stopping his weary horse near Percy, on the road to St. Albans. And the reader will observe that the same number, — 93, — which produces dead, down from the top of the second subdivision in column i of page 75, produces also the word jade down from the top of the first subdivision. The word c/i;/ requires some explanation. We have seen that the modifiers in the second column of page 74 grow out of three subdivisions, the first containing 50 words, the second 167, the third 30. Now, we have seen that in the other words of this story we start either from the top of column 2 of page 74, or from the 50 or the 30, etc., and we carry this back practically to the first column of page 73, deduct from it one of the modifiers in that column, return to the top of the first column of page 74, pass through that column, and the remainder over finds the Cipher word in the next column forward. But suppose we have deducted a num- ber from the root-number so large that after going to column i of page 73, and being modified by one of the modifiers there, the remainde. is not so great a num- < ber as 284, then, when we try to deduct from it the 284 words on column i of 684 ^^^^' CIPIJEK NAKRATJVE. page 74, there is nothing left to carry over to the next column forward, and the re- sult is we must find the Cipher word in the first column of page 74, where the count gives out, instead of in the second. This is just what occurs in the case of the viOxAold. Let me give a parallel instance: — let us take the word as; strictly speaking, we find it in this way: 523— 50(74:2)=473— 90(73:1)=383— 384(74:1)=99. 99 74:2 as Let us put the word old through the same formula, and we have it thus expressed: 523—167 (74:2)=356— 90 (73:1)=266 (74:1)— 15 h & //= 251 74:1 old I. More of thp: Cipher Story. But this is not all of the Cipher story that is found in this second column of page 75; but as it begins to run, as I have shown, from the first column of page 73, so the root-numbers produced therefrom commence to apply themselves to other columns besides the second of page 74; for it follows of course that the Cipher can- not always cling to that column, or it would soon be exhausted; you cannot insert a story of 2,000 words in a column of 248 words. Hence we will find the Cipher beginning to radiate, right and left, from column i of page 73, to the next column forward and the next column backward; and even through the fragments of these columns it will be found to overflow into the next columns, just as we found it overflowing through the fragments of column 2 of page 74 into column i of page 75. Thus the reader will perceive that there is order even in apparent disorder, and that a symmetrical theory runs all through the Cipher work. Here we have, following the preceding statement, and in the same order, the words being alternately derived from 505 and 523, modified by the modifiers in the last column of page 74, and the first column of page 73, the following statement. And the identification of the writer of the internal narrative with Francis Bacon is here established. It will be seen that it is "your cousin " that is in authority and that sends out the fos/s, or mounted men who ride post, to bring Bacon into court to answer the charges which assail his good name; and we know that Bacon's uncle, Burleigh, and his cousin, Robert Cecil, really controlled England at that time. And we will see hereafter that this "cousin" of the Cipher story is this same QriJ — represented in the Cipher as "Sees-i//," or: " Seas-ill," or even "Says-ill;" for the name had in that day the broad sound of the e, even as the peasant of Ireland still calls the sea the say. And this is one of the proofs of the reality of my work: the teller of the story does not say, in a formal manner: "/, Francis Bacon, wrote the Shakespeare Plays;" but we stumble upon the middle of a long narrative, in which, possibly, the authorship of the Plays was but a minor consideration. I would also add that the Fortune and the Curtain were the two leading play- houses of that day, at which most of the Shakespeare Plays were first produced; and it will be seen how completely this statement that they were in the liands of the soldiers accords with the order of the Council stated on page 628, ante, in which the Queen directed all the theaters to be dismantled, because the actors had brought matters of state on the stage. 523—283=240—142=98. 248—98=150+1=151 . 5(),5_284=221 -30=191— 27=164. 523—284=239—50=189. 248—189=59 + 1=60 + 15 /'=75 Page and Word. Column. 151 74:2 Your 164 73:2 cousin =75 74:2 hath BACON HEARS THE BAD NEWS. 685 Word. Page and Column. 505- -283—222—78—144. 144 73:2 even 523- 283—240 28—212 -1 //=211. 211 74:2 sent 505- -284=221—90=131- -8/;&//=123. 123 74:2 out 523- 30=493 218—275 -90=185—12 h & //=173. 173 74:1 his 505- -30=475—218=257. 257 74:1 posts 523- -284=239-78=161. 161 74:2 to 505- -284=221—30=191- -27=164. 248—164=84 + 1=85+2 //=87. 87 74:2 bring 523- -284=239—62=177. 177 74:2 you 505- -284=221—30=191- -79=112. 112 74:2 in. 505- -284=221—79=142. 142 74:2 The 523- -283=240—90=150. 248—150=98+1=99+15 />= =114 74:2 Fortune 505- 284=221 90—131- -7/^=124. 124 74:2 and 523- -283=240—30=210- -79=131—1 //=130. 130 74:2 the 505- -284=221—78=143- -50=93. 193+93=286. 286 75:1 Curtain 523- 283—240 62—178. 248—178=70+1=71. 71 74:2 are 505- -284=221—89=132- -7/;=125. 125 74:2 both 523- -284=239—79=160. 160 74:2 now 505- -284=221-27=194. 248— 1 94— 54 + 1 — 55 + /;— (77) 74:2 full 523- -284=239—90=149. 248—149=99 + 1=100+/'= = 115 74:2 of 505- -284=221. 79—50= =29—1 7^=28. 28 75:1 his 523- -30=493— 219=274— 90=184— 10 /'=! 74. 174 74:1 troops. 69 74:2 The 70 74:2 times 71 74:2 are 72 74:2 wild. But even this does not exhaust the possibilities of this little column of 248 words in the hands of the magical cryptographist. I stated that 505 and 523 alter- nated with each other, and that 516 and 513 ran in couples. Much that I have worked out came from 523 and 505: let us now turn to the other numbers. And here we have a typical sentence: 516—284=232—30=202. 248—202=46+1=47+23/;= 69 513—284=229—50=179. 248—179=69+1= 516—284=232—30=202. 248—202=46+1=47+ 24 i^ & /^=71 513—284=229—50=179. 248—179=69+1=70+2 /i= Observe the perfect symmetry of this sentence. Take it in columns: — the figures of the first column are 516 — 513 — 516 — 513; those of the second column are 284^284 — 284 — 2S4; those of the third column are 232 — 229 — 232 — 229; those of the fourth column are 30 — 50 — 30 — 50; those of the fifth column are 202 — 179 — 202 — 179; those of the sixth column, 248 — 248 — 248 — 248; those of the seventh column, 202 — 179 — 202 — 179; and they produce in regular order the 69///, 70M, y/st, and J2d words, to-wit: the times are -wild. And every one of these words is obtained by going ///> the same column. And even in the application of the bracket and hyphenated words the reader will perceive, as he goes on, a regular system and sequence. And here I would call the attention of the reader to the fact that this expres- sion, " ilte times are 7vild," was used in that age where we to-day would say the times are disturbed or dangerous. We see the expression in this very column: What news. Lord Bardolfe ? The times are wild. 686 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. One such Cipher sentence as the above is by itself enough to demonstrate the existence of a Cipher in the Shakespeare Plays. And I think the reader will be ready to take it for granted that any imperfections which may exist in other sen- tences are due to my imperfect work, and not to the Cipher itself. But this sentence does not stand alone: — the proofs are cumulative. He will find flowing right out of the same roots, varied only by the fact that the ground gone over becomes exhausted, and the Cipher numbers have therefore to apply themselves in contiguous columns, a continuous story. And here I would say that the Earl of Shrewsbury herein referred to was one of the Cecil or anti-Essex party. He was one of the Commissioners to try Essex on the preliminary charges preferred against him, and afterwards sat as one of the jury of peers who tried him for his life.' He was an acquaintance of Bacon, for we find him on the 15th of October, 1601 writing the Earl a letter, asking " to borrow a horse and armor for a public show " of some kind, probably " the joint mask of the four Inns of Court."- He was one of the Cecil courtiers, and very likely to have been sent out by Cecil for the purpose indicated. 516—284=233- 513—284=229- .18/'&//=214. -50= 179. -50= -50=179. 183. 516—283=233 513—284=229 513—284=229. 513—283=230—50= 180 516—284=232—21 /'=211. 513—283=230—50= 180 =233— 18/^&/^=215. 513—284=229—50=179. 248—179 Word, 248-214=34+1=35.. 35 248- 179=69+ 1=70-F 15 /'=85 248—183=65+1=66. 66 179 Page and Column. 74:2 20 3&/;=160. 50=130—7 (''=123. 229 160 311 123 315 =69+1= 513—50=483- 217= 516—283=233—50= =266. 183. 70+ .17^&//= 87 266 248—183=65+1=66 + 15/'=81 516—281=232-50=182. 348—182=66+1=67+15/'= 82 513—284=229—18/^ & //=21 1—30=181. 248—181= 67+1=68 + 15 /'=83. 83 516—283=233—30=203. 248—203=45+1=46. 46 513—284=229—50=179—50=129. 129 516—284=233—50=182. 248—182=66+1=67. 67 513—284=229-18 b & //=21 1—30=181. 348—181= 67+1=68. 68 516—384=333—217=15. 447—15=432+1=433. 433 513—50=463—197=266. 226 516—284=232—317=15. 15 513— 318=395— 10/^=385-284=1. 1 516—384=333—3 /^=330. ' 230 513—283=230—30=200. 200 516—284=232—18=214. 248—214=34+1=35+2 /i= 37 74:2 74:2 74:2 74:2 74:2 84:2 74:2 74:3 74:3 74:1 74:3 74:3 74:2 74:2 74:2 74:2 74:2 75:1 74:1 74:2 74:2 74:2 74:2 74:3 The Earl of Shrewsbury is now sent out to bring them all before him and by some stratagem make them say who furnished these plays. But this is not all the story originating from the first column of page 74, and 'Spedding, /,?/<' antf U-'prks, vol. 2, pp. 173 and 283. 'Ibid., p. 370. BACON HEARS THE BAD NEWS. 687 found in the second column of page 74 and the first column of page 75. For instance, in the first column of page 75 we have the conversation between Percy and Umfreville, and a description of how Percy " struck the rowell of his spur against the panting sides of his horse " and rode ahead to St. Albans to tell the news. And in the second column of page 74 we have the directions from Bacon to the servant " who keeps the gate" to take Umfreville into the orchard, where Bacon followed him and had a secret conversation with him, in which he tells him all the news which is related in the following chapters. To work out all this fully would take more space and time than I can afford; but if the reader will employ the root-numbers I have given above, and modify them as I have shown in the above examples, he will be able to elaborate this part of the Cipher story for himself. I am aware that Collier ' claims that the Fortune play-house was built origi- nally in 1 599-1600, by Phillip Henslow and Edward Allen, while I suppose the narrative to refer to 1597; but this, in all probability, was a re -building or enlarge- ment; for Maitland called the Fortune "the oldest theater in London," and Sir John Chamberlain spoke of it as "the first play-house in this town." It would be very natural on such re-building or enlargement to use the old name, which already had a trade value; and we know that the Fortune play-house was burned down in 1621 and re-erected with the same name; and if this was done in 1621, it may also have been done in 1 599-1600. ^English Dramatic Poetry, vol. iii, p. 114. CHAPTER V. CECIL TELLS THE STORY OF MARLOWE. Let them tell thee tales Of woeful ages long ago betid. Richard II., v, l. UMFREVILLE tells Bacon what Cecil told the Queen. Cecil is trying to show that Shakspere did not write the Plays, and incidentally he tells the story of Marlowe. The words more-low doubtless give the broad pronunciation which attached to the name Marlowe in that age; and for the better hiding of the Cipher it was necessary to use words having the same sound, but a different spelling. The facts stated in the Cipher narrative accord substantially with what we know of the biography of Marlowe. The dagger of Francis Archer averted one trouble which was hanging omin- ously over his victim's head. A very few days before the poet's death a "note" of his " damnable opinions and judgment of religion and God's work had been laid before Elizabeth's council, with a view to the institution of proceedings against him."' And, singularly enough, when we turn to the original paper now in the British Museum (MS. Harl. 6853, folio 320), in which the in- former, Richard Bame, made those charges against Marlowe, after giving many of the poet's irreligious and anti-Christian utterances, the document concludes with the following: He sayeth, moreover, that he hath coated [quoted] a number of contrarieties out of the Scripttires, which he hath geeven to some great men, 'who in convenient tyme shal be named. When these things shall be called in question, the witnesses shall be produced.*' It would almost seem as if there was a knot of young men, among whom was Bacon, of an irreligious turn of mind; and > The Works of Marlmve, Chatto & Windus, p. 20. 2 ibj^j^ note B, page 370. 688 CECIL TELLS THE STORY OF MARLOWE. 689 Marlowe had inconsiderately repeated in public some of the cur- rent expressions which he liad heard among them; and the "contra- rieties out of the Scriptures" might have been the very Characters of a Believi>ig Christian in Paradoxes., which Bacon may have read over to his Bohemian associates. And we can here see that who- ever had this " note" of the informer's statements laid before the council, knew that there were "some great men" connected, in some way, with Marlowe, whom it was probably desirous to get at. And all this strikingly confirms the Cipher story. And here I would note that heretofore the Cipher has advanced from one column to the next; but as we now reach the beginning of the second scene, it not only flows forward to the next column, but it moves backward and forward from the end of the same scene second, and also from the beginning and end of the preceding scene, called the Inductio7i. And it will be observed that, having in this way more points of departure, the root-numbers do not alternate as in the simpler instances already given, but a great deal more of the story flows out of one number. And I would further note that heretofore the outside play bore some resemblance to the internal story, because the Cipher words were all packed in a small compass; but here we come to apart of the work where the Cipher narrative, being more widely scattered, has no resemblance to the tale told in the play; and yet out of the same root-numbers is eliminated a narrative as coherent and rhetorical as that already given. It will be observed that the following sentence alternates regu- larly between 523 and 505, and that in each instance the starting- point is from the top of the third subdivision of column 2 of page 74. From and including the word ;//r, at the beginning of the sentence, " My Lord, I over-rode him on the way," to the top of the column, there are 219 words. And the reader will perceive that each word starts from this point, so that we have, in this long sen- tence of twenty words, 523 alternated with 505, in each case 219 being deducted; and each word is either the 304th word or the 286th word. But in the space comprising those 219 words there are twenty-one bracket words. These constitute the "21 f which, the reader will see, are deducted from both 304 and 286. The 15 690 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. l> & h refers, as shown previously, to the 15 bracketed and hyphen- ated words comprised in the upper or lower subdivisions of col- umn I of page 75, the count moving through these to reach the next column. 523—219=304—254=50. 348—50=198+1=199 + 1 /^=200 505—219=286—50=286. 248-236=12+1=13+ 24 b & /^=37. 523—219=304—218=86. 447— 86=361 + 1=362+3 A 505—219=286—50=236. 523—219=304—21 /;=283. 283—193=90. 284— 90=194+1=195+6 7^=201. 505—219=286—21 />=265. 447—265=182+1= 183+4 //=187. 523—219=304—21 /;=283. 283—193=90. 284— 90=194+1=195. 505—219=286—21 /.=265. 447—265=182+1=183. 523—219=304—50=254. 505—219=286—254=32—15 /' & //=17. 508—17= 491 + 1=493+1 /,=493. 493 75:i stage This sentence is perfectly symmetrical. Observe the arrangement of the lines: (i) 523—505—523—505—523—505—523—505—523—505; (2) 219-219-219-219— 219 — 219 — 219 — 219 — 219 — 219; (3) 304 — 286 — 304 — 286 — 304 — 286 — 304 — 286 — 304 — 286. Word. Page and Column. =200 74:2 These 37 74:2 plays =365 75:1 are 236 75:1 put 201 74:1 abroad 187 75:1 at 195 74:1 first 183 75:1 upon 254 75:1 the 505—219= 523—219= 505—197= 523—219= 505—219= 523—219= 219 + 505—219= 491- 523—219= 505—219= 523—219= =286—30=256. =30 =308 =304 =286- =304 ■21 /'=283— 218=65. 254=54. 248—54=194+1=195. ■22 d & //=282. 447—282=165 + 1= 30=256. 447—256=191 + 1=192. -21 /;=283. 283—218=65. 284—65= 1=220+6 //=226. =286—254=32—15 /; & /^=17. 508—17 F 1=492 =304—21 /;=283. =286—193=93. =304—30=274. 447—274=173+1=174. 256 75:1 in 65 74:1 the 195 74:2 name 166 75:1 of 192 75:1 More 226 492 283 93 174 74:1 low, 75:2 a 75:1 woe-begone, 75:2 sullen 75:1 fellow. Here the Cipher numbers change from 523 and 505 to 516 and 513. 51 6—1 67=349—30=319—254=65. 516—167=349—30=319. 516—167=349-21 /;=328. 498—328=170+1=171. 513—167=346—30=316—193=123—15=108. 448— 108=340+1=341. 513—1 67=346—254=92 . 513—167=346—254=92—15 /' & 7^=77. 448—77= 371 + 1=372. 513—167=346—254=92. 448—92=356+1=357. 65 319 171 75:2 76:1 76:1 He had engaged 841 92 76:1 75:2 in a 372 357 76:1 76:1 quarrel with CECIL TELLS THE STORY OF MARLOWE. 691 Word. 513—167=346—1 //=345— 30=315. 498—315=183+ 1=184+8 /;=192. 193 513—167=346—23 h & //=334— 30=294— 50 (76.1.)= 244—4 //=240. 240 516—167=349—50=299. 448—399=149+1=150. 150 513—167=346—354=93. 93 516— 167=349— 22(5 & //=327— 284=43. 248—43=205 + 1=206+1 /;=207. 307 516—167=349—50=399—49 (76:1)=350. 350 516—167=349—33 /> & /,=337— 30=397— 50=247 - 193=54—15=39. 39 513—167=346—354=93—15 l> & //=77. 508—77= 431 + 1=433 + 1 //=433. 433 513—167=346—354=93. 447—92=355+1=356 -h 3 /;=359. 516—167=349—49 (76:1)=300. 508—300=208+1= 516—167=349—22 d & h=Z21. 516—167=349—30=319—197 (74:3) =133. 384— 132=163+1=163. 513—167=346—1 //=345— 30=315— 10 b & /;=305. 516— 167=349— 32 ^ & /^=327. 498—327=171 + 1= 516—167=349—50=299. 603—299=304+1=305. 513—167=346—22 d & //=324— 30=294. 516—167=349—49 (76:1)=300. 603—300=303+1= 516—167=349—33 /> & 7^=337—354=73. 508—73= 435+1=436+1/^=437. 516—167=349—33 /; & 7^=337- 50=377— 7 /> & h= 516—167=349. 448—349=99+1=100+11 /'=111. 516—167=349—30=319—49 (176.1) =370. 513—167=346—33 b & 7^=334—348=76. 384—76= 208+1=209+6 7/=215. 215 516—167=346—30=319. 447—319=128+1=139+ 16/;&7/=]45. 145 513—167=346—33 b & 7^=334-348=76. 3''4— 76= 208+1=309. 309 513—167=346—22 b & 7/=324— 248=76. 76 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327—30=297—384=13— 1()^(74:1)=3. 337—3=334+1=335. 235 516—167=349—33 b & 7^=327—348 (74:3)=79. 384— 79=205+1=206 + 6 //=21 3. 313 513—167=346—33 /; & 7/=324— 248 (74:2)=76— 1 //= 75 516—167=349—22 b & 72=327-348=79. 79 513—167=346—33 b & 72=334-348=76-9 b & 7/=67. 67 516—167=349—22 b & 7/=327— 248=79— 8 /; & 7/ exc.= 71 516—1 67=349—23 b & 72=337—348=79—7 /;=73. 72 513— 1 67=346— 33 b & 7/=324— 50=274— 348=36. 36 513—167=346—33 b & 72=334—50=374—348=36. 26 513—167=346—22 /; & 72=324—248=76. 76 513—167=346— 248=98—24 b & h (74:3) =74—10 7^=64. 64 Page and Column. 76:1 one 76:1 Arch \ 76:1 or, f 75:3 a 74:3 servant, 76.3 about 75:3 a 75:3 wanton, 359 75:1 ending 309 75:3 in 337 76:1 a 163 74:1 bloody 305 76:3 hand 173 76:1 to 305 76:3 hand 394 76:1 fight, 304 76:3 in 437 75:3 which 370 76:3 he 111 76:1 was 370 75:3 slain. 74:1 75:1 74:1 75:1 73:3 74:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:2 74:1 74:1 The point of his own sword struck against his head and eye, making fearful 74:1 wounds. 6g: THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. This account of Marlowe's death agrees exactly with the records and traditions which have come down to us. The parish register of Debtford, the village to which he had fled, records " Christopher Marlowe, slaine by ffrancis Archer, the i of June, 1593." His biographer says: In the last week of May, 1593, he was carousing at Debtford, in — to say the least — very doubtful company; and, taking offense at some real or supposed insult to himself or his female companion, he unsheathed his dagger to avenge it, and, in the scuffle which ensued, received a mortal wound in the head from his own weapon. And in a contemporary ballad, Tlu- Atheist' i death is thus told: Taigedie, the story of Marlowe's His lust was lawless as his life. And brought about his death, For, in a deadlie mortal strife, Striving to stop the breath Of one who was his rival foe. With his own dagger slaine. He groaned and word spake never moe. Pierced through the eye and braine. The reader will observe the exquisite cunning with which the name of Archer is concealed in the text. The first syllable is the first syllable of Arch-bishop, sepa- rated from bishop by a hyphen. Arch comes from 513- — 167 — 30, and <:?;- from 516 — 167 — 50: here we have the two common modifiers 30 and 50. But to obtain the first syllable, we count in the brackets and hyphens in 167; in the other case we do not; and, in the first instance, we begin at the end of scene 2, descend to the bot- tom of the column, and, returning to the top of the column, go downward ; in the other case, we begin at the same point of departure and go itp the column. But there is even more of the story about Marlowe. We have references to these very proceedings against him for blasphem}'. 523 167 356 356 50 306 356 30 326 356 21 335 356 22 ^ & /i 334 Word. 523—1 67=356—50=306—1 93=113. 508—113=395 + 1=396. 396 523—167=356—284=73—7 h (74:1)=65. 65 523—167=356—50=306—13 /'=293. 293 523—167=356—192=164. 508—164=344+1=345. 345 523—167=356—21 b (167)=335— 192=143— 15 h & h =128. 498—128=370+1=371. 371 523—167=356—21 b (167)=335— 192=143. 143 523—167=356—248=108. 193+108=301—7 b & h= 294 523—167=356—248=108. 193+108=301. 301 523—167=356—50=306. 448—306=143. 143 523—167=356—193=163. 458—163=295+1=296. 296 523—1 67=356—193=1 63. 458— 1 63=395 + 1=296 + 3 /^=299. 299 523—167=356—30=326—254=72. 72 Page and Column. 75:2 74:2 75:1 75:2 76:1 75:2 75:1 75:1 76:1 76:2 76:2 75:2 My father would, in his wrath, have burned the horson rascally- yea- forsooth- knave alive CECIL TELLS THE STORY OF MARLOWE. 693 533—167=356 523—167=356 523—167=356— 523—167=856 523—167=356— 523—167=356- 1=491+3^ 523—167=356— 143=460+ 523—167=356— 523—167=356 523—167=356—: 523—167=356— 143=460+ 447—356=91 + 1=92+5 h=m. 498—356=142+1=143. 50=306. 21 /;=335— 192=143— 15 l> & /i=128. 193=163. 603—163=440+1=441. 193=163—50=113. 603—113=490+ =494. 21 /; (167)=335— 192=143. 603— 1=461. 50=306—248=58. 253=103. 603—103=500+1=501. 254=102. 603—102=501 + 1=502. 2W;(167)=335— 192=143. 603— 1=461+3 /^=464. Word. 97 143 306 128 441 494 Page and Column. 75:1 in 76:1 the 75:1 fire 76:1 of 76:2 Smithfield 76:2 for 461 76:2 the 58 75:2 sin 501 76:2 he 502 76:2 hath 464 76:2 committed 79 75:1 against 370 76:1 Heaven 72 75:1 and 202 76:1 the 134 75:2 state. Here the Cipher root-number changes, by one degree, from 523 — 167=^356 to 516—167=349. 516—167=349-22 i & 7^=327-248=79. 516—167=349—22 d & //=327— 248=79. 448—79= 369 + 1=370. 516—167=349—22 /v & 7^=327— 248=79— 7 ^=72. 516—167=349—22 1> & 7^=327—30=297. 498—297= 201 + 1=202. 516—167=349—22 d & 7/=327— 193=134. The reader will observe here another of those extraordinary hyphenations, which, of themselves, ought to go far to prove the artificial and unnatural charac- ter of the text of the Plays: rascally-yea-forsooth-knave. Here are four words united into one word by hyphens ! I doubt if another such example can be found in the literature of the last two hundred and fifty years. Smithfield, the reader is aware, is that part of London where offenders against religion were burned alive. It was there John Rogers suffered in 1555. If there is no Cipher here, is it not remarkable that Smithfield should occur in the text just where it is wanted so as to cohere arithmetically with burned, alive and fire. And we will see hereafter, in the chapter on the Purposes of the Plays, that the same 163 (523 — 167=356 — 193^163) which, carried up the second column of page 76, brings us to Smithfield, carried up ihe first column of the same page brings us to religion, the 336th word in the column. A very pregnant association of ideas in that age: Smithfield 2,nA religion! For we will see that Cecil charges that the Plays, not only under the name of Shakespeare, but also under that of Marlowe, were written by Bacon with intent to bring the religious opinions of the day into contempt. CHAPTER VI. THE STORY OF SlIAKSPERE'S YOUTH. I long To hear the story of your life, which must Take the ear strangely. Tempest^ v, 1. HERETOFORE the story has flowed mainly from the first col- umn of page 74, or, as in the last chapter, from the last sub- division of column 2 of page 74. We come now to a part of the story which is derived altogether from the middle subdivision of column 2 of page 74, and which flows forward and backward, after this fashion: Page 74. Col.I._,.Col.2. Page 75. —..Col. I. X0I.2. \ / 1 \ \ \ A ', 1 ! Page 76. Col.i. --C0I.2. / 1 ' 1 ; t , 1 / 1 \ \ * H 1 That is to say: starting from that middle subdivision of column 2 of page 74, the count is carried up and down the next column, forward and backward, and through these, or their subdivisions, to the contiguous, columns. And the count (as indicated by the con- tinuous line) is carried forward to the end of the same scene in which that second subdivision is found, and thence radiates up and down, right and left, as shown in the diagram. It is also carried backward to the beginning of the preceding scene, and of the scene preceding that, and from these points of departure radiates up and 694 THE STORY OF SHAKSPEKE'S YOUTH. 695 down, backward and forward, until all the possibilities are ex- hausted. And even the incredulous reader will be forced to observe that these numbers, so applied, bring out a body of words totally different from those which told of the flight of the actors or the bring- ing of the news to St. Albans; and these words describe the events of Shakspere's youth, and could scarcely be twisted into describing anything else. And every word is produced by one of the following root- numbers, used directly or subjected to the ordinary modifications, to-wit: 356, 338, 349 and 346. And these numbers are thus ob- tained: 523 505 516 513 167 167 167 167 356 338 349 346 This 167 is, of course, the number of words in that middle sub- division of 74:2; that is to say, from 51, the first word of the middle subdivision, to 318, the last word of the same, counting in that last word, there are just 167 words. But the above numbers are first modified by the counting in of the bracketed words and additional hyphenated words in that sec- ond subdivision of column 2 of page 74, to-wit, 22. This gives us, applied to the above root-numbers, the following results: 356 338 349 346 22 22 22 22 334 316 327 324 And these, in turn, are modified by the modifiers on pages 74 and 73, as in the former chapters. And here again, as in the former instances, for a time the 523 alternates with the 505, and the 516 with the 513, and then the story is all told by a single number. But these numbers are also modified by the counting in of the 21 bracket w^ords alone in that second subdivision, exclusive of the one additional hyphenated word; and also by counting in the one hyphenated word alone exclusive of the 21 bracket words; and this gives us the following results: Counting in the bracketed words alone — 696 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 356 21 338 21 327 21 346 21 335 317 306 325 Counting in the hyphenated word alone — 356 1 355 338 1 337 327 1 326 346 1 345 And it will be observed hereafter that these numbers are cun- ningly adjusted so as to use the same words in different sentences, the external play, as well as the internal story, being twisted to con- form thereto. And hence peculiarities of expression may some- times be accounted for by the necessities of this Cipher story inter- locking with itself. I do not give the story in its regular order^ but in fragments, se- lecting first those examples which are simplest, and therefore more easily capable of demonstration. Describing Shakspere's revenge on Sir Thomas Lucy, the Cipher story furnishes us the following statements. The 145 and 146 relate to the second subdivision of the second column of page 76; there being 145 words from the top of the subdivision inclusive and 146 words from the end word in- clusive of the first subdivision. There are also three words in brackets in this subdivision, and these, when counted in, increase the 145 to 148, and the 146 to 149. The 254 and 193, used below^ are, of course, the same 193 and 254 which produced the story of the flight of the actors; that is to say, they represent the two subdi- visions of column i of page 75. 505— 167=338— 284=54— 7 /:=47. 533—167=356—22 b & //=334— 145=189— 8 b & /i= 505—167=338—146=192. 523—167=356—50=306—145=161. 505—167=338—145=193. 523—167=356—22 d & 7^=334— 50=284— 254=30. 448—30=418+1=419. 505— 167=338— 145=193— 3 /'=190. 523—167=356—22 d & //=334— 254=80— 15 /> & Ii= 505—167=338—22 b & /^=316— 30=286. 457—286= 171 + 1=172. 523—167=356—22 b & /^=334— 145=189. 448—189= 259+1=260. Vord. Page and Column. 47 74:2 He 181 77:1 goes 192 76:1 one 161 77:1 day 193 76:1 and 419 76:1 with 190 76:1 ten 65 76:1 of 172 76:2 his 260 76:1 followers THE STORY OF SHAA'SPERE'S 505—167=338—22=316—30=286—5 h=2%\ . 523—167=356—30=326. 448—326=122+1=123. 505—167=338—50=288—145=143. 523—167=356—30=326—50=276—254=22+ 448=470. 505—167=338—50=288—284=4. 523—167=356. 356—146=210—6 /'=204. 505—167=338—22=316—145=171—3 ^=168. 448— 168=330+1=331. 523—167=356—22 /> & //=334— 30=304— 30=274— 14.^=lo8_3 /;=125. 448—125=323+1=324. 505—167=338—22=316—145=171. 498—171=328. 523—167=356—22=334—193=141—15=126—49=77. 505— 167=338— 22=316— 50=L66. 523—167=356—30=326—193=133. 508—133=375+ 1=376. 505—167=338—30=308—1 93=1 1 5 . 505— 167=338— 5 //=335 523—167=356—30=326—145=181—3 ^=177—9 /' & A- 505—167=338—50=288—145=143. 523—167=356—22=334—50=284—254=30—15 /' & // =15+448=463. 505—167=338—145=193—6 /;=187. 523—166=357—50=306—145=161. 448—161= 287 + 1=288. 523—107=356—22=334—50=284—193=91. 448- 91=3.57+1=358. 505—167=338—50=288—22=266—145=121. 448— 121=327+1=328. 523—167=356—22=334—14 /;=320. 505— 167=338— 22=316— 145=171— 3 /'=168. 523—167=356—145=211. 448—211=237+1=238. 505—167=338—14 /;=324. 523—167=356—50=306—284=22. 248—22=226+1 505—167=338—11 /> & /i=327. 523—167=356—50=306—284=23. 505—167=338—284=54—18 /> & /^=36. ■ YOUTH. Page and l^ord. Column. 281 76:1 did 123 76:1 lift 143 76:1 the 470 76:1 water 4 74:1 gate 204 76:1 of 697 331 324 328 77 266 376 115 335 =168 143 463 187 288 358 328 320 168 238 324 227 327 22 36 76:1 76:1 76:1 76:2 76:1 75:2 76:1 76:1 76:1 76:1 76:1 76:1 76:1 76:1 76:1 76:1 76:1 76:1 76:1 74:2 76:2 74:2 74:2 the fish pond off the hinges and turns all the water out from the pond, froze all the fish, and girdles the orchard. There may, of course, be flaws discovered in the workmanship of the above; but I think the candid man will concede that these significant words could not all have come together through the same root-numbers, by accident. They will be found nowhere else in the same order. In fact, pond is not found iaany other place in these two plays, and but four other times in all the Shakespeare Plays, and froze occurs but this one time in both these plays, and but three other times in all the Shakespeare Plays; while Jish occurs but once in 2d Henry IV. But here we have/j/;, pond 2>.ndi froze and turns all coming together in the same paragraph; and in the next paragraph water, and in the same column nearly all the words out of which the above sentence is constructed. The word hinges is rare; it occurs but one other time in all the Plays, and the word hinge but twice. It would be little less than a miracle if these unusual words should all come together in one spot, 698 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. just where they are needed, to tell the story of Shakspere's youth. And the story that is here told, be it observed, while consistent with the traditions of Stratford that there had been a riot (the same riot alluded to in The Mcny Wives of Windsor), in which the young men of the town took part with Shakspere as their leader, against Sir Thomas Lucy, is, at the same time, not a statement of anything which had already come down to us. And to show that this story is not forced, observe how markedly the significant words grow out of the root-numbers. For instance, 505 less 167 is 338; the 338th word is sincere, which, as we will see hereafter, refers to Shakspere's father; but, if we count in the five hyphenated words, then the 338th word is the 333d word, turns — turns the water out of the pond. But if we count in the fourteen bracketed words, then the 338th word is the 324th word, fish. And if we take 523 and deduct 167, we have 356, which is rising; or, counting in the 22 bracketed and hyphenated words contained in the 167 words, we have 334, which is insurrection, referring, with rising, to the riot inaugurated by the boys of Stratford; and, if we count in the 14 bracketed words in the column, we have 320, froze. But let us go a step further and find 356 in the first column of page 75, and the word is a7oay, referring to the running away of the young men; while 334 (356 less the 22 /' & h words) is fought; and up the column it is spur, the latter part of Shak- spere's name; and if we take 356 and modify it by deducting the modifier 30, we have 326, and if we take from this 193, the first subdivision of column i of page 75, the remainder is 133, the word bloody; and if we take 505 — 167=338 and deduct from this the modifier 50, we have 288, and if v^e carry this down the first column of page 76, counting in the twelve bracketed words, we find that the 288th word is the 276th word, fight. So that we see that not only do these roots, even subjected to the simplest treatment, yield the story I have given in detail about the destruction of the fish-pond, but the same roots also tell the story of how Shak-j//<;- foitght a bloody fight. But all this I shall give with more detail hereafter. What I claim is, that the existence of the Cipher is not only proved by the fact that certain root-numbers, applied to a particular column, yield a consistent nar- rative peculiar to that column, and which could not be found anywhere else; but that these same root-numbers applied to other contiguous columns, produce other parts of that same story, each part being consistent with the rest and forming together a continuous narrative. For instance, these root-numbers, so applied, give us the following narrative of the battle between the young men of Stratford and Sir Thomas Lucy's game- keepers: 505—167=388—22=316—30=286—15 b & h 523-167=356—22 b & //=334— 50=284. 50,5—167=338—30=308—5 //=303. 523—167=356—22 /' & //=334— 30=304. 50.5—167=338—30=308—193=115. 523- -167=356 —22 b & //=334. 50.5—167=338—22/^ & //=316— 193=123. 3854-1=386+1 //=387 523—167=356—30=326. 326-193=133. 505—167=338—50=288—12 /'=276. 505—167=338—22 /; & /;=316— 5 7^=311 505—1 67=338— 50=288— 1 93=95, Page and Word. Column. '^=271. 271 74:1 They 284 75:1 drew 303 76:1 their 304 76:1 weapons 115 76:1 and 334 76:1 fought 508—123= = 387 75:2 a 133 75:2 bloody 276 76:1 fight 311 76:1 for 95 76:1 an THE STORY OF SHAKSPERE'S YOUTH. 699 505—167=338—30=308—254=54. 508—54=454+ 1 505—167=338—22 1> & //=316— 50=266— 4 /i=262. 505—167=338. 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 1 93=1 15. 508—115= 393+1=394. 505—167=338—30=308. 498—308=190+1=191. 523—167=356—22 l> & 7^=334— 248=86— 50=36— 9 /^ & //=27. Word. 455 262 338 394 191 27 Page and Column. 75:1 74:1 75:1 75:2 76:1 hour, not stopping even to 75:1 breathe. 218 75:1 left 238 75:1 his 85 75:1 poor 131 75:1 young 86 75:1 jade The reader will note the constant recurrence of the numbers 316, 334, 308, etc. ■ And here we have a statement which accords well with what we know, by tradition, of Shakspere's hurried departure for London: 505—167=338—30=308. 308 75:1 He 505—167=338—50=288—50 (76:1)=238. 447-238 =209+1=210+8 /;=218. 505— 167=338— 50=288— 50 (76:1)=238. 523—167=356—22/. & //=334— 248=86— 1 /^=85. 505_167=338— 193=145— 14 ^> & //=131. 523—167=356—22 d & /^=334— 248=86. 505—167=338—22 1> & /^=316— 30=286— 1 93=93— 10/;=85. 83 74:1 big 523— 167=856— ■: 2 l> & 7^=334-248=86-22 i (74:2)= 64— 17/=63. 63 75:1 with 505— 167=338— 22 /.& 7^=316— 30=289— 193=93. 93 74:1 child. Observe that there is a difference of precisely ten words between ///[t;- and child: — big is 83, child is 93; and there are precisely ten bracketed words in the column above the 83 and 93. The evidences of arithmetical adjustment are found every- where. And here, in the same connection, I would call the attention of the critical reader to the marvelous evidences of the artificial character of the text shown in that word jade It is often used in the narrative in connection with the word old — "the old jade" — to describe the Queen. It would, of course, have provoked suspicion if the Plays had been dotted all over with the word queen; and hence, as Bacon had repeated cause to refer to her in his internal narrative, he had to do so in some indirect way; and one of his favorite expressions was "the old jade." But it would not have been safe to use even these words too often, and therefore, when they were employed, the scenes and fragments of scenes had to be so adjusted that they would fit to them by the different counts of the Cipher, so that they might be used over and over again, in the progress of the story. For instance: (I.) We have here seen that 523, less all the words in the second subdivision of 74:2, is 334. If now we commence to count from the beginning of column 74:2, the 334th word is the 86th word in the next column, jade. (2.) But if we take 523 again, and deduct from it the same second subdivision, exclusive of the words in brackets and the additional hyphenated words, we have 356; and if again we com- mence to count from the top of column 74:2, but count in the words in brackets and carry the remainder over to the next column, again the count lights on the same 86th \^oxA~jade. (3.) And if we again take the first count above, 334, and modify it by deducting the modifier 30, we have left 304, and if we begin to count 700 THE CIPHER NARRji iTVE. from the bottom of the second subdivision of 74:2, counting up and forward, the 304th word is the same 86th word — jade. (4.) And if we take 505 and commence to count from the end of the first subdivision of the same 74:2, and count down- ward, we have left 307; if we carry this to the middle of the next column, 75:1, and count upwards from the beginning of the second subdivision, we have 114 left, and this carried up from the end of the first subdivision, 75:1, counting in the bracketed words and additional hyphenated words, again brings us to the same word, jade. (5.) And if we go back to the second example above (523 — 167=356), and again begin at the top of 74:2, and count down, we have left 108; and this carried up the next column from the bottom of the first subdivision, not counting in the bracketed and hyphenated words, again brings us to the 86th ^oxA, jade. (6.) And if we take 505 and count from the top of the third subdivision of 74:2 upward, we have 286 left; and this, less 193, is 93, and this, carried down column i of page 75, count- ing in the words in brackets, falls again on the same 86th word, jade. (7.) And if we take 505 and deduct 167, we have left 338; modify this by deducting the modi- fier 50, and we have 288 left; carry this up through the first subdivision of column I of page 75, and we have 95 left; descend again down column i of page 75, but counting in this time the additional hyphenated as well as the bracketed words, and again we come to the 86th word, jade. There are other counts which produce the same result, but they are with root-numbers with which the reader is not so familiar as with the above. Here, then, are seven times where the same ^oxA, jade, is reached by seven different countings, used in seven different parts of the same Cipher narrative. One can conceive from this the careful adjustments to each other of pages, scenes, fragments of scenes, words, brackets and hyphens which were necessary to perfect this delicate piece of skeleton work, before Bacon set pen to paper to manipulate the external padding into a coherent play. And one can perceive, also, the extent of a Cipher narrative in which the Queen is so often referred to. The truth is, I give but fragments of the story. If the reader thinks that this is also accident, let him take some other numbers and see if he can make this word match with them. It is doubtful if he can find a single number (not a Cipher number) which can be made to agree, from the starting-point of any of these pages or subdivisions, with this \\ox & //=126. 356— 50=306— 284=32+193=215— 2 //=213. 356— 22(5 & //=334— 248=86— 1 //=85. 356—254=102—15 b & //=87. 448-87=3614-1 = 356—22 i> & //=334— 248=86. 448—86=362+1= 356—22 d & /^=334— 248=86. 384-86=198 + 1= 199 + 6 //=205. 205 74:1 fell 856—30=326—193=133—15 A & /^ =118. 498—118= 380+1=381. 356—22 /' & //=334— 50=284— 17 /' & /^=2()7. 356—30=326—50=276. 447—276=171 + 1=172+ 15 /, & /^=187. 356—30=326—193=133. 498—133=365 + 1=366. 356—1 //=355— 248=107— 22/^(74 :2)=85. 284—85= 199+1=200+6/^=206. 356—22 /> & //=334— 193=141— 15 /- & //=126. 356—23' b & //=334— 348=86— 3 /'=83. 702 334 Word. Page and Column. 136 75:3 But 213 75:1 when 85 75:1 poor 363 76:1 King 363 76:1 Richard 381 76:1 a 267 76:1 corpse 187 75:1 at 366 76:1 Pomfret, 206 74:1 under 126 74:1 uncounted 83 76:1 blows, THE PURPOSES OF THE PLA YS. 703 Word. Page and Column. 271 75 74:1 75:1 they make 358 76:1 the 126 76:1 most 76 74:1 fearful 200 74:1 noise; 108 261 75:1 74:1 again and 108 =153 75:1 75:1 again it 76 74:2 broke 33 74:2 forth; 413 76:1 it 306 76:1 seemed 323 129 76:1 75:1 as if 356—22 /' & //=334— 50=284— 248=36— 22 /; (74:2)= 14. 284—14=270+1=271. 356—1 //=335— 248=107— 22 l> (74:2)=85— 10 /;=75. 356— 22 <^& //=334— 193=141. 498—141=357+1= 356—22 h & 7^=334—193=141-15 b&/t=\2Q. 356—21 /;=335— 248=87— 11 /- & /^=76. 356—1 7^=355- 248=107— 22 /;=85. 284—85=199 + 1=200. 356—248=108. 356—30=326—50=276—15 l> & 7/=261. 356—22 /> & 7;=334— 248=86. 193—86=107 + 1 = 356—22=326—284=42. 193—42=151 + 1=152+1 /i= 356—21 /;=335— 284=51— 18 d & 7/=33 + 50=83— 7 /i= 76. 356—21 ^'=335-284=51-18 /> & 7/=33. 356—22 /> & 7/=334— 248=86. 498—86=412+1= 356—50=306. 356—22 /; & 7/=334— 193=141— 15 /> & 7/=120. 448— 126=322+1=323. 356—22 /> & 7/=334— 193=141. 508—141=367+1 65=128 + 1=129 356—30=326—50=276—248=28—22 /^=6. 284— 6=278+1=279. 356—50=306—13 /;=293. 356—30=326—50=276—253=23—15 /■ & 7/=8. 448— 8=440+1=441. 356—30=326—50=276. 284—276=8+1=9. The reader will note that every word here is the 356th word; and the figures at the beginning of the chapter show how that number is obtained. He will further observe the constant recurrence of the same terminal numbers, 86, 133, loS, 141, 276, and their modifications. It would require some art, in any other writing, to pick out the words of such a coherent sentence without any arithmetical limitations what- ever, simply taking a word here and there where you find it; but when you obtain every word of such a sentence as the above in arithmetical order, each one being the 356th from certain points of departure, it surely cannot be accident. But Cecil goes on still further to give his views of the purposes of the play of Richard II. And here we still have the same original root-number, and we find the same terminal numbers constantly recurring, to-vvit, 108, 141, 133, etc., and again they work out a coherent narrative which holds due relation to the whole Cipher story. 356—248=108. 193—108=85+1=86+3 /'=89. 356—30=326—192=134. 356—22/. & 7/=334— 50=284— 12 7;=272. 356—248=108—7 /'=101. 35&— 22 /> & 7^=334—193=141—15 h & 7^=126. 284— 126=158+1=159. 356—1 7/=355— 248=107. 284—107=177 + 1=178. 356— 17/=355— 248=107. 284—107=177+1=178+ 6 7/=184. 279 74:1 they 293 75:1 would 441 76:1 never 9 74:1 stop. 89 75:1 The 134 74:1 play 272 76:1 shows 101 75:1 the • 159 74:1 victory 178 74:1 of 184 r4:l rebels 704 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. Word. 356—1 //=355— 50=305— 193=113— 15/' & //=97— 5/,&/^=92. 92 356— 50=306— 198=1 13— 15 /' & //=98— 3 <^=95. 95 356—30=336—193=133—15 b & /,=118— 50=68. 284 —68=216+1=317+6/^=323. 223 356—348=108—11 /; & //=97. 97 356_32 I> & //=334— 254=80— 15 /> & //=65. 498—65 =433-1-1=434. 434 356—248=108. 108 356—50=306. 448— 306=142-^1=143-^10 /^& //= 153 356—248=108—3 /i (74:3)=106. 106 356^33 /> & 7^=334—354=80—15 /^ & /^=65. 65 356—33 b & //=334— 354=80. 80 356—1 /,=355— 348=107. 107 356—248=108. 284— 108=176+1=177+6 //=183. 183 356—248=108. 384—108=176+1=177. 177 356— 1 //=355— 348=107. 284—107=177+1=178. 178 356—1 //=355— 348=107— 3 A (74:3)=105. 384— 105=179+1=180. 180 356—32 /> & //=334— 30=304— 49=355— 7 /> & /^=348. 348 356—1 //=355— 30=335— 384=41— 7 // (74 : 1 )=34. 34 356—33 /; & 7^=334—50=384. 384—384=0 + 1=1 . 1 35&— 348=108— 10 /;=98. 98 Page and Column. 76:1 76:1 74:1 74:1 74:1 74:1 76:1 74:1 75:3 75:3 74:1 74:1 74:1 74:1 74:1 76:1 74.3 74:1 74:1 o er an anointed tyrant; and by this pipe he hath blown the flame of rebellion almost into open war. It may be asked why the root-number (523 — 167=) 356 is here continuous, while in some of our former examples it alternated with (505 — 167=) 338; but it would appear, from my researches, that it is only at the beginning that this alterna- tion exists; and that, as the Cipher progresses, it diverges, and follows out one of the root-numbers after another to its ramifications: thus 338 will be found, after a time, to produce a story different from, but connected with, that told by 356. The process might be compared to a nimble squirrel on two branches of a tree, grow- ing out of the same portion of the trunk. For a time it leaps from branch to branch; then, as they widen out, it follows the ramifications of one branch to the end. The reader will also note that all the story we have thus far given is derived from three pages, 74, 75 and 76; and most of it is from pages 74 and 75; and it will be found, as we proceed, that we have not e.xhausted one-tenth of the possibilities of these pages. It would be marvelous if we had been able to make such con- nected grammatical and historical sentences out of a dozen pages; it is still more marvelous that they have been found in two or three. We have on these three pages not only the names of Marhnve, and Arc Iter ■BlViA Cecil and Shak'st-spur, Hay- ward and the old jade, but the name of A'ing Richai'd and Pom fret and King Joint, and, as we will see, the Contention of York and Lancaster, and a number of other typical words, which, if there is no Cipher, could only have coincided here by a species of miracle. I am aware that the hypercritical will say, as has been intimated already, that the foregoing results are due to my " ingenuity; " but ingenuity cannot create the very significant words which are shown to exist in the text, on these pages 74, 75 and 76, together with Bacon, Bacons, St. Albans, Gray's Inn, etc., which ap- pear near at hand. Those words were there two hundred years before I was born. We have seen that 356, modified by carrying it through column 74:2, produced the statement that Bacon had used the play of Richard II. as a pipe wherewith to THE PURPOSES OE THE PLA VS. 705 blow the flame of rebellion almost into open war. Now let us take the very next portion of the text which follows column 74:2, to-wit, the first subdivision of 75:1, and we have results running in the same direction of thought, viz.: that Bacon had also been trying to poison the mind of the multitude with irreligious views. Surely, such connected thoughts could not, by accident, run out of the same root- numbers, counting, in the one instance, from the top of one column, and, in the other instance, from the top or middle of the next column. And it will also be observed that the statements here made agree precisely with what I have shown, in the first part of this book, as to Bacon's early religious views, and the treasonable purposes of some of the plays; and also with the facts revealed on the trial of Essex as to the conspirators hiring the actors to enact this very play of Richard /I., so that they might gloat their eyes with the sight of a tragedy on the mimic stage which they hoped to bring into effect very soon upon the stage of the world. It follows that partisans and conspirators, assembled for such a purpose, would act very much as the Cipher story describes. 356—21 /;=335— 284=51. 248—51=197+1=198 + 2 ^ & //=200. 356_21 /-=335— 193=142. 284—142=142+1=143. 356—30=326—284=42—7 h (74:1)=37. 356—193=163—15 /' & //=148. 508—148=360+1= 356—30=326—193=133—15 /- & //=118. 508—118= 390 + 1=391+3^=394. 356—193=163—15 /; & //=148. 508—148=360+1= 361+4 <^& //=365. 356—50=306—146 (76:2) =160. 356—30=326—50 (76:1)=276— 145=131— 5 l> & //= 356—1 k (74:2)=355— 50=305— 146=159. 498—159= 339 + 1=340. 356—30=326—145=131. 577—131=446+1=447+ ll/'&//=461. 3,56—30=326—145=131—3 /'=128. 356—193=163. 498—163=335+1=336. 356—1 /;=855— 80=325— 193=132— 15 A &/i=117. 356—30=326—146=180—3 l> (146)=177— 9 b & /^= 356—50=306—146=160—3 l> (146)=157. 356—30=326—146=180—3 b (146)=177. 448—177= 271 + 1=272+2 ^=274. 356— 30=326— 193=133— 15^ & 7^=118 + 162 (78:1)= 356—30=326. 356—50=306—145=161. 498—161=337 + 1=338. 356—50=306. 498—306=192+1=193+10 b & h= 3.56—30=326—193=133. 456 + 133=590. 356—30=326—193=133. 356—30=326—50=276—193=83—15 b & //=68— 50(76:1)=18— 1 //=17. 356—193=163. 448—163=285+1=286. 356—30=326—193=133—15=118—50 (76:1) = 68. 508—68=440+1 + 1 7^=442. 356—193=163. Word. 200 143 37 361 394 Page and Column. 340 74:2 74:1 74:2 76:2 75:2 These well-known plays have r6:l even 365 75:2 made 160 77:1 the 126 76:1 most holy (461) 77:1 matters 128 76:1 of 336 76:1 religion, 117 75:2 which 168 76:1 all 157 77:1 good 274 76:1 men 280 78:1 hold 326 76:1 in 338 76:1 sincere 203 76:1 respect, 590 76:2 subjects 133 76:2 for 17 76:2 laughter; 286 76:1 their 442 75:2 aim 163 75:2 being. 7o6 THE CJPIIER NARRATIVE. 356—30=326— 131=317+ 356—193=163. 356—19 b & //=: 356—253=103. 356—22 i> & h= 356—193=163. 356—193=163. 356—193=163- 356—193=163- 356—23 b & Ji= 356—193=163. 356—22 b & //= 356—21 /;=335 356—21 /;=335 50(76:1)=276— 145=-131. 448— 1=318. 508—163=345+2 //=347. 337. =334—193=141. 508—163=345+1=346. 284-^163=121 + 1=122. -15 b & //=148. 498—148=350+1= -50 (74:2)=113. =334—193=141. 498—141=357 + 1= 284—163=121 + 1=122+7 //=]29. 334—193=141—11 b & //=130. —193=142—11 b & //=131. —193=142—10 /;=132. Word. Page and Column. 318 76:1 it 348 75:2 is 337 103 7:61 76:1 supposed, to 141 74:1 thus 346 122 75:2 74:1 poison the 351 76:1 mind 113 74:1 of 358 75:2 the 129 74:1 still 130 74:1 discordant, 131 132 74:1 74:1 wavering multitude. The reader will here observe that every word of the above sentence is the 356th word from certain well-defined starting-points; just as every word of the last sen- tence was also derived, in the same way, from 356. He will also observe that 356 — 248=108, and, as 108 produced so many of the words touching the blowing of the flame of rebellion into open war, so here 356 — 193=163 and 356 — 193=163 — je^ b& /i=l4?i produce the significant words being, poison, mind, religion, etc. And what is the difference between these numbers 108 and 163? Simply this, — that 108 is 356 less the second column of page 74; and 163 is 356 less the next subdi- vision of the text — the first subdivision of column i of page 75; so that the ends of these two fragments, which produce these two coherent parts of the same state- ment, as to the purposes of the Plays, touch each other. And it will be remembered, as I have shown heretofore, that Afeasuj-e for Meas- ure contained many irreligious utterances; and that the character of Sir John Old- castle was regarded, by the court, as a reflection on Protestantism, and the author of the play was compelled to change the name of the character to Sir John Falstaff. But the significant utterances growing out of the same root-number (356). and the same parts of the same columns, do not end here. The purposes of the Plays are still further discussed by Cecil, and he makes an assertion as-to the intents of the conspirators which is amply confirmed by the subsequent insurrection which cost Essex his head. 356—50=306—146=160—3 /' (146)=157. 448—157= 291 + 1=292. 292 76:1 356—253=103. 284—103=181 + 1=182+6/^=188. 188 74:1 3,56—248=108. 448—108=340+1=341. 341 76:1 356—22 b & 7^=334— 50=284— 193=91. 498—91= 407+1=408. 408 76:1 356—30=326—254=72—10 /^=62. 62 74:1 356—253=103—1 //=102. 102 75:1 356—253=103. 498—103=395+1=396. 396 76:1 356—146=210. 284—210=74+1=75. 75 74:1 356-30=326—193=133—15=118. 498—118=380+ 1=381. 381 76:1 356. 356 76:1 356—50=306—146=160. 498—160=338+1=339. 339 76:1 They mean in this covert way to make rising and THE PURPOSES OF THE PL A VS. 707 Word. 480 356—22 d & /z=334— 254=80— 50 (76:1)=30. 508— 30=478+1=479+1 7^=480. 356—23 d ^ //=334— 50=284— 193=91. 498—91= 407+1=408. 356—253=103—15 /' & //=88. 448—88=360+1= 356—22 i & //=334— 253=81— 15 d & /i=66. 448— 66=482+1=483. 356—254=102. 448—102=346+1=347.' 356—21 <^=335— 50=285— 145=140. 498—140= 358—9=359. 359 Page and Column. in:^ flood 408 76:1 this 361 76:1 fair 483 76:1 land 347 76:1 with 76:1 blood, The text will show the reader that the word rising was the usual expression in that day for insurrection. But Cecil thinks the writer of the Plays intends not only to make rebels, but infidels, of those who witness the representation of them on the stage; and we have this significant utterance: 356—30=326—193=133—15 /; & 7^=118. 508—118= 390+1=391+4 ,^&7/=395. 395 75:2 so 356— 50 (76:1)=306— 146=160. 160 76:1 that 356— 22 ^& 7;=334— 254=80— 50 { 76:1 )=30— 17^=29. 29 76:2 not 356— 22 7; &7;=334— 254=80— 50 (76:1 )=30. 30 76:2 only 356—50=306—146=160. 448—160=288+1=289. 289 76:1 their 356— 19;:5=163. 448— 163=285+1=286+1 7;=287. 287 76:1 bodies, 356— 22 7- & 7^=334—253=81. 81 75:2 but 356—193=163. 448—163=285+1=286. 286 76:1 their 356—50=306—146=160. 448—160=288+1=289 + 1 7^=290. 290 76:1 souls, 356— 253=103— 15^ &7/=88— 2 7/=86. 86 76:1 might 356— 30=326— 50 (76:1 )=276— 145=131. 131 77:1 be 356—30=326. 603—326=277—1=278—8^=286. 286 76:2 damned. Observe here how the root-numbers bring out the words: 356 carried forward through the second subdivision of 76:2 (146) and brought back and carried up the column 76:1 yields their, and, counting in the one hyphenated word, soitis; while the same 356 carried through the first subdivision of 75:2 (193) and taken up the same column 76:1 produces t/ieir, and, counting in that same one hyphenated word, produces bodies. And then we have this further sentence, showing that Essex was supposed to be represented on the stage in the popular character of Harry Monmouth, Prince of Wales, in the Plays of ist and 2d Henry /T. 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327—30=297-145= 152— 3 <^ (145)=149. 284—149=135+1=136. 136 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327-30=297-145= 152—3 b (145)=149— 1 7/=148. 148 516— 167=349— 22^ & 7^=327-50=277-145 (76:2) =132—3 b (145)=129— 11 b & 7/=118. 118 516—167=349—22 b & 7/=327— 248=79— 22=57— 7 /'= 50 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327-284=43. '?48— 43 =205+1=206. 206 74:1 It 74:2 is 74:1 plain 75:1 that 74:2 my 7o8 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 516—167=349—22 b & /,=327— 284=43— 7 /i (284)^ 516—167=349—22 /> & /^=327— 284=43. 516— 167=349— 22^ & /^=327— 284=43— 7 /^ (284)= 36. 237—36=201 + 1=202. 516— 167=349— 22/^ & /^=327— 219 (74:2)=108— 21 /> (219)=87. 284—87=197+1=198. 516—167=349—22 d & //=327— 193=134. 516—167=349—22 1> & 7^=327—193=134—15 b & /i= 119. 248— 119=129+1=130— 15 /;=145. 516— 167=349— 22^ & 7^=327— 219 (74:2(=108— 21 d (219)=87. 284—87=197+ 1=198+6 7^= 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327—50=277—145 (76:2) =132—3^=129. 248—129=119+1=120. 516—167=349—22 d & 7^=327-284=43. 516—167=349—22 i & 7^=327—284=43. 237—43= 194+1=195. 516—167=349—22 d & 7/=327— 193=134— 15 d & 7/= 119. 248—119=129+1=130. 516—167=349—22 b & 7/=327— 30=297— 145 (76:2) =152—28=124. 588—124=464+1=465. 516—167=349—22 d & 7^=327-193=134. 248—134 =114+1=115. 516—167=349—22 /> & 7^=327—193=134—15 b & h= 119. 248— 119=129+1=130+16 /;&7/=146. 516— 167=349— 22^ & 7/=327 -30=297— 145 (76:2)= Word. Page and Column. :36. 36 73:2 Lord 43 73:1 the 202 465 115 146 152 73:2 Earl 198 74:1 is 134 74:2 young 145 74:2 Harry 204 74:1 Monmouth, 120 74:2 Prince 43 73:2 of 195 73:2 Wales, 130 74:2 the 72:2 74:2 74:2 74:2 Duke of Monmouth's son. It will be observed here that every word grows out of the same root-number, 327 (516 — 167=349 — 22 b& h='i^i). Here is certainly a most astonishing array of words to occur accidentally. The reader may say to himself, that such curious words as are found in these three pages of this play occur in all writings; but this is not the fact. For the pur- pose of testing the question I turned to Lord Byron's great drama, Manf7-ed. It is the work of a lofty genius, as the Plays are; it contains much exquisite poetry, as do the Plays; it is made up altogether of conversations between the characters, as are the Plays. Yet I failed to find in it all a single shake — spzir — jade — cur- tain — piay — stage — scene — act — contention, or any other of the significant words out of which such a narrative as the above could be constructed. CHAPTER VIII. THE QUEEN BE A TS HA YIVARD. Thou vinew'dst leaven, speak ! I will beat thee into handsomeness. Troilus atui Cressida, ii, i. IN the following examples I think the critical reader will see con- clusive evidence of the existence of a Cipher. The root-num- bers go out from the beginning and end of that middle subdivision of 74:2 which we have already seen producing the story of Marlowe .and of Shakspere's youth: that is to say, if we go down from the top of that subdivision we have 198 words to the bottom of the column; if we go up from the bottom of that subdivision, or, strictly speaking, from the top of the third subdivision, we have 219 words; and all this story which follows grows out of 523 and 505 modified by deducting 198 or 219, and moving forward to the next column, and backward or forward from the end of the scene. And when we come to observe how every word that goes out of these roots is utilized in the Cipher story, and also to note how the same numbers produce so many significant words, it seems to me that all incredulity must disappear. Take, for Instance, the root- number 505 — 219=286 — 193 = 93; the number 93 gives us (75:2 •down) sullen; (76:1 up) rising; (75:1 down) starting; (75:2 n^p) Joints; (75:1 up) blow; (75:1 down) J^li/s the bracket words. Jade; (75:1 up from 193) plus the b &h words. Ha, the first part of the name of Hayward; (75:1 down from 193) Curtain, the name of the play-house; plus the bracket words, woe-be-gone, describing Hayward's appear- ance. In the same way the root-number 505 — 198 = 307 produces (up 75:2) crutch and (up 75:1) end; while 286 — 50 = 236 from the end of the scene forward and backward yield us steeled; and down 75:2 it produces //■/ & /t=78. 498—78= 420+1=421. 505—219=286—30=256. 448—256=192+1=193+ 8/'=201. 523—198=325—254=71+458=529—3 d=52Q. 523— 198=325— 193=132— 15 ^& //=1 17—7 /;=110. 505—219=286—21 /^=265— 49 (76:1)=216. 508—216= 292+1=293+6 />=299. 523—219=304—218 (74:2)=86. 284—86=198+1= 505—219=286—21 ^=265—49 (76:1)=216. 508— 216=292+1=293. 523—198=325—193=132—15 /; & 7^=117. 193— 117=76 + 1=77+1/^=78. 505—198=307—193=114—15 d & //=99— 7 ^=92. 523—219=304—22 d & 7^=282. 447—282=165 + 16A&//=171. 505—198=307—193=114—15 d & A=99. 193—99= 94+1=95+3^=98. 523—198=325—248=77. 523—198=325—193=132. 505—198=307—193=114—15 d & 7^=99. 193—99= 94-^ 1=95+6 /7& 7^=101. 505—219=286—21 /;=265— 49 (76:1)=216. 505—198=307—50=257—193=64—15 /.& 7^=49+ 193=242. 523—198=325—248=77. 447—77=370+1=371+3= 505—219=286—30=256. 505—219=286—30=256—4 7^=251 523—219=304—218 (74:2)=86. 523—198=325—2 7/ (198)=323— 248=75. 505—198=307—193=114. 508—114=394+1=395 + 17^=396. 523—219=304—218 (74:2)=86— 1 7^=85. 523—219=304—193=1 1 1 . 505—198=307—193=114—15 i> & 7/=99. 523— 1 98=325— 50=275— 1 93=82 . 523—219=304—218 (74-2)=86— 10 -5=76. 505—219=280-193=93. 447—93=354+1=355. 523—219=304—218 (74:2)=86. 523—198=325—193=132—15 /; & 7^=117. 193—117 =76+1=77+3(5=80. 505— 219=286— 50=236— 50 (76:1)=186. 505—198=307—193=114—15 d & 7^=99. 447—99= 348+1=349. 523— 198=325— 193=132— 15^ & 7/=117. 193—117= 76+l=77+6<5&7/=83. Word. =561 371 87 421 Page and Column, 76:2 76:1 77:1 293 78 92 171 98 77 132 101 216 242 =374 256 251 86 75 396 85 11 99 82 76 355 86 80 186 349 83 76:1 75:2 75:1 75-1 75:1 75:1 76:2 75:2 75:1 75:2 75:1 75:1 74:1 74:1 75:1 75:1 75:2 75:1 75:1 75:2 75:2 74:1 75:1 74:1 75:1 75:2 75:1 75:1 by his throat and 201 76:1 choked 526 76:2 him. 110 75:1 He 299 75:2 took 199 74:1 to his heels and ■was running off in the greatest fright, but the old jade struck my poor young friend a fearful blow with the steeled end of 712 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 508—111=397+1=398. 508—111=397+1=398 508- 508- -114=394+1=395. -114=394+1=395 603—43=560 577—157 -112 193—99 533— 21 9=304— 50=254. 523—219^304—193=111. 498—111=387+1=388. 505— 198=307— 193=1 14— 15 b & //=99. 508—99= .109—1=310. 523— 198=325— 193=132— 15 <5& //=1 17. 117—9= 505— 219=286— 193=93-1 7^=92. 523—219=304—218 (74:2)=86. 193— 86=107 -^l= 523—219=304—193=111. 193—111=82 + 1=83+1 1 523— 198=307— 2/^ (198)=305— 193=112. 508—112= 396+1=397. 523—218=304—193=111. 533— 318=304— 1 93=1 1 1 . + 1/^=399. 505—198=307—193=114 505— 198=307— 1 93=1 14. +3 ^=(398). 505—219=286—50=236—193=43 + 1=551. 523—219=304—1 // (319)=303— 146=157. =420+1=421. 523—219=304—193=111. 505—198=307—2 /> (198)=305— 193=112. 508 =396+l + /'=(397). 505— 198=307— 193=114— 15 ^& //=99. =94+1=95. 505—198=307—193=114—10 <5=104. 523—198=325—254=71. 523—198=325—248=77—9 d & /i=QS. 523—219=304—50=354—13 /.=241. 523—198=325—193=132—15 /> & //=117. 340+1 + 1 //=342. 505— 2 1 9=286—50=236 . 505+198=307—193=114—2 /'=112. 523—198=325—248=77. 523—319=304—193=111. 193—111=83+1=83+ 6 ^ & /i=89. 533—219=304—218 (74 :2)=86— 3^=83. 505—219=286—50=236—2 /z=234. 523—198=325-193=133. 508—132=376+1=377. 505—219=304—22 /; & 7^=282. 447—282=165+1= 523—198=325—2 7^ ( 74 :2)=323— 193=130. 508—130 =378+ 1=379+4 z!-* //=383. 505—219=286—193=93. 508—93=415+1=416. 523—198=325—248=87—2 /;=75— 9 /; & 7/=66. 505—219=286—193=93. 193— 93=100+1=101 + 1 7/= 523— 198=825— 2/' (74 :2)=323— 193=130. 508—130 =378+1=379. 523— 198=325— 145=180— 49 (76:1)=131. 505—319=286—30=256. 448—256=192+1=193. 505—219=286—50=236—146=90—3 /^=87. 577— 87=490+1=491. Word. 354 Page and Column. 75:1 the 388 76:1 great 410 75:3 crutch, 108 92 75:1 75:1 again and 108 =84 75:1 75:1 again. His 397 75:2 limbs 398 75:2 being 399 75:2 now 395 75:2 so (398) 561 421 111 (397) 95 104 71 68 241 457—117= 342 236 113 77 89 83 234 377 166 383 416 66 =103 379 131 193 491 75:3 weakened 76:2 by 77:1 imprisonment 74:2 and 75:2 75:1 74:1 75:2 75:1 75:1 76:2 76:1 75:2 75:3 75:1 76:1 74:1 75:3 75:1 75:2 75:2 75:1 75:1 75:3 75:3 I 1 : 1 grief, he is not able to stand the force of the blows; the hinges of his joints gave way under him; and he QUEEN ELIZABETH. THE QUEEN BEATS HA YWARD. 713 Pag-e and Word. Column. 533—219=304—218 (74:2)=86. 284—86=198+1= 199+6 //=205. 205 74:1 fell 523— 198=325— 193=132— 15 <^&//=117. 498—117 =381+1=382. 382 76:1 bleeding 505—198=307. 307 76:1 on 523—198=325—248=77—7^=70. 70 75:1 the 523—198=325—193=132. 498—132=366+1=367. 367 76:1 stones. I am not proceeding in the historical order of the narrative. We first have the account of Hayward being brought before the Queen. It is in the orchard of the royal palace. The Queen and Cecil assail him fiercely about the dedication of his History of Henry IV. to Essex. The name of Cecil is thus formed: 523— 198 {74:2)=325. 498— 325=173+1=174+8 (^= 182 76:1 Seas J 505— 198 (74 :2)=307— 254=53. 53 75:1 ill \ These are the same root-numbers, 325 and 307, which we saw running together in the previous examples; and the primary root-numbers, 523 and 505, are the same which we have seen alternating together through whole columns of examples. The point of departure is the same, to-wit, from the end of the first subdivision of 74:2, at the 50th word; there are 248 words in the column, and 50 from 248 leaves igS. In the first instance the root-number 325 is carried to the bottom of column i of page 75 and up the column; in the other instance it is taken to the middle of 75:1, thence doivn, thence returning down the same column. And we find then this sentence: 505—219=286—22 b & //=264— 193=71— 2 //=69. 505—219=286—22 b & //=264. 505—219=286—22 /; & //=264— 248 (74:2)=16. 505—219=286—22 b & /;=264— 30=234. 448—234= 214+1=215. 505—219=286—22 /' & /;=264. 498—264=234+1= 505—219=286—22 b & //=264. 498—264=234— 50=184+1=185 + 2 //=187. 505—219=286—22 b & //=264— 193=71. 447—71= 376 + l=377+3/;=380. 505—219=286—22 /; & //=264— 30=234— 10 /^=224. 505—219=286—22 /; & //=264— 13 /^=251 . 505—219=286—22 b & //=264— 50=214. 447—214= 233+1=234+2 //=236. 505—219=286—22 /; & //=264— 50=214. 505—219=286—22 b & //=264— 193=71— 15 b & //= 56. 248— 56=192 + 1=193+2 /; & 7^=195. 505—219=286—22 b & /^=264— 193=71— 15 b & h= 56. 248—56=192+1=193. 505—219=286—22 b & //=264. 447—264=183+1= 505—219=286—22 b & /;=264— 193=71 . 447—71= 376+1=377. 505—219=286—22 b & //=264— 193=71— 1 //=70. 505—219=286-22 b & /;=264— 254=10. 69 264 16 215 235 187 380 224 251 236 214 195 76:1 75:1 75:1 76:1 76:1 6:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 74:2 said to him: Come, speak out. Why didst thou put the name 193 74:2 of 184 75:1 my 377 75:1 Lord 70 75:1 the 10 74:2 Earl 7M THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. Word. Page and Column. 138 75:1 upon 395 75:1 the 201 75:1 title-leaf 193 74:3 of 195 75:1 this 308 75:1 volume ? 505—219=286—23 /' & //=264— 193=71— 15 b & /i=56. 193— 56=137+1=138+1 //=138. 505—219=286—22 h & //=264— 193=71— 15 b & //=56. 447—56=391 + 1=393+3 /5=395. 505—219=286—23 d & //=264— 50=214— 13 d & h exc =201. 505—219=286—22 h & 72=264—193=71-15 d & A= 56. 248—56=192+1=193. 505—219=286—22 l> & /^=364. 447—264=183+1= 184+11 /;=195. 505—219=286—23 /> & //=264— 348=16+ 194=210— 2 //=208. The reader will observe that we have here a sentence of twenty-three words, which not only cohere with each other grammatically and rhetorically, but accord with the history of events as they have come down to us. We have just seen that the Queen beat Hay ward. What was his offense? History tells us that it was because of the dedication of his book to the Earl of Essex. And here, without our looking for it, the root-number 505 — 219=286 — 22 /> & k=26i\ brings out the ques- tion of Cecil: said to him: Conic, speak out. Why didst thou put the name of my Lord the Earl upon the title-leaf of this volume ? And of these twenty-three words every one originates from 505 — 2ig, counting in the bracketed and hyphenated words in 219, to-wit, 22, which gives us the formula as above: 505 — 219 — iibsz h =264. And out of these twenty-three words fifteen are found in the same column of page 75, ivi thill a fe-di inches of space; and the other four are found in the next pre- ceding column. Surely never before did accident pack so much reason, history, grammar, rhetoric and sense into so small a compass. And what a marvelous piece of composition is this, where we find the names of Marlo-we, Archer, Hayward, Shakspcre, Cecil, Henslow, the old jade, the Contention of York and Lancaster, King John, the Fortune, the Curtain, act, scene, stage, and such sentences as the above, all grouped together on three pages. And so arranged that many of the words are used over and over again. Take the words which constitute the name of Cecil — I say nothing of other pages, but speak only of these three, or, strictly speaking, these two and a half pages, containing about 2,000 words. The word ///, the terminal syllable of Cecil, occurs in the plays, either alone or hyphenated with other words, about 250 times. It occurs in the entire Bible, including the Old and New Testament, but eleven times ! And yet, as the equivalent of ct'H, we would expect to find it used many times in writings having such relation to moral wrong-doing as the Scriptures. The word ///occurs in the second part of Henry IV. eighteen times standing alone; // does not occur once alone in the first part of Henry 11^. But it is cunningly con- cealed in " ///-sheathed knife," "///-weaved ambition" and " ///-spirited Worcester;" and also in hill, pronounced in those good old days, ' ' ' ///. " This word hill, unusual in dramatic poetry or elevated composition, occurs seven times in the first part of Henry IF. anA only once in the second part. Why these differences? Because, as I have shown, the first part was first published, to nm the gauntlet of suspicion, and Bacon took especial care to exclude all words that might look like Cipher work; and assuredly, if Cecil suspected a Cipher narrative, or had any intimation of such, he would be on the lookout for such words as might, compounded, consti- tute his own name. THE QUEEN BE A TS HA YWARD. 715 On these three pages the word /// occurs twice, both times in the first subdi- vision of 75:1. He told me that Rebellion had /// luck. Said he . . . Had met ill luck. Rebellion And just as we found the position of the words and the dimensions of the pages, columns, scenes and subdivisions of scenes adjusted to each other to pro- duce old jade, etc., so we find these words seas ill and says ///holding curious rela- tions to the text. For instance 523—248=375—193=83-15 /; & //=67. 533—198=335—193=133—15 d & //=117— 50 (76:1)= 533—193=335—50=275—193=83—15 d & //=67. 533—193=335-354=71—4 A (354)=67. 533—193=335. 498—335=173+1=174+8^=183. 533—193=335—50=375. 448—375=173+1=174+ 8 ^=183. 516—167=349—33 /' & /?=337— 146 (76:3)=183. 533—198=335—348=77—34 d & /i (348)=53. 533—167=356—33 i & h (167)=334— 193=141. 193— 141=53+1=53. 516—167=349—193=156—15 h & li=Ul. 193—141= 53+1=53. 516—50=466—50 (76:1)=416. 447—416=31 + 31 /; & /^=53. 516—167=349—33 & /i (167)=337. 447—337= 120+1=131. 505—167=338. 447—338=109+1=110+11 /;=131. 513+167=346—248=98—24 /' & //=74. 193—74= 119 + 1=130+1 //=131. Page and Vo Column. 67 75:3 says 67 75:3 says 67 75:2 says 67 75:2 says 182 76:1 seas 182 76:1 seas 183 76:1 seas 53 • 75:1 ill 53 53 53 121 121 121 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 ill ill ill ill ill ill I here give seven seas or savs and seven ills; but this does not begin to exhaust the possibilities. The reader will observe that Cecil is especially referred to in that part of the narrative which grows out of 523 — 198^325, and 516 — 167=349. In answer to Cecil's question, Hayward is foolish enough to praise Essex as a great and good man and the first among princes, (505 — 219=286 — 22 6 & 11=264 — ig3^7i. 508 — 71=437+1^438, 75:2, /w/ft'j-). and then we have, preceding the sentence given in the first part of this chapter, the words following, describing the Queen's rage: 505—219=286—22 d & 7^=264—4 //=360. 533—319=304—33 d & 7^=383. 384—382=3+1=3+ 10 /'=13. 523—219=304—23 /' & 7^=383—193=89. 508—89= 419+1=430+17^=431. 505—319=386—193=93—15 d & 7^=78. ,505—319=386—193=93. 447—93=354+1=355+ 3/^=358. 533—319=304—33 1> & 7^=383—193=89. 448—89= 359 + 1=360. 360 13 74:1 On 74:1 hearing 431 75:3 this 78 /5:3 unwelcome 358 75:2 praise 360 76:1 of 7i6 THE CIPHER NARRA T/VE. Word. 505—219=286—23 1> & 7^=264— 193=71. 193—71= 122+1=123. 128 523—219=304—50 (76:1)=254. 254 505—219=286+22 1> & //=264— 193=71. 193—71= 122 + 1=123+1/^=124. 124 505—219=286—21 <^=265— 193=72— 15 b & /z=57. 57 523—219=304—22 i & //=282. 282 523—219=304—193=111 + 193=304—4 d col. =300. 300 505-219=286—22 d & 7^=264—193=71 . 71 523—219=304—218 (74:2)=86— 9 /> & 7?=77. 77 505— 21 9=286— 22 /> & 7^=264. 264 505—198=307. 448—307=141 + 1=142. 142 523—198=325—253=72—15=57. 57 505—198=307—254=53—2 7/=51. 51 505—219=286—22 /> & 7^=264—193=71—1 7/=70. 70 523—219=304—22 /' & 7^=282—193=89. 193—89= 104+1=105. 105 Page and Column. i'.J-.'i 75:1 76:2 75:2 75:1 75:2 75:1 75:1 76:1 76:2 76:1 76:1 my noble Lord her Grace was not able to restrain her passion any 75:1 longer. Then follows the description of the beating of Hay ward already given. We learn from Bacon's anecdote that the Queen did not believe that Hayward was the real author of the pamphlet history of the deposition of Richard II., but suspected that some greater person was behind him. And the Cipher tells us that she tried to frighten him into telling who this person was. She threatens him with the — -254=28. 193—28= 167 75:1 loss 447—282=165+1= 166 75:1 of •254=28. 28 75:1 his 284—282=2+1—3. 3 74:1 ears. 523—219=304—22 /; & 7/=282- 165 + 1=166+1 7/=167. 523—219=304—22 /' & 7^=282. 523—219=304—22 /> & 7/=282- 523—219=304—22 /' & 7/=282. Observe the symmetry of this sentence. Every word grows out of the same root-numbers, (523 — 219^304 — 22 /> & 7?=282); /oss is the 28th word up from the bottom of the second subdivision of 75:1, and //is is the 28th word up from the bot- tom of the second subdivision of 75:1; while ^y'is the 282d word up the same 75:1 and fars the 282d word up the corresponding column of the next preceding page, to- wit: 74:1. In every case the bracketed and hyphenated words are not counted in. While if we carry the same 282 through the second column of page 74 and up the preceding column it brings us to p/ & h- 505—219=286—22 b & 7/= =264—198=66 + 1 93=259— =264—30=234 And says: 505—219=286—22 b & 7/=264— 197= 65+193=258—5 b & 7^=253. 505—219=286—22 b & /4=264— 50= 257 75:1 Thy 34. 234 75:1 hateful 14—4 7/=210. 210 75:1 looks; 67—2 7/ (197)= 253 75:1 and 14. (74:2) 214 75:1 the THE QUEEN BE A TS HA YVVAKD. 71/ 505—219=286—22 /; & //=264— 197 (74:2)=67+193 260—5 b & //=255. 505—219=286—22 d & //==264— 198=66 +198=259— 3 /'=256. 505-^19=286-22 /> & 7^=264- 193=71. 193+71= 264—2 //=262. 505—219=286—22 /> & //=264— 197=07 + 193=260— 2 //=258. 505—219=286—22 /' & //=264— 198=66. 193—66= 505—219=286—22 /; & //=264— 197=67+193=260. 505—219=286—22 d & 7^=264—193=71. 193+71= 264— 3/;=261. 505—219=286—22 d & 7^=264—197=67+193=260— 3 /;=257. 505—219=286—22 d & 7/=264— 193=71 + 194=265— 2 7^=263. 505—219=286—22/' & 7/=264— 193=71 + 193=264. 505—219=286=22 d & 7/=264— 193=71. 194—71= 505—219=286—22 d & 7^=264-193=71 + 194=265— 3 /'=262. 505—219=286—22 /> & 7/=264— 50=214— 10 /^col.= Word. Page and Column. 255 75:1 whiteness 256 75:1 in 262 75:1 thy 258 75:1 cheek 259 75:1 is 260 75:1 apter 261 257 263 264 265 262 214 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 then thy tongue to tell thy nature. Every one of these eighteen words comes out of the same root-number (505 — 219=286 — 22 l> & 7^=264) which produced the sentence of twenty-three words recently given, and all these forty-one words cohere in meaning. And what is still more remarkable, every one of the eighteen words in the above sentence is found in the same column of the same page, and all of them in the compass of ;//«t' /if/cs,- and ihirti'i'ii out of the cighti'cn an: found in t7uo lines! If this be accident, it is certainly something astounding. Observe also that we have here four tliys. There is not a single thy on the whole o^ the preceding page, 74; nor on the whole of the succeeding page, 76. Why is this difference ? Because here the Queen is. talking fiercely to an inferior, Hayward, and is thouing him. There are three thys in these two lines, and every one of them is used by the root-numbers in the above sentence; and one is used twice. And it is only possible to thus use thirteen words out of two littes containing seventeen ivords, by the subtle adjustment of the bracketed and hyphenated words; and six of the above words are the 71st word from the end of the first subdivision of 75:1, or the beginning of the second subdi- vision of the same; while five are the 67th word and three the f)6th word from the same points of departure. I am aware that it may be objected that it is claimed that Hayward was not arrested until 1599, and that the first part of Henry JP\ (interlocking through the Cipher whh this second part) was published in 1598. But the date of Hayward's arrest is obscure and by no means certain; and if it were certain, it does not fol- low that because a quarto edition of the play of ist Henry IV. has been found, with the date 1598 on the title-page, it is therefore certain that it was published in that year. It would be but a small trick for the mind that invented such a com- plicated cipher to put an incorrect date on the title-leaf of a quarto to avoid suspi- cion, for who would look for a cryptogram, describing events that occurred in 1599, in a book which purported to have been published in 1598? CHAPTER IX. CECIL SA YS SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. Your suspicion is not without wit or judgment. Oihelloy h\ 2. WE come now to an interesting part of the narrative — the declaration of Cecil's belief that neither Marlowe nor Shak- spere was the real author of the Plays which were put forth in their names. And it will be noticed by the reader how marvelously the whole narrative flows out of one root-number. That is to say, the third number, 516, is modified by having deducted from it 167, to-vvit: the number of words after the first word of the second subdivision of column 2 of page 74, down to and including the last word of the subdivision. And the reader cannot fail to notice what a large part of the Cipher narrative of Shakspere and Marlowe flows from this second subdivision. And the reader will also observe that in tliis second subdivision there are 21 words in brackets and one additional hyphenated word — or 22 in all; these added to the 167 make 189; and 189 deducted from 516 leaves 327. Or, the same result is obtained by first deducting from 516 the 167, and then deducting from the remainder 22 for the bracketed and hyphenated words. I express the formula thus; 5 16 — 167^349 — 22 /^& //=327. Fa'ckv word of all the sentences in the following chapter grows out of the niiinbcr jzy: Page and Word. Column. 516—167=349— 22 1> & //=327. 498—327=171 + 1= 172 + 10 /'&//=182. 182 76:1 Seas ^ 516— 167=349— 22/' &//=327. 447—327=120+1= 121 75:1 ill \ 516— 167=349— 22/^ &//=327— 30=297— 50(76:1)= 247 76:2 said 7.8 SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE FLA VS. 719 Observe, here, how precisely the same number brings out .f 516—167=349—22 /; & 7^=327—30=297-219 (74:2)= 78—22 /' (219)=56. 516—167=349—22 b & /^=327— 30=297— 248=49+ j)0(73:l)=139— 1 //=138. 516—167=349—22 b & //=327— 30=297— 29 (74:2)= 268—15 b & //=253. 516—167—349—22 b & //=327— 30=297— 219 (74:2)= 78—22 b (219)=56. 284—56=228+1=229. 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327-30=297-248=49. 90 (73:1)+49=139. 516—167=349—22 b & 7/=327— 198 (74:2)=129— 10 /'=119. 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327—90 (73:1)=237— 29 (73:2)=208. 284—208=76+1=77+7 7^=84. The reader will observe how marvelously the fragments of the scene on 74:2 are adjusted to 516 — 167=349 — 22 /' & h (i67)=327, to produce on 74:1 nearly all the above coherent words. And every word here given arises out of the same root-number and the aitiie iiiodificalion of ilw same rool-nuinbi'r, to-wit: 516 — 167 =^349 — 22 b & h (167)^327. And of the seventeen words in the above sentence, thirteen are found on J 4:1 — a short column of J02 ivoi-ds ! Let me explain this a little more fully. As we have found the root mmber, 516 — 167^349 — 22 b & 7=327, it is natural that we should carry it to the beg'^ning of column 2 of page 74, which is the beginning of the second scene; and tha as is the rule with the Cipher, we should deduct the number of words in that column, 248, and thus obtain a new subordinate root-number to carry elsewhere. We have therefore 327 — 248=79. If we turn to the preceding column, -74:1, we find that the 79th word \s prepared, which we will see used directly in connection with the preparation of the Plays ! And if we carry 79 up the column, it brings us to nnder, the 206th word: — prepared under the name, etc. But if we modify 79 by deducting the usual modifier, 30, we have 49, which, down the column, gives us stuffing, ( "stuffing our ears," etc.), and up the column it gives us betiveen, which we will see directly to be used in the significant group of words: Contention betzveen York and Lancaster, the name of one of Bacon's early plays. If we modify 79 by deducting the other usual modifier, 50, we have left 29, the very significant word acts. And, as we obtained 79 by deducting 248 from 327, — if we go back and count in the bracket words in the 248, we reduce the 79 to 57 (79 — 22 b (74:2)^57); and that gives us, counting in the bracketed and hyphenated words, the word ears — "stuffing our ears" But if we also deduct the hyphenated words in 248, as well as the bracketed words, we have 55 (79 — 24 b &, h (74:2)=55), which gives us false. And then observe how ingeniously the mechanism of 74:2 is adapted to the work required of it ! If, instead of counting from the bottom of the SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE FLA YS. 721 column (74:2), we count from the beginning of the last subdivision of the column (219), this brings us the words ivith — reports — ////j (" stuffing our ears with false reports"); while if we go down from the same point on 74:2, counting in the 29 words, and back as before, we land first upon the word other, which we will see used directly, in connection with "other plays," and then, counting in the brack- eted and hyphenated words, upon the word lies, which fits in very naturally with " false reports" and both with Cecil's declaration that Marlowe and Shakspere did not write the plays attributed to them. And then, if we take the same root- number, 327, and begin to count from the end of the first subdivision downward, we have 198 words, which deducted from 327 leaves 129, and this carried down 74:1, counting in the bracketed and hyphenated words, brings us to the iiSth word, plain — "it is plain" — in the foregoing sentence, and this 129, less 50, brings us again to the 79th word, the significant word prepared; and up the column again it brings us again to the word under, which goes with it. Here we see increasing proofs of the niarvelously ingenious nature of the Cipher, and of the superhuman genius required to fold an external narrative around this mathematical frame-work or skeleton so cunningly that it would escape suspicion for two hundred and fifty years. And just as the root-number, 327, was carried to the beginning of scene 2d of 2d Henry IT., so the remainders-over, the root-numbers so obtained, are carried to the beginning of the next preceding scene, The Induction; and thence, in the prog- ress of the Cipher, they are carried to the beginning of the next scene preceding this, to-wit: the last scene of the first part of Henry IV., and, returning thence, just as we saw they did in the chapter relative to Bacon receiving the news, they determine the posi^f'on of the Cipher words in column i of page 74. Thus the re-?der will perceive the movements of the root-numbers through the text are not vnveuted by me to meet the exigencies of an accidental collocation of words in one particular chapter, but they continue unbroken all through the Cipher narrative. But if we take the same root-numbers obtained by modifying 327 (516 — 167= 349 — 22 l> & h^2>-l), by deducting therefrom the modifying numbers in column 2 of page 74, to-wit: 219, 29, 198, 50, or 218, 30, 197, 49, (according as we count from the beginnings or ends of the subdivisions), and we reach some additional sen- tences, all cohering with those already given. For instance, Cecil tells the Queen, speaking of Shakspere: Page and Word. Column. 516—107=349—22 b &/^=327— 197=130. 193—130 =63+1=64. 64* 75:1 He 516—167=349—22 l> & /;=327— 193=134. 284—134 =150-1-1=151. 516—167=349—22 /' & //=327— 198=129— 24 /' & //= 516—167=349—22 i> & /^=327— 219=108— 22 i & h= 86—1 7^=85. 516—167=349—22 i & //=327— 50 (74:2)=277. 516— 167=349— 22 (5 & 7^=327-30=297— 284=13— 7 // (284)=6+ 91=97. 516—167=349—22 /; & 7/=327— 219=108. 447—108 =339+1=340. 516—167=349—22 d & 7^=327—50=277—248=29. 169—29=140+1=141. 151 74:1 is 105 74:1 a 85 75:1 poor, 277 75:1 dull, 97 73:1 ill-spirited, 340 75:1 greedy 141 73:1 creature, 722 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. Word. 182 186 1(52 277 Page and Column. 75:1 74:1 74:1 75:2 and but a veil 74:1 for 74:1 some 75:2 one 73:1 74:1 75:1 74:1 75:1 74:1 74:1 74:1 else, who had blo\wn up the flame of olG— 107=349— 22 /- & //=327— 50=277. 447—277= 170 + 1=171 + 11 /'=182. 516—167=349—22 /' & 7^=327— 198=129— 24 /> & //= 105. 284— 105=179 + 1=180 + 6 //=186. 516— 167=349— 22/^ & //=327— 198=129. 284—129 =155 + 1=156+6 //=162. 516—167=349—22 d & //=327— 50=277. 516—167=349—22 /- & //=327— 30=297— 284=13. 17//&// exc— 13=4. 516—167=349—22/^ & //=327— 219=108— 21 /> (218)= 516—167=349—22 /; & //=327— 30=297— 284=1 3— 7//(284)=6. 508—6=502+1=503. 516 -167=349—22 /u, 7^=327-284=43-10 /=33. 90+33=143—1 7^=142. 516—167=349—23 d ft 7^=327-248=79- 11 />& h= 516—167=349—22 h ft 7/=327— 198=129— 10 /;=119. 516— 167=349— 22^ ft 7^=327—198=129—22 7;=]07. 516— 167=349— 22 />& 7/=327— 219=108— 21 /; (219) = 516—167=349—22 h & 7/=327— 219=108. 284—108 =176+1=177-+ 6 7'=183 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327—219=108. 284—108 =176+1=177. 516-167=349—22/; & 7/=327— 198=129— 22 /'=107, 284—107=177+1=178. 516—167=349—22 h & 7/=327— 198=129— 24 / & 7/ (74:2)=105. 284—105=179+1=180. 516—167=349—22 1> & 7^=327—248=79—24 /> & A (248) =55+51 (74:2)=106. 516-167=349—22 // & 7/^.327—218-109. 447—109 =338+1=339+8 /=347. 516—167=349—22 /> & 7/=327— 219=108— 22 b & /i = 86. 284—86=198+1=199. 51 6—167=349—22 /> & h = 327—219=1 08—10 /;=98. 516—167=349—22 biz 7'=327— 248=79. 516—167=349—22 /' & 7/=327— 197=130— 50=80. 447—80=367+1=368+3 /;=371. 516-1 67=349—22 /' & 7^=327- 30=297— 284=13+ 90 (73:1)=103. r>l 6 - 1 67=349—23 /' & 7/=327— 90=237— 1 /'=227. 51 6— 167=349— 22 b & 7/=327— 30=297— 248=49— 24 b ft 7/=25. 284—25=259 + 1=2G0 + 3 7/=263. 516—167=349— 22/' & 7^=327—79 (73:1)=248— 10/;= 516— .167=349— 22 /; & 7/=327— 219=108— 1 1 / & 7/= It would seem as if Cecil had information that the stage-manager met every night, perhaps in some dark alley of unlighted London, some party, and gave him a share of the proceeds of the Plays. The performances at that time were during the day. The reader will again observe that every word of the foregoing and following 4 87 503 142 68 119 107 87 183 177 178 180 106 347 199 98 79 371 74:1 rebellion 74:2 75:1 74:1 74:1 75:1 75.1 almost in to ■war against your 103 73:1 Grace 227 74:1 as 263 74:1 a 238 71:1 royal 97 74:1 tyrant. sentences is the j2jih fro7n certain ivell-defined points of depaiiiire. If he thinks he SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. '-^3 can construct similar sentences, per hazard, with any number not a Cipher- number, let him try the experiment. And observe how cunningly the text is adjusted so as to bring out the words, — "■ bhnvn the fiaine of rcb,:llion into "iCHir," — by the root-number, 516 — 167=349 — 22 b & /t=3-7\ and also by the root-number, 523—267=356, as shown in Chapter VII., "The Purposes of the Plays." And how is this accomplished? Because the dif- ference between 327 and 356 is 29; and the difference between 248, the total number of words on column 2 of page 74, and 219, the total number of words from the top of the same column to the beginning of the last subdivision of that column, is also 29; and hence the words fit to both counts. It is absurd to suppose that all this dedicate adjustment of the Cipher root-numbers to the frame-work of 74:2, " The Heart of the Mystery," came about by chance. But Cecil continues: -.■")(':= 516—1(7=349—2;.' b & //=32T— ^0 (74:2)= 516— l().=.J4y— 22 /' &. //=;J27— 218 (74:2 59. 193—59=134-4-1=135. 516-167=349—22 /> & /'=327— 248=79 ^193=272— 2 //=270. 516-167=349—22 /, & /'=327— 218 (74:2)=109— 50= 59. 447—59=388+1=389. 516—167=349—22 /- & /i=327— 248=79— 22 /; (74:2)= 57—7 /;=50. 516—167=349—22 d & /^=327— 284=43 . 248— 43~ 205+1=206. 516—167=340-22 b & //=327— 284=43— 7 /i (284)= 36+90=126—1 //=125. 516—167=349—22 /> & /,=327— 284=43. 248—43= 205+1=206+1 /'=207. 516—167=349—22 /> & //=327— 248=79— 22 /> (248)— 516—167=349—22 d & /^=327— 218 (74:2)=109— 50 =59—1 //=58. 516—167=349—22 d & //=327— 248=79— 27 (73:1)= 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327—50=277. 447—277 =170+1=171. 516—167=349—22 b & //=327— 248=79— 7 /^=70. 516—167=349—22 b & //=327— 29(73:2)=278— 14 /' & // exc.=264. 516—167=349—22 d & /;=327— 219=108— 22 /'=86. 284—86=198+1=199. 516-167=349—22 /. & //=327— 50=277— 237(73:2) =40. 248—40=208 + 1=209. 516-167=349—22 l> & 7^=327-30=297-284=13. 248-13=235+1=236. 516—167=349—22 l> & 7/=327— 198 (74:2)=129. 193—129=64+1=65+1 //=66. 516—167=349—22 d & 7/=327— 218 (74 :2)=109— 50= 516—167=349—22/^ & 7^=327—30=297—6 7/=291. 516—167=349—22 d & 7/=327— 283=44. 516—167=849—22 b & 7^=327—30=297. 516—167=349—22 l> & 7/=327— 218 (74:2W109— 50= Word. 13 270 Page and Column. 74:2 •5:1 have 3^9 75:1 suspicion 50 75:1 that 206 74:2 my 125 73:1 kinsman's 207 74:2 servant, 57 75:1 young 58 75:1 Harry 52 78.2 Percy, 171 75:1 was 70 75:1 the 264 74:1 man 199 74:1 to 209 74:2 whom 236 74:2 he 66 75:1 gave 59 74:2 every 291 75:1 night 44 74:2 the 297 75:1 half 59 74:1 of 724 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 516—167=349—22 b & //=327- 516—167=349—22 /; & ,'/=327- -167=349—22 i> & /^=827- 516 516—167=349—22 l> & /^=327— 219 226+1=227+6 ^=233. 516—167=349—22 b & //=327— 198=129 516—167=349—22 /; & /;= Word. -198=129—90=39. 39 198=129—79=50+29=79 58. 284—58= 327—248=79- , + 1 /,=138. -79=50, -22 /;=57. -284=43. -248=79—22 /;= 193—57=136+1=13^ 516—167=349—22 b & /^=327- 516—167=349—22 b & /i=^21!—mb=>v—'SJ b=r,,. 193—57=136+1=137. 516—167=349—22 /- & 7^=327-29 (73:2:=298— 284 =14—10 /;=4. 233 50 138 43 137 Page and Column. 75:1 73:2 73:2 74:1 ?5:1 74:2 75:1 74:2 what he took through the day at the gate. The Curtain play-house was surrounded by a muddy ditch to keep off the rab- ble, and doubtless the money paid to see the performances was collected at a gate at the drawbridge. And then we have this striking statement: 516—167=349—22 b & /'=327— 90 (73:1)=139. 516—167=349—22 /; & //=327— 516—167=349—22 d & 7^=327- 219=28—22 /;=6. 447—6= 516—167=349—22 b & //=327- (284)=25. 248—25=223+ 516—167=349—22 d & /^=327- 516—167=349—22 l> & /z=327— 516—167=349-22 i> & 7^=327- 284—40=244+1=245. 516—167=349—22 /> & 7/=337- 28 (7S:2)=57. 516—167=349—22 i & 7^=327- 57—7 7,=50. 516—167=349—22 i & 7/=327- 205+1=206. 516—167=349—22 l> & 7/=327- 77. 237—77=160+1=161 516—167=349—22 /> & 7/=327- 30=297—248=49+ 50=277. -30=297—50=247— =441 + 1=442. -284=43—18 /' & h 1=224. -254=73—50(74:2)= ■29(73:2)=278. -50=277—237=40. -248=79—50=29+ -248=79—22 b (248)= -284=43. 248—43= -248=79—2 h (248)= -)-3 /;=164. -284=43—18 b & h -248=79. -254=73—15 b & h- -2.54=73. -30=297—248=49- (284)=25+50 (74:2)=75. 516—167=349—22 b & 7/=327- 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327- 58—50 (76:1)=8. 516—167=349—22 b & 7/=327- 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327- 23 ^=27—2 7^=27. 516—167=349—22 b & //=327— 254 (75:1)=73. 516—167=349—22^ & 7^=327—30=297—248=49. 284—49=235+1=236. 516—167=349—22 b & 7/=327— 193=134— 15 /; & /5= 119—50=69. 457 (76:2)+69=536— 3<^=523. 139 277 442 224 23 278 245 57 50 206 164 75 79 73:1 Many 74:1 rumors 75:1 74:2 74:1 /4:1 74:1 5:1 are on the tongues of that 74:3 my 73:2 cousin 7J.-0. 74:i hath 74:1 prepared 76:2 74:1 not only [27] 73 236 523 74:1 the 74:2 Contention 74:1 between 76:1 York SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 725 516—167=349—22/. & /^=337— 254=78— l.j /, & k= 58. 508— 58=450+ l=-r 1 . 516—167=349—22 /. & //=827— 145 {76:2)=182. 508—182=326+ 1=327. 516—167=349—22 l> & //=327— 248=79— 7 /'=72. 516—167=349—22 d & //=327— 193=134. 284—134 =150 + 1=151 + 6 //=157. 516—167=349—22 I: & /,=327— 193=134— 49 (76:1) =85. 603—85=518+1=519. 516—167=349—22 /; & 7^=327— 30=297— 248=49— 258+3 //=261. 448—134 22/^=27. 284—27=257+1= 516—167=349—22 l> C: Z=827— 193=134. =314+1=315 + 1 //=316. 516—167=349—23 /> & //=327— 193=134. 516—167=349—22 l> & //=327— 248=79— 10 /;=69. 516—167=349—22/' & /^=327— 29 (73:2)=278— 10 /;= 516—167=349—22 / & //=327— 283 (74:1 up)=44— 7 /, (og3)=37_ 516—167=349—22 / & /,=327— 254=73. 508—73= 435+1=430+1 7^=437. 516—167=349—22 /- a /.=327— 27 (73:1 )=300— 284= 516— 107=349— 22/. .r. 7=327—284=43. 43+193= 516—167=349—22/' & 7/=327— 284=43— 10 7=33. 516—107=349—22 7 .li 7=327—284=43. 516—167=349—22 7 & //=327— 237 (73:2)=90. 284 —90=194+1=195. 516—167=349 - 22 7 & 7=327—248=79. 284—79= 205+1=206. 516—167=349—22 7 & 7=327—219 (74:2)=108. 193—108=85+1=86+3 7=89. 516—167=349—22 7 & /;=327— 284=43— 18 7 & 7 (284)=25. 219—25=194+1=195. 516—167=349—22 7 & 7=327—50=277—218=59. 516—167=349-22 7 & 7=327—28 (73:2)=299— 284 =15. 248—15=233+1=234. 516—167=349—22 7 & 7=327—50=277—218=59. 284—59=225+1=226. 516—167=349-22 7 & 7=327—237 (73:2)=90, 169 —90=79 + 1=80. 516—167=349—22 7 & 7=327—284=43—15 7 & h (284)=25 + 218=243— 2 7 & 7=241. 516—167=349—22 7 & 7=327—30=297—169 (73:1) =128. 237—128=109+1=110+3 7=113. 516—167=349—22 b & /z=327— 237 (73:2)=90. 284 —90=194+1=195+6 7=201 . 516—167=349—22 7 & 7=327—50=277—219=58. 284—58=226+1=227. 516—167=349—22 7 & 7=327—237 (73:1)=90- 11 /, & /,=79. Word. 451 327 72 157 519 261 316 134 69 ^ 268 Page and Column. 75:2 76:1 74:1 74:1 74:1 74:2 and 75:2 Lancaster 75:1 and 74:1 King 76:2 John 74:1 and this play, but other plays 437 75:2 which 16 74:2 are 236 75:1 put 33 74:2 forth 43 74:2 at 195 74:1 first 206 74:1 under 89 75:1 the 195 74:2 name 59 74:1 of 234 74:2 More 226 74:1 low 80 73:1 and 241 74:2 now 113 73:2 go 201 74:1 abroad 227 74:1 as 79 74:1 prepared 726 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. Page and Word. Column. 516_167=349— 22 h & /;=327— 30=297— 248=49. 447—49=398+1=399 + 3 /'=402. 402 75:1 by 516—167=349—22/' & /,=327— 30=297— 254=43— 15 /' & // (254)=28. 28 75:2 Shak'st 516—167=349-22/' & /'=327— 21!) u4:2)=108— / 22/'&/^=86. 193— 86=107^1=108+6 />& /-= 114 75:1 spurre. .^ And here let us pause, and — if any doubt still lingers in the mind of the reader as to existence of a Cipher narrative infolded in the words of this text — let us con- sider the words shak'st and spiirre, and observe how precisely they are adjusted to the pages, scenes, and fragments of scenes; just as we found the words old jadc and sens-ill to match by various ])rocesses of counting with the root- numbers. We have shak'st but once in many pages. It would not do to use it too often — it would arouse suspicion; hence, we will soon ^x\AJack substituted for it, which, no doubt, was pronounced, in that day, something like shock or shack. I have heard old-fashioned people give it the shock sound, even in this country, where our sounds of (/ are commonly narrower and more nasal than the English. The word shale st is found on the fourth line of column 2 of page 75 of the Folio: Thou shak'st thy head and hold'st it Feare or Sinne, etc. While the s/y/tnvs are many times repeated in the first column of page 75, thus: He told me that Rebellion had ill luck And that yong Harry Percies .Sfiitrrc was cold. And eight lines below we have it again: Said he yong Harry Percyes Spurrc was cold? (Of WoX.- Spiirre, cold.- Spiirre ?) that Rebellion Had met ill lucke? Here in twelve lines the word spiirre occurs four times, and it does not occur again until near the end of the play. Now let us see how these words match with the Cipher numbers. If we take 505 and deduct the modifier 30, we have 475 left; if we count forward from the top of column 2 of page 75, the 475th word is shak'st ; that is, leaving out the bracketed and hyphenated words. But if we again take 505 and count from the same point, plus b& /^ the 505th word is again shak'st. Why? Because there are just 30 brack eted and hyphenated words in column i of page 75, and these precisely balance the 30 words of the modifier in 74:2. But if we take 505 again, and deduct 29, the num- ber of words in the last section of 74:2, we have left 476; and if we start to count from the end of scene 2 on 76:1, and count up and back and down, the 476th word is the same word shak'st; and if we take the root-number 506 and deduct 30 and count in the same way again, the count ends on the same word, shak'st. ■ And here, to save space, I condense some of the other identities. The reader will observe the recurrence of the very root-numbers we have been using: 505—219=286—50=236—198=43—15 b & h (193)= 505—284=221—193=28. 505— 219=286— 193=93— 15^ & // (193)=78— 50 (76:1)= 505— 30=475— 254 (75:1)=221— 193=28. 28 75:2 shak'.st 28 75:2 shak'st :28 75:2 shak'st 28 75:2 shak'st SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLA VS. 727 75 -.3 shak'st 75:2 shak'st 75:2 shak'st 75.2 shak'st 75:2 shak'st 75:2 shak'st Page and Word. Column. 505— 193=312— 15/' &/^ (193)=297— 254=43— 15 ^ & h (193)=28. 28 505—30=475—193=282—254=28. 28 516—167=349—22 b & /^=327— 30=297— 254=43— 15 /' & /i (254)=28. 28 516—167=349—22 /- & /'=327— 50=277— 140 (76:2)= 131—3=128—50=78—50=28. 28 505—50=455—219 (74:2)=236— 198=43— 15 d & A (193)=28. 28 505— 29=476— 218=258— 22 /> & h (218)=236— 193= 43—15 h & h (193)=28. 28 And there are still others ! Can any man pretend this came about by accident ? No: for be it observed that every nzimder which produces the word shak'st in the above examples, counting from the beginning or end of pages or fragments of pages, is c Cipher iimnber. And this concordance exists not once only, h\x\ fourteen times ! And as the internal narrative must bring in some reference to Shakspere every one of these fourteen times, by these fourteen different counts, the reader can begin to realize the magnitude of the story that is hidden under the face of this harmless-looking text. And then, be it also observed, eleven of these fourteen references grow out of that part of the story which comes from the root-number 505; the word shak'st does not match once, nor can it be twisted into matching with 523 or 513. Why? Because Bacon only occasionally refers to Shakspere; his story drifts into other and larger matters than his relations to the man of Stratford. The only time when 523 touches upon Shakspere is when it alternates with 505, thus:- 505—167=338—22 /> & // (167)=316-30=286— 50 (74:2) =236—193=43—15 /' & h (193)=28. 523—167=356—22 b & h (167)=334. 447—334=113 + 1=114. But let us turn to the word spitrre. We have: 505—167=338—254=84—15 b & //=69— 9 b & /^=60. 510-167=349—22 /; & //=327— 50=277— 193=8^^ 15 ^ & /;=69— 9 b & //=60. .50.5—198 (74:2)=307— 218 (74:2)=89— 22 b & h (218)= 67—7 /)=60. 505—197 (74 :2)=308— 248=60. 505—167 (74:2^,=338— 1 // ( 1 67)=337— 248=89— 22 b (248)=67— 7 /;=60. 505—198 (74:2 =307— 193=1 14. 523—167=356—22 b & //=o31. 447—334=113+1= 523— 167=3.". 6— 22 b f. /•=334— 248=86. 193—86= 107+1=108+6 /' & //=] 14. 505—193=312—198 (74:2)=114. 505—167=338—1 h (167)=337— 254=83. 193—83= 110 + 1=111 + 3 //=114. 516—167=349. 447—349=98+1=99—6 //=105. 516—219=297—193=104—15 b & //=89. 193—89 =104+5— 2/;& //=107. • (107) 75:1 spurre 28 75:2 shak'st 114 75:1 spurre 60 75:1 spurre 60 75:1 spurre 60 75:1 spurre 60 75:1 spurre 60 75:1 spurre 114 75:1 spurre 114 75:1 spurre 114 75:1 spurre 114 75:1 spurre 114 75:1 spurre (105) 75:1 spurre 728 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. Page and Word. Column. 516—167 349—23 b & /^=327— 237=90— 3 b (237) =87 193—87=106+1=107. (107) 75:1 spurre .^16 -167=349—22 b & /^=327— 193=134— 15 b & h== (119) 75:1 spurre Here are fourteen spurres to match the fourteen shak'sts. I have not the space to summarize the number of instances wherein more and loiu are similarly made to harmonize with the root-numbers and the scenes and fragments of scenes. I have already given two such instances. Then let the reader observe that extraordinary collocation of words: The Con- tention between York and Lancaster, King JoJin, and other plays; all growing out of the same Cipher number, 327. If there is no Cipher in the text, surely these pages, 74, 75 arid 76, are tlie most marvelous ever seen in the world; for they contain not only the names of the old jade, Cecil, Alarloive, Shakspere many times repeated, but Archer, the Contention between York and Lancaster, King John, and all the many pregnant and significant words which go to bind th;se in coherent sentences — not a syllable lacking. While it may stagger the credulity of men to believe that any person could or would impose upon himself the task of constructing such an unparalleled piece of work, it is still more incomprehensible that such a net-work of coincidences could exist by accident. But it may be said these curious words would naturally occur in the text of any writings. Let us see: There is the Bible; equally voluminous with the Plays, translated in the same era, and dealing, like the Plays, with biography, history and poetry. The word shake occurs in the Plays 112 times; in th2 Bible it occurs but 35 times. There is no reason, apart from the Cipher, why it should occur more than three times as often in the Plays as in the Bible. The word//;?)' occurs in the Plays more than 300 times; in the Bible it occurs 14 times ! And remember that the word />/iiv in the Plays very seldom refers to a dramatic performance. Played is found in the Plays 52 times; in the Bible 7 times. Player occurs in the Plays 29 times; in the Bible 3 times. Jade is found 24 times in the Plays and not once in the Bible. Stage occurs 22 times in the Plays and not once in the Bible. Scene occurs 40 times in the Plays; not once in the Bible. But it may be said that dramatical compositions would naturally refer more to play and plays and scene, etc., than a religious work. But in the Plays themselves there are the widest differences in this respect. In King John, for instance, the word please (pronounced plays) occurs but once; in Hemy VIII. it is found 28 times ! Play occurs but twice in the Comedy of Errors, but in ist IIen7y IV. we find it 12 times; in Henry VIII. 14 times, and in Hamlet 35 times ! Shake occurs but once each in Much Ado, ist Henry VI., in The Merchatit of Venice, Measure for Measure, the Ale rry IVives, and the Two Gejttlemen of Verona; whWc \n Julius Ccvsar we find it seven times, in Macbeth 8 times, in Lear 8 times, and in Othello 7 times. These differences are caused by the fact that in some of the Plays the Cipher narrative dwells more upon Shakspere than in others. 'QMX.shake'x^ found in every one of the Plays, and it is therefore probable that the Stratford man entered very largely into Bacon's secret life and thought, and consequently into the story he tells. It will be a marvelous story when it is all told, and we find out what the wrong was that Caliban tried to work upon Miranda. But we go still farther with Cecil's reasons for believing that Shakspere did not write the Plays, and we carry the same root-number with us into another chapter. CHAPTER X. SHAKSPERE INCAPABLE OF WRITING THE PL A YS. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow. Measure /or Measure, I'ii, 2. EVERY Cipher word in tJiis chapter also is fhe J2yfh 7Vord fro)n the same points of departure which have given us ail the Cipher story ■which has preceded it. We have this further statement from Cecil to the Queen: 516 167 (74:2) 349 516—167=349—22 1> & A= 603—227=376+1= 516—167=349—22 /> & h= 516—167=349—22 b & //= 50=54—50 (76:1)= 516—167=349—22/; & //= 516—167=349—22 /' & //= 15 ^ & /,=89. 448- 516—167=349—22 /; & //= 516—167=349—22 b & li= 516—167=349—22/; & //= 9 // & /;=(172). 516—167=349—22 b & h= 248—248=0+1=1 516— 167=349— 22/; & li- 516—167=349—22 b & li- 448—104=344+1= 516—167=349—22 b & ti- 10/;=122. 516— 167=349— 22/; & ti =129— 2 //=1 27. 516—167=349—22 /; & h- 15/.&//=69— 10/;= 516—167=349—22 /; & Ji- 15/;&//=89. 508- 516—167=349—22 /; & //= 7 + 1=8 + 18 /;&//=! 349 327 327 22 b & // 50 30 327 277 297 Page and Word. Column. -327 50=277 50—227. =377. 377 76:2 He -327 30—297 193—104. 104 74:1 is -327-30—297-193-104— 4. 508 4=504+1—505+1 //: =506 75:2 the -327—30—297—193— 104 75:2 son -327—30—297—193—104— -89—359+1—360. 360 76:1 of -327—50—277—50 (76:1)— 227 76:2 a -327 49(76:2) 85. 85 75:1 poor =327—146 (76:2)=181— (172) 75:2 peasant -327 30—297 49(76:1)— 1 74:2 who =327—50=277—146=131 . 131 76:1 yet -327 30—297 193—104. =345. 345 76:1 followed =327—50=277—145=132 122 74:1 the -327—193—134—5 h (193) 127 76:1 trade =327—50=277—193=84— =59. 59 74:1 of =327—30=297—193=104— 89—419 + 1—420. 420 75:2 glove =327—50=277. 284—277= <26). (26) 74:1 making 729 73° THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 516—167=349—22 b & //=827— 30=297— 193=104 _3/;=101. 516—167=349—22 d & //=327— 30=297— 248=49— 22/;=(27). 516— 167=349— 22/' & //=327— 30=297— 49 (70:1)= 248—4/^=244. 516— 167=349— 22 /i& //=327— 30=297— 49 (74:2)= 516—167=349—22/' & //=327— 30=297— 193=1 04— 50=54. 603—54=549+1=550. 516—167=349—22 b & 72=327-50=277. 447—277= 170 + 1=171. 516—167=349—22 /> & //=327— 30=297— 146 (76:2) =151—3 /'=148— 3 //=145. 516—167=349—22 /> & /2=327— 30=297— 193=104— 10 /; (193)=94. 516—167=349—22 d & //=327— 254=73— 15 / & //= 58. 248—58=190+1=191. 516—167=349-22 /' & //=327— 30=297— 30=267. 448— 267=181 + 1=182+10 /& //=192. 516—167=349—22-^ & //=327— 30=297— 50=247. 516—167=349—22 l> & /2=327— 50=277— 248=29— 2 /i (248)=27. 516—167=349—22 /; & /^=327— 30=297— 50=247— 12 d & 7^=235. 516—167=349—22 /> & 7^=327-50=277-145=132. 516—167=349—22 d & 7/=327— 30=297. 447—297 =1.50+1=151+5 72=156. 516— 167=349— 22 (^& 72=327—30=297—248=49- 24 d& /i (248)=25. 516—167=349—22 d & 72=327—50=277. 447—277- 170 + 1=171 + 11 <^=182. 516—167=349—22 d & 72=327—254=73—51 (448)= 22. 603—22=581 + 1=582. 516—167=349—22 /; & 72=327— 193=1 34-10 /> (19]) =124. 448—124=324+1=325. 516—167=349—22 d & 72=327—30=297—193=104. 284—104=180+1=181. 516—167=349—22 /' & 72=327—50=277. 516—167=349—22 /; & 72=327—50=277-145 (76:2) =132—11 />& 72=121. 516—167=349—22 d & 72=327—50=277—145=132 —7 /'=125. 516—167=349—22 d & 72=327—50=277. 284—277 =7+1=8. 516—167=349—22 /; & 72=327-193=134—15 /> & h =119. 284—119=165+1=166+6 72=172. 516—167=349-22 /' & 72=327—50=277—49 (76:2)= 228—4 /'=224. 516—167=349—22 h & 72=327—248=79. 447—79= 368+1=369+3 3=372. Word. Page and Column. 101 76:1 in (27) 74:1 the 244 74:1 hole 248 74:1 where 550 76:2 he 171 75:1 was M5 76:1 born 94 74:2 and 191 74:2 bred, 192 76:1 one 247 74:1 of 27 121 125 8 172 224 372 74:1 the 235 74:1 peasant-to-w 132 74:2 of 156 75:1 the 25 74:1 West. 182 75:1 And 582 76:1 there 325 76:1 are 181 74:1 even 277 74:1 rumors 74:1 74:2 74:1 74:1 76:2 that both Will and his 75:2 brother SHAKSPERE EV CAPABLE OF IVPITEVG THE FLA YS. 731 516— 167— 349— 22^ & /^=327— 50=277— 145 (76:2)= 516—167=349—22 l> & //=327— 30=297— 193=104. 508—104=404—5=405. 516—167=349—22 d & //=327— 30=297— 50=247— 145=102. 498—102=396+1=397. 516—167=349—22 /> & /^=827— 30=297— 193=104 —15 /, & //=89. 284—89=195+1=1964-6 A= 516—167=349—22 /. & //=327— 50=277— 145 (76;2) =132—5 /' & /;=127. 516— 167=3-19— 22 d & //=327~50=277— 193=84— 15 /, & /,=69. 516—167=349—22 /;& //=327— 30=297— 145=152. 577—152=425+1=426+17 ^ & 7^=443. 516—167=349—22 /' & //=327— 50=277— 50 (76:1)= 516—167=349—22 /' & 7^=327- 50=277— 145 (76:2) =132—3 ^=129. 284—129=155 + 1=156. 516—167=349—22 /' & 7^=327—30=297—5 7/=292. 516—167=349—22 /' & 7^=327—254=73. 248—73 =175+1=176. 516—167=349—22 d & 7^=327-50=277-145=132. 284—132=152+1=153. Word. Page and Column. 132 76:1 did 405 75:2 themselves 397 76:1 follow 202 74:1 that 127 76:1 trade 69 76:2 for 443 77:1 some 227 76:1 time 156 74:1 before 292 76:1 they 176 74:2 came 153 r4:l here. Here are fifty-six more words, growing out of the same root-number: 516 — 167 ^349 — 22 /> & 7^^327, modified by 30 or 50, which gave us whole pages of narrative in the last chapter. We will see hereafter that we advance in order, from the more complex to the more simple; that is, the above root-number 327, obtained by count- ing in the 22 bracketed and hyphenated words in the second subdivision of column 2 of page 74, is followed by 516 — 167^349, where we leave out of the count the 22 bracketed and hyphenated words. And this is cunningly contrived, because one trying to unravel the Cipher would first undertake the more simple and obvious forms, and would scarcely think of obtaining a root-number by counting in the bracketed and hyphenated words in the second subdivision of column 2 of page 74, or any similar subdivision. The "brother" here referred to was Shakspere's brother Gilbert, born in 1566, two years after Shakspere's birth. If Shakspere came to London in 1587, Gilbert was then twenty-one years of age. Very little is known of him. Halli- well-Phillipps thinks he was in later life a haberdasher in London.' But as his name does not occur in the subsidy lists of the period, it is not unlikely that he was either a partner with, or assistant to, some other tradesman of the same occupation. The fact that he is found in London accords with the intimation in the Cipher narrative, that he came there with his brother, and probably was at first also a hanger-on about the play-houses. The reader will here observe how the words o-/oTe' making grow out of the same root-number; one being 327 minus 30, the other 327 minus 50. Observe also how the terminul number 104 produces is, the, son, of, followed, glove, in, he, and, themselves, and that; while 277 gives us he, a, yet, the, of, making, was, the, 7-nmors that, both. Will, his, did. trade, for, time, and before. If there is no Cipher here, how could glove and making and all these other words grow out of 327 modified by 50 and 30? Outlines, pp. 23 and 24. CHAPTER XI. SHAKSPERE WOUNDED. This morning, like the spirit of a youth That means to be of note, begins betimes. .J ntony and Cleopatra, zV, 2. EVERY Ciplier word in tJiis chapter is t/ie jjSt/i ivord from the same points of departure as in the previous chapters. I gave in Chapter VI., page 694 ante, something of the story of Shakspere's youth, and yet but a fragment of it. I am of the opinion that it runs out, with the utmost detail and particularity, on the line of the root-number 338 [505—167 (74:2)=338] to the end of 2d Henry IV., and, possibly, to the beginning of ist Henry JV. I gave in Chapter IV. the statement that Shakspere — Goes one day and ivitli ten of Ins fotlozvers did lift the iiiater-i:;atc of the fish pond off the hinges, and turns all the water out from the pond, froze all the fish, and girdles the orchard. And also: They drew their weapons ajid fought a bloody fight, never stopping even to breathe. And further, that when he ran away from home — He left his poor young jade big with child. Now between the description of the destruction of the fish-pond and the account of the fight there comes in another fragment of the story. The narrative seems to be a confession, made by Field. Hence its particularity. It is believed that Richard Field, the printer, was a Stratford man. In 1592 Shakspere's father, with two others, was appointed to value the goods of "Henry Feelde, of Stratford, tanner," supposed to have been the father of Richard Field the printer." ' Halliwell-Phillipps asserts positively that he was his father.^ Richard Field was also, as I have shown, the first printer of Venus and Adonis and The Rape of Lucrece. - Collier's Englisli Dramatic Poetry, iii, 43Q. ^ Outlines, p. 69. 73- SHAKSPERE WOUNDED. 733 505—167=338 505—167=338 505—167=338 505—167=838 505—167=338 505—167=338 505—167=338 505—167=838- 505—167=338- 505—167=338- 505—167=338- 505—167=338- 505—167=338 448—190= 505—167=338- =256+4 b- 505—167=338- + 1 /^=212 505—167=338- =45. 508- -6—167=338- 145=71. 498—289=209+1= 498— 288=210 -Hl= —284=54. —248=90—24 b & h (248)=66— 5 b= — 49 (74:2)=289. '" ^"" '^' ' —50 (76:1)=288. —6 //=382. —284=54. 237—54=183 + 1=184. . 498—338=160+1=161 + 10 b & h= —284=54+28 (73:2)=82. -284=54—18 b&h (284)=36. -284=54. -145 (76:2)=193— 4 h col. =189. -50=288—146 (76:2)=142— 3 b (146)= —145 (76:2)=193— 3 b (145)=190. =258+1=259. -145(76:2)=193. 448—198=255+1 '=260. -50=288. 498—288=210+1=211 .-.O (74:2)=288— 193=95— 50 (76:1) -45=463+1=464. -50=288—22 b & /^=266— 50=216— Word. Page and Column. 54 73:2 And 61 74:1 while 214 76:1 we 211 76:1 are 383 75:1 thus 184 73:2 busily 171 70:1 engaged 82 73:2 my 36 73:2 Lord 54 78:2 and 189 77:1 some 139 76:1 of 259 76:1 his 260 76:1 followers 212 76:1 set 464 75:3 upon 71 76:1 us. The reader will observe that every word of this sentence is derived from the same root-number (505 — 167=338), and he will also note how often the terminal root-number, 54, is used. Then follows the description of the " bloody fight" given in Chapter VI. The story of Shakspere's deer-killing is found in the latter part of ist Hcn7y IV. We take the same root-number, 505 — 167=338. and, commencing on the first column of page 73 (part of "The Heart of the Mystery"), we find that, by inter- mingling the terminal fragments of the second scene of 2d Henry IV. with the terminal fragments of the last scene of 2d Hen}y IV., we get these words: 505—167=338—50=288—49 (76:1)=239— 79 (73:1)= 160. 588—160=428 + 1=429. 505—167=888—30=308—198=115—1/^ col.=114. 505—167=888—50=288—169 (78:1)=119— 1 h (169)=118. 346—118=238+1=229. 505—167=338—50=288—142 (73:1)=146— 1 // (142) =145 + 170=815—1 h col. =314. oit 505—167=338—50=288—49 (76:1)=239— 90 (78:1)= 149 : Kt\ ocQ iftn/'7Q.i\ 110 1 I. IM\a\ 11Q 429 114 229 814 72:2 75:1 73:1 Jack spur hath 505— 1 67=888— 50=2^ 505—167—338—50=288- 169 (78:1)=119— 1 // (169)= 118 142 (78:1)=146— 1 // (142)= 145 73:3 killed 73:2 many 72:3 a 73:3 deer. As I have before noted. Jack had probably in that day the sound of shack, for the word, being derived from the French, retained the sh or zk sound. We find this given by Webster io Jacquerie. The vfovAJack will be found repeatedly used, in the Cipher, for the first syllable of the name of Shakspere. It will be noted in this example that out of seven words all are derived from 338 — 50^^288, except one, which is 33S — 30; two are derived from 2S8 — 169=119; two from 288 — 49 734 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. (76:1)^239, and two are derived from 28S — 142=146. This recurrence of terminal root-numbers is very significant. I would explain that 142 is the number of words from the end of the first subdivision of 73:1 to the bottom of the column; and 79 and 90 are, of course, the two other principal subdivisions of that column. And the reader will observe that to obtain 338 — 169 we have deducted the number "of words from the top of the first subdivision of 73:1 down the column; while when we have 338 — 142 we h," ve the number of words from the bottom of that same sub- division down the same column. It will thus be seen that there is a relation and an order in the formation of the sentence; that it moves from the two ends of the same subdivision. It seems that Shakspere and "our party" had killed a deer, made a fire and had the body " half eaten: " Word. 505—167=338—141 (73:1)=197. 237—197=40+1= 41 505— 167=338— 30 (74: 2)=808— 50 (76:1)=258. 588 —258=330+1=331 + 1 // =332. 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308— 50 (76:1)=258. 284 —258=26 + 1=27 + 7 /^ col . =34. - 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308— 50 (76:1)=258— 27 (73:1)=231. 505—167=338—193 (75:1)=145. 505—167=338—169 (73:1)=169— 1 // (169)=168. 237 —168=69+1=70+3 b col.=73. 505—1 67=338—30 (74:2)=308— 50=258. 505— 1 87=338— 30=308— 1 98 (74 :2)=1 1 +1 94=304 332 34 231 145 73 258 Page and Column. 73:2 r4:l 72:2 r3:2 — 7/;&// col. =297. 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308- b!^h col. =245. -50 (76:1)=258— 13 291 24.^ r4:l The body of the deer was indeed half eaten. If the reader will count down from the top of 74:1 he will find the word eaten cunningly hidden in the middle of the hyphenated word worui-taten-hole. 505 167—338 30—308 198—110. 110 75:1 He 505 167—338 30—308 198 (74:2)— 110-^194— 304. 304 75:1 found 505—167=338—30=308—141 (73:1)=167. 170— 167—3 + 1—4. 4 72:2 it 505 167—338 193—145+346 (72:2)— 491 1 // col. = 490 72:2 lying 505— 167— 338— 80— 308— 141(73:1)— 167. 167 72:2 by 505—167=338—141=197. 237—197=40+1=41 + 3 /' col. =44. 44 73:2 the 505 167—338—30—308 50—258 79—179 —1 k (79)=178. 237—178—59+1—60. 60 73:2 foot 505— 167-^338-28 (73:1)— 310. 588 310—278+1= 279 72:2 of 505— 167=338— 30=308— 141 (73:1)=167. 588— 167=421+1=422. 422 72:2 a 505—167=338—30=308—141=167. 237—167 =70+1=71. 71 78:2 hill. Let the reader consider for an instant how different are the words that are here the 338th from certain clearly established points of departure, as compared with the words produced by 523 — 167=356; or as compared with those which came out from 505 and 523 minus the subdivisions of 75:1. Compare: Shakspere had SHAKSPERE WOUNDED. . y^e killed many a deer; . . . the body of the deer %vas half eaten. He found it lying by the foot of a hill; with: Ho-u' is this derived? Sazv you the Earl? etc. ; or: Her Grace is ftirious and hath sent out, etc.; or: With this pipe he hath blown the flame of rebellion almost into open -war, etc. In every case the character of the words is totall)' diiTerent. The Cipher story proceeds to tell how Sir Thomas Lucy and his son came upon the scene — they had a light with the poachers and drove them off. We have: Page and Word. Column. 505— 167=338— 30=308- 50 (76:1)=258— 27 (73:1) =231 + 170 (72:3)=401. 401 '12:2 We 505—167=338—30=308—142 (73:1)=166. 347 (72:2)+166=513. 513 72:2 fought 505— 167=338— 30=308— 141 (73:1)=167+ 170 (72:2)=337 72:2 a 505—167=338—141 (73:1)=197. 197 72:2 hot 505— 167=338— 28 (73:1 )=310. 310 72:2 and 505—167=338—142 (73:1)=196. 346—196=150+1 =151+2// col. =153. 153 73:2 bloody 505—167=338—141 (73:1)=197. 197 73:2 fight. Certainly, if all this is accident, it is extraordinary that the accident on one page should precisely accord with the accident on all other pages; that is to say — 505 — 167=338, minus 30 and 50, tells us the story of the last " bloody fight," when the boys of Stratford destroyed Sir Thomas Lucy's fish-pond, and here we have the account (by the same 505 — 167=338 — 30 and 50) of a previous "hot and bloody fight," when Sir Thomas found them devouring the body of a deer. And it was in revenge ^or 'mnishment inflicted for the first fray — [505— 167=388— 142 (73:1 )=1 96. 347 (72:2)— 196= 151 +1=- 152+2 // col. =154. 154 73:2 fray]— that the young desperadoes organized the riot to destroy the fish-pond. And in this latter fight Shakspere was badly wounded, shot by a pistol in the hands of Sir Thomas Lucy. The story is too long to give here in detail. Every letter from my publishers is i cry of despair about the increasing size of this work; and some of my malignant and ungenerous critics are clamoring that my book will never appear. I cf n therefore only give extracts from the story. It runs through a great part of page 72 of ist Henry IV. My Lord, for he was lord of the barony, and his son, are mov nted and armed. And here we have the word barony, the I4gth word of the 75:1 obtained from the same root-number, thus: 505— 167=- .38— 50 (74:2)=288— 49 (76:1)=239— 90 (73:1^=149. 149 75:1 barony They '•ome -ivith all their household: 505— 167-=338— 50=288— 49 (76:1)=239— 79 (73:1) =160. 284—160=134+1=135. 135 74:1 with 50.5— lC'^-=338— 50=288— 49 (76:1)=239— 90 (73:1)= 149 74:1 household; a great multitude; and to find multitude, we repeat the last coimt but one, adding in, howc^-er, the hyphenated words, thus: 505—16-^=338-50=288-49 (76:1)=239— 79 (73:1) -=160. 284— 160=124+1=125+7// col. =132. 132 74:1 multitude 736 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. Word. Page and Column. And here we have great: 505—167=338—237=101- =71 + 1=72. 59 ■■Q.O The -3 b (237)=98. 169—98 72 73:1 great The number go represents the end of scene 3 on 73:1; and the number 79 that part of the next scene in the same column. See how the same number, 149, pro- duces barotiy and household; while the corresponding number, 160, produces luith and multitude. And here we find the story running on, and the same terminal numbers, 149, 160, etc., continuing to produce significant words. We can see the philosophy of every word; they come either from deducting the whole of the first column of page 73 or the whole of the second column, or the fragments of each. We have had the body of the half-eaten deer — found lying by the foot of the hill- — -the hot and bloodv fight — the lord of the barony coming zvith 3l great multitude of his household. And Shakspere ran away, and — 505—167=338—30=308—79=179. 237—179=58 4-1=59. 505— 167=338— 50=288— 49 (76:1)=239— 79=160. 237— 160=77 -f 1=78. 505—167=338—50=288—49 (76:1)=239— 79 (73:1)= 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—198 (74:2)= 61 + 193=254—5 b & h col. =249. 505— 1 67=838— 50=288— 49 (76 : 1 )=239— 79= 1 60- 1 h (79)=159. 237—159=78+1=79. 505— 1 67=338— 50=288— 169 (73 : 1)=1 19. 50.5—167=338—50=288—49=239—90=149. 505—167=338—50=288—169=119—1 h (169)=118. 588—118=470+1=471. 505_1 67=338—50=288—49=239—79= 1 60. 1 70 + 160=330. 505_167=338— 30=808— 50 (76:1)=258— 79 (73:1)= • .505—167=338—50=288—50 (76:1)=238— 63 (27 to 91) =175. 237-175=62+1=63+3?^ col.=66. 505_i67=338—50=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 90=148. 50.5— 1 67=338— 50=288— 49 (76 : 1 )=239— 90=149 . 50.5—167=338—30=308—49 (76:1)=259— 78 (79 d) =181. 237—181=56+1=57. 505—1 67=338-30=308—50=258-79 (73 : 1 )= 1 79— 1 /z(79)=178. 237— 178=59+l=60+3/^col.=63. I do not pretend, for the reason stated, to give the whole account of this first raid of the Stratford boys, but simply to call attention to the fact that this page 73 is as full of arithmetical adjustments, with 505 — 167=338, as we found it to be in Chapter IV. with 505 — 284, and 523 — 284, etc. In the presence of Percy in this story we probably have the explanation of the original relationship of Bacon with Shakspere. Percy was Bacon's servant; he was, it seems, from Stratford, and he was Shakspere's friend; hence when Bacon, after Marlowe's death, needed another mask, Percy, Bacon's confidant, doubtless suggested Shakspere. And here we have the account of how Sir Thomas charged on the insurgents, who were destroying the fish-pond: 78 74:2 pursuers (160) 74:2 followed 249 75:1 and 79 73:2 took 119 73:2 him 149 74:2 prisoner. 471 72:2 Percy 330 72:2 and 179 73:2 the 66 73:2 rest 148 73:2 of 149 73:2 our 57 63 73:2 73:2 men fled. SHAKSPERE WOUNDED. 737 Word. 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76:1)=358— 248 (74:1) =10. 193—10=183 + 1=184. 184 4305—167=338—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 50 (74:2)=188+193=381— 4// col.=377. 377 505—167=338—254 (75:1)=84— 9 b&h col.=75. 75 505—167=338—80 (74:2)=308— 198=110. 193—110 =83+1=84. 84 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76:1)=258— 198=60. 60 505—167=338—30=308—198=110. 193—110=83+ 1=84+3 ('^col.=87. 87 505—167=338—30=308—219=89—1 // col.=88. 88 605—167=338—50=288—248=40—7 b col.=33. 33 505—167=338—248=90. 90 505—167=338—30=308—219 (74:2)=89. 89 505—167=338—30=308—248=604-194=254. 254 505—167=338—248=90—9 /' & // col. =81. 81 505—167=338—30=308—219=89—7 b col.=82. 82 505—1 67=338—248=90—7 /; col . =83. 83 505—167=338—254 (75:1)=84. 84 505—167=338—50=288—219 (74:2)=69. 69 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50 (76:i;=258— 198=60 + 193=253. 253 505— 167=338— 49 (76:1)=289. 447—289=158+1= 159 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76:1 ;=258— 319 (74:2;= 39 505—167=338—193=145. 145 Page and Column. 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 75:1 ^5:1 75:2 My Lord struck his spur up to the rowell against the panting sides of his horse and rode him dowrn. Here are twenty words, all originating out of the same number, which has been telling the story of Shakspere's youth for many pages past, to-wit: 505 — 167=338; and all but one of the twenty are found in the first column of page 75; and the greater part, 16 out of 20, are found in the first subdivision of that column. If this be accident, certainly there is nothing like it anywhere else in the world. And Sir Thomas shoots Shakspere, leaving a scar that marked him for life. Prof. John S. Hart thought he saw the traces of such a scar in the Dusseldorf death- mask. And Bacon, to still better carry out the delusion, that Shakspere was Shake- speare, wrote in one of the sonnets — the 112th: Your love and pity doth the impression fill Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow. The story, I have said, goes back to the beginning of scene 3, act v, page 71, of 1st Henry IV., and [he pis to/ is found in 71:2, as will appear below. We are told: 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50 (76:1)=258— 193=65. 193—65=128+1=129+1 7^=130. 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50(74 :2)=258. 505—167=338—30=308—247 (74:2 up)=61. 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 26 b&h col=262. 505—167=338—30=308. 505—167=338—248=90+194=284. 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1)=238. 130 75:1 My 258 71:2 Lord 61 75:1 was 262 75:1 furious 308 75:1 He 284 75:1 drewT 238 75:1 his 73« THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 169 (73:1)=120. 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50 (76:1)=258— 198=60 + 193=253. 505—167=338—30=308—49 (76:1)=259— 213 (71:2) =46—1 h (213)=45. 458—45=413+1=414. 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 248=41— 22 b (248)= 19—3 b col.=16. 505—167=338—30=308—49 (76:1)=259— 198 (74:2) =61—24 b & // (198)=37. 505—167=338—30=308—248 (74:2)=60. 284-60 =224+ 1=225. 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308— 219 (76:1)=89. 193 —89=114+1=115+6 b&h=\%\. 505—167=338—284=54. 505—167=338—30=308—193=115—15 bhh (193) =100+193=293. 505—167=338—30=308—248 (74:2)=60. 193—60 =133+1=134+1 h col.=135. 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289. 433—289=144+1= 505— 167=338— 50=288— 218 (74:2)=70. 505—167=338—30=308—248 (74:2)=60— 22 b (248) =38—5 b col. =33. 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 50 (76 : 1)=258—1 93=65. 508—65=443+1=444. 505—167=338—30=308—49 (76:1)=259— 198 (74:2) =61—22 b (198)=39. 505—167 338—30=308—248 (74:2)=60— 24 b & // (248)=36— 5 b col. =31. 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76:1)=258— 248 (74:2)= 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76 :1)=258— 50=208— 146=62+162=224—5 b col =219. 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 254=54. 284—54=230 + 1=231+5 /icol.=236. 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76:1)=258— 248 (74:2) =10+193=203. 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 248 (74:2)=41 447—41=406+1=407. Nord.. 120 Page and Column. 71:2 pistol 253 75:1 and 414 71:1 shot 16 75:1 him, 37 75:1 and, 225 74:1 as 121 54 75:1 75:1 ill luck 293 75:1 would 135 75:1 have 145 71:1 it, 70 75 •! the 88 74:1 ball 444 75:2 hit 89 75:1 him 31 74:1 on 10 74:1 the 219 78:1 forehead. 236 74:1 between 203 75:1 the 407 75:1 eyes. Observe here the recurrence of remarkable words, fitting precisely to 505 — 167 =338 : dretv — pistol — shot — ball — hit — forehead — betiveen — eyes; — with all the other words descriptive of a heady conflict: hot and bloody fif^ht — struck — spiir — tip — to — ro-tvel — against — panting — sides - rode him do-ivn; — Aly Lord, furious, etc., etc. After a while we will find this same 505 — 167=338 describing- Shakspere's ailments and Ann Hathaway 's appearance, and selecting out of the body of the text, as if with the wand of a magician, an entirely different series of words. And I will ask the reader to note that Imll occurs but once in 2d Henry IV., and shot but once in ist Henry IV.; pistol, as the name of a weapon, does not occur once in 2d Henry IV. ^ and but twice in ist Henry IV.; hit occurs but once in 2d Henry IV.; forehead occurs but this one time in both of the plays; ro7vel oacMxs but this one time in both these plays, and but once more in all the SHAKSPERE WOUNDED. 739 Plays. And yet here we find all these rare words coming together in the text, and in a short space; and all of them tied together by the root-number, 505 — 167=338. What kind of a cyclone of a miracle was it that swept them all in here in a bunch together, and made each the 338th word from a clearly defined point of departure ? But the marvel does not end here: 505 — 167=338 has many more coherent and marvelous stories to unravel before we have done with it. CHAPTER XII. E SHAKSPERE CARRIED TO PRISON. Away with him to prison. Measure for Measure, v, I, VERY Cipher word in this chapter grows out of the root-number ^05—167=338. At first it was thought that Shakspere was killed outright. We read : 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 248=40— 9 b & //=31. 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 193=95— 15 b & h (193)=80. 284—80=204+1=205. 505-167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 248 (74:2)=41— 5^ col. =36. 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 254 (75:1)=35— 15/;&/^(254)=20. 505-167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 248 (74:2)=41— %b &, h col. =35. 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 10/' col.=279. 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 198 (74:2)=91. 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 198 (74:2)=91. 284—91=193+1=194. 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 198 (74:2)=90. 284—90=194+1=195. 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 248 (74:2)=41— 22 b (248)=19. 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288— 49 (76:1)=239. 508—239=269+1=270+8 b col.=278. 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 24/; col.=(265). 505-167=338-50 (76:1)=288— 49 (76:1)=239. 508—239=269+1=270+2 h col.=272. 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50 (76:1)=258— 193= 55 + 193==258— 5 /' & h col. =253. 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76:1)=258— 4// col.= 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50 (76:1)=258— 193=65. 193+65=258—3 /; col. =255. 505—1 67=338—30=308—50 (76 : 1 )=258— 193=65. 193+65=258—2/^ col.=256. 740 Word. 31 Page and Column. 75:1 He 205 74:1 fell 36 74:1 upon 20 74:1 the 35 279 91 74:1 74:1 74:1 earth. They thought 194 74:1 at 195 74:1 first, 19 74:1 from 278 (265) 75:2 75:2 his bloody 272 75:2 appearance 253 75:1 and 254 75:1 the 255 75:1 whiteness 256 75:1 in SHAKSPERE CARRIED TO PRISON. 741 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76:1)=258— 197 (74:2) =61—24 b&h (198)=37— 9 b&h col. =28. 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50 (76:1)=258— 193=65. 193+65=258. 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 50 (76 : 1 )=258— 1 93=65— 15/;&//(193)=50. 505—167=338- =308—50 (76:1)=258— 193=65. 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288. 447-288=159+1 =160+11 ^col.=171. 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50 (76:1)=258— 193=65. 447—65=382+1=383. 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 218 (74:2)=71— 1 h col. =70. 505—167=338—30=308—49 (76:1)=259. 284— 259=25+1=26+7// col. =33. 505—167=338—193=145. 508—145=363+1=364 ^-l/^=365. 505—167=338—50=288—49 (76:1)=239. 447—239 =208+1=209+2 //=211. 505— 167:^338— 50=288— 49 (76:1)=239. 505—167=338—30=308—49 (76:1)=259— 13 b & h= 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 198 (74:2)=90. 193 +90=283—3 b col.=280. 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 197 (74:2)=91— 22 b (197)=69. 284—69=215+1=216+6 //=222. 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76:1)=25S. 447—258 =189+1=190+13^=203. 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 218 (74:2)=71. 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308— 49 (76:1)=259— 219 (74:2)=40. 505—167=338—50=288—49 (76:1)=239— 237 (73:2) =2 + 90=92. 505—167=338—193=145—15 b & 7^=130. Word. Page and Column. 28 75:1 his 258 75:1 cheek, 50 65 75.1 75:1 that he 171 75:1 was 383 75:1 dead. 70 75:1 The 33 74:1 ball 365 75:2 made 211 239 246 75:1 75:1 74:1 the ugliest hole 280 75:1 in 222 74:1 his 203 71 75:1 75:1 fore i head \ 40 92 130 75:1 73:1 75:2 ever saw. Observe how cunningly the length of column i of page 74 is adjusted to the word ball so that the root-number 505 — 167=338 brings it out the first time going do7un the column and again going up the column. Observe, also, the matchless ingenuity of the work. We have seen ivorm-eaten-hole furnish the world eaten, as descriptive of the half-consumed deer; now we find it giving us the word hole; and anon we shall see it used as a whole — ivonn-eaten-hole — to describe the prison to which Shakspere was taken. In the above example it is difficult to express in fig- ures the way in which we get the word hole, but if the reader will count down the column (74:1), counting in the bracketed and hyphenated words, he will find that the 259th word is, as I state, the word hole. The same is true of the word fore, the first part of fore-head; it is the 258th word by actual count up 75:1 counting in the bracketed words, although it is difficult to express the formula in figures. And how marvelous is it that we not only find the word forehead, (which only occurs once in these two plays), as given in the last chapter, cohering with 338, but here we have again the elements to constitute the word, and each of the two words is again the 338th word. And if fore-tells had not been separated, in the Folio, into 742 THE CIPHER NARKA I'TVE. two words — a very unusual course — by a hyphen, this result would have been impossible; as well as that curious combination foiiiul-oiit, and half the cipher work given in the preceding pages. The reader will thus perceive the small details upon which the whole matter turns; and how impossible it is that 148 bracketed and hyphenated words could be scattered through these three pages, by accident, in such positions as to bring out this wonderful story. Such a thing can only be believed by those who think that man is the result of a fortuitous conglomeration of atoms, and that all the thousand delicate adjustments revealed in his frame came there by chance. Observe, also, that in the foregoing examples the count for the words, fell itpon the earth; they thought at first from, ox\g\v\2X^s in each instance from the fragment of scene 2, on 76:1; and the words are all found on 74:1; and that every word of the whole long sentence of thirty-six words, with two exceptions, originated in the same fragment of a scene, the 49 or 50 words at the bottom of 76:1; and that out of the thirty-six words thirty-one are found on 74:1 or 75:1. 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308— 49 (76:l)=2^j9— 219 (74:2)=40— 9/;&// col.=31. 31 75:1 He 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 254 (75:1)=35. 284 —35=249 + 1=250+3 //col.=253. 253 74:1 lies 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 218 (74:2)=70— 34/,&/,=46. 46 73:2 quite 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308-49 (76:1)=259. 284 —259=25+1=26. 505—167=338—30=308—49=259. 505—167=338. 448 (76:1)— 338=110+1=111 + 3 /; col. =114. 505—167=338—50=288. 498 (76:1)— 238=210+1= 505—167=338—30=308. 448 (76:1)— 308=140+1= 141 + 3// col. =144. 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288. 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 5 h col.=283. 505— 167=338— 49(76:1)=289— 218 (74:2)=71— 9/^ &//=62 75:1 cold. Here, again, every word is 505 — 167=338, minus 30 or 50; every one begins on 76:1, and all but one of the last seven are found on 76:1. We have the whole story of the fight told with the utmost detail. I am not giving it iu any chronological order. Shakspere, before Sir Thomas shot him, had not been idle. Sir Walter Scott was right when he supposed, in A'enihcvorth, that William was a good hand at singlestick. We read: 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169. 237 —169=68+1=69+3 ^col.=72. 72 73:2 He 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76 :2)=258— 90=168 — 50 (74:2)=118. 284—118=166+1=167. 167 74:2 hath 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168. 168 74:1 beaten 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258— 63 (79)=195— 3 h col.=192. 192 76:1 one 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 50=258— 79=1 79—49 (76:1)=130. 508— 130=378 +1=379 +3 /'=382. 382 76:1 of 505— 167=338— 50=288— 49=239— 90 (73:1)=149 — 7 /^ col.=142. 142 74.2 the 26 74:1 still. 259 76:1 His 114 76:1 wounds 211 76:1 are 144 76:1 stiff 288 76:1 from 283 76:1 the SHAKSPERE CARRIED TO PRISON. 743 Page and 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168—50 (76:1)=118. 508—118=390+1=391 + 1 7^=393. 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—3 h col. =92 505—167=838—49=289—254=35—15 b & //=20. 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 /' & // col. =80 —9 b & A col. =71. 505—107=338—30=308—193=115. 193—115=78 + 1=79+3 /;col.=82. 505—167=338—30=308—50=258. 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—79=179—50 (76:1)=129— 1 /i col.=128. 505—167=338—50=288—193=95. 508—95=413 + 1=414+1 7^=415. 505—167=338—50=288—193=95+193=288. 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169. 284 —169=115+1=116+7 7^ col. =123. 505—167=338—193=145—49 (71 :)=96. 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168—49 (76:1)=119. 508—119=389+1=390. 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168—50 (76-.: ;=118. 508—118=390+1=391. 505—107=338—30=308—49 (79:1)=259— 90 (73:1)= 505—1 67=338—30=308—50=258—79 (73 : 1 )= 1 79 —20 /' & h col. =159. 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—79=180. 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—79=179—1 h (79) =178—50=128. 508— 128=380 + 1=381 +4-6 & k= 505—167=338—49=289—254=35. 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169. 193— 169=24+1=25+6 b & 7/=31. 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 b & 7/=80. 284—80=204 + 1=205. 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—63=195—50 (76:1)=145. 505-167=338—30=308-49=259-90=169—145 =24. 577—24=553+1=554. 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 /' & /i (193)= 505—167=338—49=289 -254 (75:2)=35. 505—1 67=338—30=308—49=259—79=1 80—50 (76:1)=130. 508—130=378 + 1=379. 505—167=338—49=289—254=35—15 /' & 7/=20. 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28 (73:1)=230 —22 b & 7/=208. 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28 (73:1)= 230—1 7/=229. 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28 (73:1)=230 —145=85—3 b (145)=82. 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 50=258— 90=1 68— 7 b col.=161. iVord. Column. 392 75:2 keepers 92 76:1 o'er 20 74:1 the 82 258 128 390 75:1 r5:l 76:1 75:2 head, sides and back, 415 75:2 with 288 75:1 the 123 74:1 blunt 96 76:1 edge of 391 75:2 his 169 76:2 stick, 159 74:2 till 180 76:2 it =385 75:2 breaks; 35 75:2 or 31 75:1 he 205 74:1 fell 145 75:2 down 554 77:1 to 80 75:1 the 35 74:1 earth 379 75:2 under 20 74:1 the 208 75:1 heavy 229 75:1 weight 82 76:1 of 161 75:1 his 744 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 50=258— 28 (73 : 1)=230 _145=85— 2 h col. =83. Word. 83 Page and Column. 76:1 blows. It was then that Sir Thomas put spurs to his horse and charged on Shakspere^ as narrated in the last chapter, and shot him. One of the men looked at Shakspere and said : 505—167=338-50=288— 198=90— 22 b (198)=68. 447—68=379+1=380. 505—167=338—50=288—193=95. 505—167=338—50=288—198=90. 447—90=357+1= 505—167=338—50=288—198=90—22 /'=68. 447 —68=379+1=380+3 /;=383. 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 49=259— 79=1 80— 50 (76:1)=130. 508—130=378+1=379+4 h col.= 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 50=258— 90 (73 : 1 )=1 68 —49=119. 603—119=484 + 1=485+3 b col.= 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 /' & 7^=80-49 (76:1)=31. 193—31=162+1=163. 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 /' & //=80— 50 (76:1)=30— 7 b col.=23. 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 /' & 7^=80- 50=30. 447—30=417+1=418+2 /;=420. 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 h & //=80— 50= 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 b & 7^=80 —49 (76:1)=31. 505—167=338—30=308—198=110—1 A col.=109. 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 /' & 7^=80 —49 (76:1)=31. 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 b & 7/=80. 447—80=367+1=368. 505—167=338—50=288—198=90—24 b & h (198) =66 + 193=259—3 b col. =256. 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 /' & 7/=80 + 193=273— 3 ^ col. =270. 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 /; & 7^=80+ 193=273. 505—167=338—30=308—49 (76:1)=259— 90 (731)= 505—167=338—30=308—49 (76 : 1)=259— 90=1 69. 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—143 (73:1)=116. 505— 167=338— 50=288— 193=95— 50 (76:1)=45 + 193=238—2 //=236. 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 b & 7/=80. 447—80=367+1=368+3 b=Ti\. 505—167=338—30=308—193=115. 447—115= 333+1=333+8 h col.=341. 505-167=338—30=308—193=115. 193—115= 78 + 1=79. 505— 167=338— 30=308— 49=259— 90 (73:1)=169. 193—169=24+1=25 + 3 /' col. =28. 380 75:1 95 75:1 358 75:1 75:1 Why, he is dead. 383 75:2 His 488 76:2 Lordship 163 75:1 then 23 75:1 stopped 420 75:1 his = 30 75:1 horse 31 75:2 and 109 75:1 saidi 31 75:1 He 368 75:1 is 256 75:1 in 270 75:1 a 273 75:1 faint. 169 73:2 Bend 169 74:1 down 116 74.1 and 236 75:1 put 371 75:1 your 341 75:1 ear 79 75:1 against 28 75:1 his iVord. Page and Column. 100 74:3 heart, 113 77:1 to 20 75:2 see 129 75:1 if 110 75:1 he SHAKSPERE CARRIED TO PRISON. 745 505—167=338—50=288—49 (76:1)=239— 90=149. 348—149=99 + 1=100. 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 50=258— 145 (76 : 1 )=1 1 3. 505—167=338—49=289—254=35—15 /' & 7^=20. 505— 167=338— 50=288— 198=90— "4 /' & h (198)= 66. 193—66=127 + 1=128+1 /;=129. 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 1 98=1 10. 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 b & //=80. 447—80=367+1=368. 368 75:1 is 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169— 4 /' col. =165. 165 76:1 yet 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—79=180+193 =373— 4 // col. =369. 369 75:1 living. Here we have still more pages upon pages, growing" out of that same number, 505 — 167=338. And note the unusual words: beaten — keepers — blunt — edge — stick — breaks; — earth — under — heavy — loeiglit — blo'cs; — bend — down — //// — ear — against — heart — faint — living, etc. The word stick occurs only one other time in these two plays; the word keepers appears only on this occasion; the word keeper is found, however, once in this play. 505—167=338—30=308—49=259. 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 49=259— 28 (73 : 1 )=231 —10/' col. =221. 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—143 (73:1)= 116. 284— 11C=168+ 1=169. 505-167=338—49=289—254=35. 248—35=213 + 1=214+1/^=215. 505—167=338—49=289—254=35. 248—35=213 + 1=214+2 b & 7^=216. 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—143=116. 505—167=338—30=308—198=110. 194+110=304. 304 505—167=338—30=308—193=115—15 /' & 7/=100 —50 (76:1)=50. 505—167=338—49=289—254=35—7 /^ col. =28. 505—167=338—30=308—193=115—15 b & 7/=100. 505—167=338—209 (73:2)=129. 505— 1 67=338—49 (76:1 )=289— 145=144. 505—167=338—30=308—193=115—15 b & h=100 —49=51. 448—51=397+1=398. 398 76:1 He 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—145=114— 6 b & 7/=108. 108 505— 167=338— 146 (76:1)=192. 237—192=45 + 1= 46 505—167=338—30=308—49=259. 284—259=25+1= 26 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28 (73 :1 )=230— 218 (76:1)=12. 447—12=435+1=436. 436 505—167=338—30—308—193=115—10 b col. =105. 105 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308— 193=115— 15 / & h =100—7 b col.=93. ■ 93 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—193=66—5 / col. =61 259 76:2 He 221 74:1 stooped 169 74:1 down 215 74:2 to 216 74:2 listen. 116 74:1 and 304 75:1 found 50 75:1 that 28 75:1 his 100 74:1 heart 129 74:1 still 144 75:2 beat. 77:1 lay 73:2 quite 74:1 still 75:1 for 74:1 a 74:2 good 74:1 whilej 746 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. Word. 505— 167=338- -30=308— 193=115— 15 h & //=100 —1 // col. =99. 99 oOo— 167=338— 49 (76 :1)=289 -254=35. 248—35 =213+1=214. 214 505-167=338—49=289—254=35—15 /> & //=20 + 193=213. 213 505-167=3^8—49 (76:1)=289— 248=41— 2 // (248j =39. 284—39=245 + 1=246. 246 505-167=338—30=308—193=115. 284—115= 169+1=170. 170 505—167=338—145 (76:2)=193— 50 (76:1)=143. 508—143=355+1=356+5 d & //=371. 371 505-t167=338— 50=288— 193=95+193=288— 4 //= 284 505-167=338-30=808—254=54-15 /^=39. 39 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—193=65. 284— 65=219 + 1=220+6 //=226. 226 505—167=338—50=288—193=95. 447—95=352 + 1=353 505 —1 67=338— 30=308— 50=258— 28 (73:1 )=230 —219=12. 12 505— 167=338-49=289— 254=35— 5 /; col.=30. 30 505—167=338—50=288—193=115. 498—115= 383+1=384. 384 505-167=338-49=289—12 l> col. =277. 277 505—167=338—50=288—254=34—7 i col. =27. 27 Pag'e and Column. r6:2 74:2 5:1 74:1 74:1 75:2 75:1 75:2 74:1 75:1 at last the ragged young wretch drew a low^ sigh 75:1 and 74:1 commenced 76:1 gasping 61:1 for 75:2 breath. Those who may insist that there is no Cipher here will have to explain the con- currence of all this remarkable array of words: ragged — young — wretch; — stooped — down; — listen — heart — beat; — low — sigh; — commenced — gasping — ireath, etc. It might be possible to work out a pretended Cipher story, consistmg mainly of small words — the its, the thes and the ands; but here in these four pages we have had every word necessary to tell not only the story of the kill- ing of the deer, and the destruction of the fish-pond, but the subsequent fight; the charge of Sir Thomas Lucy on horseback, the pistol shot, the fall of two wounded - men, the apparent death of Shakspere, Sir Thomas stopping his horse, the exam- ination for the signs of life, the low sigh of returning animation, and even the gasping for breath, as the injured Shakspere regains consciousness. Surely, if there is no Cipher here we can say of the text, as was said of Othello's hand- Icerchief: " There's magic in the web of it." But the miracle does not end here; we will see, hereafter, this same root- number going on to tell a wonderful story, which connects itself regularly and naturally with all that we have given in these pages. Take the following sentence. Here every word, as the reader will see, comes out of the same corner of the text, by the same root-number, to-wit: 338 mimis 50 or 30, as heretofore; while the count originates either from the end of the second scene or the beginning of the third, in 76:1, the two being separated only by the title of the scene. 505-167=338—50 (74:2)=288— 49 (76:1)=239— 4 b col. =245. 345 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 162 (78:1)=127— 11 /; col.=116. 116 r6:2 But it Word. Page and Column. 306 76:1 seemed 871 76:1 his 266 78:1 injuries 107 76:1 were 305 76:1 only 110 76:1 flesh 114 76:1 wounds. SHAKSPEKE CARRIED TO PRISON. 747 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 145=144. 448— 144=304+1=305+1 // col. =306. 505—167=838—49 (76:1)=289— 161 (78:1)=128. 498—128=370 + 1=371. 505— 167=338— 50 (76:1)=288— 30=258— 146=112 _3 /; (146)=109 + 162=271— 5 /- col.=266. 505—167=888—50 (76:1)=288— 30=258— 146 (76:2) =112—5 /■ & // col. =107. 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 145=144. 448— 144=304+1=305. 505— 1 67=338— 49 (76:1 )=289— 30=259— 146=1 13 _3 /, (146)=110. 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 30=259— 145=114. 114 And observe how in connection with all the words already given, descriptive of a bloody fight, and " gasping for breath," come in these words: seemed — injuries — ivere — only — flesh — wounds. This is the onlj' ivm.^ flesh occurs in this act; and the only time wound occurs in this scene; and this is the only time injuries is found in this act. Yet here they are all bound together by the same number. And here I would note, in further illustration of the actuality of the Cipher, that no ingenuity can cause 505 — 167=338 to tell the same story that is told by 505 — 193=312, or by any other Cipher number. One Cipher number brings out ■one set of words, which are necessary to one part of the narrative, while another -number brings out, even when going over the same text, an entirely different set of words. This will be made more apparent as we proceed. But what did Shakspere's associates do when he went down before his Lord- ship's pistol ? They did just what might have been expected — they ran away; and the Cipher tells the story. And here we still build the story around that same frag- ment of 49 words on 76:1 (intermixed with the first and last fragments, 50 and 30, on 74:2) which has given us so much of the recent narrative; assisted, also, by the next fragment of a scene, in the next column, — 145 or 146, 76:2. The first sub- division of the next column ends at the 457th word; the second begins at the 458th word. And to the end of the column there are 145 or 146 words, as we count down from 457 or 458. 505—167=338—145=193—1 h col.=192. 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289. 508—289=219+1= 505—167=338—50 (74.2)=288. 508—288=220+1= 505—167=838—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 20/' col. =218. 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 30 (74:2)=258— 1 h col. =257. 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308. 508—308=200 + 1 =201 + 3// col. =204. 505— 167=838-30=308— 29 (73:2)=279. 505— 167=338— 49=289— 30=259— 79 (79:1)=180 — 50(76:1)=130. 130 75:2 saw 50 j_l 67=338— 49=289— 30=259— 1 46=1 1 8— 3/'(146)=110. 505—167=338—49=289—30 (74:2)=259— 10/^ col.= 505—167=338. 448—338=110+1=111. 192 75:2 All 220 75:2 our 221 75:2 men, 218 75:2 so 257 75:2 soon 204 75:2 as 279 74:1 they 110 77:1 that 249 76:1 he 111 76:1 was 748 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 30 (74:2)=258. 505—167=338—49 (76:1) 289—30 (74:2)=259. 505- -167=338—30=308—146=162—3 h (146)=159 —%b&h col.=-150. 505—1 67=338—49=289—50=239. 508-239= 269 + 1=270. 505— 167=338-49 (76:1)=289. 508—289=219 + l=220 + 3/^col.=223. 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288— 24^ col.^(264). 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 50 (74:2)=238— 22 b & h col. =216. 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288. 508—288=220+1 =221 + 13 223 (264) 75:2 75:2 in the 216 75:3 greatest 234 75:2 fear 273 = 161 (143) 288 193 75:2 of 76:1 being 76:1 apprehended, 75:2 turned 76:1 and 237 170 171 193 75:2 75:2 75:2 75:2 fled away from the 250 66 '=461 75:2 76:2 76:2 field, into the 269 295 76:2 76:1 shadows, with 217 239 75:2 75:2 speed swifter 251 75:2 than S 271 75:2 the 217 = 113 75:2 76-1 speed of 236 75:2 arrows. Here is another sentence of thirty-four words, growing out of 505 — 167=338; every word found on 75:2 or 76:1. Observe how those remarkable words taken — prisoner — fear — slaine — apprehended — fled — speed — swifter — arrows — all come out together, at the summons of the same root-number, cohering arithmetically with absolute precision; and found — not scattered over a hundred pages, or ten pages — but compacted together in two columns of 1,003 words! If this stood SHAKSPERE CARRIED TO PRISON. 749 alone it should settle the question of the existence of a Cipher in the Shakespeare Plays; — but it is only one of hundreds of other sentences already given, or yet to come. Observe how those typical words speed — swifter — thati — speed — arrozvs — all come out of the same number and the same modifications. Speed is 338 less 30 up the column plus b & h; swifter is 338 less 50 down the column; than is 338 less 50 up the column; .r/• o CQ S«S t1 J5 li^lr-l 00O5 0» CO-* ho ceo go CO CO ooo iCO -■C >C -JO CO •!<» :i; 3 s ? c 2 OTHOoiot-oeo;Cr-o-*'ot^OT-i»-ii>coco T-H W CJ OJ ■rH OJ tH cj ^ c? (?} OJ OJ 03 « OJ C? ^ Oi I' 4- + 1 05 38 1 CO o CO + + CO •3 00 o c> § ^ O M , o 00 GO ^ g CO •3 CO 0^ II o o CO lO + 4- -^ oo CO «3 O CO -^ <^? '^' o 00 X' o o ■8 CI C00500COCOQOCJC5 OT CJ c? o in M lO si o a a; X! bjO h CO a. Nt* — f '- 2S CO-* 35 coo coco o --; uO •£ CI o- •O -*r-l M CO'* |05 *N CI COO coco o •-;co C0 05 ]a: -C3 X 5 CO ■*- *^ -o o -r ID u s (U u Ih > nJ ? cQ O -^ T-H C5 C9 o LO OS CO (^f <>i , + o X o LO ^ o + + o CI X o LO o CI CO + T— ! + I X o o o + o CO CO ^ I T 00 CO J. 01 CO X) Oi CJ o CO 00 CO CO CO OS OS OS CO CO o-o O X o iffl o CO c:i x O C5 ^ -* OS 7-1 Tfl -^ ^ CQ CO CO CO CO cO X X CO T^ CO -^ ;C> -rt* LO C"! -^ OS lO C X X OS Ci ■rt iij t- t- £~ CO C! OS 0"f CQ O CJ OJ OJ + 1— I + lO o CO I X c? 4 o> C"» + T— I + OS CO X OS CO LO -* -* C"» OJ 0> LO -H -^ •* LO X ^ lO CO X' 4- O CO I- i-H Cf JO OS 0"f CQ o CJ C^ CO Ci CJ o + CO I X o CO o? CU 3 LO eg ^ + T^ O O^ LO =3 GO II OS CO II I OS -* 1— I ■* OS lO »o Tt< LO ■* tH T ^ coococoosocoosos •pHOSXi-HCJl-XOiM lO C( -^ LO OJ CJ Tt* CJ CJ o u J3 H s o in^ — I iO li(S o o Sco i_-m \'>i ggl!2»13 5»l* Hi— ill oSlOcoI'M "^1— t CO Ii 3 o bfl c ^ "J v (UnJ>.Tir3 5 •*-• -o CO a ? CO Oi i> c ^ b •-' -■ 03 "'jclO 10iOiOiO»'OL0 10»OLOLOLOLO»OiOLOiOiO»C"^ lO rt CO CJ 00 m ^v ^T ■^ c^ c? oot^Oiocot-os^^cot^ocoo SScOX-^rflCSCOCOcoO-pHOSCOlOCO^^CO'* ^ S C-J 0> CQ OJ OJ C} OJ CI CJ Ci CI CJ CJ CJ Ci CJ CJ X o LO o CO Cl X t- II CO OS CJ -* CO + 1—1 4- CO c? CO c> C} C7 + c> c? o LO ■pH c^ O c» X X Cl c? c? 4- 1—1 + CO X J8 O LO Ci + + 1— ( Cl CJ + c? X o ta ci r- ct 1 I "«i Cl io »o E- ci CO 1-1 Cl Cl CO ■I-l + Ii l-H T-i + + O O LO LO O Cl 1— I LO T-l 1— I iO d t- Cl Cl 1-1 CO X 'X Cl Cl Cl Cl Cl Cl X 1-1 Cl Cl -pH Cl Cl T-H COOCOXXCIXCOCO Cl LO Cl Cl Cl Cl Cl Ct Cl X Cl E- CO Cl 1 II LO 1—1 1 LO 1— I X 1 1 X o iO ^H 1—1 LO O c( a Cl CO Cl Cl X Cl 1 Cl X C( CO d SHAKSPERE CARRIED TO PRISON. 751 Here the reader will perceive that the sa7ne words: meti — turned — hacks — fled — szi'ifter — /hn>i — arrows — greatest — fear, are used, some of them in two^ some of them in three separate narratives, descriptive of three different flights; mingled of course with words, in each instance, which do not occur in the others. But this is not all. Observe how carefully the hyphens and brackets in column 75:2 are adjusted to the necessities of the Cipher. For instance, the root-number 505 — 30=475— 254 gives us 221; and this carried down the column gives us men; and up the column it brings us to 288, turned; but, if we count in the two hyphen- ated words, it gives us hacks — " turned their backs." On the other hand, 513 — 30=483 — 193 gives us 290; it will be noticed that we have here the same 30; and the 193, the upper subdivision of 75:1, takes the place of 254, the lower subdi- vision of the same. Now if we carry this 290 dortni the column it brings us to the same word, backs, which we have just obtained by going up the column with 221. But there are also two hyphenated words above 290 as well as below it, or four in all in the column, exclusive of the bracketed words; and if we count these in, as we did before with 221, the count falls again on turned — "turned their backs.'" Now, if there had been five hyphenated words in that column this could not have been accomplished; or if three of the four hyphens had been above 288 and 290 the count' would also have failed. If Francis Bacon did not put a Cipher in this play, what Puck — what Robirt Goodfellow — what playful genius was it, — come out of chaos, — that brought forth all this regularity } Now it may be objected that Bacon would not have used the comparison of great speed to a flight of arrows twice; but observe the difference: 505 gives us fled . . . swifter than arrows fly toward their aim; while 338 gives us fled a^vay ivith speed swifter tlia)i the speed of the arrows. And it must be remembered that, although the words for these two comparisons are found in the same column, the stories spring from different roots, and probably stand hundreds of pages apart in the Cipher narrative itself. And then, as we find Bacon constrained, by the neces- sities of the Cipher, to depart in the text of the Plays in many instances from both grammar and sense, as in: Or what hath this bold enterprise bring forth ? 76:1; or: "Therefore, sirra, with a new wound in your thigh come you along \sic'\ me," 72:2; or: Hold up they head, vile Scot, 72:1; or: " This earth that bears the [.r?V] dead," 72:2, etc.: so, without doubt, he was compelled, in such a complicated piece of work as the Cipher, to use the same words, — for instance, s'udfter than arrows, — twice, or oftener, when it was arithmetically easier to use them than to avoid using them. And what an infinite skill does it imply, that he had so adapted the length and breadth of the different parts of the Cipher narrative to each other, that the story of the three flights given above could be brought around so as to fit into column 2 of page 75, and avoid the necessity of recurring, in different other pages and columns, to the same words — turned — hacks — fled — s7vifter — arroTos, etc.! And backs, .he it observed, does not occur again anywhere else in either of these two plays. And the word backs is found only six times in all the Historical Plays, and in every instance we find the word turn, or turned, or turning, in the same act, and, in four cases out of the six, in the same scene with backs. And arrows is found but nine times in all the Shake- speare Plays. But it may be thought by some that any numbers would lead to these same 752 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. words. Let the reader experiment. The numbers 523 and 516 will produce some of them, as I shall show hereafter; but 523 and 516 are Cipher numbers. Let us take, however, a number not a Cipher number — for instance, 500 — and put it through the same changes as the above; and it will yield us such incoherent words as zoas — lead — with — from — with — King — %vell — laboting — a)tl — gan — /;/ — thfee, etc. I do not think that any other numbers but the Cipher numbers can be made to evolve even portions of any of the significant sentences found in this three-fold example. Let me give one more extraordinary proof of this exquisite adjustment of the text to the Cipher; and I again place it in parallel columns that it may the more clearly strike the eye of the reader. We have the same words, fear of hcing appre- hended, used in two different portions of the narrative. Now the combination, heiiig apprehended, is one not likely to occur by chance; apprehended is found but nine times in all the Plays ! And but this one time in this play. And being, (signifying condition), but seven times in all the Plays ! And only this once in this play. The reader will now see how these rare words come together twice, at the summons of two different Cipher numbers: 513. 505—167=338. 513 513 483 338 288 193 30 193 50(74:2) 145 320 483 290 288 143 513—449=34. 34 75:2 Fear 508—288=220+ 290— 5//col.= 285 76:1 of 1=221 + 13/^=234 75:2 Fear 448-290=158+ 288—50=238. 508— 238+2/'=273 75:2 of 1=159+2 /.= 161 76:1 being ^^_^^^^^^^^^ 448—320=128+ 1=161. 161 76:1 being; 1=139 + 11/,= (143) 76:1 apprehended. 288— 145 (76:)=(143) 76:1 apprehended. Here we start from the initial word of scene 2 of 76:1 of the Folio, and 513 brings us to fear; the same less 193 (75:1) and less 50 (76:1) carried down the same column gives us of; the same up the column, plus the hyphens, gives us being; and the same 513 less 193, up the same column, gives us apprehended. The formula of this last word cannot be clearly stated in figures, but actual count will satisfy the reader that apprehended is the 320th word plus the brackets, counting up from 448. Again, 505 — 167=338; 338 less 50 (74:2) gives us 288=/t'«;v this 288 carried through the fragment at the bottom of 76:1 and up the next column gives us of; and 288, the same number, up the column (76:1) gives us being; and the same number, 288, carried through the adjoining subdivision (145, 76:2) gives us 1..13; and actual count will demonstrate that apprehended is the 143d word down the column, not counting in the bracketed and hyphenated words above it. But to resume our narrative: Page and Word. Column. 505— 167=338— 50=288— 248=40+ 193=233+ /i= (233) 75:1 My 505— 167=338— 49 (76:1)=289— 248=41. 194+ 41=23i5_/;=235. (235) 75:1 Lord, 505— 167=338— 49=289— 218 (74:2)=71. 71 74:1 who 505— 167=338— 219(74:2)=! 19. 119 75:1 had, SHAKSPERE CARRIED TO PRISON, 753 505—167=338—50 (74':2)=2S8— 49=239— 50 (74:2)= 505—167=338—50=288—50=238—50=188— \%b& h col.=176. 505— 167^S38— 50=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 50=188. 505— 167=338— 50=308— 50=258— 90 (73:1)=168. 508—1 68=340 + 1 =341 . 505—167=338—30=308—193=115—15 b & 7^=100. 248— 100=148+1=149+<^=160. 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 193 =45. 447—45=402+1=403+3 i> col =406. 505—167=338—49=289—248=41—24 b & h=Yl. 505—167=338-30=308—198=110; 83+1=84 +3 b col. 87. 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 1 98=1 10. 505— 1 67=338 —30=308—49=259- 248=1 1 + 193= 204—2 /?=202. 505—167=338—49=289—248=41—22 b & /^=19. 284—19=265+1=266. 505—167=338—30=308—193=115. 248—115= 133+1=134 + 16 /; & h col. 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 248=41— 24 /^ & h (248)=17. 447—15=432+1=433. 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288— 248=40— 1 h col.= 505—167=338—49=289—248=41—22 b & /i=19. 447—19=428+1=429. 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308— 193=115— 15 /; & // =100. 248—100=148 + 1=149. It seems that the rioters had also kindled a fire to light their destructive work. For we have: Word. Page and Column. 289 75:2 in 176 74:1 the 188 74:1 mean 341 76:1 time, (160) 74:2 followed the 406 75:1 others, 17 75-1 came 87 75:1 up. 110 75:1 He 202 75:1 tells 266 74:1 them 150 74:2 to 433 75:1 make 38 75:1 him 429 75:1 a 149 74:2 prisoner. 15 505— 167=333- 50=288— 248=40— 24^& /2 (248)= 16—1 //=15. 505—167=338—30=308—198=110. 284—110= 174+5=175. 505—167=338—50=288—198=90—22— b (198)=6l 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168—1 k col. =167. 505— 167=338— 30=308— 198=110— 9 <^& /;=101. 505—167=338—50 ^74:2)=288— 49 (76:1)=239— 50 (74:2)=189— 12 b&k col. =177. 505— 167=338— 50=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 298=40. 284—40=244+1=245. 505—167=338—50=288—198=90—24 b & // (193)=66. 66 505—167=338—30=308—198=110. 284—110=174 + 1=175 + 6 /^col.=181. 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 50 (74:2)=188+193=381— 8 /^=373 505—167=338—30=308—198=110+194=304— 3^ col. =301. 75:1 After 175 74:1 quenching- 68 75:2 the 167 75:2 fire, 101 75:1 the 177 74:1 flames 245 74:1 of 66 75:2 which • 181 74:1 even 373 75:1 yet 301 75:1 burned. 754 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. Word. Page and Column. 261 76:1 my 262 76:1 Lord The word qiieiichiiig only occurs one other time in all the thousand pages of the Plays; and here it coheres arithmetically \wnhjfc7wc, /ire and burned; and this is the only time when y/i^wt' occurs in these two plays of ist Siwd. 2d He)iry IV.; and this is the only occasion when burned is found in 2d Henry IV.; and it occurs but once in ist Henry IV. And here the narrative changes slightly its root-number; heretofore we have elaborated this part of the story by 505 — 167=338: but in that 167 (74:2) there are twenty-one bracketed words and one hyphenated word; if we count these in, then the 167 becomes 189; and 189 deducted from the root-number, 505, leaves, not 338, but 316. Hence, for a long narrative, hereafter, 316 becomes the root-number. We have seen a similar change take place on page 718, ante, where a whole chapter grows out of 516 — 167=349 — 22 b & h (i67)=327. We read: ' 50i5_l 67=338— 22 /; & //=316— 50=266— 5 //=261. 505—167=338—22/. & //=316— 49=267— 5 /^=262. 505—167=338—22 b & //=316— 193 (75:1)=123. 498 —133=375+1=376. 505—167=338—22^ & 7^=316-193=123. 457—123 =334+1=335. 505—167=338—22 /; & /;=316— 193=123— 15 h & //= 108—5 b & // col. =103. 505—167=338—22 /- & //=316— 50 (74:2)=266— 49 (76:1)=217— 145=72. 505—167=338—22 b & //=316— 193=128. 449= 123=326+1=327. 505—167=338—22 b & 7^=316— 193=123— 15/' & /i= 108—50 (76:1)=58. 505—167=338—22^ & 7^=316— 50=266— 13 /'=253. 505—167=338—22 /'& 7^=316—193=123. 505—167=338—22 b& 7^=316—50=266. 505—167=338—22 b & 7/=316— 49 (76:1)=267. 505— 1 67=338— 22 b & 7/=31 6— 50=266. 603—266 =337+ l=g 379 335 76:1 76:2 tells them 103 76:1 to 72 76:1 make 327 76:1 a 58 76:2 litter 253 75:1 and 123 76:1 lift 266 76:1 the 267 73:1 corpse 338 76:2 up. The exquisite art of the work is shown in that word biUer. We have already (505 — 448=57) used the 57th word, /ler, (7/f';- Grace is furious, etc.); here we use the 58th word, bitter; and after a while we shall find the word de7-whel»ied, the 55th word, used to describe Bacon's feelings when he heard the dreadful news that Shakspere was to be arrested and put to the torture to make him disclose the author of the Plays. Now the Cipher story brought the words d'erzvhelmed — her — litter into jux- taposition. How was Bacon to use these words in the external play? There- upon, his fertile mind invented that grotesque image, wherein the corpulent Fal- staff says to his diminutive page: I do here walk before thee, like a sow that hath oer'cvlielnicd ^\ /ler litter hut one. It will be found that we owe many of the finest gems of thought in the Plays to the dire necessities of the great cryptologist, who, driven to straits by the Cipher, fell back on the vast resources of his crowded mind, and invented sentences that would bring the patch-work of words before him into coherent order. Take that beautiful expression: SHAKSPEKE CARRIED TO PRISON. 755 O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird, Which ever, in the haunch of winter, sings The lifting up of day.' It will be found that summer, haunch, winter, sings and lifting are all Cipher words, the tail ends of various stories, and the genius of the poet linked them to- gether in this exquisite fashion. There was, to the ordinary mind, no connection between haunch, a haunch of venison, and summer, 'winter and sings, but in an instant the poet, with a touch, converted the haunch into the hindmost part of the winter. It is no wonder that Bacon said of himself that he found he had "a nimble and fertile mind." ' 2d Henry IV., iv, 2. CHAPTER XIII. THE YOUTHFUL SHAKSPERE DESCRIBED. We will draw the curtain and show you the picture. T^velfth Night, i\s. WHEN "my Lord" (as the peasants called him) — Sir Thomas — captured one of the marauders and destroyers of his property, he was of course curious to know who it was. And so by the same root-number (playing between the end of scene second, 76:1, and the subdivisions of 75:1) we find the following words coming out: 505— 1 67=338— 50=288— 1 93 (75 : 1 )=95. 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 50=258— 28 (73 : 1 )=230- 145=85. 448—85=363+1=364. 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169—145= 24. 448—24=424+1=425. 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258-63 (73:1)=195- 10 ^=185. 505—167=338—50=288—193=95. 447—95=352 + 1=353+3 /> col. =356. 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 50=258— 28 (73 : 1 )=230- 145=85. 498— 85=413 + 1=414. 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 50=258— 79=1 79—49= 130. 508—130=378+1=379+4/; & /: col.= 505— 167=338-30=308— 49=259— 79(73 : 1)=180- 4 (^ col. =176. And when the blood was scraped away from the face of the wounded man, he recognized " William Shagspere, one thone partie." Little did Sir Thomas think, as he gazed upon him, that the poor wotinded wretch was to be, for centuries, the subject of the world's adoration, as the greatest, profoundest, most brilliant and most philosophical of mankind. The whole thing makes history a mockery. It is enough, in itself, to cast a doubt upon all the established opinions of the world. I would note the fact that the word scraped occurs in but two other places in all the Plays I Word. Page and Column. 95 75:1 He 364 76:1 scraped 425 76:1 the 185 74:1 blood 356 75:1 away 414 76:1 from 383 75:2 his 176 76:1 face. 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169. 169 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258— 63 (73:1)=195— 50=145—50=95. 95 756 75:1 He 75:2 remembered THE YOUTHFUL SHAKSPERE DESCRIBED. 757 Word. 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 50=258— 90=1 68—145= 23 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 50=258— 90=1 68. 458— 168=2904-1=291+8 (J & // col. =299. 299 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 50=258— 63 (73:1 )=1 95— 50=145. 508— 145=363+ 1=364+3-^ col. = 367 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168. 508— 168=340+1=341+6 b col =347. 347 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258— 28 (73:1)=230— 145=85. 193-85=108+l=109+6/v& //=115. 115 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168. 168 505—167=338—50=288—193=95. 248—95=153+ 1 // col. =155. 155 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169—145= 24— 3/'(145)=21. 21 505— 167=338— 30=308^50=258— 28 (73:1W230— 145=85. 85 505—1 67=338—30=808—50=258—248=10. 10 505— 167=338— 50=288— 193=95— 50 (76:1)=45. 193—45=148 + 1=149. 149 Page and Column. 77:1 r6:2 75:2 75:1 76:1 74:2 77:1 77:1 74:1 the rascally j knave \ well; there was not a worse in the 75:1 barony. And here follows the description of the youthful Shakspere, as he appeared on his native heath: — one of the half-civilized boys of " the bookless neighbor- hood" of Stratford; the very individual referred to in the traditions of beer-drink- ing, poaching and rioting which have come down to us. To save work for the printers I will hereafter, instead of printing 505 — 167= 338, in each line, content myself with commencing each line with 33S. 338—30 (74:2)=308— 145=163— 3 b (145)=160. 338—30=308—146=162. 457—162=295+1=296. 338—30=308—146=162—3 b (146)=159. 457—159 =298+1=299. 338—30=308—145=163. 338— 30=308— 146=162— 9 h&h col.=153. 388—30=308—145=163—5 b & // col. =148. 338—30=308—50=258—50 (76:1)=208. 457—208 =249 + 1=250. 338—163=175. 338—49 (76:1)=289— 146=143— 3 b (146)=140. 457 —140=317+1=318. 338—30=308—49=259. 338—29 (74:2,)=309. 456—309=148+1=149. 338—50=288—146=192—3 /' (146)=189— 4 b col.= 338—49=289—146=193—3 b (146)=190— 4 b col.= 338—49 (76:2)=289— 146=143— 1 h col.=142. 338—49 (76 :2)=289— 146=143. 338—49 (76:2)=289— 161=128+457=585— 3 b col.= 338—193=145—5 /' & h col.=140. 338—193=145—4/' col. =141. 160 77:1 The 296 76:2 horson 299 76:2 knave 163 76:1 was, at 153 76:1 this 148 76:1 time, 250 76:2 about 175 78:2 twenty; 318 76:2 but 359 76:1 his 149 76:2 beard 185 76:2 is 186 76:2 not 142 76:2 yet 143 76:2 fledged; 582 76:2 there 140 76:2 is 141 76:2 not 758 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 338—50 (74:2)=388— 146=142. 338—30=308—145=163. 457—163=294+ 1=295. 338—145 (7G:2)=193— 3 b (146)=190— 2 // col.=188. 338—29 (74:2)=309. 338—30=308—145=163. 338—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1 )=338— 146=142 —3 /. (146)=139. 338—49 (76:1)=289— 146=143. 577—143=434+1 =435+17 (^& //=452. 338—30=308—50=258—15 b &i h col.=243. 338—193=145. 457—145=312+1=313. 338—30=308—49=259. 603—259=344+1=345+ 2 h col. =347. 338—30=308—146=162—3 b (146)=159— 4 b col.= 338— 30=308— 145=163— 3 ^(145)=1 60—4 h col.= 338—30=308—49=259. 338—30=308—49=259—145=114—3 b col.=lll. 338—50=288—50 (76:1)=238. 338—50=288—162 (78:1)=126. 338—50=288—50 (76:1)=238— 7 b col. =231. 338—49 (76:1)=289— 161=128. 610—128=482+1= 338—30=308—49=259—3 // col. =256. 338—49 (76:1)=289— 162=127— 32 (79:1)=95 —11 b col. =84. 338—50=288—162 (78:1)=126— 58 (80:1)=66. 338—162=176—49 (76:1)=127. 603—127=476+1= 477+3 b col.=480 338—162=176—49 (76:1)=127. 458+127=585. 338—50 (74:2)=288. 603—288=315 + 1=316. 338—49 (76:1)=289. 603—289=314+1=315+2 h= 338—50 (74:2)=288. 603—288=315 + 1=316 + 3 7^=318. 338—30=308—145=163. 457—163=294+1=295. 338—30=308—162=146—50=96—1 // col. =95. 338—50=288—57 (79:1)=231. 338—30=308—162=146. 458—146=312+1=313+ 7 /; & //=320. 338—50 (74:2)=288— 49 (76:1)=239. 338—49 (76:1)=289. 603—289=314+1=315+ 10 b & 7^=325. 338—50=288. 338—145=193. 577—193=384+1=385. 338—30=308—49=259—4 b col. =255. 338—30=308—50 (76:1)=258. 338—50=288—162 (78:1)=126. 498—126=372+1= 338—145=193—161=32—1 7^=31. 338—145=193—3 b (145)=190. 338—304 (78 : 1 )=34. 462—34=428 + 1 =429 . 338—50=288—49 (76:1)=239— 7-5' & 7/ col. =232. 338—49=289—162=127—50=77. 603—77=526+1= Word. Page and Column. 142 76:2 yet 295 76:2 a 188 76:2 haire 309 76:2 on 163 76:2 his 139 76:2 chin; 452 77:1 it 243 76:1 is 313 76:2 smooth 347 76:2 as 155 76:2 my 156 76:3 hand. 259 76:2 He 111 76:1 was 238 76:2 almost 126 78:2 naked; 331 78:1 without 483 77:2 shirts, 356 76:2 cloak 84 78:2 or 66 80:2 stockings. 480 76:2 He 585 76:2 doth 316 76:2 weare 317 76:2 nothing 318 76:2 but 295 76:2 a 95 76:2 cap; 231 76:2 his 330 76:2 shoes 339 76:2 out 325 76:2 at 388 76:2 the 385 77:1 heels, 355 76:2 short 358 76:2 slops, 373 76:1 and 31 78:2 a 190 76:2 smock 429 78:2 on 232 76:2 his = 527 76:2 back, THE YOUTHFUL SHAKSPERE DESCRIBED. 759 338—145=193—3 b {145)=190— 3 h col.=187. 338—317 {79:1)=21. 338—49 (76:1)=289— 162=127+31 (79:1)=158.. 338—50=388—162=126—32=94—3 h col.=91. 338—50=288—162=126—58 (80:1)=66. 523—66 457+1=458. 338-162 (78:1)=176— 32 (79:1)=144. 462- 318 + 1=319+2/^=321. 338—145=193—3/' (145)=190— 1/> col.=189 338—145=193—3 / (145)=190. 577—190=38 338—50 (74:2)=288— 49 (76:1)=239— 145=94. —94=483+1=484. 338—50 (74.2)=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 145=93, —93=484+1=485. 338—30=308—49 (76:1)=259. 338—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 163=75- (79:1)=43. 462—43=419 + 1=420. 338—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 163=75- (79:1)=48. 838—162=176—32=144. 468—144=324+1= + 1 //col.= 338—30=308—145=163—5 / & h col.=158. 338—50 (74.2)=288— 49 {76:1)=239— 145=94. 94=483+1= 484+5 b & //=389. 338—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76: 1)=238— 145=93. —93=384+1=385+5 b & /^=390. l^ord. Page and Column. 187 76:1 out 21 79:2 at 158 79:1 elbow, 91 78:2 and 458 80:2 not *±^= 321 78:2 over (189) 77:1 clean. *7+l= 388 77:1 The 577 484 77:1 truth 577 485 77:1 is, 259 76:2 he -32 420 78:2 lived, -32 43 78:2 at =325 320 78:1 this 158 77:1 time, in 577— 389 77:1 great 577 390 77:1 infamy, Here we have, brought out by the same root-number (33S), a whole wardrobe: caj> ■ — shirts — cloak — stockings — shoes — smock; together with out — at — heels — 01! — back — out — at — elbo7vs; and also horson — knave — weave — nothing — almost — naked. Why — if this is the work of chance — did not some of these words, descriptive of clothing, come out by the other root-numbers, or by this same root- number, when applied to other pages ? • Smock occurs but once in this play and but six other times in all the Plays; elbow is found but once in this act and but twice in this play; shiiis occurs but this once in this act; slops is found only this one time in this play, and /«/ ^«^ other time in all the Plays; this is the only time stockings is found in the play, and it occurs but eight times besides in all the Plays; this is the only time shoes is found in this play; and this is the only time cap occurs in this act; and this is the only time infamy is found in this play. Can any one believe that all these rare words came together, in so small a compass, by chance; and that, by another chance, they were each of them made the ssSth word from some one of a few clearly defined points of departure in counting? Observe those words almost naked. Each is derived from 338; nay, each is derived from 338 minus 50^288. We commence with 288 at the end of scene 2 and go forward to the next column, and we have almost; we take 288 again, and commence at the end of the next scene and go forward again to the next column, and we have naked ! This alone would be curious; but taken in connection with all the other words in this sentence, which cohere arithmetically and in sense and 760 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. meaning, with almost naked — no shirts or stockings — dotli wear nothing hut a cap, and shoes out at the heels, and a smock out at the elbozv, not over clean, it amounts to a demonstration. The word j-A'/j signified breeches. We have in the Plays: " A German, from the waist downward all slops." ^ We also find, in the text under consideration, Falstaff speaking of "the satin for my short cloak and slops." The word smock signified a rough blouse, such as is worn by peasants and laborers.'^ In the text the word smock is disguised in smack, which was pronounced smock in that age. Some explanation of the figures used as modifiers in the Cipher-work are necessary. We are advancing, as Bacon would say, "into the bowels of the" play. Page 77 is solid; — that is to say, there is no break in it by stage directions or new scenes. The first column of page 78 contains two fragments; one of 162 words, being the end of scene third; the other the first part of Sccrtia Quarta, con- taining 306 words, with 17 bracketed words and 3 hyphenated words besides. If we count from the end word of scene third upward, exclusive of that word, as we have done in other instances, we have 161 words; if we count from the beginning of scene fourth we have 162 words. In this fragment the words, " th'other," on the 14th line, are counted as one word — " t'other." From the end word of scene third downward there are 306 words; from the first word of scene fourth downward there are 305 words. The next column of page 78 is unbroken. When we reach the next column (79:1; we have a complicated state of things. The column is broken into four fragments. The first of 31 words, with 5 words in brackets, con- stitutes the end of scene fourth. Then we enter act second. The first break is caused by the stage direction. Enter Falstaffe and Bardolfe, and ends with the 317th word from the top of the column; being the 286th word from the end of the last act, or 285 from the beginning of act second, or 284, excluding the first and last word. This gives us the modifier 286 or 285, or 284. And to the bottom of the column there are igg or 200 words. The next break in the text is caused by the stage direction. Enter Ch. Justice, ending with the 461st word, and containing 143 or 144 words, accordingly as we count from the beginning of that subdivision or the end of the preceding one; and the fourth fragment runs from the 461st word to the end of the column, and contains 57 or 58 words. The second column of page 79 is broken by the stage direction, Enter M. Gower. The first contains 533 words; the second con- tains 64 or 65 words; and there are 534 words from the first word of the second subdivision, inclusive, to the top of the column. This page gives us therefore these modifiers: 31—32; —317— 318; — 284 — 285— 2S6; —199—200; —461— 462;— 143— 144; — 57— 5S; — 533—534; —64—65. And when we turn to the next column (78:1) the remainder of the scene, scene I, act 2, gives us 338 words, with 12. b & ^ h words additional; and the fragment of scene second, act 2 (78:1), gives us 57 or 58 words, as we count from the beginnin~ of scene second or the end of scene first. And the next column gives us two frag- ments, yielding 461-2 and 61-2. And here I would call the attention of the reader to the curious manner in which the stage directions are packed into the corners of lines on page 79, as compared with column i of page 75, where the words. Enter Morto7i, are given about half an inch space; or on page 64, where one stage direction is assigned > Muck Ado about Nothing, ii, 2. ^ See Webster^ s Dictionary, " .Sniock^'' and ^''Smock-frock" THE YOUTHFUL SHAKSPERE DESCRIBED. 76 1 three-quarters of an inch space; or page 62, where three stage directions have nearly an inch and a half space, while three others, on this page, 79, have not even a separate line given them. The crowding of matter on some pages, as compared with others, is also shown by contrasting the small space allowed for the title of Actus Sccniidns, Sciena Prima, on 79:1, with the heading, not of an act, but a scene, on the next column (80:1). In the one case the space from spoken word to spoken word is five-eighths of an inch, in the other it is an inch and one-sixteenth. And that this is not accidental is shown also in the abbreviations used on page 79: Chief is printed Ch.; remembered is printed remebred; a hundred is printed a 100; cf is constantly used for ti/id; Af. is used repeatedly ior Master; Mistress is printed Mist.; thou is repeatedly printed " yl " twenty shillings is printed 20 s. And observe how Lombard street and silk man (79:1. 29th line) are run together into one word each, where anywhere else we should at least have had a hyphen between their parts. And that these things were deliberately done is shown in the case of the word i-emembered (j():i, 16 lines from end); if it had been simply printed remebred we might suppose it was a typo- graphical error, but the printer was particulai to put the sign ~ over the e to show that there had been an elision of part of the word. Now it took just as long to put in that mark as it would have taken to insert the w and the additional e between the b and e. (Did the ordinary fonts of type of that age use this elision sign? Or were these types made to order ?) A still more striking fact is, that while by uniform custom each speaker in the text of the Plays is allowed his line to himself, yet in two instances, on page 79, the words uttered by an interlocutor are crowded in as part of the line belonging 10 another speaker. Thus we have (79:1, 12th line from end) this line: Falst. Keep them off, Bardolfe. Fang. A rescue, a rescue. And again (79:2, 3d line): I am a poor widow of Eastcheap and he is arre- sted at my suit. Ch. Just. For what summe ? Here v/e see that the printer has not even room to print in full the w^rds Chief Justice, but condensed them into Ch. Just. Now every printer will tell you that unless there had been some special and emphatic order to crowd the text in this extraordinary fashion, it would not have been done; but a dozen lines or more of page 79 would have been run over onto page 80, where, as we have seen, there is plenty of room for them. Compare 79:1 or 79:2 with 80:1. There are in So:i no abbreviations in spelling; no contractions, with the single exception of one J\F for Master; there is no d"-" for and; no using of figures . for words, although we have " fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse;" no running of the speeches of two characters together in one line. And there are 631 words on 79:2 and only 403 words on So;i ! And yet each is a column, the one following the other. Why should one column contain 22S words more than the other, or one- third more words than the other ? There is on page 79 matter enough to constitute two pages and a half, printed as column i of page 80 or as column i of page 62 is printed. But the exigencies of the Cipher required that column 79:2 should contain 228 words more than column 80:1; and the carrying of a single word over from the one to the other would have destroyed the Cipher on both pages; and hence all this packing and crowding of matter, which one cannot fail to observe by simply glarc- ing at the page, as given herewith in facsimile. CHAPTER XIV. THE BISHOP OF WORCESTER AND HIS ADVICE. The curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of a man, the heart of a monster. IVinter's Taie, zi\s- 505—167=338. Page and Word. Column. 338—30=308—50=358—49=209. 603—209=394+1=395 76:2 The 338—30=308—49=259. 498—259=239+1=240. 240 76;1 Bishop 338—30=308—50=258—49=209—148=63. 63 77:1 said. Who was the Bishop? It was his Lordship Sir John Babington, Bishop of Worcester — " the right reverend father in God, Lord John, Bushop of Worcester " — of the diocese in which Stratford was situated, — for whose protection was executed that famous bond, dated November 28, 1582, to enable "William Shagspere, one thone partie, and Anne Hathwey of Stratford, in the dioces of Worcester, maiden," to marry with " once asking of the bannes of matrimony between them." ' We know that the Bishop belonged to the Cecil faction, and when Essex was arrested for treason, and he thought he could do so safely, he took advantage of the oppor- tunity to attack him. Hepworth Dixon says: Babington, Bishop of Worcester, glances at him [Essex] cautiously in a court sermon; but when sent for by the angry Queen he denies that he pointed to the Earl.'^ The Bishop belonged to the Cecil faction; he was Sir Robert's superserviceable friend, and the very man, of all others, to tell him all about Shakspere's youth; and we will see hereafter that ' ' Anne Hathwey " had dragged the future play-actor before "Sir John, as Bishop of the diocese; and that Sir John had compelled Shakspere to marry her. So the Bishop knew all about him. And herein we find an explana- tion of the bond just referred to; and the hurried marriage; and the baptism tread- ing fast upon the heels of the bridal. And it was the Bishop of Worcester who gave Cecil the description of Shak- spere's appearance in his youthful days which we copied into the last chapter. And there is a great deal in the Cipher story about the Bishop of Worcester. When Cecil became suspicious of the Plays, he gave Sir John the plays of Richard II. and Measure for Measure to examine, or, as Bacon was wont to say, to anato- mize — {The Anatomy of Wit, The Auatoitiy of Melancholy, eic.) The Bishop found 1 Halliwell-Phillipps' Outlines, p. 569. * Personal History of Lord Bacon, p. 123. 762 THE BISHOP OF WORCESTER A A'D HIS ADVICE. 763 the same strain of infidelity in Measure for Measure which, centuries afterwards, shocked the piety of Dr. Johnson; and he then told Cecil the story of Shakspere's life, and expressed his opinion that the ragged urchin who had been dragged before him, at eighteen years of age, and constrained, perforce, to accept the responsi- bilities of m'atrimony, never wrote the play of Measure for Measure or Richard II. The .Bishop of Worcester is also referred to in that part of the Cipher narra- tive which grows out of the root-number 523, modified by commencing to count at the end of the second subdivision of 74:2, the same subdivision which gives us all the 33S story; but instead of counting only to the beginning of the subdivision, (167), we go to the top of the column, which gives us 21S words as a modifier. We then have: 523—218=305. And if we again modify this by deducting 193 (upper 75:2), we have left 112; or, if we deduct 254 (lower 75:2), we have 51 left; and if we deduct 50 at the end of scene second (76:1) we have 255 left. And this last number, 255, gives us the words Bishop and Worcester. Thus: if the reader will commence at the top of 76:1, and count down the column, counting in all the words, bracketed and hyphenated, he will find that the 255th word is the end word of the 240th compound word Arch- bishop; and if he will carry his 255th number down the next preceding column, but not counting in the bracketed and hyphenated words, he will find that the 255th word is the word Worcester; so that the 255th word, 76:1, is Bishop, and the 255th word, 75:2, is IVorcester. And observe the exquisite cunning of the work. If the reader will look at the opening of this chapter he will see that that same last word of Arch-bishop was used in the 338 narrative. That is to say, 338 minus 30 (the modifier on 74:2) equals 30S, and this, commencing at the beginning of scene third (76:1), and carried down the column, leaves 259; and 259, carried up the column, counting in the hyphenated words, brings us to the same word (^/V//(?/ — the last word of arch-bishop. And some time since we saw the arch of ihat word arch- bishop used to give us the first syllable of the name of the man Archer, who slew Marlowe ! But lest it should bt thought that this coming together of Bishop and Worcester, by the same number, 255, was another accident, I pause here, and, leaving the story growing out of 338 alone for a while, I give a part of the narrative in which these words Bishop of Worcester occur. And here I w-ould ask the reader to observe that you cannot dip into this text, at any point, with any of these primal root-numbers, 505. 513. 516 or 523, without unearthing a story which coheres perfectly with the narrative told by the other numbers. And this has been one cause of the delay in publishing my book. I have been tempted to go on and on, working out the mar- velous tale; and I have heaps of fragments which I have not now time to put into shape for publication. I have been like Aladdin in the garden: I turn from one jewel-laden tree to another, scarce knowing which to plunder, while my publishers are calling down the mouth of the cave for me to hurry up. Cecil says to the Queen: 523- 305—50 (76:1)=255— 145=110— 3 b (145)=107 30.5—50=255 305—50=355. 305—50=255. n 8—305. Word. Page and Column. 1=107. 107 77:1 I 255 77:1 sent 255 76:1 a 255 76:2 short 764 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 305—146 (76:2)=159— 1 b col.=158. 305—50=255—32 (79:1)=223. 305—146=159—4// col. =155. 305—50=255—7 /; col.=248. 305—50=255. 449—255=194 + 1=195+2 h=Wl. 305—193=112—50 (76:1)=62. 603—62=541 + 1=542. 305—193=112—49 (76:1)=63. 305-193=112. 457+112=569. 305—193=112—50=62+457=519. 305—193=112—50=62. 305—50=255. 508—255=253+1=254. 305—193=112—15 b & h (193)=97. 448—97=351 + 1= 305—49 (76:1)=256— 145=111. 577—111=466+1 =467+3 b (145)=470. 305—50=255—14 b & h col. =241. 305— 193=112-^50=62. 458—62=396+1=397. 305—50=255. 305—49=256—5 h col.=251. 305—145=160—3 b (145)=157. 305—193=112. 449—112=337+1=338. 305—146=159. 449—159=290+1=291. 305—146=159. 498—159=339+1=340. 305—50=255—49 (76:1)=206— 32=174— 5 b (32)= 169—2 b col. =167. 305—254=51. 508—51=457+1=458. 305—193 112. 457—112=345 + 1=346. 305—193=112—15 b & h (193)=97. 305—50=255—11 b & h col. =244. 305—50=255—10 b col. =245. 305—254=51. 448—51=397+1=398. 30.5—50=255—162 (78:1)=93. 305—32 (79:1)=273. 468—273=195 + 1=196. 305—50=255. 610—255=355+1=356+9 b col.= 305—49=256. 610—256=354+1=355. .Q05— 50=255— 32 (79:1)=223+ 162=385— 9 ^=276. 505—50=255—32 (79:1)=223. Page and Word. Ci'lur.'.n. 158 77:1 time 223 76:2 since, 155 77:1 your 248 77:1 Majesty, 197 76:1 for 542 76:2 my (63) 76:1 Lord 569 76:2 Sir 519 76:2 John, 62 76:2 the 254 75:2 noble =352 76:1 and .470 77:1 learned 241 76:1 Bishop 397 76:2 of 255 75:2 Worcester, 251 76:1 a 157 77:1 good, 338 76:1 sincere 291 76:1 and 348 76:1 holy 167 77:2 man; 458 75:2 and 346 76:2 had 97 75:2 a 244 77:1 talk 245 76:1 with 398 76:1 him; 93 77:2 and 196 78:1 I 365 77:2 gave 355 77:2 him 276 78:1 the 223 77:2 scroll. Cecil had sent a short-hand writer to the play-house, who had taken down the play of Richard II. The reader will observe that 305, in this example, moves either from the lower subdivision of 76:1, or the upper or lower subdivision of 75:1; 255 yields 1 — sent — a — short — since — for — noble — Bishop — Worcester — talk — -anth — and — gave — scroll; while 112(305 — 193=112) yields tny — Lord — Sir — John — the — of — had — a. Let the reader look at the words Sir John; they both count from the end word of the first subdivision of 76:2, counting downward, and each is the 112th word, but while Sir\s 112 words from 457,/"/'« is modified by deducting 50; that is, instead of commencing to count with 112, from 457, we begin at the beginning of scene third, count in the 50 words therein, and then carry the remainder to 457, and thence down as before. And my Lord \s much the same; my is again 112 less 50 (from the end of scene second downward), carried up 76:2; and Lord \s 112 less 49, THE BISHOP OF WORCESTER AND HIS ADVICE. 765 from the beginning of scene third, carried down 76:1. Surely all this cannot be accident. And the Bishop advised Cecil that Shakspere should be taken and put to the tor- ture and compelled to tell who wrote the PUiys. And here I would call the attention of the reader to one or two other points which prove the existence of the Cipher, and show the marvelous nature of the text. We have seen that 523 minus 218 equals 305, and that 305 less 193 (upper sub- division 75:1) makes 112. Now if we go down 75:2 the 112th word is force, while up the same column the 112th word is liml>s (put his limbs to the question and /o>xe him to tell), while in the next column the 112th word down the column is capable. And if we apply this 112 to the next column, we find it giving us the word sincere (sincere and holy), counting upward from the top of scene third; while upward from the end of scene second it yields sitpposel {xhe Plays it is supposed 'iha.ks^e.re was not capable ol writing); and down the same column the 112th word is that very word, capable; while carried forward to the next column it yields Sir John, and from the same column, 76:1, and the next, 76:2, it gives us my Lord. And observe how cun- ningly supposed and sincere are brought together, the one being the 112th word from the end of scene 2, the other the 112th word from the beginning of scene 3, and note, too. the forced construction of the sentence: Turns insurrection to religion. Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts. Of course there is a clue of meaning running through this, but every word is a Cipher word, and the words are packed together very closely; iurns is "turns the water out of the fish-pond," given in Chapter VI., page 6c)-j,anle; insurrection is used three times in the Cipher story; religion was used in telling the purpose of the Plays, as given in Chapter VII., page 705, ante; and we will find it used again and again; and here in this chapter we have supposed, sincere and holy employed in the Cipher narrative. And Cecil expressed to the Bishop his opinion that Shakspere did not write the Plays. He said: 305—50=255- 30.5—50=255. 305—50=255- 305—50=255- 30.5—50=255- 305—50=255- 30.-)— 50=255- 305—50=255- 1=389+3 305-50=255- 305—50=255- 305—50=255- 30.5—50=255- 305—50=255- 305—50=255 22^ col. = 305—193=112 305—50=255 -145=110- 448—255^ -161=94. -145=110- -32 (79.1)= -146=109. -50=205— -50=205— /;=392. -32=223. -32 (79:1)= -50 (76:1)= -50=205. -;^ 1=224— 32=223. 48. _3/;(145)=107. =193-h1=194-h2 h col.= 498— 94=404 -j- 1=405. -3 b (145)=107— 3 bhh col.= =223. 577—109=468+1=469. 146=^59. 447—59=388-1-1= 146—59. 447—59=388+ =223—145=78—50 (76:1)= =205—145=60. 508—205=303 + 1=304. 14.5=79—50 (76:1)=29. 248—223=25+1=26+ —32 (79:1)=223. Word. Page and Column. 107 77:1 I 196 76:1 ventured 405 76:1 to =104 77:1 tell 223 74:2 him 469 77:1 my =389 75:1 suspicion 392 75:1 that 223 79:1 Master 28 75:2 Shak'st 60 75:1 spur 304 75:2 is 29 76:2 not 48 74:2 himself 112 76:1 capable 223 78:1 enough, 766 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. Word. 305—50=255—32 (79:1;=233— 5 b (32)=318— 50 (76:1)=168. 168 305— 50=255— 32 (79:1)=223— 146=77— 30=47. 447-47=400+1=401. 401 305—50=255—32 (79:1 =223-5 /' (32)=218— 50= 168 305—50=255—32=223—146=77—30=47. 447—47 =400+l=401 + 3/;=404. 404 305—50=255-32=223—5/; (32)=218— 49 (76:1)= 169. 508— 169=339 + 1=340+2// col.==342. 342 305—50=255—31=224. 498—224=274+1=275. 275 305—50=255—31=224—5 b (31)=219— 50 (76:1)= 169. 508—169=339 + 1=340. 340 305—50=255—32 (79:1)=223— 3 h col.=220. 220 305—50=255—32 (79:1)=223. 317(79:1)— 223=94+1=95 305-50=255—49 (76:1)=206— 161 (78:1)=45. 45 305— 50=255— 49=206— 161=45— 32 (79:1)=13. 462—13=449+1=450. 450 305— 50=255— 31=224— 145=79— 50(76:1)=29+ 457=486. 486 305—50=255—31=224—146=78. 78 305—50=255. 449—255=194+1=195. 195 305—50=255—50=205—32=173—5^ (32)=168. 168 305—50=255—49=206—161=45—32=13. 13 305—50=255—146=109—3/; (146)=106. 106 305—161 (78:1)=144. 457—144=313 + 1=314+5 / col=319 -109=388+1=390. 390 111 170 337 305—50=255—146=109. 498 305—49 (76:1)=256— 145=111. 305—50=255—32 (79:1)=223— 50=173— 3 h col. 305—193=112. 448—112=336+1=337. 305—50=255—31=224—5 /; (31)=219— 50=169— 49 (76:1)=120. 120 305—50=255—162=93—50 (76:1)=43. 43 305—193=112. 284—112=172+1=173. 173 305—50=255—50=205—146=59. 448—59=389+1=390 305—50=255—31=224—5 b (31)=319— 50=169— 50 =119— 2/; col. =117. 117 305—50=255—32=223—146=77. 610—77=533+1 =534+2 7/ col. =536. 536 305—50=255—31 (79:1)=224. . 224 305—50=255—50=205. 205 305—50=255—50=205—145=60—3 /; (145)=57. 284—57=227+1=238. 228 305—50=255—32 (79:1)=223— 146=77— 30 (74:2)= 47—9 /; & /; col. 38. 38 30.5—50=255—50=205—146=59. 449—59=390+1=391 305—50=255—50=205—146=59. 284—59=335+1=226 305—50=355—50=205—146=59. 193—59=134+1=135 305—145=160. 508-160=348+1=349+5 /; & h= (354) 305—50=255—31=224—5/; (31)=219. 219 305—50=255—31=224—4 // col =220. 330 Page and Column. 75:3 75:1 76:2 75:2 76:1 75:3 76:3 79:1 78:3 76:3 76:1 76:1 76:1 78:3 77:1 79:2 76:1 77:1 76:1 76:1 75:3 75:3 74:1 76:1 75:3 77:3 76:3 75:3 74:1 and hath not r5:l knowledge enough, to have writ the much 78:3 admired plays that we all rate so high, and which are supposed to be his; and which ever since the death 75:1 of 76:1 More 74:1 low 75:3 have 75:3 been 76:1 put 76:1 forth THE BISHOP OF WORCESTER AND Hrs ADVICE, 767 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 1—50=255—31= 50=255—32= =224—145= =223—146= =79. -50=255—31=224—5 b (31)=219— 50=169— 145= -50=355—162=93. -50=255—20 b col. =235. 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305 305- 305 305 305- 305- 305 305- 305- 305- 305- 305- 305- 305- 305 305- 305- 305 305- 305- 305- 305- 305- 305- 305- 305- 305- 305- 305 305- -146=77— 3/; col.=74. -146=77—50 (76:1)=27. 284— 59=225 -hi -50=255—32=223- -50=255—32=223- 603—27=576+1=577. -50=255—50=205—146=59. =226-h6/^ col. =232. -50=255—50=205—146=59. -50=255—50=205—146=59. ,—50=255—50=205—145=60. 50=255—50=205—146=59. ,50=255—50=205—146=59—6 b & h col. =53. —50=255—32=223—146=77—2 // col. =75. -50=255—31 (79:1)=224— 145=79. -50=255—31=224—145=79. 284—79=205+1^ -50=255—32=223—5 b (32)=218— 50=168. 458-168=290+1=291. -50=255- 50=205— 146=59— 3 /' (146)=56. 248—56=192+1=193+2/^ & 7^=195. -50=255— 31=224— 145=79— 30 (74:2)=49. 447—49=398 + 1 =399 + 3=402. -193=112— 15 /> & //=97— 10/; col. =87. -50=255—50=205—145=60. 248—60=188+1= -50=255—49 (76:1)=206. 603—206=397+1= -146=159—3/^ (146)=156. -49 (76:1)=256— 145=111. 577—111=466+1= -50=255—145=110. -50=255—50=205. -50=255—32 (79:1)=223— 50 (76:1)=173. -50=255—49 (76:1)=206. -50=255. 449—255=194+1=195. -162=143—2 h col.=141. -50=255—31=224—5 / (31)=219— 4// col.= -50=255-162=93. 577—93=484+1=485. -50=255-49=206-162—44. 610—44=566+1 567+2 /^ col. =569. -50=255—32 (79:1)=223— 146=77— 5 b & h col.= -50=255—50=205—32=173. 603—173=430+1= -49=256—30=226—50 (76:1)=176— 1 h col.= -193=112. 248—112=136+1=137+12 b & h co\.- -50=255—32=223. 610—223=387+1=388. -49=256—145=1 1 1 . 457—1 1 1 =346+1=347. -50=255. 508—255=253+1=254—3 h col.= -50=255— 32=(79:1)=223— 7 b & h col. =216. -50=255—162=93—3 / col. =90. -50=255—32=223. 518—223=295+1=296. -162=143. tVord. Page and Column. 79 76:1 in 77 77:2 his = 24 77:1 name. 93 77:2 And 235 75:2 that 74 76:1 it 577 232 59 59 60 59 53 75 79 =206 291 195 402 87 =189 398 156 467 110 205 173 206 195 141 215 485 569 = 73 =431 175 =149 388 347 257 216 90 296 (143) 76:2 74:1 75:3 74:3 76:2 74:1 74:1 76:1 74:1 74:1 76:2 74:2 75 1 74:1 75:1 76:2 77:1 77:1 77:1 75:3 75:2 75:2 76:1 76:1 77:3 77:1 77:3 76:1 76:2 76:2 74:1 77:3 76:2 75:2 76:2 76:1 79:1 IS rumoured that every one of them was prepared under his name by some gentleman. His Lordship advised that the best thing we could do is to make him a prisoner, and, as soon as he is 73:1 apprehended, 768 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 305—193=112—49 (76:1)=63. 508—63=445+1= 305—50=255—32=223—146=77- 50 (76:1)=27. 457—27=430+1=431. 305—50=255—50=205—145=60. 508—60=448+1= 3J5— 50=255— 50=205— 145=60. 508—60=448 + 1=449 + 1/^=450. 305—50=255—146=109. 498—109=389 + 1=390. 305—146=159—3 /' (146)=156. 305—50=255-50=205—31 (79:1)=174. 457—174= 283+1=284. 305—193=112—15 /;& //=97— 49=48. 305—50=255—31=224. 610—224=386+1=387+ 2 /;=389. 305—50=255—32 (79 ■.1)=223— 146=77. 498—77= 421 + 1=422. 305— 193-=112. 248—112=136+1=137. 305—50=255—31 (79:1)=224. 610—224=386+1= 305—193=112. 248—112=136+1=137+11 b col.= 305—50=255—31 (79:1)=224. 448—224=224+1= 305—50=255—32 (79:1)=223. 448—223=225 + 1= 305—50=255—50=205. 305—50=255—32=223—5 b (32)=218. 448—218= 230+1=231 + 5 b & //=236. 305—146=159. 457—159=298+1=299. 305—50=255—32=223—162=6 1 . 305—50=255—162=93. 498—93=405+1=406. 305—50=255—50=205—31=174—5 b & //=169. 610—169=441 + 1=442+9 b col.=451. 305—49=256—162=94. 577—94=483+1=484. 305—50=255—32=223. 610—223=387+1=388. 305—50=255—145=110— 3 /;(145)=107— 3 b & /i col.= 305—50=255—31 (79:1)=224. 284—224=60+1=61 + 1 A col. =68. 305—50=255—31 (79:1)=224— 4 b col. =220. 305—50=255. 32+255=287. 30.5—50=255—32 (79:1)=223. 457—223=234 + 1=235. 305—50=255—146=109—3 b (146)=106. 577—106 =471 + 1=472. 305—50=255-50=205—146=59-2 /i col. =57. 305—50=255—49 (76:1)=206— 145=61— 3 b (145)= 305—50=255—32=223. 498—223=275+1=276+ 2 /; col.=278. 305-50=255—32 (79;1)=223— 5 b (32)=218. 30.5—50=255—50 (76:1)=205— 145=60— 3 b (145)= 57—1 /i col.=56. 305—50=255—31 (79:1)=224— 5 /' (31)=219. 457— 219=238+1=239 + 11 b & /2=250. 305—193=112—1 /i col. =111 305—193=112—10 /; col. =102. 305—50=255—31 (79:1)=224— 5 /.(31)=210. Word. 446 431 =449 450 390 156 284 48 389 422 137 387 148 225 226 205 236 299 61 406 451 484 388 = 104 68 220 287 235 Page and Column. 75:2 r6:2 75:2 76:1 76:1 76:2 76:2 76:1 74:2 77:2 74:2 76:1 76:1 76:1 76:1 76:2 77:2 76:1 77:1 77:2 77:1 74:1 76:2 79:1 76:2 bind him with iron, and bring him before the Council; and it is more than likely the knave would speak the truth, and tell who writ it. But 472 77:1 in 57 76:1 the 58 76:1 event 278 76:1 that 218 76:2 he 56 77:1 lied 250 76:2 about 111 75:1 the 102 74:1 matter 219 77:2 your THE BISHOP OF WORCESTER AND HIS ADVICE. 769 Page and Word. Column. 305— 50=255— 31 (79:1 )=324. 457—224=283+1= 234 76;2 Grace 305— 49 (7G:1)=256— 145=111. Ill 75:2 should 305—193=112—15 b & //=97— 49 (76:1)=48. 457— 48=409+1=410. 410 76:2 have 305— 193=112— 3 /5 col. =109. 109 76:1 his 305—193=112. 508— 112=396-hl=397. 397 75:2 limbs 305—193=112. 457— 112=345 + 1=346+5 /;col.= 351 76:3 put 305—50=255-50=205—31 (79-l)=174. 448—174 =274+1=275. 275 76:1 to 305—50=255—32=224—5 b (32)=219. 449—219=230 + 1=331 + 5 b & //=236. 236 76:1 the 305— 49 (76:1)=256— 145=111. 603—111=492 + 1= 493 76:2 question 305— 50=255— 49 (76:1)=206— 145=61. 61 76:1 and 305—193=112. 113 75:2 force 305—354=51. 448—51=397+1=398. 398 76:1 him 305—254=51—2 // col. =49. 49 76:1 to 305— 50=256— 31 (79:1)=224— 13 (^ &// col. =211. 311 77:3 confess 305—50=355—50=205—162=43—1 A col.=42. 42 77:2 the 305—50=255—32=223—5 6 (32)=218. 449—218= 331 + 1=233+5 /;& /,=S37. 237 76:1 truth. Here, it will be observed, we have two more instances where Shakst-spur and More-loiv come into the Cipher narrative by countings diiTerent from those already- given. And if all this be accident, then surely we have a wonderful array of words growing out of 305. Take that last sentence: Your Grace should have his limbs put to the question and force him to confess the truth; here every word is the 305th word, and they are all found in four columns, 75:2, 76:1, 76:2 and 77:2. Confess only occurs two other times in this play; limbs occurs but two other times in this play, and /cvrt' but three other times in this play. I think an examination will show that wherever limbs, fore and confess are found in the Plays the word question is near at hand. "yJ/rtj-Zfr Shakspere" was used in that day where we would say "ylZ/j/c-rShakspere." And observe that every word of Master Shakst-spur is the 255th word [523 — 218 (74:2) — 305 — 50 (■76:i)=255]. Master and Shakst are each 255 minus 32, the frag- ment at the top of 79:1, and Shakst and spur are both taken through the second section of 76:2 and then carried backward. As a curious illustration of the adjustment of the length of columns to the necessities of the Cipher I would call attention to the first column of page 74, the first of the play. If the reader will turn back to pages 724 and 725 he will find that the same words, prepared (79 — 74:1) and under {20b — 74:1), which are used in the foregoing narrative, were there used as growing out of a different Cipher num- ber, to-vvit, 516; thus: 516 — 167^349 — 22 b & h=2>-l — 248^79. Now if wegodozan the column (74:1) the 79th word is prepared,- and if we go up the column the 79th word is ?/«^(?r(" prepared under the name of," etc.) But we have just seen that 305 minus 50 leaves 255, and this minus 49 (76:1) leaves 206; now if we carry 206 dozvn that same column (74:1), it gives us again the same word under; and if we carry it up the column it gives us again that same word prepared. So that the reader can perceive that the number of words in the column between "jg and £o6 Vfas fixed, and therefore the length of the whole column, by the necessity of making prepared the 79th word from the top and the 206th word from the bottom, and under the 79th word from the bottom and the 206th word from the top ! Was anything more ingenious than this ever seen in the world? CHAPTER XV. SHAKSPERE'S A RI STOCK A TIC PRETENSIONS. Autolycus. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born. CloivK. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. Winter'' s Tale, r', J. EVERY Cipher word m this chapter grows out of the root-inimbcr ^2j — 2i8=jojj and all but the first four commence from the end of scene 4, act i, or the beginning of act ii, scene i. I have given but part of the story in the foregoing chapter. The Bishop goes on to tell Cecil his reasons for thinking that Shak- spere, if arrested, will tell who wrote the Plays. He says that Shakspere is no longer in poverty: 305—50=255—31 (79:1)=224. Page and Word. Column. 224 78:2 Poverty And that neither he nor his men will risk the loss of their heads or their goods to shield the real writer of the Plays: 305—50=255—50=205—31 (79:1)=174. 305—50=255—31=224—31 1> & //=193. 305—50=255—32=223 174 76:1 loss 193 78:2 heads 223 76:1 goods And the Bishop tells Cecil that, t'hough Shakspere— 305—31=274—30 (74:2)=244— 199 (79:1)=45. 468 —45=423+1=424. 305—31=274—50=224—5 /; (31)=219— 4 A col.= 305—31=274- 50=224— 5 1> (32)=219. 219—146= 73_3 /, (146)=70. 577—70=507+1=508+2 //= 305- -3 1=274— 50=224. 305—31=274—30=244—5 /; (32)=239. 305—31=274-50=224-5 d (32)=219. 305—31=274—50=224. 610—224=386+1=387+ 3 /i col.=390. 305—32=273—50=223—5 i (32)=218— 50=168— 146 =22-3 ^ (146)=19. 577—19=558+1=559 + 1 //=560 he is now wealthy, and that his coffers are full. In that age there were no banks, and a man's money was contained in his coffers. We are told that when the father of Pope retired from business, as a merchant in London, he carried home 770 424 78:1 lives 215 78:2 in 510 77:1 great 224 78:2 poverty 239 78:2 in 219 78:2 his 390 r9:2 young days, Word. Page and Column. 274 78:2 His 220 78:2 coffers 190 78:2 are 240 78:2 full. SHA KSPERE' S A RIS TO CRA TIC PRE TENSIONS. 7 7 1 with him |ioo,ooo in a chest, and when he needed money he went to his chest and took it out. There was no drawing of checks in that day. And here I would ask the reader to note the evidences of the Cipher connected with that word coffers. The root-number we are working with is 305 [523 — 21S (74:2)=305]; now, there is at the top of column i of page 79 a fragment of scene 4, act i, containing 31 words; this deducted from 305 leaves 274, and if we count down the next column forward (78:2), that is, if we return into the scene which gave us the 31 words, the 274th word in the column, and the 305th from the end of the scene, is the word his (" should lead his forces hither"). But if we deduct 50 — the com- mon modifier of 74:2 — from 274, we have 224, and the 224th word x's, poverty , just given in the preceding sentence; but if we count in the four hyphens in the column, the 224th word is then the 220th word, coffers; and if we deduct 30 — the other com- mon modifier of 74:2 — from 224, and count down the same column, we have 194. And if we again count in the four hyphenated words, this makes the 194th word the 190th word, are; and if we take 274 again and deduct 30 from that we have 244; and if we again go down the same column and again count in the same four hyphenated words, the 244th word becomes the 240th word, full. Here then we have, in regular order, his coffers are full; thus: 305—31=274. 305—31=274—50 (74:2)=224— 4 /^ col. =220. 305—31=274—50 (74:2)=224— 30=194— 4 // col.= 305—31=274—30=244—4// col. =240. Here every word is the 274th, and is found in the same column, and the last three are produced by counting in the same four hyphenated words. And the Bishop goes on, by the same root-number, 274, to tell how Shakspere got so much money. And here are some striking evidences of the Cipher. We have the sentence "'divided in three divisions," referring to the distribution of the money made out of the Plays; — one part to the theater, one to the actors and one to the ostensible author, Shakspere, who, in turn, divided with the real author, Bacon. Now, the word divisions is very rare in the Plays; it occurs but twice in this play, and tiot once besides in all the other nine Histories ! Yet here we find it co-related arithmetically with divided and three; and this is the only time divided occurs in this play ! And it is found but seven other times in all the Histories. We saw that 305 — 31 (79:i)=274 — 30 (74:2)=244, and that 244, minus the hyphenated words, was full. But if we deduct from 244 the 27 bracketed words in the same column (78:2) we have left 217, and the 217th word in the same col- umn is divided. Now we saw that 305 — 31=274 carried dozim the column produced his (" his coffers"); but if we carry it ///the same column it gives us as the 189th word that rare word divisions, the only word of the kind, with one exception, in all the ten Historical Plays; and as we saw that counting in the hyphens produced the words coffers are full, so, if we count in the hyphens in that last example, we have as the 274th word up the column, not divisions, but three; "divided three divisions;" and if we deduct the common modifier, 198 (74:2), from 274, and go up the next preceding column with the remainder, 76, we have the 393d word, into; — "divided into three divisions." But to make the division of the profits a fair one the shares ought to have been equal: and here we have it: 305 — 31=274; and if we deduct from 274, 79, the common modifierof 73:1, we have left 195; and if we count in '.he 31 bracketed and hyphenated words we have the 164th word, equal. But if from 274 we deduct the common modifier of 74:2, 50, we have 224 left, and if 772 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. we deduct from 224 the same 79 (73:1) we have 145, and the 145th word down the column is and, but carried into the bracket sentence it is fair. And put together we have this sentence: 305—31=274—30 (74:2)=344— 197 (74:3)=47. 4G3— 47=415+1=416. 305—31=274—30 (74:2)=244— 27 b col.=217. 305—31=274. 402—274=188+1=189+8 b & //= 305—31=274—5 /^ (31)=269. 610—269=341 + 1= 342+9 b col.=351. 305— 31=274— 198 (74:2)=76. 468—76=392 + 1=393. 305—31=274. 462—274=188+1=189+3 A col.= 305— 3 1 =274— 50=224— 79=145. 305—31=274—50=224—79=145. 305—31=274—79 (73:2)=195— 31 b & /i col.=164. 305—31=274. 462—274=188+1=189. 305—31=274—50=224—50=1 74. 30.5—31=274—50=224—5 b (31)=219. 305—31=274—50=224—79=145. 462—145=317+1= 305— 31=274— 3 /^ col.=371. 305—31=274—50=224—30=194. 462—194=268+1= 305—31=274—50=224—79 (73:2)=145— 22 b col.= 305—31=274—50=224+31=255—3 b col. =252. 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269. 610—269=341 + 1= 342+3 /^ col.=345. 305—31=274—50=224—30 (74:2)=194— 79 (73:1) =115. 462—115=347+1=348+6 b & h col.= 305—31=274—50=224—79=145. 462—145=317+ 1=318+5=323. 305—31=274—50=224—50 (76:1)=174. 603—174 =429+1=430. 305—31=274^218=56. 305—31=274—30 (74:2)=244— 219 (74:2)=25. 463 —25=437+1=438. 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269— 197 (74:3)=72. 305—31=274—198=76. 76—57=19. 523—19= 504+1=505. 305—50=255—32=233—30=1 93—1 6 1=33 + /2=33 305—32=273-30=243—198 (74:2)=45— 22 b (198)= 23. 518—23=495 + 1=496. 305—31=274. 598—274=334+1=325. 305—286 (31 to 317, 79:1)=19. 462—19=443+1= 305—31=274—50=224—50 (76:1)=174. 305— 31 =274— 50=234— 79=145 . 32 + 145=1 77 . 305—31=274—218=56—2 /^=54. 305—31=374—319=55. 305—31=374. 598—374=334+1=335+1 h col.= 305—31=274—318=56—3 //=54. 305—33=373—30=343—13 h & (^=330. 305—31=274—162=112—2 A col.=110. Word. Page and Column. 416 317 78:3 78:3 They divided 197 78:3 the 351 393 77:3 78:3 money into 193 78:3 three [145] 145 78:3 78:3 fair and 164 189 78:3 78:3 equal divisions. 174 78:3 and 319 78:3 his =318 78:2 ov7n 371 =269 77:2 78:2 part is 123 78:2 five 252 79:1 hundred. 345 77:3 marks. 354 78:3 He 323 78:3 hath 430 (56) 76:3 78:3 bought a 438 72 78:3 78:2 goodiy estate 505 80:2 called 32 78:1 New j 496 79:1 Place, J 325 79:2 and 444 78:3 he 174 76:2 is 177 (54) (55) 326 79:1 78:2 78:2 79:2 going to pluck down 54 78:2 the 330 77:2 old 110 78:3 house, SHAKSPERE'S ARTSTOCRA TIC PRETENSIONS. 773 Word. 19 174 (271) 170 54 19'J 43 255 384 194 429 170 432 384 Page and Column. 78:2 7(io 79:2 7G:2 76:1 78:2 78:2 79:1 78:1 78:2 78:1 78:2 78:1 75:2 which is gone to decay, and build a great one in the spring, fit 305—286 (31 to 317, 79:1)=19. 305—31=274—50=224—50=174. 305—31=274—5 /; (31)=269. 533—269=264+1= 265+/;=271. 305—31=274—50=224—50 (76:1)=174— 4 b col.= 305—81=274—218 (74:2)=56— 2 h col —54. 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269. 462—269=193+1= 194+5 b col. =199. 305—31=274—30 (74:2)=244— 5 /; (31)=239— 197 (74:2)=42. 305— 3 1=274— 50=224 + 3 1 =255 . 305—31=274—50=224+162=386—2 h col.=384. 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269. 462—269=193+1= 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269+ 163=432— 3 /; col.= 305—31=374—50=224—50=174—4 // col. =170. 305— 31=274— 5^ (31)=269+163=433. 305—31=374—146 (76:2)=128— 3 b (146)=135. 508 —125=383+1=384. 305— 31=274— 50-=324. 498—224=274+1=275+ 2 (5. col. =377. 305—31=274—198=76. 305—31=374—50=334—30=194 -145=49. 577—49 =528+1=529+2/^ col. =531. 305—31=274+162=436—20/' & h col. =416. 305—31=274—50=234—163=62—2 // col.=60. 305—31=274—30 (74:2)=344— 163=82— 14 / & h= 305—31=374—50=334—50 (76:1)=174. 498—174= 334+1=335. 305— 31=374— 197 (74:3)=77— 65 (79:3)=13— 3 h (65) =10. 338—10=338+1=339. 305—31=274—50=334—50 (76:1)=174— 3 b col.= 305—31=374—50=334—50=174—145=39 449-39 =430+1=431. 305—31=274—197 (74:2)=77. 305—31=274—197 (74:2)=77— 11 /;=66. 305—31=274—197 (74:2)=77— 65 (79:1)=12— 2 /; (64)= 10 305—31=274—198 (74:2>=76— 64 (79:1)=12. 338 13=336+1=337. 305—31=374—30=244—5=239—31 b & // col.= Architects were in that age called siii-7'eyors; this is shown in the text where the word is used. Foimdatiott occurs only eight times in all the Plays, only three times in the Historical Plays, and only this one time in this play. Walls occurs but this time in this play ! And here we have these two rare words coming together, one on page 78:2, and the other on page 80, that is to say, in two contiguous scenes, and linked together by the same root-number and the same modification of the same root-num- ber, to-wit: 305 — 31=274 — 197 (74:2)=77; and in each case the bracket words are counted in to place the terminal number. And the same remnant, 12, which gives us, carried dovyn 80: 1 {mi?tus the brackets in 65), tcw/Zj-, gives us, carried up from the end of the scene, /«;-/(" walls part up "); and, modified by deducting the brackets, it 277 76:1 for 76 78:2 a 531 77:1 prince. 416 78:1 Indeed, 60 78:2 the 68 78:2 surveyors 325 r6:l are 329 80:1 now 171 76:1 engaged 421 76:1 and 77 79:1 the 66 78:2 foundation = 10 80:1 walls 327 80:1 part 208 78:2 up. 774 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. gives us the word wc'c'/ while the 12th word in the same column is pretty, which, alludes to Shakspere's daughter Susanna: Word. 305—31=274—162=112. 112 305—31=274—50=224—145=79—65 (79:2)=14— 2 h (65)=12. 12 305— 31=274— 50=224— 5 /J (32)=219. 420—219 =201 + 1=202. 202 305—31=274—197 (74:2)=77+ 162=339. 239 305—31=374—197=77. 77 305—31=374—162=113+185=297. 397 30.5—31=274—30=244—6 b&h col. =238. 238 305—31=274—30=244—197=47—2 b col. =45. 45 305— 31=274— 3/^ col. =271. 271 Page and Column. 78:2 80:1 81:2 78:1 78:1 81:1 81:2 78:2 81:2 His pretty daughter, to whom he is much endeered. And the Bishop, who had an eye for the beautiful, proceeds to describe Susanna more particularly, and tells that she has — 305—31=374. 420—374=146+1=147. 147 81:3 a 305— 31=274— 30=244— 5 /^ (31 )=239— 3 // col.= (236) 81:2 sweet 305—31=374—50=224. 420—234=196+ 1=197+ 9^ col. =206. 206 81:3 visage, And has been well taught: 305— 31=374— 50=334— 50 (76:1)=174— 146=38. 339—47=293+ 550 295 77:1 80:1 577—28=549+1=550. 305—31=274—30=244—197=47. 1=293+2 /;=295. Which the Bishop regards as foolish in a man in Shakspere's station in life: 305—31=274—30=344—197=47. 339—47=393+1=293 80:1 foolish. well taught. And the Bishop proceeds to tell that Shakspere not only sought to "bear arms " as a gentleman, but that he was trying to have his father, John Shakspere, knighted ! This statement will appear astounding, but I have already shown (p. 51, ante, et seq.) that he tried to obtain a coat-of-arms for his father by false representa- tions; and he might have hoped that, through the influence of his friends in London and about the court, he could accomplish the other and greater object; or it may have been but a rumor obtaining among the aristocracy of the neighborhood, who were indignant at the rich plebeian setting up for a gentleman. It was in October, 1596, that the application was made to the College of Arms for a grant of coat- armor to John Shakspere. Halliwell-Phillipps says: It may be safely inferred from the unprosperous circumstances of the grantee that this attempt to confer gentility on the family was made at the poet's expense. This is the first evidence we have of his rising pecuniary fortunes, and of his deter- mination to advance in social position.' And Grant White, it seems, shrewdly and correctly guessed * that there must have been some protest against the granting of the coat-of-arms and that this caused the delay from 1596, when the first application was made, to 1599, when it was renewed with sundry alterations. And here we are told that Sir Thomas ' Outlines^ p. 87. 2 See page 53, ante. SHAKSPERES ARISTOCRATIC PRETENSIONS. 115 Lucy was the one who blighted the actor's hopes, of Shakspere and his daughter Susanna, that — The Bishop tells Cecil, speaking Word 305— 31=274— 50=224r-197 (74:2)=27. 27 305— 31=274— 5 ^ (31)=269. -269 305—31=274—50=224—197=27. 533—27=506+ 1=507 305—31=274—30=244—5 1> (31)=239. 339—239= 100+1=101. 101 305—31=274—198 (74:2)=76— 64 (79:2)=12. 396— 12=384+1=385. 385 305—31=274—145 (76:2)=129— 3 /;=126. 162—126 =36+1=37. 305—31=274—50=224—198=26. 462—26=436+1 305—31=274—145 (76:2)=129— 3 /' (145)=126. 462 —126=336-*- 1=337. 305—31=274^30=244—5 b (31)=239+162=401. 305—31=274—30=244—5 l> (31)=239. 338—239 =99+1=100+7 -^ col. =107. 305—31=274—50=224—30=194. 534—194=340 + 1=341+8 l>& h col.=349. 305—31=274—50=224—197=27. 186—27=159 + 1=160. 305—32=273—50=223—16 b & h col.=207. 305— 31=27*— 50=224— 198=26 . 305—31=274—5 h (31)=269— 218=51 + 162=213. 305—31=274—50=224—30=194 + 162=356. 305— 31=274— 30=244r-58 (80:1)=186. 305—31=274—197=77. 305—31=274—198 (74:2)=76+ 162=238. 305—31=274—218 (74:2)=56. 305—31=274—30=244—197=47. 598—47=551 + 1=552. 305—31=274—218 (74:2)=56. 468—56=412+1= The word /f/^ was used in that age where we would say bership. Thus in Macbeth we have: Page and Column. 79:2 It 78:2 is 80:1 the 80:1 80:1 earnest desire 37 78:1 of :437 78:2 his 337 78:2 heart 401 78:1 to 107 80:1 make 349 79:2 her 100 81:2 a 207 79:2 lady 26 78:1 and 213 78:1 advance 356 78:1 himself 186 80:1 among 77 79:2 the 238 78:1 file 56 78:2 of 552 79:2 the 413 78:1 quality. list or catalogue or mem- I have ayf/f of all the gentry.' The word quality was the old expression for aristocracy. In Henry F., iv, 8, we have the phrase, "gentlemen of blood and quality; " and in Lear, v, 3, we have: " Any man of quality or degree." And here I would note that Halliwell-Phillipps- showsthat A^e^a Place had been so named before Shakspere bought it; and that forty-eight years before his pur- chase, to-wit, in 1549, it^ ^^'^s "in great ruyne and decay and unrepayryd;" after that it was owned by different parties before coming into Shakspere's hands. And here, it seems to me, we have an instance of Bacon's profound prevision. I have noted elsewhere how passages were injected into the quartos to break up the count, so that, should any one attempt to get on the track of the Cipher, he would be thrown off the scent; for a few words added upon one page might destroy 1 Macbeth, v, 2. * Outlines, p. 395. 776 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. the Cipher for half-a-dozen pages. And I have also noted that sometimes these additions contained very significant words, the better to attract and mislead the investigator. And in this instance we find that, in act ii, scene 2, in Prince Henry's speech, commencing "Belike, then, my appetite was not princely got," such an additional paragraph was thrown into the text, and that it contained the word ruins:- — ■ " bawl out the ruins of thy linen." Linen is preserved in the Folio, but the rest of the sentence is omitted. Now if any one had imagined, in 159S, that he perceived in all this: bought — estate — pluck — dozvn — old — house — foundation — walls — build — suii'eyors — new — place — decay, etc., a Cipher reference to Shak- spere's home at Stratford, he would naturally fasten on that word, 7-uins, as a part of the story, and would spend his acumen on it; and thus "the non-significants," as Bacon calls them, would have diverted his attention from the significants. And I would here say that a tnark or marc was equal to 13s. 4d., which would be about ^380, or $1,900; but as money had then, we are told, twelve times its present purchasing power, this would be equal to ^^4,560, or $22,800 to-day. This did not represent probably any particular division of the profits, but the amount with which Shakspere returned to Stratford about 1595 or 1596. We find by the records that he paid ^60 for New Place; in 159S he loaned ^30 to Richard Quiney; in 1602 he bought 107 acres of land near Stratford from the Combes for ^^320; and in 1605 he purchased a moiety of a lease of the tithes of Stratford, Welcombe, etc., for ;^440. So that of the ;^38o which he had in 1597-8, according to the Bishop, we can account for ^90, expended near that time, besides the amount which he expended in repairing and reconstructing New Place. And here I would note that Halliwell- Phillipps ' quotes Theobald, who was told, by Sir Hugh Clopton, that when Shak- spere purchased New Place he "repaired and modell'd it to his own mind;" and Halliwell-Phillipps thinks that " the poet made very extensive alterations, perhaps nearly rebuilding it." And he surmises that these alterations were made in 159S, because in that year Shakspere sold a load of stone to the corporation of Strat- ford for lod. ; but it does not follow that the repairs were finished in the same year they were begun, or that the surplus material was sold at once. And the Bishop goes on to speak very contemptuously of Shakspere's aspira- tions. The conflict between the play-actor and his neighbors represented the world-old battle between money and blood; between mortgages and pedigrees; between the new-rich and the old-respectable; and the position of Shakspere and his family could not have been a very pleasant one. The Bishop says of Shakspere: 305—31=274—30=244. 610—244=366+1=367. 305—31= 305—31 = 305—31= 305—31= 458- 305—31= 305—31= 305—31= 305—31= 305—31= =274— 30=244— 197=47 -M62=209— 2 b col =274—30=244—197=47 -M62=209. =274—218 (74:2)=56-hl62=218. =274—50=224—30=194—50 (76:1)=144. -144=314-f 1=315+2 b col.=317. =274—197=77. 577—77=500 + 1=501. =274—50=224. 449—224=225 + 1=226. =274—50=224—30=194—145=49. =274—218=56. 577—56=521 + 1=522. =274. 577—274=303+1=304+16 b & h col. Word. Page and Column. 1 367 77:2 He will =207 78:1 be 209 78:1 satisfied 218 78:1 with 317 76:2 nothing 501 77:1 less 226 76:1 than 49 77:1 knighthood 522 77:1 and =320 77:1 the '^Outlines, p. 231. Page and kVord. Column. 319 80:1 right 78 78:3 to 301 76:2 bear 217 77:1 Sir 49 76:1 To I 189 76:2 amiss ) SHAKSPERES ARISTOCRA TIC PRETENSJONS. 777 305—30=275—197=78. 396—78=818+1=319 305—30=275—197=78. 305. 603—305=298+1=299 + 2 h col =301. 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269. 468—269=199 \- 1= 200+3 // CO). =203. 203 78:1 arms. And the Bishop says that Shakspere's attempts excited the indignation of Sir Thomas Lucy. 305—31=274—50=224—7 /' col. =2 17. 305—31=274—50=224—30=194—145=49. 305-31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239-50 (76:1)= 305—31=274—50=224—50 (76:1)=174. 248—174= 74+1=75+2 A col=77. 77 74:2 Loose 305 —3 1 =274— 50=224— 30=1 94 . 194+1 94=388— 4/^ col. =384. 384 75:1 see. This To-aiiiiss for Thomas may appear forced; but I give it as it stands, because more than once I have found it appearing in the Cipher to represent Thomas. I find that Webster' says there was formerly to the long sound of o, as in old, hoe, etc., what he calls a vanishing or diphthongal sound like oo; and I have myself heard the first syllable of the word Thomas pronounced so as to rhyme with Roinc. Webster thinks the dropping of the diphthongal sound of o in such words as bolt, most, t";/i', etc., is an American provincialism. Thackeray represents " the cockney" of London as saying Turn' -as. Thomas appears very often in 2d fleiuy IV. (and not once in -si Henry IV.), and Bacon could not use it too liberally without arous- ing suspicion; hence this subterfuge. It must be remembered, too, that the pro- nunciation of o was longer and softer then than now. For instance, the word Rome, in Bacon's time, was, it is well known, pronounced Room. We see this in the expression \w Julius Cicsar, i, 2: Now is it Ro»!e indeed and room enough When there is in it but one only man. We have modified it from !vo»i to Rome, and, if our posterity progress in the same direction, the year 2000 may see the city of the Cffisars called Rom or Rum. And the neighbors are very much disturbed over Shakspere's pretensions. They — 305— 31=274— 219 (74:2)=55 + 162==217. 305—31=274—162=112. 305—31=274. 468—274=194+1=195. 305— 31 =274— 50=224— 50 (76 : 1 )=1 74. =74+1=75+22 b=97. 305—31=274—198=76. 305—145=160—6/; col. =154. 305—31=274—219 (74:2)=55. 55 78:2 plot to force himself into their ranks. 305—31=274—50=224—198 (74:2)=26. 462—26= 436+1=437. 437 78:2 His ' Unabridged Dictionary, p. xlii. 217 78:1 look 112 77:2 upon 195 78:1 it 248—174 97 74:2 as 76 78.2 a 154 76:1 bold 778 THE CIPHER NARRA I'lVE. 305—31=274—50=224—163 (78:1)=62. 610—62= 548+1=549. 305—31=274—61 (80:2)=213. 489—213=276+1= 277+2 h col.=279. 57^ 305— 31=27-4— 50=224— 146=78— 3 b (146)=75. —75=502+1=503+2// col =505. 305—31=274—30 (74:2)=244— 197=47— 2 // col.= 305—32=273—50=223—5 b (32)=218. 468—218= 250 + 1=251 + 12 /;=263. 805—31=274—50=224—50=174—162=12. 610-12 =598+1=599. 305—31=274—145=129—3 b (145)=126. 577—126 =451 + 1=452+3 h col. =455. 305—31=274—219=55. 163—55=108 + 1=109. 305—31=274—219=55. 305—31=274—50=224—30=194—162=32. 305— 32=273— 30=243+162=405— 15-^ & //=390. 305—31=274—30=244—50=194+186=380—3 // col.= 305—31=274—197=77. 163—77=86+1=87. 305—31=274—50=224—30=194—5 b (31)=189— 22^ col. =167. 305—31=274. 305—31=274—5/; (31)=269. 468—269=199+1= 200-^3// col. =203. 305—31=274—31 b & h col.=243. 305—31=274—30=244. 489—244=345+1=246. 305—31=274—50=224—1 62=62. 305—31=274—50=224—49 (76:1)=175— 90 (73:1)= 305—31=274. 468—274=194+1=195+3// col.= 305—31=274—4// col.=270. Shakspere's application for coat-armor for his father, in 1596, was made to " William Dethick, alias Garter, principal King of Arms." See how cunningly the name is concealed in Death-thick. And observe how the first word goes out from the beginning of one scene (79:1) and the other from the end of the preceding scene; and each word is found by the same root-number and the same modifica- tion of the same root-number: death is 305, less 32, less 30, carried one scene backward to the beginning of scene 4, act i (78:1); while thick is 305, less 31, less 30, less 50, carried two scenes forward to the beginning of scene 3 of act ii (81:2). And this word thick is comparatively rare in the Plays. It occurs but three other times in 2d I/cmy IV.; but once in King John ; not at all in Richard II., ist Henry IV., Henry V., or the first and second parts of Henry VI. Yet here we find it, just where it is needed to make the name of the " King of Arms," in connection with the story of Shakspere trying to procure a coat-of-arms. If this be accident, it is extraordinary. And Sir Thomas reads Shakspere's pedigree to the King of Arms of England. Referring to his father, he says: 305— 31=274— 30=244— 50=194— 50 (76:1)=144. 144 76:2 I 305— 31 =274- 30=244— 50=1 94—50 (76:1 )=1 44— !! ^31)=239. 458—239= 219 + 1=220. 305—31=274—30=244—5 /' (31)=239— 146=93— 3 b (146)=90— 50=40— 1 h col. =39. 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239— 146=93. 468—93=375+1=376. 305—31=274—30=244—5 /;=239— 146=93. 468—93 =375+1=376+8/' col. =384. 305—31=274—30=244—5 /;=239— 146=93. 468—93 =375+1=376+9/' & h col. =385. And they express the opinion of Shakspere that- 305—31=274—30=244—5 / (31)=239— 3 h col.= 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239. 458—289= 219+1=220. 305—31=274—30=244—5 /' (31)=239— 50=189. 489—189=309+1=310. 305—31=274—30=244—50=194. 508—194=314 + 1=315+8/1 & h col. =323. 305—31=274—30=244—5 / (81)=289— 146=93— 3 /' (146)=90. 284—90=194+1=195. 305— 31=274— 5^ (31)=269— 193=76. 305— 3i=274r-30=244— 50=194— 22 ^ & h col. =172. 172 220 76:2 Writ. 39 76:1 Wit. 376 78:1 The 384 78:1 great 385 78:1 in laeinati 236 76:2 He 220 76:1 was 310 76:1 but 328 75:2 the 195 74:1 first 76 75:2 bringer 172 75:2 of Word. Page and Column. 377 76:1 them 239 76:2 out 94 76:1 on 20 74:1 the 269 81:1 Nearest 274 81:1 of 194 81:1 kin 489- -239= 251 81:1 fetch 489—239 253 81:1 from 254 81:1 Japhet, SHAKSPERKS ARISTOCRA TIC PRE TENSIONS. 783 305—31=274—5/' (31)=269— 50=219— 146=73. 449 —73=376+1=377. 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239. 305—31=274—30=244—5 h (31)=239— 145=94. 305—31=274—254 (75:1)=20. 305—31=274—254=20—4 h (254)=16. 508—16=492 + 1=493. 493 75:2 stage. I have not the time or space to work it all out. The aristocracy jest over poor Shakspere's pretensions of relationship to the blue blood of the county, and Sir Thomas says, in his letter to Sir William Dethick, that he is only connected with them through Japhet ! 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269 305—31=274. 305—31=274—30=244—50=1 94. 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239. 250+1=251. 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239. =250+1=251+2 //=253. 305—31=274—20 b & h col. =254. I do not pretend to work out the sentence, but simply to jot down from my notes some of the principal words. If I followed the root-numbers into all their ramifications each chapter would grow into a book. And here I would call attention to another proof of the arithmetical adjustment of the text. I have just given the words, ' first bringer," thus: 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239— 146=93— 3 /' (146)=90. 284—90=194+1=195. 195 74:1 First 305— 31=274— 5 ,'' (31)=269— 193=76. 76 75:2 bringer. But after a while we will find Bacon expressing his fears that if Shakspere is ■ taken prisoner he will say that he was not the author of the Plays, but simply the first bringer oi them out upon the stage. And the words come out from the primal root-number, 523. If we commence at the end of scene 2 (76:1) and count upward and then go backward and down the column, the 523d word is first; and if we commence again with 523 at the top of column i of page 75, and go down the column and down the next column, the 523d word is bringer ! Thus: 523— 448=(^«f/&warrt') 75 75:2 First 523— 447=(^;-u'fln/) 76 75:2 bringer. And it will be seen that the two words " first bringer " follow each other in the text. It would have been difficult to have placed first and bringer'm the same vicinity without connecting them; hence the length of column i of page 75 and the length of the fragment of scene on 76:1 had to be exactly adjusted to bring the two required words side by side. If there had been 448 words in 75:1, instead of 447, or 449 words on 76:1, instead of 448, both counts would have fallen on the same words I I pity the man who can think all this was accidental. CHAPTER XVI. SHAKSPERE'S SICKNESS. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost thou lead ! 2d Henry II '., //, 4, EVERY word of the first part of this chapter grows out of the root- number J2J — 2l8=joj, modified by deducting ji or J2, to-wit, the number of words in yp:! from the top of the column to the end of scene 4, act i, or to the beginning of scene i, act ii. The remainder of the chapter is derived from ^04 — i6y=jj8, and shows ho2v substantially the same story comes out of the same text by two different root-numbers. My publishers advise me that there are already S50 pages in type, and that I must condense the remainder of the Cipher story. I shall therefore be as brief as possible, and instead of giving a con- tinuous narrative I shall only give fragments of the story. We have two descriptions of Shakspere's sickness, one given by the Bishop of Worcester to Cecil, the other the narrative of Bacon himself, interjected into the story; the former is the briefer of the two. The first grows out of the root-number used in the last chapter, 523 — 218=305; the other from the root-number 505 — 167=338, which gave us the story of Shakspere's youth, his quar- rel with Sir Thomas Lucy, the fight, etc. The Bishop says to Cecil, after describing Shakspere's intended house, his "plate" (591 79:2, 96 80:1); his "tapistry" (594 79:2, 37 80:1); his " bed-hangins " (33 80:1), etc., that he will not live to enjoy his grandeur; that he will — Pagfe and Word. Column. 305— 31=274— 5//(31)==269— 4//=col.=265. 265 78:2 never 305—31=274—50=224. 462-224=238+1=239+ 3/zcol.=342. 242 78:2 need 305-31=274—4/^=270. 270 78:2 it 305—31=274—50=224+32=256. 256 79:1 long. 305_31_274_50=224— 5 ^=219—49 (76:1)=170— 4/; col. =166. 166 76:2 He 784 SHAk'SPEHE'S SICKNESS. 785 Word. 174 209 305—31=274—50=224—50 (76:1)=174. 305-31=274—50=224—5/; (31)=219— 10 l> col.= 305—31=274—50=224—5 /> (31)=219. 448—219= 229+1--230. 305—285 (31 79:1)=20— 2 h (285)=18. 468—18= 450+1=451. 305—193=112. 162+112=274. 305—50=255—32=223. 577—223=354+1=355. 305- -50=255. 305-31=274—27 (73:1)=247. 305-31=274-50 (79:1)=224— 5 /' (31) 219. 610- 219=391 + 1=392. 305—31=274—50=224—5/; (31)=219. 610-219= 391 + 1=392+3=395. 305—31=274—50=224. 610—224=386+1=387+ 11 ^& A=398. 305—31=274—50=224—5/' (31)=219. 610—219= 391 + 1=392+11/; & //=403. 305—31=274—50=224. 610—224=386+ 1=387+9 b=^ 396 305—31=274—50=224. 253 305— 32=273— 50=223— 5 /;=218— 50=168— 162= 6. 610—6=604+1=605. 305—31=274—50=224. 305—32=273—50=223—5 /=2] 8-50=1 68. 458— 168=290-1-1=291. 291 305—31=274—50=224. 610—224=386+1=387+ 3 /^ col. =390. 390 305— 32=273— 50=223— 5 /;=218— 50=168— 146= 22— 3/;(146)=19. 577—19=558+1=559 + 1//= 560 230 451 274 355 255 247 392 395 403 605 224 Page and Column. 76:2 77:2 78:1 78:1 77:1 74:1 78:2 IS. hear, at present very sick; he repents, in 77:2 sack-cloth 77:2 77:2 78:1 76:2 77:2 77:1 and ashes, the lechery of his young days. The reader will observe how singularly the words match with the count. The root-number 305 — 31 (7q:i)=^274 — 5o(74:2)=224, carried up the column (77:2), count- ing in the bracketed words, yields ashes; but counting in both the bracketed and hyphenated words, itgives us sack-clotli. But it we count in, in that 31, the five words in brackets, then we have: 305 — 50^255 — 31=224 — 5 /' (3i)=2ig; and 219 taken up the same column gives us repents, and counting in the three hyphenated words alone it gives us /«, and counting both the bracketed and hyphenated words it gives us (iiid. Here we have repents in sack-cloth and ashes. But this is not all. The same root-number 224 carried up the same column, counting in the three hyphenated words, yields the \\'oxA. young; and the same root-number 255 modified by deducting 32 gives us, less 5 b (32), 218, and this carried to the beginning of the scene and brought backward and up 77:1 gives us days: — young days. And observe that the word lechery occurs only this once in this play, and not again in all the ten Histories. '\nd this is the only time repents is found in this play, and it does not appear again in all the Histories. And this is the only time sack- ' cloth occurs in this play, and it is found but once more in all the Plays I I mention these facts for the benefit of those shallow intellects that think all words neces- sary for all sentences can be found anywhere. And then the Bishop goes on to speak again of Shakspere's wealth: 305— 50=255— 32==223— 5 h (31)=218— 50=168. 458 —168=290+1=291. 291 76:2 His 786 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. Page and Word. Column. 305— 31==274— 50=224— 5^=219— 50=169— 146= 300-31=274—50=224—5=219—50=169—146=23. 318—23=295+ 1=296. 305—31=274—50=224—50=174—146=28. 477— 28=449+1=450. 305—32=273—50=223-30=193+162=355. 305—32=273—50=223—193 (75:1)=30. 448—30= 418+1=419. 305—31=274—193=81—15 b & //=66— 49=17. 603 —17=586+1=587. 305— 32=273— 50=223— 5/^=218— 50=168— 50 (76:1)=118. 305— 32=273— 30=243— 5 /'=238— 145=93— 3 b col. =90. 305—31=274—193=81. 448—81=367+1=368. 305—31=274—50=224—193=31 . 305—32=273—50=223—5/^=218—146=72+163= 235— 5/' col. =230. 305—32=273—50=223—5 ^=2 1 8—50= 1 68—50= 118. 603—118=485+1=486. 23 78:1 purse 296 79:1 is 450 77.1 well 355 78:1 lined 419 76:1 with 587 76:2 the 118 76:2 gold 90 76:1 he 368 70:1 derives 31 76:1 from 230 78:1 the 486 76:2 Plays. The Bishop admits they are popular: 305—31=274—50=224—5 /;=219-50=169— 146= 30.5— 32=273— 50=223— 5 /'=21 8— -50=168-50= 305—31=274—50=224—50=174—145=29—5 /' col 305— 31=274— 50=224— 5 /;=21 9—50= 1 69— 1 46 =23. 468—23=445 + 1=446. 305-31=274—50=224—50=174—161=13. 462— 13=449 + 1=450. 305—31=274—50=224. 305—32=273—50=223—30=193—162=31—1 h col.= 305—32=273—50=223—50=173. 305—32=273—50=223—5-^=218—50=168—146= 22—3 b (146)=19. 305—32=273—50=223—5=218—146=72. 305—32=273—50=223—5-^=218—50=168—163=5. 462—5=457+1=458. 305-32=273-50=223-50=173—50 (76:1)=123. 305—31=274—193=81—15 h & // (193)=66. 458— 60=392+1=393. 305— 31 =274— 50=224— 5=2 1 9— 50=1 69 +162= 305—31=274—50=224—50=174—146=28. 468— 28=440+1=441. 305—31=274—193=81—49 (76:1)=32 305—31=274—30=244. 468— 244=224^ 1=225. 305— 31 =274— 30=244 + 1 62=406. 305—32=273—50=223—5 b & //=2] 8— 50(76:1)= l,i8— 145=23 + 163=186. 305—31=274—50=224—50=174—146=28-3 /> (146)= 23 77:1 The 118 78:1 Plays 24 79:1 are 446 78:1 much 450 78:2 admired,. 224 79:2 and = 30 78:2 draw 173 78:1 great 19 79:1 numbers^ 72 77:1 and 458 78:2 yield 123 78:1 great 393 70:2 abundance: 331 78:1 of 441 78:1 fruit, 32 76:2 in 225 78:1 the 406 7S:1 forms 186 78:1 of = 25 78:1 groats Word. Page and Column. '4—3 b (145) .-)07 77;1 and :28. 28 78:1 pence SHAKSPERKS SICKXESS. 787 305—50=255—31=224—5=219—145= =71. 577—71=50(1 + 1=507. 305—50=255—31=224—50=174—146= Observe here how plays comes out twice by the same number, once as please (plase), 118 up 76:2, and the second time 2.?, plays, 118 down 78:1. And note how cunningly the word is worked in the second time: " For the one or the other /Ayj- the rogue with my great toe." Observe also how the same numbers bring out purse — i:;old — alutndanee — groats — pciiee- — luiieh — admired — draiv — great — numbers, ft\.z., just as we saw another number bringing out of these same pages slices, stiu-kings, cloak, slops, smock, cap; in fact, a whole \yardrobe. This is the only time groats occurs in this play. It is found but four other times in all the Plays. And this is the only time pence occurs in this play. It is found but five other times in all the Plays. Purse occurs but four times in this play. Xhis is the only time admired appears in either 1st or 2d Henry II'.; and this is the only time numbers is found in this act. Abundance occurs but twice in this play, and but eight other times in all the Plays. I should be sorry, for the credit of human intelligence, that any man could be found who would think that all these unusual words — rare on a thousand pages — have concurred arithmetically on two or three pages by accident. And the aristocracy are in dread of the wealthy pai-venu absorbing the territory around him. The Bishop says: 305—50=255—31=224. 610—224=386+1=387. 805—50=225—31=224—5 b (31)=219— 50=169- 146=23. 318—23=295 + 1=296. 305- 50=255—31=224—50=174—146=28—3 b (148)=25. 318—25=293+1=294 305—50=255—32=223-5 /;=2 1 8—50=1 68—50 (76:1)=118. 603—118=485+1=486 + 3 b col.= 305—50=255—32=223—5 /;=218— 50=1 68—146= 22—3 b (146)=19 + 31=50. 305—50=255—32=223-5 /; (32)=218— 50 (76:1)= 168. 603—168=435 + 1=436. 305—50=255—32=223—5=218—50=168—148= 22—3 /; (146)=19 + 162=181. 305—32=273. 610-278=337+1=338+12 /' & //= 305—31=274—193=81—15 b & //=66. 448—66= 382+1=383. 383 76:1 land 305—50=255—31=224—5 /- (31)=219— 49 (76:1)= 170—5 b & //=165. 305—50=255—31=224—5/' (31)=219-49 (76)= 305—50=255—31=224—5 b (31)=219. 610—219= 391 + 1=392 + 9/^ col. =401. 305—50=255—31=224—5 /^ (31)=219— 50 (76:1)= 169—146=23. 518—23=495+1=496. And note this groupof words: bu} all — land — appertinent — to — jVeiu Place. How lawyer-like is the language. Appertinent occurs but once in this play and/'///' twice besides in all the Plays I Yet here it coheres arithmetically with buy — land — New Place. And this is the only time buy and land a.ve found in this act, and buy 387 77:2 It 296 79:1 is 294 79:1 thought. 489 76:2 he 50 79:1 will 436 76:2 buy- 181 78:1 all 350 77:2 the 165 77:2 appertinent 170 76:2 to ."1^ -»-•-/-.- 77:2 New J 496 79:1 Place. ) 788 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. Page and Word. Column. 311 78:1 We 69 78:2 know 402 81:2 him 31 77:2 as 22 81:2 a 219 78:2 butcher's 372 72:2 rude occurs but once besides in the whole play. And this is the first time place appears in eighteen columns of the Folio — since ist Henry IV., act 5, scene i. And the Bishop expresses the opinion of his friends, the gentlemen around Stratford, that the village boy they had known so well as a poacher could not have written these "much admired plays." 305—32=273—50=223—5 /;=218— 50 (76:1)=168. 468—168=300 + 1=301 + 10 b col. =311. 305—31=274—30=244—162=82—13 h&h col.= 305— 32=273— 50=223— 5 /;=218— 50=168— 146= 22-3 b (146)=19. 420—19=401 + 1=402. 305—32=273—50=223—30=193—162=3]. 305—32=273—50=223—5^=218—50=168—146= 305—31=274—50=224—5 /^=219. 305—31=274—30=244—5 /^=239. 610—239=371 + 1=372. 305—31=274—50=224—5 /'=219— 50 (76:1)=169— 146=23. 162—23=139+1=140. 305—31=274—30=244—162=82. 462—82=380+ 1=381 + 5 /!i col. =386. 505—32=273—50=223—5 Z'=218— 50 (76:1)=168— 4 b & h col. =164. 1305—31=274-50=224. .305—32=273—50=223- 118. 162—118=44- .-305-32=273-50=223- 103_345 + i=346. -305—31=274—193=81—49 (76:1)= 305—31=274—50=224—5 ^^=219- 169—146=23—5 b col.=18. 305—31=274—50=224—5 /;=219- 23+162=185. 305— 32=273— 50=223— 50=1 73 + 1 62=335 . .30.5—31=274—80=244+162=406—2 // col.=404. -50=223—193 (75:1)=30. 462—30 -5 /;=218- +-1=45. -50=173- -50=168—50= ■50=123. 468- =32. -50 (76:1)= -50=169-146= 140 164 224 45 346 32 18 78:1 and 78:2 vulgar 81:2 78:2 78:1 78:1 76:2 79:1 'prentice, and it was, in our 432+1=433. 457+32= ;305— 31=274— 193=81— 49 (70:1)=32 305—31=274—50=224—4 b col. =220. .305— 32=273— 50=223— 5 /'=218— 146=72. 72=376 + 1=377. :305— 31=274— 193 (75:1)=81— 50 (76:1)=31 31=489. :305— 31-=274— 254 (75:1)=20. ,305— 32=273— 50=223— 5 /;=218—50=ie —\k col. =116. 305-31=274—193=81-50=31. 305—31=274—254=20—15 /' & /^=5. 448- 305—31=274-50=224—5=219—50=169 =119. 577—119=458+1=459+11 ^=470. 305—32=273—50=223. 305—3 1 =274— 30=244— 50=1 94— 1 62^ 185 78:1 opinions, 335 78:1 not 404 78:1 likely 433 78:2 that 489 76:2 he 220 76:2 writ 448- 458+ 76:1 them; 489 76:2 he 20 78:1 is 3_5]=117 116 76:2 neither 31 76.2 witty 5=443+1- -444 76:1 nor -50 (76:1) =470. 470 77:1 learned 223 78:1 enough. 32 78:2 The SI/AA'SPEHE'S SICKNESS. 789 Word. Page and Column. 3^(145)= = 26 79:1 subjects 74 79:1 are =160. 309 78:1 far 111 78:2 beyond 112 78:2 his =169 24 78:2 ability. -50—118 116 78:2 It =169— 296 79:1 is ■1 // col.= = 27 81:2 even 3/; (146) 293 79:1 thought 32=^ 64 79:1 here 489 328 81:1 that 317= 345 79:1 your 610 579 77:2 cousin -145= 24 81:2 of 107 81:2 St. Albans 185 81 il writes 194 82:1 them. 305—31=274—50=224—50=174—145=29— 305— 31=274— 50=224— 5 /;=219— 145=74. 305—32=273—50=223—5 /;=218-58 (80: 1)= 468—160=308+1=309. 305—32=273—162=111. 305—31=274—162=112. 305—31=274—50=224—5 /;=219— 50 (76:1)= —145=24. 305— 32=273— 50=223— 5 /;=218— 50=168- —2k col. =116. 305—31=274—50=224—5 /'=219— 50 (": 6:1)= 146=23. 318—23=295 + 1=296. 305—31=274—50=224—50=174—146=28— 305—31=274—50=224—50=174—146=28— =25. 317—25=292+1=293. 305—31=274—30=244—50=194—162=32+ 305—32=273—50=223—5/^=218—50=168. 168=321 + 1=322+1 k col. =323. 305—31=274—50=224—50^174—146=28+ 305—31=274—30=244—50=194—162=32. 32=578+1=579. 30.5—31=274—50=224—5/^=219—50=169- 305—31=274—5 (^=269—162=107. 305— 32=273— 50=233— 38 (80:1)=185. 305—31=274—30=244—50=194. This is the only time cousin appears in this act, and the only time .SV. A/hans is found in this play; and this is the only time -ivrites occurs in this play; and tl';// is found but twice in this play; yet here in the same sentence we have 7orit and -icr/'/i-s, cousin and St. Albans, all united by the same number. This is also the only time witty occurs in this play; it is found but fourteen times besides /;/ all the Plays. It does not appear in King John, Richard II., ist Henry IV., or Henry J\ The last time it appears, previously to this instance, is in the Comedy of Errors, iii, i, 289 pages or 57S columns distant ! Learned is found but two other times in this play. Opinions appears but once besides in this play, and but ten times in all the Plays. And this is the only time that €\X\i^'C butcher or vulgar or 'prentice occurs in this play; and 'prentice is only found three ti/nes in the thousatid pages 0/ the I olio; and holh butcher and 7.'i/lgar are^ comparatively rare words in the Plays. And bu/i her is 305^31^274 — 50=224 — 5=2ig; and 'prentice is 305 — 32=273 — 50=223 — 5/'^ 21S less 50. That is to say, one commences to count from the last word of the first section of 79:1, and the other from the first word of the next section. And this is the only time ability is found in this play, or in all the ten Histories; and it only occurs nine times besides in all the Plays. If all this be accident, surely it is the most marvelous piece of accidental work in the world. And then the Bishop recurs to Shakspere's health. He thinks that if Shakspere is brought before the Council to answer for his offense, he is so enfeebled by disease that the fear of the rack will compel him to tell all he knows about the authorship of the Plays. 305—31=274—30=244—50=194—162=32. 457+32=489 76:2 He 79° THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 305— 31=274— 145=129— 2^ col.=127. 305—31=274—50=224—146=78. 610—78=532-^1 =533+2// col =535. 305—31=274—5 ^=269. 518—269=249+1=250+ 6// col. =256. \Vord. 127 535 256 Page and Column. 77:2 79:1 cannot last long. Observe how cunningly long is made the 224th word from the beginning of act ii, scene i, and the 274th word from the end of the same column: 305—31=274—50=224 + 32=256 . 305—31=274—5 h (31 , =269. 518—269=249-^1 250+6// col. =256. And this 250 is answer Council- 256 79:1 long 256 79:1 long brought to answer before the Council. And here is =274—50=224—50=174—146=28. 449— 28=421+1=422. 422 305- 31=274—50=224—146=78. 448—78=370 + 1=371. 305-32=273—50=223—7 h col.=216. 305—32=273—50=223—146=77—3 1> (146)=74. 577—74=503 + 1=504. 305—32=273—50=223—145=78—3 l> (145;=75. 577—75=502+1=503+2// col. =505. 305-32=273—50=223—50 (76:1)=173. 577—173 404+1=405.' 305—31=274—50=224—145=79—5 l> & h col. =74. 305—32=273—162 (78:1)=U1. 305—32=273—50=223—50 (76:1)=173, 577—173 =404+1=405 + 3 // col.=408. 305—31=274—50=224—145=79—2 // col.=77. 305—32=273—50=223—145=78. 305—31=274—162=112. 305—31=274—30=244—5 ^=239—146=93. 577— 93=484+1=485. 305—31=274. 305—32=273—50=223—5 //=218. 305—31=274—254 (75:1)=20— 15 b & // (254)=5. 305—32=273—50=223—5 b (32)==218. 462—218= 244+1=245. 305—31=274—50=224. 577—224=353+1=354+ 11 b col. =-365. 305—31=274—50=224. G 1 0—224=386 + 1 =387 + 2 //=389. 305—31=274—162 (78:1)=112. 305—31=274—162=112. 318—112=206+1=207 + 1 //=208. 305—31=274—145=129—3 b (145)=126. 305—31=274—162=112. 162—112=50+1=51. 305—32=273—50=223—5 b (32)=218. 577—218= 359+1=360+11 /'col.=371. 371 76.-1 Council. 371 76:1 His 216 77:1 health 504 77:1 is 505 77:1 very 405 77:1 poor; 74 76:1 it 111 76:1 was 408 77:1 my 77 76:1 presurmise 78 76:1 that 112 79:1 he 485 77:1 is 274 77:2 blasted 218 78:1 with 5 76:1 that 245 78:2 dreaded 365 77:1 disease, 389 77:2 the 112 78:1 208 79:1 . a 126 76:1 most 51 78:1 incurable 77:1 malady. SHAKSPERKS SICKNESS. 791 tVord. Pagre and Column. 355 76:1 His 111 77:2 looks 440 78:1 prove 387 77:3 it. 305—31=374—80=244—5 ^=239—145=94. 448- 94=3.-)4 + 1=3,55. 305—32=273—1 62=1 1 1 . 305— 31=274— 50=224— 50 (76:1)=174— 145=29. 468—29=439+1=440. 305-31=274—50=234. 610-224=386 + 1=387. Observe the cunning of this workmanship. The name of Shakspere's disease is the Ii2th word down the fragment of scene 3, in 78:1, and incurable is the 112th word up the same. After a while we will see this reversed, incurable answering to a Cipher number (51) down the column, and the other word answering to the same number up from the end of the scene. Let the reader try the experiment, and he will see herein another of the ten thousand evidences of arithmetical adjustment in the text. This is the only time incurable occurs in this play, and it is found but three other times in all the Plays ! And this is the only time malady appears in this play; and it occurs but twice besides in all the ten Histories, and but eight other times in all the Plays ! 305—31=274—30=244—5 /;=239— 57 (80:1)=182 —11 b col.=171. 171 30.5—31=274—162=112. 610—112=498+1=499. 499 305—32=373—50=223—5=218—58 (80:1)=160. 160 305- 305- -31= -50=334—5 /'=319— 163=57— 3 // col.= 55 -31=374—30=344—5 ^'=339. 317—339=78 + 1=79 + 5 /'& //=84. 305—31=374—50=234+185=409—16 /' col.=393. 305—32=273—50=223—5 ^=218—58 (80:1)=160— 10 b & h col. =150. 305—31=274—30=344—5 <^=239 + 1=79. 305- 31=274—30=244—50=194- 461—136=325 + 1=326. 305—31=274—50=224—5 /;=219. + 1=120. 305—31=274-30=244. 598—244^ 305—31=274—30=244—5 h (31)=239 3,39+1=360+9 b col. =369. 305—32=273—30=243—5 //=238. + 1=361+9 /> col. =370. 305-32=273—30=343—5 //=238. + 1=361 + 10/^ &//=371. 30.5—31=274—30=244—145=99. 305—31=274—30=244. 305—31=274—50=224 4- 185=409. 30,5—31=274—50=224—58 (80:1)=166— 10 /' 305—32=373—30=343. 305—31=274—30=244—5 /; (31)=239. 598— 239^ 3,59 + 1=360. 305— 31 --274— 30=244-5 b (31)=239 30,5—31=274—162=112+31=143. 84 393 150 79 326 120 355 369 370 317—239=78 -58(80:1)=136. 338—219=119 354+1=3,55. 598—239= 598—238=360 598—338=360 371 448—99=349 + 1=350 244 409 156 243 360 239 143 456 90:2 77:2 80:1 77:2 79:1 81:1 80:1 79:1 80:1 80:1 79:2 79:2 79:2 79:2 76:1 79:1 81:1 80:3 78:2 79:2 79.1 79:1 One day I did chance to meet him, and, although I am well acquainted with him, I would not have known him. 792 THE CIPHER XAKRATIVE. 305—31=274—50=224—5 ^=219. 598—219=379 + 1=380. 305—32=273—50=223—5 ^=218—50=168—1 />= 305—33=273—50=223—5 <5=218— 58 (80:1)=160— 4 /; & /^=156. 305—31=374—30=244-162=82. 462—82=380+ 1 + 4/, & //=385. 305—31=274—30=244—5=239—234 (81:2)=5— 3 // (234)=2. 338-2=336 + 1=337. Word. 380 167 156 385 337 Page and Column. 79:2 the 81=2 transformatioa 81:3 78:2 80:1 wras so great. This is the only time transfonnation appears in this play, and it is found but six other times in all the Plays. Then the Bishop goes on to tell the conversation he had with Shakspere. He beseeches his "worshipful Lordship" to go to his father's house, to see his father, who was lying sick. 160 80:3 father's 110 78:3 house; 166 80:3 is 161 80:3 lying 163 80:3 sick. 305—32=273—50=323—5 ^=318—58 (80:1)= 305—32=273—50=223—5 ^=218—58 (80:1)=160- 50=110. 305—31=274—50=324—58=166. 305—31=274—50=224—5^=319—58=161. 305—31=274—50=224—58=166—3 // col. =163. John Shakspere died about four years after the events here related. I give these fragments because I have not the space to tell the whole story, and I give the more significant words to show the reader that I am not drawing on my imagination. And the Bishop is invited to supper. Shakspere says: 305—33=373-50 (74:3)=223— 5 /; (32)=218— 50 (76:1) =168. 396—168=228+1=229. 305—31=274—30=244-50=194. 305—32=273—50=223—5=318—50=168. 396— 168=228+1=229+2/^ col.=231. 305— 33=373— 30=243— 57 (80:1)=186. 305—32=273-30=343—5^ (31)=238— 145 (76:2)=93. 338—93=345 + 1=346. 305—33=373—30=343—5 /;=338— 145=93— 57 (80:1) =36. 523—36=487+1=488+4/. & // col.= 305—31=274—30=244. 338—244=94+1=95. 305—31=274—30=344. 396—344=153 + 1=153. 305—33=373—30=343—5 /;=238— 145=93. 838— 93=245+1=246 + 3/' col.=348. 805- =373—30=243—5 /;=238— 145=93— 3 l> (145) -32 =90. 338—90=248+1=249. 305—32=273—50=223—5 /;=318- 305—31=374—30=244—50=194. 305—33=373—30=243—50=193. 305—32=373—30=243-50=193. 30,5—31=274—80=244—50=194. 305—31=274—30=244—50=194—14/' & // col.= -.58 (80: r =160. 338-194=144 + 1= 338-193=145+1= 229 80:1 Come, 194 80:3 go '^31 80:1 along, 186 81:3 I 246 80:1 entreat. 492 80:1 you. 95 80:1 to 153 80:1 supper 248 80:1 with 249 80:1 me; 160 80:1 I =145 80:1 will 193 81:3 give =146 80:1 you 194 81 :2 an 180 80:1 excellent SHA KSPERE' S SICKNESS. 79^ 305—32=273—50=223—5 A=218— 50 (76:1)=168— 62 (80:2)=10U. 489—100=383 + 1=384. 305—32=273—30=243—50=193—13/; & h col.= 305—32=213—50=223—5 /;=218— 58 (80:1)=160. 523—1 60=363 + 1=364. 305—31=274—30=244—50=194. 396—194=202 + 1=203+2/' col. =205. 305—31=274—50=224—185 (81:1)=39. 305—32=273—50=223—5 /;=218— 58=160— 14 /' & // col. =146. 305—31=274—30=244—3/^ col.=C41 305—31=274—80=244—50=194—10 b col. =184. 305—31=274—30=244. 305— 32=273— 30=243— 5 /;=238— 145=93— 57 (80:1)=36— 2/^col.=34. 305—31=274—30=244—5=239—145=94—3 b (145) =91. 489—91=398+1=399. 305—32=273—30=243. 523—243=280+1=281. 305—32=273—30=243—58 (80:1)=185. 462—185 =277+1=278. Word. Pafje and Column. 384 81:1 sack, (180) 80:1 my 364 80:2 worshipful 205 80:1 Lord. )!! during supper 39 81:2 We 146 80:2 talk 241 80:2 upon 184 80:1 the 244 80:2 Gubject 34 399 281 278 80:2 81:1 80:2 80:3 of his sick father. Entreat appears but twice in this play — here and in the Epilogue. Supper occurs four other times in this play — where Percy describes the supper at Shak- spere's house. This is the only time excelloit appears in this scene. It is not found at all in King John or Richard IE This is the only time .vw/y'ivV occurs in this act. Worshipful is found but five other times in all the Plays. This is the only time talk occurs in this act. I need hardly explain that sack was a kind of Spanish wine, something like our sherry. And Shakspere professes great love for his father; but the Bishop thinks he is a blessed hypocrite: 305—31=274—30=244—50=194. 523—194=329+1=330 305-31=274—50=224—5 /'=219— 50 (76:1)=169. 523— 169=-354+ 1=355+3 b col. =357. 357 And that he is trying to make use of him, the Bishop: 305—31=274—30=244—57=187. 528—187=336+1=337 305—31=374—50=224+185=409—16// col. =393. 393 305—31=274—50=324—5 /;=219 + 185 (81:1)=404 —16^ col. =388. 388 305—31=374—50=334—5=319+185=404. 404 30.5—31=374—30=244—5=239—57=182. 598— 182=416+1=417. 417 305—32=273- -30=243—5 /;=238— 145=93— 3 1> 1145) =90—58 (80:1)=33. 32 And that he has taken advantage of his father's sickness to ingratiate himself with him, the Bishop, in the hope of making his way among the aristocracy. And the Bishop concludes he will let him think so: 80:3 blessed 80:2 hypocrite 80:2 Thinks 81:1 to 81:1 make 81:1 use 79:3 of 80:3 me. 391 80:2 I 523- 387 80:2 am 523— 388 80:2 well 523— 389 80:2 spoken 523— 390 80:2 of. 794 THE CIPHER NA RRA TI I 'A. Page and Word. Column. ^05—31=274. 610- 274=336+l=337+9/'col.= 346 77:2 Let 305— 31=274— 30=244— 5.:'=239—18/'col. 221 81:1 him 305-31=274—30=244-50=1^)4. 523—194=329+ 1=330 + 3// col =333. 333 80:2 think 305— 31=374-30=244— 5/^=239 + 185 (81 :1)=424. 424 81:1 so. And Shakspere assures the Bishop that he himself stands high as a gentleman- 305-31=274—30=244—50=194—57=137. 523— 137=386+1=387+4 / & h col. =391. 305—31=274— 30=244— 50=194— 57=137. 137=386+1=387. 305—32=273—30=243—50=193—57=136. 136=387+1=388. 305—31=274+30=244—50=194—57=137. 137=386+1=387+2 /;=389. 305—32=273—30=243—50=193—07=136. 136=387 + 1=388+2 /=390. And the Bishop gives a rapturous description of the sweet looks and good breed- ing of Shakspere's daughter, Susanna; her loiv curtesy and her gentle accents; but we will find this hereafter given more fully by another party — by Percy when he visits Stratford. And the Bishop examines Shakspere during this interview and thus describes his appearance: 305—31=274—30=244—162=82. 462—82=380+1= 305—32=273—30=243—5^=238—27 /' col. =211. 30,-.— 31=274— 30=244— 5 ^=239. .305—32=273—50=223—5 /;=218— 58 (80:1)=160— 5/' col. =155. 30.5—31=274. 305—32=273—30=243—5 /' (32)=238. 534—238= 296 + 1=297+2 // c.v.=299. 305—32=273—30=243—27 b col. =216. Shakspere was born about April 23d, 1564; consequently in 1597, which I sup- pose to be the date of the events described in the Cipher story, he was just thirty- three years old. Observe that this three is a different one from the ///;-(V employed to tell of the division of the profits of the Plays into three parts: this three is the 216th word in 78:2; while the other was the I92d word in the same column. There are only three tlirees in act i of the Folio, — in sixteen columns, — and here we have two of them within four lines of each other. Thirty occurs but eleven times in all the Histories, and three times in this play; and this is the first time we come across it in this play, and we will have to go eight columns forward, or twenty-four back- ward, before we find it again. If there is no Cipher here, surely it is marvelous to find the words necessary to tell Shakspere's age coming together, separated only by one column, and each one growing out of the same formula: 305—32=273 — 30=243. 30.5—31=274—50=224—5 /;=219— 50=169— 4 b col. =165 76:2 yet 305—31=274—30=244. 610—244=366+1=367. 367 77:2 he 505—32=273—5 /;=268— 10 /' col.=258. 258 77:2 is, 381 78:2 He 211 78:2 is 239 77:2 not 155 80:1 more 274 81:2 than 299 79:2 thirty 216 78:2 three, S//AA'Sr£A'£' S S/CA-A'£SS. 795 i). 305—31=274—30=344—5 /; (31)=239. 305—31=274. 305—32=273—30=243—5 /'=238— 13 /> & //=22 305— 32=2'5'3— 30=243— 5 d (32)=238— 10 /> col.= 305—31=274—30=244—5 /;=239— 10 /> col.=229. 305—32=273—30=243—13 /- & //=col.=230. 305—31=274—30=244—13/' & /■ col =231. 305—31=274—50=224—5=219—58 (80:l)=lf)] . 305_31=o;4_5o=224— 50=174— 4 /^ col. =170. 305—31=274—30=244—10 ^> col. =234. 305—31=274—50=224. 305—31=274—30=244—5 /;=239— 3 // col. =236. 305—32=273—50=223—50=173—1 // col. =172. .305—32=273—50=223—5=218—50 {7G:1)=1 68— 4 /; col. =164. 305— 31=274— 50=224— 50 (76:1)=174. 305—31=274—50=224—5 A='^19— 145=74— 3 /> (145) =71—2 // col. =69. 305—32=273—50=223—5 /<=218— 50=1 68— 5 d & //=163. 305—31=274—13 d & h col. =261. .305—32=273—50=223. 305—31=274—50 (76:1)=224. 305—32=273—28 (73:1)=245. 305— 31=274— 3( '=244. 305—31=274—3(1=244—146=98—2 // col. =96. 305—32=273—50=223—5 /'=218— 146=72— 2 // col.= 4J05— 31=274— 30=244— 5 /;=239— 145=94— 3 /' (145) =330+7 /'& h col. =337. =239—145=94. 420— r3:l)=l 64 + 162=326 =91. 420— 91 =329 -hi = 305—31=274—30=244—5 /'= 94=326+1=327. 305—32=273—30=243—79 —9 b & //=317. 4505—31=274—50=224—5 /.=219— 50 (76:i:=169. 468—169=299 + 1=300. 305—31=274—50=224—5 /'=219— 50 (76:1)=169. .305—31=274—30=244—5 /'=239— 145=94. 448— 94=354+1=355. 305— 31=274— 50=224— 5 /;=219— 146=73. 305-32=273—50=223-10 b col. =213. ,305—32=273—30=243—5=238—145=93—3 /' (145) =90. 420—90=330+1=331 + 1 h col. =332 305—32=273—30=243—5=238—145=93—3 /' (145)= 305—31=274—30=244—5 /- (31)=239— 145=94— 3 h (145)=91. I regret to set forth these facts concerning Shakspere's sickness. They are much worse than even the most earnest Baconian had suspected. And yet this statement is not in itself improbable. If any class were especially liable to the dreaded social scourge it would appear to be the poor actors of that age, who, by Page and Word. Column. 239 78:2 in 274 78:2 his 225 77:2 youth, 228 77:2 written 229 77:2 down 230 77:2 old 231 77:2 with 161 77:2 all 170 78:2 the 234 77:2 characters 224 77:2 of 230 77:2 age. 172 76:2 His 164 76:2 cheek 174 76:2 is 69 77:2 white, 163 76:2 his 261 77:2 voice 223 78:2 hollow, 224 76:2 his 245 77:2 hand 244 77:2 dry. 96 < ( -.1 his = 70 77:2 hair 337 81:2 grey, 327 81:2 his 317 78:1 step 300 78:1 feeble; 169 78:1 and 355 76:1 his 73 76:1 head 213 77:2 wags 332 81:2 as = 90 76:1 he 91 76:1 walked. 796 rilE CIPHER NARRATIVE. law were " vassals" and " vagabonds," and who were necessarily surrounded by all the temptations incident to their mode of life; their theaters being the favorite re- sort for all the vicious of both sexes in the great city. I have already quoted what Taine says: It was a sad trade, degraded in all ages by the contrasts and the falsehoods which it allows. Only in the justice and sweetness of our modern civilization has it risen to the dignity which it deserves; and the future will accord it an even higher standing, for the pleasure and the benefit which it can afford to mankind. As an instrument of good it has, as yet, been but partially developed. We know, also, that .Shakspere's contemporary, George Peele, actor and piay- writer, died of that same " shameful disease." ' And we can see in the Cipher statement an explanation of Shakspere's early death. He left the world at the age of fifty-two; at a time when he should have been in the meridian of his mental and the perfection of his physical powers. This will also explain his early retirement to Stratford, and the little we know of his personal history, it being probable that he spent much of his time, in the latter part of his life, in Warwickshire. In 1604 we find him suing Philip Rogers at Stratford for ;^i. 15s. lod. for malt sold. In 1608 he is sponsor for William Walker, at Stratford. In i6og he sues John Adden- brooke, at Stratford. It is also probable that Bacon desired to keep Shakspere out of sight, and therefore out of London, as much as possible, so as to avoid the keen eyes of his critical enemies: — for "he had been wronged by bruits before;" and the Cipher shows that it was shrewdly suspected that the man of Stratford had not the ability to write the Plays. And this may also explain why it was that Shakspere acted parts that required no particular action, such as the Ghost in Hamlet, or the old man, Adam, in As You Liki' It. One of his younger brothers, according to Oldys, - described him as: Acting a part in one of his own comedies, wherein, being to personate a decrepit old man, he wore a long beard, and appeared so weak, that he was forced to be supported and carried by another person to a table. And the reader cannot help but note this wonderful array of words descriptive of sickness brought out by the same modifications of the same root-number. Observe how the bracketed and hyphenated words in 77:2 are employed, in con- junction with the five bracketed words in 31, 79:1, to bring out the striking sen- tence: "He is written down old with all the characters of age." We have also the word ///j- repeated six times, and always making its appearance in the proper place in the text. There are whole columns of the play where his cannot be found, but here they are in abundance when required. Characters appears but once in this play, and but twice besides in all the ten Histories; -written occurs but once in this play, and but four times besides in all the ten Histories. Hollow is found but three times in this play and but once in this act Wags occurs but this time in this play, and but twice besides in all the Plays ! This is the only time step appears in this play. And this is the only time feeble (not used as a man's name) is found in this play; and the same is true of grey. And here I would say that, if the reader is curious in such matters, he might turn to Mrs. Clarke's Concordance of Shakespeare, p. 187, and observe how often the words disease and diseases occur in this play of 2d Henry IV. as compared with the other Plays. They are found tivelve times; this, with, the Cipher system of using the same word over many times, probably implies thirty-six different refer- ences, nearly all, I take it, to Shakspere's diseases. As against twelve times in this ' Fleay's Sha/.-spere Manual, p. 5. - Outlines^ p. 123. SHAKSFERE'S SICKA^ESS. 797 play, these words are not found once in the play of ist Henry IF. , which precedes it, or in Henry V. , which follows it. Neither are either of them found in Love's Labor Lost, Th^Two Gentlemen of Verona, As You Like It, 7\oelft/i A^io-ht, Richard II., the third part of A7;/^'- Henry ]'!., Riehard III., Titus Andronicits, Romeo and Juliet, Julius Casar, Othello, oxCymbeline. These words are found, in fact, as often in this one play of 2d Henry IV. as they are in all the following plays put together: The Tempest, The Merry Wives, Much Ado About A^othing, Midsutnmer Night's Dream, The Merchant of Venice, Antony and Cleopatm, Pericles, Hamlet, King John, a.nd 2d Heniy VI. '^ow \h^ ■^Xs.y oi 2d Henry IV. has no more to do with diseases than any other of these Plays; the plot does not in any wise turn upon any disease; the references to it are all apparently incidental in the play, but are really caused by the necessities of the internal Cipher narrative. And all this tends to show the artificial character of the text of these Plays. It is a curious study to examine the Shakespeare Concordance and observe how strangely some plays are crowded with a particular word which is altogether absent from others. Note the words glove 2in<\ please (plays), for instance. Please occurs once in A'ing John, twice in Romeo arid Juliet, three times in ist Henry IV., fourteen times in 2d Henty IV., and twenty-eight times in Henry VIII. ! And yet as a colloquialism — ''please you, my Lord," etc. — it might be expected to occur as often in one play as another. And the Bishop continues with the description of Shakspere's appearance: Pasje and Word. Column. 305—32=273—50=223—5 b (3i)=218— 50 (76:1 )= 16H. 297—168=129 + 1=130 130 82:1 There 305— 31=274— 30=244— 50=194— 50 (76:1 )=1 44— =4 b col.=140. 140 76:2 is 305—32=273—50=223—5 /;=218— 30=188— 9 b col. =179 82:1 a 305—32=273—162=111. Ill 79:1 beastly 305—32=273—50=223—5 /;=218— 50=168— 145= 2:3— 3 /' (14o)=20. 577—20=557+1=558. 558 77:1 wound 305—32=273—50=223—5/^=218-50=168—145= 23. 577— 23=554 -Hi =555+2 //=557. 557 77:1 new-healed 305—31=274—5 b (31)=2G9— 162=107. 468—107= 361 + 1=362. 362 78:1 on 305—32=273-50=223— 5/'=218— 50=168— 145= 23 77:1 the 305— 31=274— 162(78:1)=! 12—3 /' col.=109. 109 77:1 side 305—32=273—30=243—162=81—2 // col. =79. 79 77:2 of 30,5—32=273—30=243—162=81. 81 77:2 his 305— 32=273— 162=111— 6/' &// col. 105 82:1 neck, 305—31=274—5 b (31 )=269— 162=107. 462—107= 3,55+1=3.56. 356 78:2 and 305—32=273—162=111. 318-111=207+1=208. 208 79:1 a 305—31=274—30=244—5 /;=239— 145=94+162= 256 78:1 great 305—32=273—50=223—5 /;=218— 50 (76.1)=168 — 2/^=166. 166 81:1 wen 305—32=273—30=243—145=98—13 /' & // col.= 85 78:2 or 305- 32=^3—50=223—5 /;=2 18— 50=1 68—145= 23. 577—23=554+1= 555 77:1 gall, 30.5—31=274—30=244—145=99—3 // col. =96. 96 81:2 some 30.5—31=274—5 /'=269— 162=107. 610—107=503 + 1=.504. 504 77:2 thing 305—32=273—30=243—145=98—3 /- (14.-))=95. 95 77:2 like 798 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. ;-}05_31=274— 30=244-15 h (31)=239— 145=94— 3 b (145)=91— 2 //-=89. 305—32=273—162=111. 518—111=407 + 1=408+ 3 h col. =411. 305— 31=274— 30=244— 145=99— 2 h col. =97. 305—82=273—162=111. 305—31=274—50=224—145=79—3 // (145)=76. 498—76=422+1=423. 305—31=274—30=244—145=99. 305—31 =274—162=1 1 2. 305—31=274—50=224—5 <';=219— 162=57. 577— 57=520+1=521. 305— 31=274— 30=244— 50=194— 57 v80:l)=137. 462—1 37=325 + 1 =326. 305—31=274—50=224—5 /;=219. 305—31=274—162=112. 296—112=184+1=185. 305—32=273—50=223—50=173—146=27. 598— 27=571 + 1=572. 305—31=274—50=224—5 ^=219—50 (76:1)=169. 468—169=299+1=300. Word. 89 411 97 111 423 99 112 521 326 219 185 572 300 Pape and Column. 77.0 79:1 77:2 77:1 76:1 82:1 77:1 77:1 80:2 78:2 82:1 79:2 78:1 the King's Evi which g's I ii, r every day grows greater, and his strength more feeble. It is hardly necessary for me to explain that " the King's Evil " was the old-time name for scrofula, because it was believed by our wise ancestors that the touch of the king's hand would cure it; nor is it necessary to add that scrofula is generally accom- panied by glandular ulcerations on the sides of the throat — precisely as described in the Cipher story. King is a common word in the Plays, but kings is compara- tively rare. This is the only strength in this act, and this is the only greater. This is the only " tw« " /;/ all the Shakespeare Plays ! And yet here it appears, iust where it is wanted, to describe poor Shakspere's scrofulous condition. And observe that ^'•rf// and wen are both derived from precisely the same terminal root- number 168 [305 — 32=273 — 50=223— 5 /^ (32)=2i8— 50 (76:i)=i6S]. And this is the only time ^«// appears in this play I And it is found but four other times in all the Histories ! And the Bishop says that Shakspere is full of hope that he will recover: 305—31=274—30—244—146=98—3 b (146)=95— 5 b & h col. =90. 90 76:1 He 305—31=274. 318—274=44+1=45. 45 79:1 is 305—31=274—162=112. 468—112=356+1=357 + 9 /; & h =366. 305— 32=273— 3(:^=243— 50=193+163=356. 305—31=274—162=112. 468—112=356+1= 305—31=274—30=244+185=429. 305—32=273—162=111. 468—111=357+1= 305—31=274-50=224—5 /;=219— 50 (76:1)=169— 145=24. 457—24=433+1=434. 305—32=273—50=223-5 /;=218— 50 (76:1)=168+ 162=330—2/^ col. =328. 305—31=274. 610—274=336+1=337. 305—32=273—30=243—50=193—162=31 . 577— 31=546+1=547. 366 356 357 429 358 434 328 337 547 78:1 78:1 78:1 81:1 78:1 76:2 flattering himself with the hope and 78:1 expectation 77:2 that 77:1 he SI/AKS FERE'S SICA'iVESS. 799. Page and Word. Column. ;^0o— 32=273. 610—273=337+1=338. 338 77:2 will .305—32=273—30=343—50=193—162=31. 31 78:1 get 305_32=273— 50=223. 577—223=354 + 1=355 +3/i col.=358. ;]58 77:1 well. Elaltcring occurs but once besides in this play, and but eight times in ail the Histories. Expectation is found but twice in this act, and but eleven times in all the Histories. And Shakspere thinks he is yet young and his case not so bad: 305—31=274—30=244—50=194 + 162=356—9 b & //= 347 78: 1 young; 305—31=274—30=244—50=194+162=356—7/;= 349 78:1 case 305— 31=274— 50=224— 50 (76:l)=174-r 163=337— 2//=335. 335 78:1 not 305—32=273—30=243—162=81. 462—81=381 + 1 =383+4 /;& //=386. 386 78:2 so 305— 32=373— 30=243— 50=193— 162=31— 1A= 30 77:2 bad. But the Bishop feels certain that he cannot recover from his terrible disease. It is, he says, — 30,5—32=273—50=223—5 /=218— 50=168— 50=118. 468—118=350+1=351+8/^ col. =359. 359 305-31=274—50=224—50=174—145=29. 39 30,5—31=274-30=244—163=81. 81 305—32=273—50=223—9 / col. =214 214 He cannot escape the grave: 305—31=274—30=244—162=82. 577—82=495+1 =496+2 //col. =498. 498 77:1 Cannot 305— 32=273— 50=223— 5/=218— 50 (76:l)=168+32=200 79:1 'scape 30.5— 31=274— 30=2-44—50=194—162=32. 32 78:3 the 305 -3 1 =274—30= 344— 50=1 94— 1 62=32 . 462— 32=430 + 1=431. 431 78:2 grave. Here, with all these words descriptive of disease and weakness, we find the inevitable grave. And this is the only time grave is found in this act. 505 — 167=338. But I shall now go farther and show that these words descrip- tive of Shakspere's sickness not only come out at the bidding of 523 — 218=305 — 31 or 32, but that they are called forth trom the same text by an entirely different Cipher number, to-wit: 505 — 167=338 — to which we now return. This must demonstrate beyond cavil the most exquisite adjustment of the words of the play to certain arith- metical requirements. I shall have to be brief, for the story is an endless one and the temptation is almost irresistible to follow it out into its ramifications. 78:1 Eating 81:1 away 77:3 his 82:1 life. 8oo THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. It must be remembered that, though these two stories are here brought together on the same pages, they are probably separated by hundreds of pages in the Cipher narrative. Neither must it be forgotten that I have worked out but a tithe of the story growing out of 523 — 2i8=:3o5. I have given part of that which flows from 305 niiin/s 31 or 32, at the top of 79:1; but 305 is also modified by deducting the other fragments of 79:1, as 284 and 285 (31 or 32 to 317), 57 or 58, the last section in the column, and 199 or 200 (318 to 518), etc. In the following statement Bacon speaks himself: 338— 338 — ' 338— 338— 338 338 338— 1 338- 338- 338— 338 .31=307—30=277. 396—277=119+1=120. 57 (79 :1)=281— 30=251. 31=307—163=144. 32=306—5 /^=301 + 163=464—20 l> & // col.= 31=307—5 /;=302— 30=272— 145=127— 3 /> (14 =124— 4/; & // col. =120. 32=306—5 l> (32)=301— 2 // col. =299. ■31=307-5 /'=302— 50=252. 462—252=210+ =21 1 + 5/^ col. =216. .31=307—50=257—4 // col.= =253. •57 (79:1)=281— 27 (> col.=254. 31=307—5 ^=302—50=252. 462—252=210+1 .57 (79:1)=281— 50 (76:1)=231— 10 7^=221. 338—57=281- 338—57=281- 338—32=306- 338—57 (79:1) 338—58 (79:1 338—31 (79:1)= 338—57=281- 338—31=307- 610—110= 338—57 (79:1)= 338—31=307- 338—31=307- 338—31=307- =12+457 338— 31='!07- 338— 58(79:1)= 338—31=307- 338—32=306- ■50=231. -49 (76:1)=232— 162=70. -50=256—50=206—145=61 . =281—30=251. 338-3i 506 338—31=307- 338—102=176. =280—30=250—50. =307—162=145. 50=231—162=69. 5 /; (31)=302— 30=272— 162=110. 500+1=501 + 2/^ col. =281—50=231—31 /> & h col. =200 50=257—7/^ col. =250. 30=277—162=115. 50=257—50=207—145=62—50(76:1) =469. 145=102 + 162=324—9/' & // col.= =280—27=253. 30=277— 162=115— 4^ & h col.= 50=256—50=206. %b &, h col. =297. 50=257—162=95. Word. Page and Column. 120 80:1 Althoug] 251 78:2 he 144 77:2 is 444 78:1 not 15) 120 77:2 yet 299 79:2 thirty- 216 78:2 three, 253 78:2 his 254 78:2 back =211 78:2 is 221 74:1 stooped and 231 78:2 his 70 77:2 hair 61 76:1 and 251 77:2 beard 200 80:1 are 145 77:2 turned 69 77:2 white. 503 77:2 Any 200 78:2 one 250 77:1 would 115 77:2 take -) 469 76:2 him 315 78:1 by 253 78:2 his 111 77:2 looks 206 79:1 to 297 78:1 • be 95 76:1 an 176 77:2 old SHAKSPERE'S SICKNESS. 80 1 338—31=307—5 h (32)=302— 50=252. 338_31==307— 50=257— 145=1 13. 338-31=307-50=257—50=207-145=62. 338—32=306—50=256—50 (76: 1)=206— 145=61. 448— 61=887-*- 1=388. 338—33=306—162=144. 458—144=314+1=315 + ll>& /^ col. =322. 338—161=177. 577—177=400+1=401 + 3 //=404. 338—31=307—30=277—50=227—5 /; col. =222. 338—32=306—50=256—5 /^=35 1—163=89. 598— 89=509 + 1=510-1-3 ^=513. 338—32=306—50=256. 338—31=307—145=163. 338—31=307—50=257—] 45=112. 338— 31=307— 50=257-50=207— 145=62— 3 /'=59 —3 k col. =57. 338—31=307—50=357—145=113—3 h col.=109. 338—31=307—50=257—50=207—145=62—3 b (145) =59—2 !i col. =57. 338—32=306—146=160+162=322—9 /; & h col.= 338—31=307—50=257—50=307—145=63—3 /; (145)= 338—32=306—50=256—50=306—145=61. 338— 31=307— 50=257— 50 (76:1)=207— 145=62. 448—62=386+1=387. 338—31=307—50=257—4 l> col.=253. 338—32=306—163=144—5 /; & h col. =139. .Vord. Page and Column. 253 76:1 man, 113 79:1 He 63 77:1 had 388 76:1 great 333 76:2 bunches 404 77:1 as 333 78:1 big 513 79:2 as 256 80:1 my 162 79:1 fist 112 77:3 upon 57 76:1 the 109 77:1 side 57 77:3 of 313 78:1 his = 59 37:1 throat 61 76:1 and 387 76:1 under 253 78:3 his 189 76:3 chin. Here, instead of 701-11 and gaH, we have bunches; and throat instead of lurk. And observe how the same significant words, thirty three, are brought out by totally different numbers. 338—161=177. 338—163=176—5 b& h col.=171. 338—162=176—4 //=172. 338—32=306—50=256. 6 1 0—256=354 + 1=355 + 12 h & //=367. 338—162=176—1 b col. =175. 338—32=306—5 ^=301-30=271-50=331. 577— 221=356+1=357. 338—162=176. 338—31=307—50=257. 598—357=341 + 1=343. 338—32=306—50=256—50=206—145=61—4 b & h= 338—32=306—5 /;=301— 50=251. 610-351=359 + 1=360. 338—31=307—30=277—57 (79:1)=230. 338—31=307—5 b (31 )=302— 50=252-^162=414. 338—163=176—37 /' col. 338—161=177. 577—177=400+1=401. Physician is comparatively a rare word in the Plays, — ■ it is not found in more than half the Plays; — yet it occurs in this play three times. Observe how 338 — 161 up the column \i physician, while 338 — 162=176 down the column is sick. 177 77:1 I 171 77:1 heard 173 77:1 say 367 77:2 he 175 77:1 was 357 77:1 very 176 77:1 sick 343 79:2 and 57 77:1 in 360 77:3 the 220 77:1 care 414 78:1 of 149 78:2 a 401 77:1 physicia: 802 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. -32 (79:1)=306— 50=256- -32=306—50=256—162= 1 // col. =43. 81=307—50=257. 462- 5 b col.=211. -32=306—50=256—30=; -31=307-7 b col.=300. -31=307—162 (78:1)=145 -57 (59 : 1 )=28 1 -50=23 1 . -31=307. -31=307—49 (76:1)=258. 205+8 b & /^=213. -32=306—197=109. -31=307—50=257—30=227—50=177. 468— 177=291 + 1=292 + 11 h & // col.=303. 31 (79:1)=307— 50=257— 57=(79:1) 200. 577_300=377 + 1=378. -31=307—13 /' & h col. =294. -57 (79:1)=281— 50=231. 462—231=231 + 1= -57=28 1—50=23 1—50=181 -32=306—146=100. -30=308-57=251. -284=54—2 b & /z=53. -49=289—162=127. -50=288—162=126, -284 (79:1)=54— 5 b & //=49. 162—49=113+1 -2S4 (79:1)=54. 162—54=108+1=109. -31=307—218 (74:2)=89. -32=306-5 b (32)=301— 30=271— 146=125— 13 b & 7^=112. 32=306—50=256—50=206—145=61 . 448— 61=387 + 1=388. _31=307— 218 (74:2)=89. 162-89=73+1=74, -30=308-32 (79:1)=276. -31=307-197 (74:3)=110. 610—110=500+1= -32=306—5 /' (32)=301— 30=271— 11 b & h col -31=307—5 b (31)=302— 30=372— 11 /' & h col -31=307-5 b (31)=302— 30=372-161=111- 2 /;=109. -31=307-5 /' (31)=302-30=272. 577-272= 305+1=306+3 h col. =309. 338-31=307-5 /; (31)=302-30=272-7 b col.= 338—32=308—5 /; (32)=301— 30=271— 5 h col.= 338-57=281—50=331 338 338 338—: 338 338 338 338 338 33 :S 338 338 338—: 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338-: 338 338- 338 338 338 338 338 -162=94—11 b col.= Word. 83 Page and Column. 78:2 His 94— 50(76:l)=44— 43 76:1 health -257=205+l=206+ 211 78:2 is J26— 50— 176 + 163— 339 300 78:1 78:1 very- feeble 145 78:2 and 231 78:2 his 463— 358=204+1= 307 213 78:1 78:2 step unfirm, 109 77:2 He 303 -50=181-145=36. 112 388 74 276 501 =260 =261 109 309 365 366 36 78:1 IS 378 77:1 troubled 294 77:3 with 232 78:2 several 181 76:1 dangerous 160 78:1 diseases; 251 78:2 he [52] 78:2 is 127 78:2 subject 136 79:2 to 114 79:1 the 109 79:1 gout 89 78:2 in 78:3 76:1 78:1 78:1 77:3 77:1 77:1 77:2 his great , toe; and I hear moreover he 77:1 hath 77:1 fallen 77:1 into 78:1 consumption. Connunption occurs but once in this play, and but four other times in all the Plays. Yet here we have it cohering with gout and the shameful disorder. And qotit also appears here twice together and but three other times in all the Plays ! And toe appears but this time in this play and but twelve times besides in all the thousand pages of the Plays. SHAKSPERE'S SICKNESS. 803 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338- 338 338 338 338- 338- 338 338- 338 338 338- 338- 338- 33s- 338- 338- 338- 338- 338 338- 338 338- 388- 338- 388 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 32=306— 3U=276. -31=307—5 b (31)=302 305+1=3,06. Word. Page and Column. 78:1 -30=273. 577—273= 306 32=306—5=301—30=371 . 577—371=306+1=307 298 49 206 -31=307-9 b & // col. =298. -284=54—5 b &. h (284)=49. -31=307—50=357. 462—257=305+1=306. -31=307—50=257. 396—257=139+1=140+ 7,^ col. =147. -50=388—50 (79:1)=331— 4 k col.=337. -33(79:1)=306— 30=376— 31 b& h col.=245. -284 (33 to 316, 79:1)=54— 5/' & h (384)=49. -57 (79:1)=381— 10/' col.=371. _31=307— 50=357. 534—357=377+1=378+ 7^ col. =285. -31=307. -31=307—50=257. 147 237 245 49 271 285 307 257 -284 (79:1)=54— 3 col. =98. 338— 32=306— 50=256— 5/^=251— 50=201 + 186= 387—9=378. 338—33 (79 :1)=306— 50=256. 338—32=306—30=276—2 // col.=274. 338—32=306—30=276—50=226—4 /i col. =222. 338—32=306—30=276—50 (10:1)=236. 508—326= 382+1=383. 383 338— 145=193— 186 (81 :2)=7— 4/7 & /^ 3. 489—3 =486+1=487. 338—32=306—50=356—50=206. 338—32 =306— 30=376— 163=1 14. 338—32=306—50=256—50=206—186=20. 489— 30=469 + 1=470+1 //=471. 471 And contracted the dreadful disorder. We then read: 338—33=306—30=276. 338—57=381. 533—381=253+1=353+15 /' & //= 33o_32=306— 30=376— 50=326— 15 /- & /t col. =311. 338—32=306—30=276—50=226. 396—226=170+1 338—57=381—50=231—64=167—22 6 & //=145. 338—57 (79:1 )=281— 50=231. 338—32=306—50=256—50=206. 396—206=190+ 1 338—200 (218 to 518, 79:1)=138. 338—138=200+1 Page and Column. 80 78 78 80 80 Holland and the Low Countries. of the French that — 79:2 78:2 76:1 79:2 76:1 75:2 81:2 78:2 78:2 78:2 80:1 80:2 80:1 80:2 76:1 iO:V: 81:1 They fortify the town of Gan- Gate. Our forces take it after a hard fight. ( 273 78:2 Our 98 78:2 men 378 81:2 became 256 75:2 too 274 79:2 familiar 222 78:3 with the 487 81:1 women 306 80:1 of 114 78:1 the place — 376 78:1 And 268 79:2 when 211 80:1 the =171 80:1 King 145 78:2 and 231 78:2 his =191 80:1 forces =201 80:1 marched 8o6 THE CIPHER NARK A TIVE. Word. 338—50=288—31 (79:1)=257— 63 (79:2)=194— 2 b (63)=192. 193 338—31 (T9:l)=307— 50=257— 63 (79:2)=194. 194 338— 57 (79:1)=2S1. 338—281=57+1=58. 58 338— 57=^81-30 (:4:2)=2ol. 533— 251=':83+1= 383 338—31=307—5 A=';.) J— 30=272— 50=322. 461— 323=239 +1 =2 ;0 + (J//=246. 246 338— 284 (79:1 )=54. 462—54=408 + 1=409. 409 338—50 (74:2)=288— 57 (79:1)=231. 231 338-30=308—162=146—33=114. 463—114=348 + 1=349 + 1 //=350. 350 338—31=307—5 /;=302— 285 (79:1)=17— 2 // (285)= 15. 468—15=453+1=454. 454 Page and Cf)lumn. 80:1 78:1 80:1 79:3 79:1 78:3 80:1 78:3 :1 And then we arc told of the ravages of the dreadful disorder. 338—57 (79:1)=381. 396—381=115 + 1=116+3/^ col. =119 338—31=307—5 /; (3 1 )=302— 50=252. 598—252= 346+1=347. 347 338—144=194—57=137—11 /' col.=126. 126 338—58=380—58=332—3 // col. =319. 319 338—57=381—50=331 + 163=394. 394 338—31=307—50=357—5: (80:1)=200— 14/; & h col. =186 80:1 79:2 80:2 80:2 78:1 80:3 80:1 79:3 back to England they brought it along with them. It hath made sad destruction among the 80:3 79:3 80:1 75:8 79:3 poor lewd people of this to-wn. 338—144=194- 10/; coI.=184. 184 338— 57(79:1)=381. 598—381=317 + 1=318. 318 338_33=306—50=256— 50=306— 57=149. 523— 149=374 + 1=375. 375 338—58 (79:1)=2'^0— 2 // col. =278. 278 338—32=306—30=276—50=226. 226 338—32=306—50=256—50 (76:1)=306— 145=61. 61 338—56=381. 598—281=317+1=318 + 10/; & h col. =328 The reader will observe that the same root-number produces very significant words. For instance, 338 inimis 284 (284 is the number of words in the first sub- division of 79:1 above the terminal word 317) leaves a remainder of 54; but in the 284 there are three words in brackets and two hyphenated words; these give us 54, 52, 51 and 49 (54—2 h=^i\ 54—3 b=si\ 54—5 ''' & /''=49)- And if we turn to the text we find that the 51st word (79:1) is incurable ; and the 49th is disease; while the 51st word up from the end of scene third (79:1) is ; the 54th is ,§-d)z=302— 50=252. 468—252=216+ 1=217 + 3 h col. =220. 220 338-32=306—5=301—30=271—146=125— hb& h col. =120. 120 76:1 A 78:1 bold. 76:1 forward 8i, THE CIPHER NAUR A TIVE. Page and Word. Column. 338—31=307—5 (5=302. 610—302=308+1=309 +3/^=312. 312 77.2 and 338—32=306— 5 ,5=301- -30=271— 145=126. 126 76:1 most 338—31=307—5 /;=302— 30=272— 145=127. 462— 127=335 + 1=336. 336 78:2 vulgar 338—32=306— 5/^=301— 30=271— 146=125— 50= 75. 457+75=532. 532 76:2 boy. .09 78:2 A 39 79:2 gross, 57 79:2 fat, 94 76:1 on And here, the formula changing as we work, we have a description given by Bacon of Shakspere as he grew older. We have the following: 338—32=306—5 /;=301— 30=271— 162=109. 338—32=306—5 ,5=301—162=139. 338— 31=307— 30=277— 1 62=1 1 5— 58 (79 :1)=57 . 338—32=30 3-50=256— 1 62=94. 338—32=306—50=256—162=94—50=44. 338— 44=294+1=295. 338—31=307—5 (5=302—30=272—146 (76:2)=126. 518—126=392+1=393+4 // col.=397. 338—32=306—50=256—162=94 462—94=308+ l=.369+4 b & h col. =373. 338—32=306—50=256—162=94. 338—32=306—50=256—162=94 295 397 80:1 taught 5c8— 31=307— 50=257— 162=95. 373 94 448—94=354 + 1=355 462—95=367+1=368 110 338— 32=307— 30=277-462=115— 5 b col.=110. 338—32=306—50=256—162=94. 462—94=368+ 1=369 + 2=371. (371) 338—32=306—50=256—162=94. 462-94=368+ 1= 369 79:1 78:2 79:2 76:1 78:2 79:1 79:2 78:2 rogue, full of his own most beastly desires. Taught is found but twice in this play; both times in act ii, scene i, with only two lines between them. We have seen it used already to refer to Susanna's edu- cation, and now we see it employed to describe Shakspere. Beastly is compara- tively a rare word; it is found but twice in this play, and but twice besides in all the Historical Plays. Desires is found but twice in this play, and but twelve times in all the Histories. Gross occurs but twice in this play. Observe also that all of these last five words are produced by precisely the same root-number and the same terminal number, 94, while 115 is the same root- number put through the same formula, except that 30 is the modifier instead of 50. And then we have, coming out of the same root-numbers (for the difference between 94 and 144 is just 50), the following: 338—31=307—5 b (31 )=302— 50=252. 252 338— 32=306— 5 /; (32)- 301— 30=271— 50=221— 145= 76— 3/'(145)=73. 462—73=389+1=390+1 /^col.=391 388—31=307—5 b (31)=302— 30=272— 50=222. 577—222=355+1=356+3 h col. =339. 339 338—32 - 306—162=144. 461—144=317+1=318 +2 /^=320. 320 338—32=306—162=144—50=94. 468—94=374+1=375 318—32=306—162=144. 462—144=318+1=319. 319 Here again the alternations, 31, 32, etc., are preserved. 77:2 r8:2 78:2 78:1 78:2 glutton, rather over-greedy than choice. And here observe an astonishing fact: — the -word glutton occurs but twice in all SHAKSPERE THE ORIGINAL FALSTAFF. 813 the thousand pages of the Plays, and both times it is found in this play, and in this aetj and both times it is used to describe Shakspere; and lioth times it gro-ws out of joj — i6j=jjS ! If the reader will turn back to 76:1 and take the number 338, and count from the first word of scene third, downward and forward, he will find that the 338th word \s g/idton. Thus: Page and Word. Column. 338— 49 (76:1)=289. 289 76:3 glutton. And here we have it again occurring in 78:2, and again it is the 338th word; and these are the ojily oceasions ivhen the word is found in all the Shakespeare Plays I And if we turn backward with this root-number we stumble again upon the story of Shakspere's fight with the game-keepers and the flight of his companions, for 288 (^338 — 50=288) carried down the preceding column is turned (288, 75:2); and 289 (33S — 49=289) is their; and 289 up the preceding column is oicr, and 288 is men; and 288 up the same, plus b & //, is fed; and 289 — 50=239 down the same column is swifter; and 289 up the same column plus the bracket words is arrozcs; and 239 down the same column plus the b Si, h \s speed. Here, with a touch, as it were, we have the elements of the sentence, Our men tin-ned their baeks and fled sivifter than the speed of arroTus. But if we use the modifier 30, instead of 50, we have 289 — 30 =259, and 259 down the same column is prisoiie)-; and plus one hyphen word it is /rt'd-« (taken); and////.r both b d Ji'w. is again fled; and 259 up the same column is v'^/^/(/(" fled the field"); and plus the bracket words it is again prisoner; and plus both b & h\\. is furious ! And 258 (288 — 30=258) down the column is ta'en, and up the column it supplies the then for "swifter than the speed," etc. In short, everywhere we turn with the magical Cipher numbers, marvelous arithmetical adjustments present themselves. And then we have this description of Shakspere, coming, it will be observed, out of that same 33S minus 31 or 32, counting in the five bracket words in the 31 or 32: 338—31=307—5 b (31)=302- -80=272—50=222. 338—32=306—5 b (32)=301— 145=156— 2 b col.= 338—31=307—5 b (31)=302— 145=157— 2 b col.= 338—32=306—5 b (32)=301— 30=271— 4 /^ col.= 338—31=307—5 b (31)=302— 30=272— 146=126. 498—126=372+1=373. 338—32=306—5 (32)=301— 145=156— 2 ^=154. 338—31 -307—5 b (31)=302— 30=272— 50=222. 338—32=306—5 b (32)=301— 30=271— 14 b & h= Here we have the same regular alternatives, 31, 32; 31, 32; 31, 32:31, 32. And it stands to reason that to have carried on the deception as to the authorship of the Plays in such wise as to escape suspicion, Shakspere must have been a man of remarkable shrewdness and some natural ability. And we will find hereafter that he was much like Sir John Falstaff in his characteristics. But if (when we advance a step farther in the Cipher), instead of using 505 — 167^338 as the root-number, we count in the 22 /-■ & h words in that 167, we obtain still more interesting portions of the story. The formula now is 505 — 167=^338 — 22 b & /i=3i6; and to save labor to printers and readers I will use in the following example only that terminal number, 316: 505—167=338—22 b & //=316. 316— 32=284— 162=122— 4/^ &^col.=l 18. 118 77:2 Weighing 222 78:2 With 154 77:3 his 155 77:2 quick 267 77:2 wit 373 76:1 and 154 77:2 his 222 78:1 big 257 77:2 belly. Word. Page and Column. 370 76:3 two 195 80:1 hundred 554 77:3 pound. 814 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 316—33=384—50=334. 603—334=369+1= 316— 33=384— 50=33 i— 30 (76:1)=304. 396—304 192+1=193+3/; col.=195. 316—33=384—50=334—30=304—145=59. 610— 59=551 + 1=553 + 3// col. =554, Observe the accuracy of this. Weighing occurs but this one time in this play, and but four times besides in all the Plays ! Yet here it is, with all the other words descriptive of Shakspere's Falstaffian proportions before sickness broke him down. ./^?/«(/;'ft/ occurs but three times in this play; and /<'////(/ but once in this act. Here every word is 505 — 167=338 — 22 /; & //=3i6 — 32=284 — 50=234. Think how many figures there are that might have applied themselves to that 505 to modify it; and yet into this labyrinth of numbers we see the same terminal root- immber, reached through all these transmutations, picking out the coherent words, as in the above sentence. The reader will perceive, by looking at the te.xt, \.\\3X pound was used iox pounds in that day: — " Will your Lordship lend me a thousand pound? " And now, marvelous to tell. Bacon refers to Shakspere, even as the Bishop of Worcester did, as a. glutton; and still more marvelous, the text is so adjusted that again for the third time that same word, glutton is used: 316—49=367—145=133. 448—133=336+1=337. 337 76:1 A 316—30=386—163=133. 133 78:1 great 316—30=386—50=336—163=73. 463—73=389+ 1=390+1 // col=391. 391 78:3 glutton. Now compare this with the manner in which glutton was just obtained: 338—33=306—5 b (33)=301— 30=371— 50=331— 145 =76—3 b (145)=73. 463—73=389+1=390+ 1 h col. =391. 391 78:3 glutton Here it will be observed that the difference between 145 and 162 is 17, and this, plus the 5 /' in 31 (79:1), makes 22, the number of /' c& // words in 165, and thus the two counts are so equalized as to fall on the same word. But what a miracle of arithmetical adjustments does all this imply ! And then the description of the play-actor of Stratford goes on. We are told he is, besides being a glutton, a drunkard. Or, as it is expressed, that — 316—49 (76:1)=367— 146=131. 498—131=377+1=378 316—50 (74:3)=366— 163=104. 104 316—50(74:3=366—14.5=131—3/' (145)=118. 610— 118=493+1=493. 493 316— 3O(74:3)=380— 163 (78:1)=133. 463—133= 339+1=340. 340 316—30 (74:3)=386. 468—386=183+1=183+ 3Acol.=186. 186 316— 49 (76:1 )=367— 163=105. 577—105=473+1= 473 316—50 (74:3)=366— 163=104. 610—104=506+1=507 The word extraordinarily is a very rare word in the Plays. // is found but t-wice in all the Plays, and both times in this play I And this is the only time fond appears in all this play; and this is the only time bottle appears in all this piny ! A.nA fond occurs but twelve other times in all the Historical Plavs; and bottle but four other 76:1 He 77:3 is 77:3 extraordinarily 78:3 fond 78:1 of 77:1 the 77:3 bottle. SIfAKSPERE THE ORIGINAL FALSTAEF. 815 times I Yet here they are linked together by the same root-number, with the naturally coherent words: ^/> — /v//i' — -cveighing — tioo — Iiiindred — pound — great — glutton, elc. And glutton doe.?, noi, I have shown, appear in any other of the Shakespeare Plays ! Surely the blindest and most perverse must concede that all this cannot be accidental. And then we have the following important statement; 310—161=155—57=98—12 l> & h col. =86. 316—161=155. 610—155=455+1=456. 316—49 (76:1)=267— 57=210. 31 6— -1 62=1 54—57 (80 : 1 )=97 . 523—97=426 + 1= 427+2 /;=429. 316— 50(74: 2)=266+ 32 (79:1)=298— 2 h col.=296. 316—30=286—162=124. 468—124=344+1=345 + l/,=346. 316—49=267—145=122. 316—50=266. 339—266=73+1=74. 316—30=286. 339—286=53+1=54+3 /;=57. 316—50=266—50=216. 468—216=252+1=253. 316—30=286—161=125—57 (80:1)=68. 523—68= 455+1=456. 316—31=285—30=255—4 // col. =251. 316—161 (78:1)=155— 2/- col.=153. 316—161=155—5/; & 7^=150. 316—161 (18:1)=155. 316—49=267. 316—31=285—50=235. 316— 5 (^& //col. =311. 316—50=266—50=216. 468—216=252+1=253+ Zk col. =256. 316—49=267—10 b col. =257. 316—31=285—145=140—3 /;=137. 162— 137=25^ 316—30=286—161=125. 468—125=343+1=344. 316—32=284. 610—284=326+1=327 316—49=267. 316—163=153—4/' & h col. =149. 316. 468—316=152+1=153. 316—32=284—50=234—10/ col. =224. 316—32=284. 316—30=286—32=254. 268—254=214+1=215+3 //=218 316. 316—2 //=314. 316—32=284—50=234—65 ll(5col.=100. 316. 610—316=294+ 1=295+9 / col.=304. 316—32=284—50=234—65 (79:2)=169— 58 (80:1)= 111. 523—111=413+1=413. 316—50=266+162=428. 316-32=284. 316-49=267. 577—267=310+1=311. 316— 32=284— 50=234— 162=72— 11 /=61. =169—58 (80:1)=111- Word. 86 Page and Column. 80:2 But 456 77:2 I 'no 77:2 must 429 80:2 confess 296 79:1 there 346 78:1 was 122 78:2 some 74 80:1 humor 57 80:1 in 253 78:1 the 456 80:2 villain; 251 78:2 he 153 77:2 hath 150 77:2 a 155 77:2 quick 267 77:2 wit, 235 78:2 and 311 79-1 a 256 257 1=26 78:1 77:2 78:1 great belly; and, 344 78:1 indeed, 327 77:2 I 267 149 77:2 made 153 78:1 use 224 77:2 of 284 78:1 him. =218 78:1 with 316 7S:1 the 314 78:1 assistance 100 80:3 of 304 77:2 my 413 80:1 brother. 428 78:1 as 284 78:2 the 311 61 77:1 78:3 original model 8t0 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 316—82= 316—32= 316—31= 316—32= 316. 316—32= 316. 316—30= 528- 316—32= 316—32= 316—30= 316—31= 316—30= 316—32= =284— 4/; & /; col. =280. =o,^4_5 /, ^32)=279+ 162=441— 3 h col.= =285. =284—50=234—4 // col.=230. =284—50=234. =286—161=125—50 (76:1)=75. 603—75= 1=529. =284—50=234. 598—234=364+1=365. =384—161=123—50=73. 603—73=530+1 = =286—162=124. 610—124=486+1=487. =285—50=235. 598—235=368 + 1=364. =286—162=124. =284— 146=138— 3^ (146)=135+162= Word. Page and Column. 280 79:1 from 488 78:1 which 285 78:1 we 230 78:2 draw 316 78:1 the 234 77:2 characters 316 78:2 of 529 76:2 Sir 865 79:2 John =581 76:2 Falstaffe 487 77:2 and 364 79:2 Sir 124 78:1 Toe \ 297 78:1 be. f It wiirbe remembered that the characters of Sir John Falstaff and Sir Toby, in Twelfth Night, have many points of similarity: both are corpulent, sordid, gluttonous, sensual, wine-drinking and dishonest; indeed, very much such characters as Bacon describes Shakspere to have been. Note how many significant words come out of the same root-number: 234 is charactc7-s: it is also dra^v {draw characteis); it is also, minus 162, model {model to draw charaele)-s)\ it is also, up the next column forward, ye//;/,- and 284 (234+50= 284) is, minus 161, Ealstaffe; and 284 is from; and 234 again is brother. And observe, also, the number 316, out of which 234 is drawn by deducting 32 (79:1): 316 from the top of scene fourth (78:1), carried backward to the next column and down it, is made; and 316 from the end of column 78:1 upward is use {made use); and 316 carried down the next column (78:2), is of {made useof)\ and 316, commenc- ing at the end of the same scene and carried down 78:1, is him {made use of him). And this revelation supplies an answer to a question which has puzzled the com- mentators: Where did the author of the Plays find the character of Falstaff? There was nothing like it in literature. Knight cannot discover' " the very slight- est similarity " to Sir John Oldcastle in the old play entitled The Famous Victories of King Henry V. The name was borrowed, as I have shown, but not the char- acter Ritson thinks the name was taken "without the slightest hint of the char- acter." We have the explanation. The fat knight was Shakspere. The character of Falstaff is often referred to in the Cipher story. The com- bination Fall-staff \% found in eighteen of the Plays; and wherever jV^?^ appears in the text, in everv case ''fall" is near at hand I In The Tempest hoih occur in act V, scene i; in Much Ado both are found in act v, scene i; in Richard II. both appear in act ii, scene 2; in 2d Henry VI. both occur in act ii, scene 3; \n jd Henry VI. both are found in act ii, scene i; and in Hamlet both appear in act iv, scene 5; while in every other instance they are found near together. The Cipher statement that Bacon had the assistance of his brother Anthony in preparing some of the Plays is just what we might expect. This will account for the familiarity with Italian scenes and names manifested in them; for Anthony had resided for years in Italy. We can imagine the two brothers, alike in many traits of mind, working together at St. Albans, or in their chambers at Gray's Inn; 1 Introductory Notice to Henry IV., p. i66, vol. i of Histories SHAKSPERE THE ORIGINAL FALSTAFF. 817 Francis pulling the laboring oar, and the sick Anthony making valuable sugges- tions as to plots and characters. And one cannot help but imagine how the brothers must have enjoyed the rollicking scene of the fat Shakspere, leaping and singing about on the stage, enacting his own shameful character in the disguise of Fal- stafJ ! It was capping the climax of the ludicrous. It was a farce inside of a comedy. I am aware it will be thought by some that I had read the foregoing passage in the Cipher story before I wrote that part of the Argument oi this book wherein I suggested ' that Shakspere was Falstaff. But I beg to assure the reader that all the Argument was in type before I worked out this portion of the Cipher narrative. In fact, the first suggestion that Falstaff might be Shakspere was made to me two or three years ago by my wife. And the multitude also enjoyed the sight, which must have entertained Francis and Anthony so much. Page and Word. Column. 316. 316 77:2 To i516 140—171 .")/;& //col 166. [316 146—170 3^—167 163— 4, 78:2, .f col.=215. 316—80=286. 598—286=312+1=318. 816—2 /i col.=314. 816—32=284—50=234. 577—284=343+1=844. 816. 888—316=22+1=23. 816—144 (317 to 461 79:1)=172. 577—172=405+ 1=406+11 /> col. =41 7. 316—31=285—30=255. 516—31=285. 598—285=313—1=314+9 b col.= -^16—57 (80:1)=259. ,316—80=286—57=229—14 d & h col. =215. .316—31=285—50=235. 838—235=103+1=104. .316—32=384—14 b col.=(270). ;316— 80=286— 57 (80:1)=229. 598—229=369+1= 316. 388— 316=22+ 1=23+5 //col.=28. 316—30=286—57 (80:1)=229. 316—31=285—57=228. 523—228=295+1=296. 316—58 (80:1)=258. 523—258=265+1=266. 316—57=259. 533—259=274+1=275 + 7/' c&i.= 316—32=284—57=227. 598—227=871 + 1=872+ 10 /. & /^=382. 316—30=286—57 (80:1)=229. 316—32=284. 338—284=54+ 1=55+3 //=58. 316—31=285—80=255. 338—255=83 + 1=84. -5 b & // col. =166. 598—284=314+ 1=815. -162=123. -50=234—50 (76:1)=184. 462- 316—145=171- 316-33=284. 316—81=285- 316—32=284 278+1=279. 316—81=285—80=255. 3 // col. =(87). 316—32=284—30=254. 8/^col.=(8S). 316—81=385—50=285. -184= 338— 255=83 +1=84 T 338—254=84+1=85+ 339-235=104+1=105. 208 171 215 313 314 344 23 417 255 323 259 215 104 (370) 870 38 229 296 :J66 383 383 239 58 84 166 315 123 379 (87) 80:3 77:1 80:3 79:3 79:3 77:1 80:1 77:1 79:3 79:3 79:3 80:3 80:1 79:3 79:3 80:1 79:3 SO -.3 80::^ 79:3 79:3 80:3 80:1 80:1 77:1 79:3 78:3 78:3 80:1 I heard that my Lord the German Minister told Says \ ill s that it ■was well worth coming all the long •way to England to see this part of Sir 316—31=385. 388— 385=53+1=54-1-3 /^ col. =57. (88) 80:1 John 105 80:1 alone, 57 80:1 in SNA A' SP ERE THE ORIGINAL FALSTAFF. 821 Page and Word. Column. 316—32=284. 598—284=314+1=315. 315 79:2 this 316—30=286—163 (78:1)=124— 62 ',80:1)=62. 489 -62=427+1=428. 428 81:1 play 316—32=284. 598— 284=314+1=315+10 /'& //= 325 79:2 and 316—31=285—30=255. 255 78:2 The 316— 32=284— 57=227— 62=165— 4 ^ & h (62)=161. 489—161=328+1=329. 329 81:1 Merry 316— 32=284— 145=139— 58 (80:1)=81— 62=19. 19 81:1 Wives 316—31=285—50=235. 235 77:2 of 316— 64 (79:2)=252— 57 (80:1)=195— 2 // col.=193. 193 79:2 Windsor. Here the word nieny is disguised in many, which represented the pronuncia- tion of the word in that age. Mr. F. G. Fleay, in his Shakespeare JMatiiial, p. 66, shows that e was then usually pronounced like " — company I It would seem, I say, as if German admiration of the great genius revealed in the Plays began at an early period; and the pride with which Bacon refers to this approbation of a distinguished foreigner is characteristic of the man who left " his memory to the next ages and to foreign nations." He felt the inadequacy of the development of his own people at that time. It may be objected that I gave in the beginning of the chapter a long sentence where 31 and 32 regularly alternated; but that in the foregoing, and in some pas- sages that follow, we have 316 used by itself as a root-number, and sometimes alter- nated with 30, 50, 31 and 32. The answer is that in these latter instances the top fragment of 79:1 is not used as a starting-point, as in the former case, but that the number 316 plays backward and forward between the beginning of scene third and the end of scene fourth; and that 316 is the real root-number. 822 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. And we also have given at length, in the Cipher narrative, the conversation between Cecil and the German Minister. And the Minister — S 1 6—33=284—57=227—62=1 65 . 489—1 65=324 + 1=325 3 1 6—32=284—30=254—1 62=92. 316— 31=285— 50=235— 57=178— 3 // col. =175. 316—30=286—30=256—162=94. 316. 598—316=282 + 1=283. 316— 32=284— L 0=254—162=92. 610—92=518+1 =519 + 2 /•col. =521. 316—30=286. 338—286=52+1=53. 316—30=286—50=236—50=186—22 /- col. =164. 316—31=285—50=235. 338—235=103+1=104. 316—32- 284—30=254—162=92. 316—31=285—50=235—57 (80:1)=178— 62 (80:2)= 116. 489—116=373 + 1=374. 316—32=284—50=234—57=177—62=115. 489— 11.5=374 + 1=375. Word. Page and Column. =325 81:1 swear; 92 77:2 up 175 80:2 and 94 77:2 down 283 79:3 they 521 77:2 can 53 80:1 not 164 78:2 equal 104 80:1 it 92 78:2 in 374 375 81:1 81:1 all Europe. These are rare words. F.jirope occurs but ten times in all the Plays; iniiiister but twice in this play, and but eleven other times in all the Historical Plays. Ger- man is found but this one time in this play, and but nine times in all the Plays. And observe the additional multitudinous proofs of the Cipher: While 316, up from the end of scene i, act ii, is German, 316, up the same column, but counting in the five hyphens in the column, is ivorth; and 316 less 3015 286, and this, less 57 (the section at the end of 80:1), is 229; and 229, carried down the preceding column, is coming [ivorth coming); and 229 down the next column forward is to; and 229 up the same column is well (well worth cojiiing to); and 316 — ^32^284, and this carried again up from the end of scene i, as in the case of German and ivorth, produces, J)lus the hyphens, England {well worth coming to England); and 284 again less 57 is 227, and 227 carried again up the preceding column, + b & h, yields zvay; and 316 less the same 57 produces long {luell worth coming all the long way to Eng- land). I gave a great many instances, on page 715, ante, where says and ill or seas and ill were matched together to produce Cecil (pronounced Sacil), and here we have another; and we shall see still others as we progress. Then the German Minister grows enthusiastic over the dramatic delineation of the character of Sir John Falstaff. In his conversation with Cecil — -62=115. 489—68=421 + 316—32=284—50=234—57=177- 316—32=284—30=254—186=68. 1=422+1/^=423. 316—30=286—57=229—3 h col.=226. 316—50=266—57=209. 316—49 (76:1)=267— 57=210. 316—50=366—57=309—61 (80:2)=148— 4<^ & h col. 316—31=285—57=228—11 1> col. =21 7. 316—57=259—186 (81 :2)=73. 31 6—32=284—57=327. 316—30=386—62 (80:2)=224. 316—57=259. 534—259=275 + 1=276. 316—31=285. 338—385=53+1=54. 115 423 326 209 310 =144 217 73 227 334 376 54 81:1 81:1 80:2 80:2 80:2 81:1 80:2 81:1 8Q:2 81:1 79:2 80:1 He said: I tell thee, the man that could conceive such a SHAKSPERE THE ORIGINAL FALSTAFF. 823 Word. Page and Column. 146 81:1 part 173 81:1 as 73 80:1 this, 63 80:1 and (!4 80:1 draw 104 80:1 it =163 80:2 so 425 81:1 well, 217 80:2 should 16H 81:1 be 145 81:1 immortal, 316—50 (76:1)=266— 57=209— 61 (80:1)=148— 2/; col. =146. ,316—31=285—49=235—62=173. .316—50=266. 338—266=72+1=73. .316—31=285. 338—285=53+1=54+9 /' col. =63. 316—32=284. 338—284=54+1=55+9/; col. =64. .316—31=285—50=235. 338-23:.=103+] = 104. .316— 32=284— 50=284— 58 (80:1)=176— 14 (^& // col = .316—32=284—30=254—185 (81:2)=69. 489-69= 420—1+4^ & h (185)=425. .316—31=285—57=228—11 h col.=217. 316—30=286—57=229—61 (80:2)=168. 316—50=266—57=209—62 (80:1)=147— 2^ col.= This is the only time iniDiortal occurs in this play, and it is found but twice besides in all the Historical Plays. And this is the only time conceive appears in this play; and it is found but three times besides in all the Historical Plays. Observe the word /rt;V in the Concordance: — how often it occurs in some plays and how rarely in others. It is found but five times in Macbeth, while we dis- cover it twenty-four times in Hamlet; and play occurs but four times in Alacbetli; while //lays are alluded to in the internal narrative, it is natural to speak of such and such a paj-t in the play, or of the first, second or third part of some of the Historical Plays. And it further appears (departing a little from our root-number 316) that — as I "had supposed — Shakspere was a usurer in the full sense of the term. We are told by this same root-number, 33S, that he acquired a great part of his wealth by this practice, and is clad in — 338—33=306-5 b (32)=301— 30=271— 146=125— 1 /;=124. 338—31=307—5 /; (32)— 302— 30=372— 146=126. 508—126=382+1=383 + 1 =384. 338—32=306—5 b (33)=301— 30=271— 50=221— 146 =75. 508—75=433+1=434. 338—31=307—5 b (31)=302. 338—32=306—5 b (32)=301— 30=271— 145=126. 610—126=484+1=485. That instead of being half-naked he is arrayed — 338—32=306—5 /;=301— 50=271— 50=331. 231 338—31=307—5 h (31)=302— 30=272— 49=223. 610—223=387+1=388 + 14 h & //=402. 402 338—32=306—5 /.=301— 50=351— 50=201. 603— 201=402+1=403. 403 338—31=307- 5/;=302-50 (76:1)=253. 352 Very different from the rags he wore when he — 338—31=307—5 /=302— 30=272. 508—272=236+1=237 124 76:2 apparel 384 75:2 fit 434 75:2 for 302 76:2 a 485 77:2 prince; 77:2 77:2 76:2 76:2 75:2 in silk and satin. fled 824 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 338—32=306—5 ^=301—145=166. 338—31=307—285 (79:1. 32 to 317)=22— 2 h (285)= 20. 462—20=442 + 1=443. 338—32=306—5 (^=301—50=251—145=106—3 b (145)=103. 338—31=307—5 (^=302—30=272. 461—272=189+ 1=1904 10/' & //=200. 338_33=.306— 5 Halliwell-Phillipps, Ouilines. p. 64. » Ibid., p. 85. Note. The numbering in column 2 of page 78 in the facsimile is slightly wrong; each number below the 51st should be moved backwards one. The error is due to the fact that the word almost, line 7, enclosed in the bracket sentence of eleven words, is not counted in as part of the bracket sentence, but as part of the text; hence the first word, should, after the bracket sentence, is the 52d word in- stead of the 51st, and all the succeeding numbers in the column have to be moved backward to correspond. The Publishers. CHAPTER XVIII. SWEE T ANN HA Til A WA V. One woman is fair; yet I am well; another is wise; yet I am well; another virtuous; yet I am ■well: but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. Much A do, Hi, 2. WE pass to another part of our story: the history of Shak- spere's marriage. I have already quoted one or two lines as to his rabbit-hunting. The Bishop of Worcester says: 538_30=308— 49=259— 161=98. 457—98=359+1 =360+5^ col. =365. 365 338-80=308. 533— 308=325+1=226+13 /' col.= 239 338—50=288—49=239. 577-239=338 + 1=339+ 3 /, col. =342. 342 338—30=308—31 (79:1)=277— 162=115— 49 ^ 76:1)= 66 338—30=308—50=258—50=208—162=46—2// col.= 44 338-30 (74:2)=288-50 (76:1)=238— 31 (79:1)=207 —50 (76:1) =157— 145=13— 3 l> (145)=9. 498—9 =489 + 1=490. 490 ^38-30=308—49=359—162=97+457=554. 554 338-30=308—49=259—162=97. 97 333—50 (74:2)=388— 50 (76:1)=238— 31 (79:1)=207 —145 (76:3)=63— 50 (76:1)=12. 13 338-30=308-49=359-163=97. 457—97=360+1=361 538 —30 =3 08 -50=358—1 62=96 -32 (79 : 1 )=64— 58(80:1)=6. 6 338=30—308—50=258-49=309—163=47. 47 3:38-31=307—50=357. 257 338-49=389. 289 76:3 gluttony. Then we are told how he annoyed Sir Thomas Lucy, "an upright and worship- ful man." 333—33 b & //=316-161=155— 59=98— 61 (80:3)=37 —5/, col. =32. 32 81:1 Upright 338— 33/^ & //=316-161=155— 57=98. 98, 79:1 and 338-32/' & /,=31 6-161=155—57=98. 461—98= 3P,3-t- 1=364. 364 80:2 worshipful. A.id we are told that he did — 826 76:2 He 79:2 had 77:1 fallen 76:2 into 78:2 all 76:1 sorts 76:2 of 77:2 evil 76:1 courses 76:2 with 80:1 drinking 77:2 wassail 76:2 and SWEET ANN- HA THA IVA V. 827 Word. Page and Column. 406 79:1 kill 62 =423 80:2 79:1 many a 283 81:2 deer. 338—30=308— 161=147— 32=115. 51.S— llo=403 + 1=404+2/^ col. =406. 538—30=308—50=258—162=96—32=64—2 /' col.= 338—30=308-50=258-162=96. 518—96=422 + 1=423 .338—30=308—49=259—162=97+186(81:1)= And observe how cunningly that word =408 + 1=409+4// & //=413. 338— 30=308— 49=252— 162=97— 32(791) 339—65=274+1=275. 338— 30=308— 162=146-31=115— 5 //=110— 58 (80:1)=52. 462—52=410 + 1=411. ,■338—30=308— 49=259— 162=97— 32=65— 2 /;=63. 538—30=308—162=146-31=115. 338— 30=308— 162=146— 31=115— 58(81 :1)=57. 523—57=466+1=467. 396 114—282 + 1 285 80:1 Will 145 78:2 and 50=47. 457—47 115. 523—115 ^65. 411 413 !.0 76:2 his 80:2 brother 80:1 are 411 80:3 a 63 80:3 pair 115 79:3 of 467 80:2 most 82 8 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. Page and Word. Column. 338—30=308—162=146—31=115—5 b (31)=110— 58(80:1)=52. 523—52=471 + 1=472. 472 80:2 pernicious 338—30=308—163=145. 518—145=373-^1= 374 79:1 villains. The reader will observe here that every word grows out of 308 (33S — 30=308), and that in every case but one the 308 is modified by deducting 162 from it; that is to say, by carrying the 308 to the end of scene third (78:1) and counting upwards; while in the case of the one exception referred to, we commence to count one word further down, to-wit: from the beginning of scene fourth, instead of from the end of scene third. And every one of these 308 minus 162 or 163 is carried again through the last fragment of scene fourth, containing 31 words, or 32 if we count from the first word of the next scene (act ii, scene i) inclusive. And he will observe that the modifications are made by 49, 162, 31 or 32, and 57 or 58. }>io\K i\q\s the first fragment 0/ scene j, anA. idl'x?, the last fragment of scene j; and 31 or 32 represents the last fragment of scene 4; and 57 or 58, the first fragment of scene 2, act ii; and 308 put through these changes yields the remark- able sentence above given. And then comes the story of his trouble with Ann Hathaway. Here we have the name: 338_C00 (79:1)=138. 462—138=324+1=325 325 78:2 Ann 338-200 (79:1)=13J— 5 h (200)=133. 462—133= 329+1=330 330 78:2 Hath 1 338—200 (79: 1)=138— 13^; col.=125. 125 78:2 a 338—31 (79:l)=307—3t>=277— 50=227. 598—227 =371 + 1=372 + 10/; &// col.=382. 382 79:2 way. Here it will be observed Ann hath a are all derived from 338 — 200=138; these came from the fragment of 7g:i below the end of the second subdivision of the column, to the bottom of the column (318 + 200=518, number of words on page); while the last word comes from the fraction above the first word of that same sub- division to the top of the column. And we will see that same number 277 yielding a great many other significant words, as 277, 78:1, twenty (Ann was /rctv/Zr-five); and up 79:2, less I hyphen, it is she, etc. And it seems she was a widow and her legal name was Whatley, but she was generally called by her maiden name. And here we have it again: 338—32 (79:1)=306— 30=276— 5 /;(32)=271 + 162=433 — 3/2Col.= 430 78:1 Ann 338— 200(79:1)=138— 2/. col.=136. 136 79:2 What ) 338-31 (79:1)=307— 30=277— 50=227— 57 (80:1)= [ 170. 338—170=168 + 1=169. 169 79:1 lay. S And there is a long narrative here about Ann and her troubles. By the same root-number 338, modified by deducting the 22b & h in 167, as heretofore, we have another reference to her: 605—167=338—22 b & h (167)=316. 316_31=285— 2/^ col.=283. 283 79:2 They 316—31=285. 285 79:2 call 316— 49 (76:1 )=267+ 163=430. 430 78:1 Ann 316—50 (76:1)=266— 199 (79:1)=67— 5/^ (199=62. ,598-62=536+1=537. 537 79:2 What | 316— 49=267— 200 (79:1 )=67. 468—67=401 + 1= 402 78:1 lay. \ S IV EE T A NN HA THA WAY. 829 Observe the adroitness with which the same Ann, or, as it is disguised, An (430, 78:1), is made to do double duty once by the root-number 33S, and then by the modified root-number 33S— 22 b & /^=3i6, both counts falling on the same word from the same starting-point. And the same is true of the word ,;: (125, 78:2). And she was a widow ! Page and Word. Column. 338—50=288—163=125. 125 78-2 A 338-50=288-103=125. 125 79:2 widow. In the Consistory Court at Worcester, in the marriage register, there is an entry in these terms: " 15S2, Nov. 27, William Shaxpere and Anne Whately of Temple Grafton." The next day, November 28. 1582, a bond is given to the Bishop of Worcester to hold him harmless for "licensing," etc., the marriage of William Shagspere and Anne Hathwey. The Shakspereolators have always ignored the license entry; and although there was no record of a license to Shakspere to wed Ann Hathaway, they would have none of the Whately woman. And Knight even goes so far as to give us a picture of the old church at Hampton Lucy," and would have us believe that Shakspere and the ''sweet Anne" were married in it, although there is not a shred of evidence to sustain the belief; and we have a delightful rural picture of the " ribands, rosemary and bay," the " roundels," the " vvheaten garlands," the "bride cup" and the bridal banquet; all constructed, as most of the Shakspere biography has been, out of the vivid imagination of the writer, who sought, in this way, from the beggarly materials afforded him, to create a man that would fit into the requirements of the Plays. Halliwell-Phillipps is said, in an article in the London Tclegmph, ' to be of the opinion that Ann Hathaway never lived in the Hathaway cottage; that is, that she was not a daughter of Richard Hathaway, alias Gardner, of Stratford, who died in 1582. Mr. Rolfe- concurs in this view. Richard Hathaway's will names seven children, and Anne was not one of them. The London Telegraph says: It is deplorable to have doubts started as to v/iet/ier the Shakespeare Museum contains a single genuine relic; whether Anne Hathaway's cottage is not, after all, a simple fraud; and Mary Arden's farm a disreputably unhistorical building. . . . But will they care to go to the shrine of the great poet if a cloud of doubt surrounds some of its most cherished monuments? If everything at Stratford were shown as being only doubtfully connected with the Bard? For example, instead of the guide-post pointing the way to Anne Hathaway's cottage, it might be sadly truth- ful to say, "To the reputed cottage of Anne Hathaway." Mary Arden's farm- house ought to be ticketed as an '' uncertain " building, and Shakespeare's tomb in the church would have to be pointed out as the tomb "either of Shakespeare or somebody else. " A. Hall, in a letter to the London Athenicum, 1886, suggests that Richard Hath- away, alias Gardner, may have married a widow named Whately, from Temple Grafton, and that she might have taken the nam i of Hathaway as liis step- daughter. ^ut here in the Cipher is the explanation of the mystery: Ann had bsan mar- ried to one Whatley; and when the bride herself gave her name, Nov. 27, 1582, for the marriage license, she gave it correctly, and she was married by that name; but the next day, when her farmer friends were called upon to furnish the bond to indemnify the Bishop, they gave the lawyer who drew the bond the name by which, in the careless fashion of such people, she was generally known. ' Biography, p. 223. "^ Shakspeariana, Sept., 1886, pp. 430, 431. "^Literary World, Boston, Jan. 23, 1886, p. 30. 8.50 THE CIPHER l\AKRATIVE. Word. Pag:e and Column. (269) 78:2 She 104 77:2 is 309 78:1 far (271) 79:2 gone 104 79:1 in 147 77:2 pregnancy, De Quincey says of the marriage bond: Trepidation and anxiety are written upon its face. . . . Economy, which retards the marriage, is here evidently in collision with some opposite principle which precipitates it. How is all this to be explained? Neither do we like the spectacle of a mature young woman, five years past her majority, wearing the sem- blance of having been led astray by a boy who had still two years and a half to run of his minority. And we are told that — 316—31 (79:1)=285— 16 b & h col. =269. 316—50=266—162=104. 316—7 b col. =309. 316—31 (79:1)=285— 14/' col. =271. 316—50=266—162=104. 316— 163=153— 6 A & h col. =147. This the only time the word pregnancy appears in all i lie goo,ooo -words of the- Plays ! And it appears just where it is needed to tell the story of Shakspere's- marriage; and it is found side by side with .-/;/;/ — Hath — a — 7i'(n', and ^/;;;/ — What — /rfi' (by two different counts); and other still more significant words thaL are to follow. I weary of asking the question: — can all this be accident? And then we have this description of her: 338—30=308—31=277. 598—277=321 + 1=322. 322 79:2 She 338—50=288—146=142—3 /' (146)=139. 462—139= 323+1=324+6/' & // col. =330. 338—32=306—50=256—162=94—65=29. 538—30=308—145=163. 610—163=447+1=448+ ll/^&//=459. 338— ,50=288— 162=126— 64 (79:2)=62. 338—30=308—145=163. 610—163=447+1=448+ 2/^ col. =450. 338—50=288—162=126. 598-126=472+1=473. • 338-50=288-162=126—57 (79:1)=69. 396-69= 337+1=328. 338-50=288— 162=126— 30=96— 64 (79:2)=32+ 338=370 338—199=139. 338—50=288—162=126—65 (79:2)=61. 396—61= 33.5 + 1=3:36. 338-30=308-285=23+338=361. 338— 199(31878 190 79:2 78:2 9:2 79:2 79:2 A great throng of people singing. 3:38—31=307—50= The villagers were having a merry time over poor Ann's misfortunes. ■ In the last chapter I asked : — Why — if there is no Cipher — did we have ' ' the sivin'r man of IVindsor?" But the Cipher then explained the appearance of Windsor, and now we see the reason why the unknown man of Windsor was a singing man. The Bishop complains that he was just sitting down to dinner — 338—200=138—50=88. 338—88=250+1=251. 251 80:1 dinner- when the rabble broke in upon him. She asked the Bishop to grant her redress: 3^8— 200(79:1)=138, 338—31 (79:1)=307— 50=257. 396 338—32 (79:1)=306— 58 (80:1)=248, 4-1=351 + 10 f!' & //=361. 361 79:2 redress. The reluctant lover had tried to escape the bonds of matrimony: 138 78:2 Grant 257=139 + 1= 140 80:1 her 598 248—350 SIVEE T ANN HA THA IV A V. ^33 338—57=281. 598—281=317+1=318+9 ^ co].= 338—200=138—3// col. =135. 338—199=139—30=109—50=59—2 /> col.=57. 338— 200=138— 64=74— 2 /< (64)=72. 518—72=446 + 1=447. IVord. 327 Page and Column. 79:2 The 135 78 churlish, 57 79:2 fat 441 r9:l rogue And then we are told, the root-number changing, as heretofore, from 505 — 167 =338, to 505—167=338—22 /' & // (i67)=3i6, that Shakspere fled. He— 316—31=285—50=235. 010-235=375 + 1=376. 316—284 (79:1)=32. 316—56 (79:1^=260—50=210. 462—210=252+1= 316—50=266—64 (79:2)=202. 462—202=260+1= 261 + 3// col. =264. 376 77:2 took 32 77:2 to 253 78:2 his 264 78:2 heels. And hid himself among the Welsh, — for Wales was near at hand: 256 285 229 254 213 78:2 79:2 78:2 78:2 the Welsh. Coming back, the 354 78:1 ofificers 207 78:2 take 284 78:1 him. 316—50=266—59 (79:1)=207. 462—207=255+1= 316—31 (79:1)=285. But he grew hoinesick, and — 316—50=266—32 {79:1)=234— 5/^ (32)=229. 31 6— 30=286— 32=254. 316—30=286—32=254. 462—254=208+1=209+ 3 //col. =212. 316—30=286—32=254. 598—254=344 + 1=345+ 9 d col. =354. 316—50=266—32 (79:1)=234— 27/; col.=207. 316—32=284. Even the details of the arrest and the struggle of Shakspere are given (by 316) with great particularity. The reader will find them embalmed in the latter part of column I, page 79, disguised in the arrest of Falstaff by Dame Quickley. Indeed, the fragments into which page 79 is divided are so many, and the brackets and hyphens are so numerous, that almost every word of the text, in some places, is used in the Cipher story. And hence, to accomplish this result, the external story was made to tell of the arrest of Sir John Falstaff by Dame Quickley, because of money loaned him, with complaints that he had promised to marry her; while the internal story tells how Shakspere had borrowed money from Ann Hathaway under similar promises, and how she finally settled her claim by marrying her dissolute, eighteen-year-old debtor. It is no wonder that he left her, in his last will, his " second-best bed." A marriage so made could hardly have been a happy one. But the question maybe asked: Why does the Cipher rule in some of the fol- lowing instances differ from that found in the preceding chapters ? There the words moved right and left from a common center. Here they are found in clusters, all in the same column; and the te.\t, the hyphens and brackets are so arranged as to bring out sentences almost identical with those found in the te.xt. The answer is, that it is only the terminal root-numbers, created by deducting ^Ae ends of scenes or Mts, that become new factors to be carried in all directions, to other scenes and acts; but where the fragments are inside of, and parts of, scenes, like 284 and 285, 57 and 58, 64 and 65, the work they perform is confined to the contiguous columns. In the description of the arrest we learn that Will was taken by surprise as he was loitering about the streets of Stratford. We are told that — 834 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 316—31=285. 316—31=285—161=124. 396—124=272 + 1= 316—31=285—30 (74:2)=255. Word. Page and Column. 285 80:1 Will, 273 80:1 being 255 78:2. unarmed, is, after a hard fight, at length taken prisoner. Had he been armed they would have found him a dangerous person to handle: 310-32=284—30=254—162=92. 610—92=518 + 1=519 But, being unarmed, they are abh- to take him up: 316—31=285—30=255—162=93. 396—93=303+1=304 3 1 6—32=284—1 62=1 22 . 396— 1 22=274 + 1=275. 316—31=285—161=124—50=74. 316— 31=285— 162=123. 396—123=273+1=274— 2h col. =270. 316—32=284—162=122. 396—122=274 + 1=275+ 77:2 dangerous. 2/' col. =277. 310—31=285-30=255. 462-255=207-1-1=208. And they take him on — 310-31=285—162=123—30=93. 610—93=517+1= 310—31=285 + 162=447. 310-161=155 + 163=318. 316—1 62=154—50=104. 533—104=429+1=430. 316— 65(79:2)=251— 4/' & // col. =247. 316—31=285—30=255. 316—31=285—30=255—162=93. 610—93=517 + 1 =518+2 h col.=520. 316—31=285—30=255. 316-162=154—4// col. =150. 316— 65(79 :2)=251— 30=221— 32=189-r 162=351— 2// col. =349. 275 74 276 277 208 =518 447 318 430 247 255 520 255 150 349 80:1 80:1 78:2 80:1 80:1 They are able to take him 78:2 up. 77:2 78:1 78:1 79:2 79:1 77:2 80:1 78:2 78:1 A warrant for debt in an action upon the case. Observe how all the law phrases corre out by the same root-number — zaarratit — debf — action — case. And directly we will see arrested ai my suit. Warrant is found but once in each of the plays of Macbeth, Midsummer Nighf s Dream, Love's Labor Lost, Mercliant of Venice, All's Well, and jd Henry VI., and not at all in Julius Cicsar; but it occurs eleven times in The Merry Wives (where Shakspere's story is also told), and four times in act ii of this play, and once in the last scene of act i ; or six times altogether in this play. This is the only time debt occurs in this play. It is found, however, once in the Epilogue. And Ann tells the Bishop, astonished at such a scene of love-making, that — 338—285=53 338—284=5 338—285=53 338—284=5 338—285=53 30 (74:2)=23— 5 b & h (285)=18. 30 (74:2)=24— 5 b& h (285)=19. 30 (74:2)=23— 3/' (285)=20. 30 (74:2)=24— 3 b (285)=21. 30 (74:2)=24— 2/« (285)=22. 338—285=53—30 (74:2)=23. 338—284=54—30 (74:2)=24. 338—285=53—30 (74:2)=23. 598—23=575+1= 18 79:2 He 19 79:2 is 20 79:2 arrested 21 79:2 at 22 79:2 my 23 79:2 suit, 24 79:2 for 576 79:2 by Page and Column. 79:2 this 79:2 heavenly 79:2 ground 79:2 I S WEE T A NN HA THA IV A V. 835 Word. 338—284=54—30 (74:2)=24. 598—24=574+1=575 +2//(284)=577. 577 338—285=53—30 (74:2)=23. 598—23=575 + 1=576 + 2/i(285)=578. 578 ■ 338—285=53-30 (74:2)=23. 598—23=575+1=576 +3/5(285)=579. 579 338—284=54—30 (74:2)=24. 598—24=574+1=575 +5 ^ & // (284)=580. 580 338—285=53—30 (74:2)=23. 598-23=575+1=576 + 5^& /^(285)=581. 581 79:2 tread. Here it will be perceived that 23 and 24 down the column (79:2), modified by the brackets and hyphens in 284 and 285, produce the upper part of the sentence; and 23 and 24 carried up the same column, modified in the same way, produce the latter part of the sentence; and the words flow in regular sequence from iS to 24, and again from 576 to 5S1. And it will be observed that the oath taken by Ann Whatley, "by this heavenly ground I tread," is much more appropriate to her than to Dame Quickley; for Ann was at the Bishop's house, while Dame Quickley had Falstaff arrested in the open street, which, certainly, was not " heavenly ground." But the sentence flows right on. What does Ann call the " heavenlv ground " to witness ? 338—284=54—50 (76:1 )=4— 3 /> (284 )=1. 338—285=53—49 (76:1=4—2 // (284)=2. 338—284=54—49 (76:1)=5— 2 A (284)=3. ■338—285=53—49 (76:1)=4. 338—284=54—49 (76:1)=5. Here we have perfect regularity; and the words produced are the ist, 2d, 3d, 4th and 5th of the text. And when we increase the root-number by 50 (4+50=54) we have another similar series, showing the accurate adjustment of the text to the Cipher. And observe what good service 338 minus 284=^ 54 and 338 iniiius 285^ 53 perform in this story. We have just seen that 53 and 54 viiniis the common modifier, 30, produced "He is cinvshui at my suit, for by this heavenly gnnmd I tread; " and minus the other common modifier, 50, we have just got the words. Oh my 7?iost worskififul Lord; and now vie turn to 53 and 54 themselves, unmodified, and we have the following sentence: 338—284 (79:1)=54— 5/. & k (284)=49. 338—285 (79:1)=53— 3 l> (285)=50. 338—284 (79:1)=54— 3 1> (285)=51. 333—284=54—2 h col. (285)=52. 338—285=53 338—284=54 Here again the words follow in the regular order of the text, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53 and 54. And when we have exhausted the root-number 338, carried through the second subdivision of 79:1 (284 and 285), we fall back on the first subdivision of the same column, containing 31 and 32 words, (as we count from the end of one scene or the beginning of another), with the following results, which hitch onto the sen- tence worked out by the second subdivision: 338—32=307—50=256—199 (79:1)=57— 2 /' col. =55. 79:1 into 338— 31=307— 50=2.-)7— 199 (79:1)=58— 2 /> col. 56 79:1 that 1 79:2 Oh 2 79:2 my 3 79:2 most 4 79:2 worshipful 5 79:2 Lord, 49 79:2 he 50 79:2 hath 51 79:2 put 52 79:2 all 53 79:2 my 54 74:2 substance 836 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. Word. Page and Column. 57 79:1 58 79:1 338— 32=306— 50==256— 199 (79:1 )=57. 57 79:1 fat 338—31 (79:1)=307— 50=257— 199 (79:1)=58. 58 79:1 belly. Here again the words follow in their regular order; the last sentence ended with 54; this begins at 55 and runs regularly to 58. And the widow further complains that the " divine William" hath — 338—32=306—162=144—50 (74:2)=94— 50 (76:1)=44 42 r9:2 eaten 43 79:2 me 44 79:2 out 45 79:2 of 46 79:2 house 47 79:2 and 48 79:2 home. —2 b col. =42. 338—31=307—162=145—50=95—50=45— 2 b col. =43. 338-32=306—162=144—50=94—50=44. 338—31=307—162=145—50=95—50=45. 338—285=53—5 b&h (284)=48— 2 b col. =46. 338—284=54—5 b&h (284)=49— 2 b col. =47. 338—285=53—5 b&h (284)=48. Here again the words follow the regular sequence of the text, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47 and 48. Surely if all this is accident it is the most miraculous series of accidents ever seen in the world. And the widow also says that the young spendthrift has borrowed and spent all her money, and has come back from Wales in the ragged and woe-begone con- dition which the Bishop described to Cecil: without shirts, stockings, cloak, etc. And she grieves over the loss of her money; it is a case of " Oh my ducats ! Oh my daughter ! " 338—65=273. 518—273=245+1=246. 338—64=274. 518—274=2444 1=245 + 6/^ col.= 338—65=273. 518—273=245+1=246+6 h col.= 338— 64=274r-50=224+ 32=256— 3/; col =253. 3-^8- 64=274— 2 h (64)=272— 50=222+32=254. 338—65=273—50=223 + 32=255. 338-64=274—50=224+32=256. 338—65=274—49 (70 :1)=225+ 32=257. 246 79:1 For 251 79:1 a 252 79:1 100 253 79:1 mark 254 79:1 is 255 79:1 a 256 79:1 long 257 79:1 one. The young scamp had wasted the widow's dower was enamored of his youth and good looks. And story of her wrongs: 338—57=281—50=231. 598—231=367+1=368. 338—64=274. 338—65=273—3 b col. =270. 338—64=274—1 // col. =273. 338-65=273— 2 (^ (65)=271— 3 b col. =268. 338—64=274—3 b col.=271. 338—65=273—1 // col.=272. 338—50=288 (79:2)— 64=224. 338—50=288—65 (79:2)=223. 338—50=288—64 (79:1)=224. 295+2/^ (64)=297. 338_.50=288— 65 (79:1)=223. 296+2 <^(64)=298. in riotous living, while she she continues the plaintive 518—224=294+1= 518—223=295+1= 518—224=294+1= 518—223=295+1= 368 79:2 I 274 79:1 have 270 79:1 borne 273 79:1 and 268 79:1 borne 271 79:1 and 272 79:1 borne; 295 79:1 there 296 79:1 is 297 79:1 no 298 79:1 honestj SWEET ANN HA THA IV A Y. 5 18— 225=293 + 1=294 + 5 1 8— 224=294 + 1 =295 + 518—223=295+1=296 + 338—64=274—49=225. 5/^ col.=299. 338—64=274—50=224. 5/; col. =300 338—65=273—50=223. 5/^ col. =301. 338—64=274—8 l> col. =266. 338—65=273—2/; (65)=271— 4/' & h col. =267. 338—64=274—30=244. 518—244=274+1=275. 338—65=273—30=243. 518—243=275+1=276. 338—64=274—30=244—2/' (64)=242. 518—242= 276+1=277. Word. 299 300 301 266 267 275 276 338—65=273—30=243—2 /;=241. )18— 241=277+1=278 280 518—244=274+1=275+ 518—243=275+1=276+ 518—242= 338—64=274—30=244. 5 // col. =280. 338—65=273—30=243. 57/ col. =281. 338—64=274—30=244—2 l> (64)=242 276+1=277+5 h col. 282. 338—65=273—30=243—2 b (65)=241. 518—241=; + 1=278+5 // col. =283. 338—30=308—50=258+31=289—5/' & // col. =284. 338— 30=308— 50=258+32=290— 5 ^ & // col. =285. 281 282 7 283 284 285 Page and Column. 79:1 79:1 79:1 79:1 79:1 79:1 79:1 79:1 79:1 79:1 79:1 79:1 79:1 79:1 79:1 in such dealing. I have bin fubbed off and from this day to that day. Observe the exquisite adjustment of the foregoing; the alternations are regular: 274, 273, 274, 273, 274, 273, 274, 273; and every word is 338 niinus 64 or 65, minus 30. If there had not been those two bracketed words in 64 or 65 the words would not have matched as they do. If there had not been the five hyphenated words in the lower part of the column the sentence would have been imperfect. If the second " fubbed off" had not been united into one word by a hyphen the Cipher would have failed. And why are those words, "fubbed off," printed once with a hyphen, and, two words above, printed again without a hyphen ? And here we have the very Warwickshire dialect the critics have been talking so much about: — the cultured English spoken by "sweet Ann Hathaway." And observe another detail: Some of the Cipher words given in previous sentences depended upon a sixth hyphen in that second ' ' f ubbed-off . " But if that hyphen instead of being there had been, say, on the next line, between thought on, our sentence would have been ruined. It is these delicate adjustments of means to ends that must carry convic- tion to even the most skeptical. And the fair Ann demands satisfaction, since — 338—65=273—30=243—8/' col. =235. 338—64=274—30=244—8 /' col. =236. 338—65=273—30=243—2/ (65)=241— 9 / & // col.^ 338—65=273—30 243—2 /; (64)=241— 3 / col.= 338—64=274—30=244—2 b (64)=242— 3 / col.= 338—65=273—30=243—3 / col. =240. 338—65=273—30=243—2 b (64)=241. 338—64=274—30=244—2 / (64)=242. 235 79:1 My 236 79:1 case 232 79:1 is 238 79:1 openly 239 79:1 known 240 79:1 to 241 79:1 the 242 79:1 world. And she wants to have him indicted: 338—64 (79:2)=274— 2 / (64)=272— 50=222. 223 r9:l To -'38 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. Nori. Pagre an J Column. 274 79:1 have 244 79:1 him 313 79:1 indicted 292 79:2 kiss 293 79:2 me 294 79:2 and 196 79:2 swear 338—64 (79:2)=274. 338—64 (79:2)=274— 30=244. 338— 64=274— 50=g24— 2 b (64)=223— 9 b & h col.= The word i)idictcd does not appear anywhere in its proper form in the Plays. In this instance it is given as indited (probably in obedience to the requirements of the Cipher, as it may be used in the sense of " written," in some other part of the story); and it is also found in Othello, iii, 4, spelled again indited. But only twice, in any form of spelling, meaning indicted, is it found in all the Plays. Yet here it is with arrested, suit, warrant, etc., just where the Cipher narrative needs it. The " poet" " deniges " the soft impeachment and tries to brave it out, some- what as Falstaff does in the play. Whereupon Ann replies, in the words of Mistress Quickley: Didst thou not — 338—31=307. 598—307=291 + 1=292. 338—32=306. 598—306=292+1=293. 338—31=307. 598— 307=291 + 1=292 + 2 J, col.= -32=306—50=256—58 (80:1)=198— 2 // col.= -65=273—2 l> (65)=271— 57 (80:1)=214— 14/; & h col. =200. -64=274-2 l> (64)=272— 57 (80:1)=215— 14/^ & // col. =201. -65=273—2 /; (65)=271— 57 (80:-l)=214— 12 b col. =202. -32=306-5 /; (32)=301. -31=307—5 b (31)=302. —31=307. 598—307=291 + 1=292+11 b & /?= 32=306—2/^ col. =304. 31=307— 2 /^col.=305. 32=306. 31=307. 3 1 =307—30=277—50=227. 32=306—30=276—50=226. -49=289. 598—289=309+1= -.50=288. 598—288=310 + 1=311. -50=288. 598—288=310 + 1=311 + 1 A col.= -64=274—2 b (64)=272— 57 (80:1)=215— 12 b col. =203. -65=273—2/' (65)=271— 57 (80:1)=214. -64=274—2 b (64)=272— 57 (80:1)=215. -65=273—57 (80:1)=216. -64=274-57 (80:1)=217. -49=289—57=232—14 /;=218. -65=273—2 b (65)=271— 50=221— 2 li col. =219. -64=274-2 /. (64)=272— 50=222— 2 /^ col.=220. -65=273—2 b (65)=271. -64=274—2 /' (64)=272— 50=222. -65 (79 :2)=273— 50=223. -64=274—50=244 -22 b & 7^=316— 32=284— 50=234— 2 // col.= -22 b & //=316— 31=385— 50=235— 2 A col.= 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338 338- 338 338 534—237=307+1- 534—326=308+1= =310. 300 301 202 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 =308 =309 310 311 312 203 214 215 316 217 218 219 220 271 222 233 244 232 333 79:3 79:2 79:2 79:2 79:2 79:2 79:2 79:2 79:2 79:2 79:2 79:2 79:2 79:2 79:3 79:3 79:3 79:3 79:3 79:3 79:2 79:2 79:2 79:3 79:2 79:3 79:3 79:3 79:3 to marry me ? I put thee now to thy Book-oath; deny it if thou canst. And did not goodw^ife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in then and borrow a SWEET ANN HA THA WA Y. 839 338—22 b 388—22 /' 338—82=: 338—31= 338—32 338—32=: 338—32=: 338—32=: 338—32= 338—22 b 338—22 b 338—22 b 249 + 338—22 b 250+ 338—22 b 250+ 338—65=: 338—64=: 338—65=' 338—64= 338—65 338—64= 338—31 338—32=: 338—31= & //=316— 32=284— 50=234. & /;=316— 31=285— 50=235. 306— 5 -i- (32)=301— 57=244— 2 h col.= 307-5 b (32)=302— 57=245— 2 h col.= 306—5 b (32)=301— 57=244. 307— 5 i^(31)=302— 57=245. • =246. =247. 533—285=248 + 1= 533—284=249+1= 533—285=248+1= 533—284=249+1= 306—58 (80:1)=248— 2/^ col. 306—57 (80:1)=249— 2 h col. 306—58=248. &//=816— 31=285. & 7^=316-32=284. & 7^=316-31=285. 2 7^ col. =251. & 7/=3 16— 32=284. 2 7/ col. =252. & 7/=31 0—31=285. 534-285=249+1= 1=251+2 7/ col. =253. 273—14 b col.=259— 2 b (65)=257— 2 h col. 74_14/; col.=260— 2/; (64)=258— 2 h col. 273—14 b col. =259 -2 b (65)=257. 274—14 /' col. =260— 2 b (64)=258. 273— 14/; col. =259. 274— 14/; col. =260. 307—30=277—14^ col.=263— 2 7^ col.= 306—30=276—14/; col.=262. 307—30=277—14 /; col. =263. Word. 234 235 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 9,59, And then Ann tells how Will desired her to — 338—65: 338—6 338—65 338—64 338—31 338—32 338—31 338—32 338—57 338—56 338—57 338—56 338—65 338—32 338—31 338—32: 338—31 273— 2/'(65)=271. 2 /' (64)=272. -30=277—2 h col.=275. -30=276. ■30=277. 50=256. 533—256=277+1= =281—2 h col. =279. =282—2 7/ col. =280. =273. :274. =307- 306- =307- =306- (79:1)= (79:1)= =281. =282. =273- =306- =307- =306- =307- -2/5(65)=271— 14<^= ■22 /' & h col =284. -22 /' & 7/=285. -20 /; col. =286. .30/; col. =287. =257. Page and Column. 79:2 mess 79:2 of 79:2 a 79:2 dish 79:2 of 79:2 prawns, 79:2 whereby 79:2 thou 79:2 didst 79:2 desire 79:2 to 79:2 79:2 eat some; 253 79:2 I =255 79:2 told =256 79:2 thee 257 79:2 they 258 79:2 were 279 79:2 ill 260 79:2 for 261 79:2 a 262 79:2 green 263 79:2 wound. 271 79:2 Be 272 79:2 no 273 79:2 more 274 79:2 familiar 275 79:2 with 276 79:2 such 277 79:2 poor 278 79:2 people, 279 79:2 saying 280 79:2 that 281 79:2 ere 282 79:2 long 257 79:2 they 284 79:2 should 285 79:2 call 286 79:2 me 287 79:2 madam. And observe another evidence of the adjustment of the number of the brack- eted and hyphenated words to the necessities of the Cipher. A little while ago we found the word call with the root-number 316 [338— 22 (^ & h (i67)=3i6] thus: 316—31=285. 285 79:2 call. 840 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. And now we have the same word call coming out again at the touch of. 338. Why ? Because there are precisely 22 bracketed and hyphenated words in the column (79:2) above the word call; and the 22 b &, h in the column exactly equalize the 22 b & h in the 167 in 74:2 ! Hence we have this result: Word. Page and Column. 285 79:2 call 285 79:2 call 505—167=338—22 b & h (167)=316— 31=285. 505—167=338—31=307—22 b & h in col. =285. Another conundrum for the men who believe the sun is an accidental bonfire, and man a fortuitous congregation of atoms ! There are a few points I will ask the reader to note: First, the many shes and hers in this story. We could not have found these in the Cipher story in act i, for that entire act of four scenes does not contain a single she and but one hei-. And this illustrates that we cannot make everything out of anything. Again, I would note the great many rt' J- .• " <; 100," "^dish," "(? green wound," "« widow," "(7 pretty face," "« fair complexion," " rz high color," "« gross and vulgar woman," " ^=3ie-31=285— 5=280— 199 (79:1)= 338—22 l> & />=316— 32=284-5 /;=279— 199 (79:1)= 338— 22* & //=316—31=285—5<^=280— 199=81. 102—81=81 + 1=82. 338— 22* & //=316— 32=284— 5 *=279— 199 (79:1)= 80. 162—80=82+1=83. 338-22* & //=316— 31=285-5 *=280— 50=230— 58 (80:1)=172. 598—172=426+1=427+6* col.= And observe here an astonishing fact: //n's is the only tiine appears in all the nine hundred thousand zi'ords of the Flays ! but this once in twenty-nine columns of this play, and but two other times in all the play. And see how precisely they move together. To even construct so simple a phrase of five words as the foregoing, the cryptologist had to import one word never used before or afterward in the Plays, and another word used but three times in this play. And then observe that sentence, " sworn weekly to marry her." Every word is 505 — 167=338 — 22* & //^3i6 — 31 or 32 (regularly alternated) w/wwj- the 5 * in 31 or 32. And four of the words are found in that same fragment of a scene at the top of 78:1, and two of them are 80 and 8x down from the top of the fragment, and two of them are So and 81 up from the end of the fragment ! And then we have the whole story of the precipitate marriage. It must take place at once, or " the divine William " might fly again to Wales; but it was neces- sary to publish a notice of the bans three times in advance of the marriage: 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=28S— 31 (79:1)=257. 462-257=205 + 1=206. 505—167=338—32 (79:1)=306. ,505— 1 67=338— 50=288— 32 (79 : 1 )=256. 505—167=338—32 (79;1)=306— 5 * (32)=301. 50,5—167=338-50=288—31 (79:1)=257— 5 * (31)= 252. 462— 252=210+1=211 + 5* col. =216. 216 78:2 three .50.5—167=338—30=308—32 (79:1)=276. 462—276 =186+1=187+*= 505-167=338-162=176. 505— 167=33 ■i—50=288— 32 (79:1)=256. 468—256 =212 + 1=213. The word publish is quite rare: itis found but eight times in all the Plays,, and but once in this play; and notice is comparatively rare: it occurs but ten times in all the Histories, and but once in this play; and adr'anee is also a rare word: it is found but twelve times in all the Histories, and but this time in this play ! Here, then, are three words, publish — notice — ad^'ance — (together with the compara- tively rare words threi — times) — not found anywhere else among all the many thou- sand words of this play; and yet all brought together on the same page (page 78),, and all tied together in a bunch by the same number: 338—31= 338—32= 338—32= 338—31= 206 78:2 Must 306 78:2 publish 256 78:2 the 301 78:2 notice (187) 78:2 times 176 79:2 in 213 78:1 advance 78:2 Must 78:2 publish 78:2 the 78:2 notice Page and Column. 78:2 three 78:2 times 78:2 advance. SWEE T ANN HA THA WA Y. 843 338—31= 338—32= 338—32= - And, more than all this, these significant words are thus bunched together, just where we have found all the other significant words that tell the story of Shak- spere's marriage ! And, historically, we know that the marriage was peculiar, to say the least; and that a bond had to be given to avoid the necessity of calling the bans more than once. And we have here, also, the whole story of the bond. Here is the bond: 338—146=192—3/' (146)=189. 457—189=268+ 1=269+6// col. =275. 275 76:2 bond John Shakspere offered to go upon it, but he was not considered sufficient, and at last two friends of the family are found; and sweet Ann Hathaway enters into history, to be sung by poets and idealized by fools. I r-t t. r . / Urt^y-^^^ I CHAPTER XIX. BA CON VEK WHELMED. News fitting to the night, Black, fearful, comfortless and horrible. King Jolin^ r', b, MY publishers write me that the book now contains over 900 pages, and that the edition dc luxe " looks like a Chicago Direct- ory ! " And, therefore, fascinating as the story is to me, I must con- dense the remainder of it into the smallest possible compass. I regret to leave the history of Shakspere unfinished. I have worked out frag- ments of it all the way through to the end of 2d Henry IV. It gives in detail his conversations with his father, his dread of being hanged, his flight to London, the poverty of his wife and children, his own wretchedness and distress in the metropolis, his begging on the streets in mid-winter with the tears frozen on his face; his being relieved by Henslow. I will try to give fragments from these narratives, if I have time and space after finishing the story announced in the prospectus of my publishers; if not, the particu- lars will have to go into some future work. We turn back to the beginning of scene third (76:1), and we have to use now a Cipher-number different from that 505 — 167= 338 which has given us so much of the foregoing narrative; but even with so different a number we shall find the text responding with sentences just as significant as those already given. And the reader will note that, although we go over the same ground which gave us the Shakspere story, derived from 338, we flush always an entirely different covey of game, in the shape of Cipher words. Bacon says: 505—29 (74:2^=476— 457=19— 9 & col.=10. 505—449=56—5 // (449)=51. 603—51=552+1= 505—146 (76:2)=359. 498—359=139+1=140. . 844 Page and Word. Column. 10 76:1 On 553 76:2 hearing 140 76:1 this BA CON O VER WHELMED 845 505— 161=344— 30 (74:2)=314. 508—314=194+1= 195+13 /^=208. -161=344—284=60—10 b (284)=50. 248—50 =198 + 1=199 + 2 /; & h col. =201. -449=56-50=6. 457—6=451 + 1=452. -49=456—146=310. 498—310=188+1=189. -449=56—1 h col.=55. -49 (76:1)=456— 162 (78:1)=294. -449=56—5 h (449)=51. -29 (74 :2)=476— 447=29. 508—29=479+1= -29 (74:2)=476. 498—476=22+1= 23. -449=56—50=6. -49=456— 146=310— 50 (76:1)=260. -49 (76:1)=456— 448 (76:1)=8— 5 h (448)=3. 603—3=600+1=601. -146=359—305 (78:1)=54. -49(76:1)=456. 456—284 (74:1)=172. -50=455—146=309—3 /- (146)=306. 468—306 =162+1=163+20 b&b col. =183. ;_449=56. -449=56. 508—56=452+1=453. -146=359. 448-359=89 + 1=90 + 3// col. =93. -146=359—49=310. 448—310=138+1=139. -146=359—161=198. 610—198=412-^-1=413 + 11 /, & //=424. 1—49=450-30=426. 462—426=36+1=37 + 21 b col. =58. 505 505 505 505 505 505 505 505 505 505 505 505 505 505 505 506 505 505 505 505 Word. Page and Column. 208 75:2 heavy 201 74:2 news 452 76:2 I 189 76:1 was 55 76:2 'erwhelmed 294 77:2 with 51 76:2 a 480 75:2 flood 23 76:1 of 6 75:2 fears 260 75:2 and 601 76:2 shame. 54 77:2 I 172 74:2 saw 183 78:1 plainly 56 76:2 all 453 75:2 the 93 76:1 perils 139 76:1 of 424 77:2 my 56 78:2 situation. This is the only time o' crzv/w lined appears in this play; it is found but four other times in all the Plays ! Flood occurs but three times in this play; plainly appears but twice in this play, and but six times besides in all the Histories. Perils is found but twice in this play, and but once besides in all the Histories; and but four times besides in all the Plays ! And this is Ike only time ''situation " is found in all the Plays ! 505—146=359. 577—359=218 + 1=219. 505—145=360. 448—360=88—1=89. 505—145=360—3 b (145^=357. 505—146=359—3 /' (145)=356. 505—49=456. 505—145=360—305=55—2 // col. =53. 505— £0=475— 447 (75:1)=28. 505— 30=475— 161=314- -247 (74:2)=67— 7/^ col.= 505—145=360—50=31 ). 498—310=188+1=189. 505—146=359. 498—359=139+1=140. Here we have another combination of Sltak'st-spur, besides the fourteen given elsewhere; and here we have another mode of counting, besides the ones already given, whereby apprehended is reached. And this is the only time apprehended appears in this play, while Shak'st is found but twice: once here, and once in The Winter's Tale, iv, 3; and while the Concordance gives the word very properly in both instances, as shakest. the Folio gives it in both instances as s ha k'st; because shak'st 219 77:1 I 89 77:1 knew 357 77:1 very 356 77:1 well 456 75:2 that 53 77:2 if 28 75:2 Shak'st \ 60 75:1 spur S 189 76:1 was (140) 76:1 ai )prehende< 846 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. could be combined here with spur, and with the same word spur in The Winter's Tale (iv, i) to give the sound of Shakespere's name, while shakest could not ! Thus we find everywhere evidences of the Cipher. 505—146=359. 448—359=89 + 1=90. 505—145=360—193=167. 505—449=56—50 (74:3)=6— 5 // (449)=1. 603—1= 602+1=603. 505—146=359—50=309—4 // col. =305. 505—449=56—50=6. .505-449=56. 168—56=106+1= 505—146=359. 505—146=359—305=54—2 h col.=52. 505—146=359—3 b (146)=356— 30=326. 505—146=359—161=198—10 b col. =188. .-05— 146=359— 161=197. 610—197=413 + 1=414 + 11 /;& //col. =425. 505—145=360. 498—360=138 + 1=139. .•,05—145=360—30=330. 498—330=168+1=169. 505—146=359—'^ 31=253+1 505—146=359—304 (78:1)=55— 20 b & h (304)=85. 505—146=359—304 (78:1)=55— 20 b & h (304)=35. 610—35=575 + 1=576+2 h col.=578. 505—146=359—305 (78:1)=54— 20 b& h (305)=34. 610—34=576+1=577+2 // col.=579. 505—146=359-29 (74:2)=330— 3 b (146)=327. 498—327=171 + 1=172 + 10 /' & h col.=182. 505— 49=456— 50=406— 304 (78 :2)=102. ,^0=329—50=279—248=31. 28 =254. Word. Page and Column. 90 76:1 he 167 76:2 will 608 76:2 be 305 77:1 as 6 76:3 clay, 107 78:1 or 359 77:1 rather 52 77:3 tallow, 326 76:1 in 188 77:2 the 425 77:2 hands 139 76:1 of 169 76:1 that 354 74:1 crafty 35 77:2 fox, 578 77:2 my 579 77:2 cousin 182 76:1 Seas \ 102 77:2 ill. S What contempt for the corpulent "bard of Avon" is expressed in that phrase, "he would be as clay, — or rather tallow, — in the hands of," etc.! This is the only time y^x occurs in this play; and this is the only time crafty is found in this play; and this is the only time tallon) is found in this play, and it occurs but five other times in all the Plays ! And this is the only time clay appears in this play. And this is the only time seas is found in this play. So that in this short sentence there are five words found nowhere else in this play; in other words, this sentence could not be constructed anywhere else in this play; nor would all these words come out at the summons of any other number. And herein we have also still another com- bination forming the name of Cecil. The story proceeds: 505—146=359—3 b (146> 505—145=360—50=310. 505—146=359—50=309. 505—145=360—50=310. 2// col. =191. ,505_1 46=359— 50=309 . +2 h col. =193. 505__145=360— 50=310— 50 (76:1) =248+1=249. 356—50=306. 498—310=188+1=189. 498—309=189+1=190. 498—310=188+1=189+ 498—309=189+1=190 =260. 508—260 306 77:1 It 189 76:1 was 190 76:1 ten 191 76:1 to 192 76:1 one 249 75:2 the BACON 0]'ER WHELM ED. 847 505—146=359—50=309. 577—309=268+1=269. 505—146=359—50=309—10 h & h col. =299. 505—146=359—3 h (146)=356— 193 (75:1)=163— 49 =114— l/^col.=113. 505—146=359—50=309—11 b col. =298. 505— 146=359— 30=329— 1 62=1 67 . 603—1 67=436 + 1=437+3/^ col. =440. 505—30=475—193=282—49=233—22 b & h col.= 505— 145=;!60— 248=112— 23^ (248)=90— 10 b col.= 505—145=360—50=310—4 b col. =306. 505—145=360—3 b (146)=357. 603—357=246+ 1= 247+6 h col. =253. 505—145=360—248=112. 284—112=172+1=173. 505—146=359—3 /' (146)=356— 161=195. 603—195 =408+1=409+3 b col =412. 505—145=360—50=310 . 505— 146^359-163=196-13 b & h col. =183. 503_146=.359— 161=198— 10 b col. =188. 503—146=359- 193=166— 15 b & /i=151. 284—151 =133+1=134. 505—146=359-163=196. 505—146=359—162 (78:1)=197— 10 b col.=187. 505—146=359—3 /' (146)=356. 505—146=359—193 (75:1)=166— 15 b & h (193)=151. 508— 151=357+1=358+6/' col. =364. See how precisely these words come out by the same root-number. This play of Measure for Measure, and its irreligious tendencies, are alluded to in another part of the Cipher narrative, growing out of 505—167=338. I have stated on page 762, «;//<•, that Cecil gave this play, and the play of Richard I L, to the Bishop of Worcester to " anatomize." And here we have the name of the play again by a different root-number from the above: 338— 30=308-50=258— 57 (79 : 1 )=201— 14 \\b &. h col. =187. 338-30=308-50=358-163=95-58 (79:1)=37- 2/- col. =35. 338—30=308—163=145. 508—145=363+1=364. Word. Page and Column. 269 77:1 whorson 299 76:2 knave 113 76:2 will 298 77:1 tell 440 76:2 in 21 1 75:3 self ■ 80 74:1 defence 306 76:2 and 253 76:3 for 173 74:1 his 412 76:3 own 310 76:2 security 183 77:2 that 188 77:3 the 134 74:1 play 196 77:2 of 187 77:'^ Measure 356 77:2 for 364 75:2 Measure — 187 35 364 77:2 Measure 79:3 75:3 for Measure. Consider the careful adjustment that was necessary to make these words come out by these two different kinds of counting from the same starting-point ! Notice that 197 down 77:2 produces Measure, and 201 down the same column, by the arrangement of brackets and hyphens, produces the same word Measure; and 151 up 75-2 produces Measure, and 145 up the same column produces the same word, Measure If there had been a single bracket or hyphen more or less in either one of these four countings, the Cipher would have failed to produce, two different times by two different numbers, the name of the play Measure for Measure ! And the Bishop said,— speaking of this last Measure for Measure and Richard the Second,— Xha.i he believed there were utterances in both hostile to the Christian rello-ion. 'l have shown, on pages 208 and 209, ante, what those utterances were. And here we have the name of Richard the Second, growing, like the last Measure for Measure, out of 505—167=338. The Bishop speaks of — 848 THE CIPHER NAKRA TIVE. 338—30=308—49=259—162=97—32=65—58 (80:1)= 338—30=308—49=259—1 62=97—32=65—58=7 + 461=468. 338—30=308—49=259—162=97—32=65—58=7. 338—30=308—49=259—161=98—31=67—5 b (31)= 62—2 h col =60. 338—30=308—49 259—161=98—31=67—5 /;=62. 489—62=427+1=428. 338—30=308—49=259—162 97—31=66. 338-30=308+162=470— 468 (col. 78:1)=2. 462—2 =460+1=461. 338—30=308—163=145—31=114—5 b (31)=109— 65 (79:3)=44. 462—44=418+1=419. 338—30=308—49=259—162=97—2 h col. =95. 338—30=308—163=145—31=114. 523—114=409 + 1=410+2-^=412. Word. = ( 468 7 60 428 66 461 419 95 412 Page and Column. that 80:2 noble 80:2 composition^ 78:2 81:1 79:2 78:2 the play of King 78:2 Richard 78:3 the 80:3 And the Bishop says, after reading these Plays, that he 338—50=288—49 (76:1)=239— 162=77. 162—77= 85+1=86. 86 338—50=288—49 (76:1)=239— 162=77— 32=45. 45 338—50=288—50 (76:1)=238— 162=76— 62 (80:1)=14. 186—14=172+1=173. 173 338—50=288—49 (76 : 1)=239— 1 62=77—32=45. 339—45=294 + 1 =295 . 395 338— 50=388— 49=239— 1 62=77— 32=45. 1 62—45 =117+1=118. 338—50=388—49=239—162=77—4/; & // col.=73. 333—50=388—49=339—162=77—31=46. 163+46=209 338—50=288—50=238—162=76—31=45—2 /' col.= 338—50=288—49=239—162=77. 32+77=109. 338—50=288—49=239—162=77. 338—50=288—50=238—162=76—62 (80:2)=14— 4 ^&/i(62)=10. 186—10=176+1=177. 177 (D- 78:1 78:2 81:2 80:1 Second. perceived much in these 118 78:1 plays 73 81:1 that 209 78-1 satisfied 43 79:2 me 109 79:1 that 77 77:3 his 81:2 purpose 610—97=513+ 516 57(80:1)=20+185=205 468—76=393+1 338_49=389—30=259— 162=97. 1=514+2// =516. 338—50=288—49=239—162=77- 338—50=388- 50=338—162=76. =393+1/^=394. 394 338—50=288—49=239. 77—32=45. 45 338— 30=308— 49=259— 162=97— 2 /^ col.=95. 95 338—50=288—49 (76 :1)=339— 163=76. 523—76= 447+1=448+2/; col. =450. 450 338— 30=308— 163=145— 31=114. 449—114=335 + 1=336. 336 And the Bishop came to the conclusion that these — 338—1 h (167)=337— 30=307— 49=258— 31 (79:1)= 227— 5^ (31)=233+ 163=384. 384 338—1=337—30=307—49=358—31=327. 227 77:2 81:2 78:1 79:2 78:2 80:2 76:1 76:1 78:1 IS the destruction of the Christian religion. great and BACON OVERWHELMED. 849 338—1=337—30=307—49=258—31 (79:1)=227— 5 h (31)=222. 162+222=384—11 b & h col.=373. 338—1 (76:2)=337— 304 (78:1)=33— 20 b^ h (304)= 13. 462—13=449 + 1=450. 338— 1(76:2)=337— 50=28"— 49=238— 161=77— 49 =28+458=486. are the work of a gentleman who is at heart a pagan: 338— 50=288— 49=239— 1 62=77. 338—30=308—50=258—162=96—56 (79:1)=40. 598—40=558 + 1=559. 338—50=288—49=239—163=76—62 (80:2)=14 —1 // col. =13. 13 Word. Page and Column. 373 78:1 much 450 78:2 admired 486 76:2 Plays 77 78:2 work 559 79:2 gentleman 81:2 pagan Observe how many significant words come out of the same numbers: 77, or its alternate, 76, produces /tvrt'/i^^^/ — much — in — these — plays — that satisfied me that his purpose — destruction — of — Christian — ivork — pagan; vihiXe 96 and 97, "which are just 20 more than 76 and 77, due to the fact that between the common modifiers, 30 and 50, there is a difference of 20, produce is — nob/e — composition -gentleman. And observe the remarkable character of the words growing out of these roots. Composition is a rare word; it is found but once in this play, and but fourteen times besides in all the Plays. Perceived is found but once in this play, and but twelve times besides in all the Plays. And j-rt//.*y;(v/ appears but once in this play, and but thirteen times besides in all the Histories. And destruction is found but once in this play, and but thirteen times besides in all the Histories. And this is the only X\mz pagan is found in this play, and it is found but eight times besides in all the Plays. And Christian is found but twice in this play. And this is the only time religion is found in this play. Let the reader compare the number of times the word second appears in this play with the number of times it is found in Much Ado, Love's Labor Lost, Tivelfth A'ight, etc. It is not found at all in several of the Plays. And this is the only time admired occurs in this play, and it is found but twice besides in all the Histories. And Measure occurs but once in this play besides the two instances given above. And not only do these remarkable words grow out of the same primary root-number, but out of the same modification of the primary root-number, and even out of the same terminal Cipher-number! And almost every word is found nowhere else in this play, and rarely anywhere else in all the Plays ! And the Bishop praises the literary merit of the Plays highly. language is most choice — 338—50=288-49=239. 284—239=45 + 1=46. 338— 30=308— 163=145— 31=114— 57 (80:1)=57. 523—57=466+1=467. 338—50=288—50=238. 468—238=230+1=231 + 15 b & h col. =246. 46 467 246 74:1 80:2 78:1 He says the Language most choice. And that in this particular they have had — 338—31=307—143 (318 d 79:1)=164. 462—164=298 + 1=299 299 338—31=307—143=164. 164 78:2 78:2 No equal 850 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 338—49=289—30=259—162=97. 538— 50=288— 49=289-162=77. =344+6/; col. =350. 338—50=288—49=239—162 \h col.=J2. 338—50=288 -49=239—1 62=7 7. 338—50=288—49=239—162=77 + 185 2/. col. =260. 338—50=288—49=239—162=77—32=45. 338—50=288—49=239—162=77—32=45—5 h (32)= 40. 339—40=299 + 1=300+2=302. 462-97=365-1-1= 420—77=343+1 =77—64 '79:2)=13- =262— Word. =366 850 12 77 260 45 802 I'ag'e and Column. 78:2 81:2 77:1 79:2 81:2 79:2 80:1 in England since the time of Gower. Observe again how many significant words here grow out of 77, besides the- long catalogue already produced by it. It must be remembered that in 1597 the literature of England, in its own- tongue, was very limited. The poet alluded to, John Gower, was born in York- shire about 1325, and died in 140S. His Confessio Aniantis was written in English, in eight books, it is said, at the request of Richard 11. Hallam says of him: " He is always sensible, polished, perspicuous, and not prosaic, in the worst sense of the word." He seems to have been a favorite of the Bishop. And the Bishop reit- erates his conviction, after reading these Plays, that Shakspere has not the power of brain to have produced them : 505—167=338—49=289—82=257. 468-257=210 + 1=211 + 12 /> col. =223. 223 505—167=338—49=289—32=257. 577—257=320 + ]=321. 321 77:1 78:1 enough brain 505—167=338—49=289—32=258. 468- + 1=211 + 15/; & h col. =226. :?10 226 78:1 power. Observe how precisely these significant words match; they come out of the same number; except that 31 and 32 alternate, as in other examples given hereto- fore. And the Bishop also reads the play of Richard /he Third. Here we have it: 231 78.1 King 338—50=288—50=238. 468—238=230+1= 338— 50=288— 50-=238— 31 (79:1)=207— 163=44. 462— 44=41 8 -h 1=419. 419 78:2 Richard 338—50=288—50=238. 238 76:1 the 338— .50=288— 30=258. 462—258=204+1=205. 205 78:2 Third, But let us recur to the story of Bacon's feelings when he heard the bad news. He says he knew that if Shakspere was taken and he confessed the truth (as he believed he would), he was a ruined man. In that event — 505—50=455—31=424. 462—424=38 + 1=39 + 5 h col. =44. 44 505—30=475—146=329. 447—329=118+1=1 19+ 11,^ col. =130. 130 505-30=475—146=329—3 b (146)=326. 462—326 =136 + 1=137+4 h col. =141. 141 78:2 All 75:1 my 78:2 hopes BACON OVERWHELMED. 851 505—145=360. 498—360=138+1=139. 505—146=859—3 b (146)=356. 505—31=474. 603—474=129+1=130. 505—49=456—161=295. 603—295=308+1=309 + 10 b & h col.=319. 505—30=475—50 (76:1)=435. 508—425=83+1=84. 505—449=56—14/; (449)=42-l //=41. 505—146=359—3 b (146)=356. 498—356=142 + 1= 505—161=344—31 bs. It col.=313. 505—146=359—3 /;(146)=356. 448—356=92+1= 93+14 /;&/i col. =107. 505—146=359—32 (79:1)=327— 3 /; (146)=324— 50= And again observe how rare some of these words are: This is the only time rising is found in this play, and it occurs but thirteen times besides m all the Plays ! Coiiniicn-cvealth is found three times in this play, and but nine times in all the Com- edies, and but four times in all the Tragedies. Blasttui appears but once in this play, and but nine times besides in all the Plays ! Hopes is found but three other times in this play. And Bacon says: Word. Pag^e and Column. 139 7K;1 of 356 76:1 rising 130 76:2 to 319 76:2 high 84 75:2 office 41 76:2 in 143 76:1 the 313 78:2 Common wealth 107 76:1 were 274 77:2 blasted. 505—31=474. 474 76:2 I 505— 30=475— 58 (80:1)=417. 417 80.2 am. 505—30=475—58=417. 523— 417=106+. =107. 107 80:3 not 505—32=473—58=415. 498—415=83+1=84+ 11 /; col. =95. 95 76:1 an: 505— 31=474— 4 /z col. =470. 470 79:2 impudent 505—31=474. 474 79:3 man 505—32=473—58=415. 41.-, S0:2 that 505—30=475. 475 79:2 will 505—49=456—50=406. 603—406=197+1=198. 198 76:2 face 505—32=473—50=423—58 (80:1)=365. 603—365 =238+1=289. 239 76:3 out 505—49=456. 603—456=147 + 1=148. 148 76:2 a 505— 58 (80:1)=447. 463—447=15 + 1=16+24=40. 40 80:2 disgrace 505— 81=474— 27/; & //col. =447. 447 79:2 with 505—32=473—30=443—57=386—30 / & h col. =356. 356 80:2 an 505— 32=473— 50=423— 33 ^ col. =400. (400) 79:3 impudent ,505— 49=456. 603— 456=147 + 1=148+16 /;&// col =164 76:3 cheek, 50.5—31=474—50=424—26 /; & // col. =398. 398 79:2 sauciness; 505—83=473—163=311. 311 77:2 and 505— 32=473— 4// col. =469. 469 79:2 boldness. And here Bacon repeats the very language he used in 1594 in a letter to Essex (see page 273, ante): "I am not an impudent man that would face out a disgrace.'" And these are the only times impudent occurs in 2d Henry IV., and it is found but seven times besides in all the Plays ! And these are the only occasions when sauciness is found in this play, and it occurs but four times besides in all the Plays. Yet here both are found repeated twice in the compass of a few lines. And the word disgrace is found but twice in this play. 852 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. And Bacon grieves at the disgrace his exposure will bring upon the memory of his father. He says it — 505-50=455—33=423. 533—433=110+1=111. 505—30=475—50=435—396 (80 : 1 )=39. 505—50=455—32=433. 505—30=475—50=425—58 (80:1)=367. 523-367= 156+1=157+3/, col. =160. 505— 31=474— 33/!' col. =443. 505—31=474—50=434—163=362—4 // col. =258. 505-31=474—50=434—57=367—4 h col.=363. 505-33=473—5 h (33)=468. 505—30=475. 523—475=48+1=49. 505—30=475—50=435—4// col.=431. 505—31=474—50=434. 534—434=1 10+1=111 + 37 & // (254)=286— 50=186. 284— 186=98+1=99. 505—248=257—22(^=235. 284—235=49+1=50+5 /= 505—254=251—15 b & //=286. 284—236=48+1=49 + 7// col. =56. 56 87 74:1 my 3 74:1 ears 86 74:1 with 39 74:1 continual 253 74:1 lies 99 74:1 and =55 74:1 false 74:1 reports Observe the perfect symmetry of this: 505 — 254 (75:i)=25i is regularly alter- nated with 505 — 248 (74:2)=257. And all the words are in column i of page 74 t THE QUEEN'S OA'DE/^S TO FIND SHAKSFERE. 857 And what a concatenation of words; slitffiiv^ my ears -with coulinual lies mid false report!,! And we know that Cecil desired to keep Bacon out of office and power, and we can surmise that this would be the very means he would resort to. And the coarse-minded, crafty old Queen, even if she suspected Bacon, would be very apt to talk in this way to Cecil, for we have historical testimony that she would assault "this little man " (as she called him) with bitter vituperation. Page and 50,-)— 193=312— 91 )=222. 505— 248=-2rj7— 208(73:2;=49-h90=139. 505— 193=3 12— 30=282- 505—254=25 1—50=201. -15 (^& //=267— 4//col.= 284—201=83+1=84. iVord. Column. 222 73:2 this 139 7S:1 many 263 74:1 a 84 74:1 year. And here I would ask the reader to turn to pages 719 and 720, ante, and note how the same words stuffing — ears — false — reports — lies — this — man 1 — a — rear, which here come out at the summons of 505 carried through 74:2 and the upper and lower subdivisions of 75:1, were also brought out, by an entirely different mode of counting, by the root-number 516 — 167^349 — 22 /' & /^ (i67)=327 ! For instance, 327 — 30, carried through 74.2 and do7vn 74:1, yields stiiffiiii;, while 505 — 254=251 — 15 /' & h (254)^236, carried up 74:1, yields the same word, stuffing; and the same number 236, plus the hyphens, /// the same column, yields reports; while the same number 327, again less 30, again carried through 74:2 and again carried do-wn 74:1, yields the same word, ^rports And so with the other words. The adjustments here are as delicate and as manifold as in the works of a watch; and the one is just as likely to have come together .jy chance as the other. And the Queen was in a — -15 b & //=267— 29 (73:2)= -50(74:2)=233— 12/^& // =23+ 505—193=312—30=282 505—193=3 1 2—30=282 col. =220. and commenced to rebuke Cecil severely: 505—193=312—50=262. 284—262=22 + 1 7 // col. =30. 505—193=312—284=28—10/^ col.=18. 505—193=312—237 (73:2)=75. 169—75=94+1=95 +1 h col.=96. 505-193=312—209 (73:2)=103. 169—103=66 + 1= 505—193=312—15/' & h (193)=297— 248=49— 5 / col. 505— 193=312— i 5/. & h (193)=197— 30=267— 28 (73:2)=239. 284—239=45+1=46. 505—193=312—15 /' & /^=297— 30=267— 28 (73:2)= 239. 284—239=45 + 1=46+50=96. 50.5—254=251—208=43. 284—43=241 + 1 =242. 505—193=312—15/; & 7^=297- 30=267— 28 (73:2)= 239. 284— 239=45 + 1=46+ 30_76. 505—193=312-50=2^2 -15 1> & //=247. 284—247= 374-1=38 + 5/; col. =43. 505—254=251—30=221. 284—221=63+1=64. 505—193=312—30=282. 284— 282=2+1=3+7 /^ col. 505—193=312—30=282. 284—282=2 + 1=3. 505—254=251. 284—251=33+1=34. 238 220 74:1 74:1 royal rage, 30 74:1 Commenced 18 73:2 to 96 73:1 rebuke 67 73:1 him =44 74:1 in 46 96 242 74:1 language 74:1 74:1 stern and 74:1 fearful, 43 74:1 which 64 74:1 wounds =10 74:1 the 3 74:1 ears 34 74:1 of SsS THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. Page and Column. 74:1 74:1 Word. 505— 193^312— 30=28-3— 50 (74:2)=332. 284—232 =52+1=53. 5;} 505—254=251—30=221. 284— 221=63h- 1=64+ 7/, col. =71. <1 505—193=312—15/' & //=297— 30=267-29 (7B:2)= 238— 22/' & h col. =2 1 6. 505— 193=312-50=262-50=212— 79 (73:1)=133. 505—193=312—248=64—2 // (248)=62— 50. 505—153=252—248=4. 505—193=312—49=263. 505— 1 93=3 1 2—30=282. 505—193=312—50=262—15 b & //=247. 284—247= 37+1=38. 38 505— 193=312-50=262— 248=14— 2 /. (248)=12. 237 —12=225+1=226. 226 505—193=312—50=262. 262 505—193=312—284=28. 28 505—193=312—248 (74:2)=64— 22 b (248)=42. 42 505—193=312—50=162. 284—162=22+1=23+ 12^&//=35. 35 74:1 them who 216 74:2 listen 183 73:3 to 12 73:2 it; 4 74:1 for 263 74:1 a 262 74:1 worse 74:1 tongue 73:3 is 74:1 not 73:2 upon 74:1 the earth. 231 74:1 stooped 171. 284—171=113 + 1=114 74:1 so b col. =226. 226 74:1 low, Observe how regularly this sentence moves. It accords with historical truth, so far as it concerns Elizabeth's violent temper and abusive tongue; and it accords with the probabilities that the Queen would not, without conclusive proof, believe that Sir Nicholas Bacon's son could engage in treasonable practices. Nearly all the words grow out of 505 — 193=312; or, where they do not come from the 505 minus the upper section of 75:1, they come from 505 minus the lower section of 75:1, and they are nearly all found on 74:1, except where fragments left after deduct- ing 74:1 or 74:2 are carried backward to the last, page or forward to the next page. And the Queen tells Cecil that he has been unfair to Bacon; that he has — 505—354=251—30=221. 505—254=251—50=201—30. 505—254=251—15 /'=236— 1' as to assail Bacon — 505— 254=251— 50=301— 30=171— 10 /^ col. =161. 505—193=312—248=64—2// (248)=62. 284—62 =233+1=323+6// col.=229. 505—193=312—248=64—2 // (348)=62. 505—193=312—30=282—248=34. 505—254=251—15/; & // (254)=236. 284-236=48 +1=49+12 (^ & h col. =61. 505—248=257—208 (73:2)=49— 3/; (308)=46. 169 —46=133+1=124. 505-193=312—30=282—337 (73:3)=45. 169—45 =.124^.1=125. 505—348- 257— 3 h (248)=255. And in her "royal rage" she tells Cecil that, if he does not find Shakspere, and prove his charge against Bacon to be true, he shall lose his office: 161 74:1 in 229 74:1 this 63 74:1 covert 34 75:1 way, 61 74:1 while 124 73:1 thy 125 73:1 kinsman's 255 74:1 sick. THE QUEEN'S ORDERS TO EIND SHAKSPERE. 859 Page and 505—193=313—284 (74:1)=28. 337—28=209+1= 505—248=257—50=207—10 h col =197. And the Queen tells the posts — 505—248=257—50=207. 447—207=240+1=241 . 505—254=251. 284— 251=33 + 1=34+7 /^ col.= 505—193=312—248=64. 505—248=257-22 b {248)=235. 284-235=49+1= ■505—193=313—248=64. 237—64=173+1. •505—254=251. 284—251=33+1=34. 505—248=257—22 (248)=235. 284—235=49+1= 505—193=312—30=282—15/' & // (193)=267. 284- 267=17 + l=18+10/'=(28). 505—248=257—24^ & //=333. 505—248=257—237 (73 :2)=20 + 90=1 1 0. 505—193=312—30=282. 284—282=2+1=3+^// col 505—248=257—33/' (248)=335. 505—248=257—24 b^ h (248)=233. 384—233=5 1 + 1 =52 505—193=312—50=262. 284—262=22+1=23. 505—193=312—30=282—15/; & h (193)=367. 384 267=17+1=18 + 7 h col. =25. Word. Column. 210 73:2 lose 197 74:1 office. 241 75:1 To 41 74:1 ride 64 73:2 with 50 74:2 the 174 73:2 speed 34 74:1 of 50 74:1 the 28 74:1 wind 233 74:1 through 110 73:1 all =10 74:1 the 335 74:1 peasant-towns =52 74:1 of 23 74:1 the r4:l West. Observe here the recurrence of the same root-numbers: 505 carried through 74:2, containing 248 words, leaves a remainder of 257; 257 taken down the pre- ceding column, 74:1, brings us to posts; but less the bracket words in 74:2 it produces peasant-toivns; and less both the oracketed and hyphenated words it gives us ihiviigk imposts i/iiviigh pcasa7it-lo-iv)is)\ and up the column it is stuffing, slanders, of, etc. And note how 505 — 193=312 produces spt'ed — wiiid — U'est, etc. And the Queen tells them tu give large rewards to the man who finds the actors. 505—193=312—237 (73:2)=75. 505—193=312—237 (73:2;=75— 3/ (237)=72 501— 193=312— 284=28+90 (73:1)=118. 505—193=312—28 (73:2;=284— 10/; col.=274. 505-193=312-284=28. 90—28=62+ 1=63. 505—193=312—50=262—237=25. 170 (72:2)— 25 =145+1=146. 505—1 93=312—50=262—237=25. 505—193=312—50=262—237=25. 346+25=371. 505—193=312—50—262—208 (73:1)=54— 3/ (208)= 505—193=312—30=383—15/ & // col. =367. 505-193=312—50=262—209 (73:2)=53. 505—193=312—30=282—29 (73:2)=253. 284—253 =31 + 1^=32 + 13 /; & // col. =44. 505— 193=312— 50=262— 209(73:2)=53. 505—193=312—50=262—237=25 + 170 (72:2)= 505—193=312—50=262—237=25. 169—25=144+1= 75 74:1 Make 72 73:1 great 118 73:1 offers 274 74:1 of 63 73:1 rewards 146 72:2 to 25 72:2 the 371 72:2 man 51 73:1 who 267 74:1 brings 53 74:1 them 44 74:1 in, 53 73:1 dead 195 72:2 or =145 73:2 alive. Some of my readers may have thought that the marvelous revelations of the foregoing pages were merely coincidences. But here we are invading another play, the play of ist Henry IV., with cipher numbers derived from 2d Henry IV., 86o THE CIPHER A'ARKATIVE. and we find the words of the story coming out in regular order as in the above sen- tence. And how completely does this fit into the story already told. We Lave had the narrative of the Queen's rage, the flight of the actors, the despair of Bacon, the order to send out posts to find Shakspere and his fellows, the separation of the soldiers into three divisions; and here we have the offer of great rewards to the iiiair who brings them in dead or alive. If this is accident, then the world is an acci- dent. And the Queen says she does not believe that this woe-begone, hateful, fat creature, Shakspere, had been a mask for her brilliant friend, whom she has known since a child: Page and Word. Column. 505—19:3=812—30=282—29 (73:2)=253. 447—253= 194+1=195. 195 75:1 This 505— 193=312— 29(73 :2)=283. 283 75:1 woe-begone, 505—193=312—50=262—28 (73:2)=234. 234 75:1 hateful, 505— 193=312— 50=262— 29 (73:2)=233— 90 (r3.P-= 143 72:2 fat 505— 193=312— 50=262— 208 (73:2)=54— 3 /' (208)= 51 + 90=141. 141 73:1 creature 505—193=312—50=262—209 (73:2)=53 + 90=143. 143 73:1 had 505— 193=312— 50=262— 208 (73:2)=54+90=144. 144 73:1 been 505—193=312—50=262—209 (73:2)=53— 3 b (209)= 50+90=140. . ^ 140 73:1 a 505-193=312—30=282—29 (73:2)=253— 13 /' col.= 240 75:1 mask for the son of her old friend; for she had — 505—193=312—50=262—90=172—28=144. 144 74:1 known 505—193=312—209 (73 :2)=103— 79=24. 588—24= 564+1=565+1 /^ 565 (79)=566. ■ 566 72:2 him 505—193=312—91 (73:1)=221. 221 73:2 since 505—193=312—30=282—29 (73:2)=253. 447—253 =194 + 1=195+11/' col. =206. 206 75:1 a 505—193=312—91 (73:1)=221— 29 (73:2)=192. 284— 192=92 + 1=93. 93 74:1 child. And the Queen had all the incredulity of the Shakspereolators of the nine- teenth century, and she says: I pronounce this story the strangest tale in the world, and not to be believed, and a lot of lies. 505—193=312—209 (73:2)=103— 90=13. 588—13= .575 + 1=576. 576 72:2 Strangest 505—193=312—209 (73:2)=103— 91=12. 588—12= 576+1=577. 505—193=312—50=262—28 (73:2)=234— 169 (73:1) =65. 170-65=105+1=106. 505—193=312—28 (73:2)=284— 79=205. 588—205 =383+4=384. 505—193=312—50=262—15 b & //=247— 28 (73:2)= 219. 284—219=65+1=66. 505— 1 93=31 2— 29 (73 :2)=283— 90=1 93. 505— 193=312— 28(73 :2)=284— 27 (73:1)=257+171= 428 505—193=312-50=262—28 (73:2)_234— 169 (73:1)= 65. 588—65=523+1=524. 524 72:2 believed. 577 72:2 tale 106 72:2 in 384 72-2 the 66 74:1 world; not 193 72:2 to 428 72:2 be Page and Column. 72:2 a 72:2 lot 73:1 of 74:1 lies. THE QUEEN'S ORDERS TO FIND SHAKSPERE. S6l And the Queen says Cecil has been telling her — Word. 505—193=312—28 (73:2)=284— 79=205. 346—205 ^=141 + 1=142+2// col. =144. 144 505—193=312—28 ( 73 :2)=284— 79=205. 205 50.5—193=312—30=282—237 (73:2)=45— 3 b (237)= 42 505—193=312—30=282—29=253. 253 And here again we have the combination — it is found more than twenty times in these two plays — giving the name of Bacon's cousin: 505—193=312—28 (73:2)=284— 27 (73:1)=257. 588— 257=331 + 1=332. 332 72:2 Sees 505—193=312—30=282—208 (73:2)=74. 169—74= 95^-1=96+1 //=iJ7. 97 73:1 ill And here we have it again: 505—19.3=312—30=282—28 (73:2)=254— 90=164+ 170=334— 2// col.=332. 332 72:2 Sees) 505— 193=312— 30=282— 209 (73:2)=73. 169-73= 96+1=97. 97 73:1 ill ) In this last instance it will be observed that the two words move in paralle. lines: 505 — 193^=312 — 30^282; and the first word, sees, starts from the end of the first subdivision on 73:2, and goes upward and to the end of the scene on 73:1, and up again and backward and down from the end of the second section of 72:2. The other word, ill, starts from the same point of departure, the end of the first section, but moves downward through the column and backward and up the preceding column to the word ///. And in the first instance the count departs in the same way from the same starting-point and moves up through 28 and down through 20S in the same order. And right here, in connection with the elements of the name of Cecil, we have kinsman s 2ir\A yoitr cousin. We saw that 164(505 — 193 (75:l)=3i2 — 30 (74:2)=2S2 — 28 (73:2)=254 — 90 (73:i)=i64) produced sees; but it also produces cousin: 505—193=312—50=262—90=172. 172 73:2 your 505—193=312—30=282—28=254—90=164. 164 73:2 cousin. And that same 2S2, which, modified by carrying it through the first section of 73:2, produced sees and /// and cousin, also, carried through all of 73:2, produces Jiinsinan's: 505— 193=312— 208 (73:2)=104— 27 (73:2)=77. 77 72:2 thy 505—193=312—30=282—237=45. 169—45=124+1=125 72:2 kinsman's And the "old termagant" goes on to say that if Cecil can prove that Bacon wrote the Plays she will have him executed. I have not time to work this out in detail, but I call the attention of the critical to the way in which the same num- bers, which have already done such good service, respond again with most signifi- cant words. Here we have: 505—1 93=3 1 2—50=262—208 (73 :2)=54— 3 b (208)=51 . 90—51=39 + 1=40. 40 505—193=312—209=103—3 1> (209)=100— 27=73. 170—73=97+1=98. 98 505— 193=312— 50=262— 20s (73:2)= ■)4— 27(73:1)= 27+171=198. n" 73:1 the 72:2 old 72:2 termagant 862 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. And let us pause and observe the manner in which this word tmiiagaut is so> placed that like Sfas-i/I, Sl/ak'st-spur, old jade, etc , it can be repeatedly used in referring to the Queen. It is accompanied by the word cA/ — " the old termagant." Let us take the combination with which we are already familiar, 505 — 167^ 338 — 50=288. If we commence to count at the end of scene third (73:1), and count up that fragment of a column and down the preceding column, we have: Page and Word. Column. 505— 167=338— 50=288— 90(73 :2)=198. 198 72:2 termagant Take 516-167=349 — 22 /' .t /;=327 — 50=277. If we commence to count at the same point of departure as in the last instance, but count downward through 73:1, and then again down the next column as before, we again reach iennagant,. thus: 516— 167=349— 22/; &//=327— 50=277— 79(73:2)= 198 72:2 termagant Or let us take still another root-number, to-wit: 513 — 29 (74:2), and we have, going through the same 90 used in the first instance: 513—29 (74:2)=484— 90 (73:1)=394. 588—394=194 + 1=195+3// col. =198. 198 72:2 termagant Here we perceive that 484 — 90^394. Let the reader turn to the fac-simile and he will find that 394 in the same column with terniagaiit \^ plays ! 513—29 (74:2)=484— 90=394. 394 72:2 plays Surely a very significant combination; for the old tcnnagaiit and the plays rep- resented very important subjects in Bacon's life and thoughts. We noted how plavs was brought in in 78:1: — " for one or t'other //rn-.v the rogue with my great toe;" and here we have: Art thtni alive, Or is it fantasy that plays upon our eye-sight? We can see the Cipher in the very process of construction. And if I had time and space I could show that nearly every word in that sentence, nay, in all these columns, is a Cipher word But to resume: We have seen that the text was so arranged as to bring out the word termagant in response to the summons of 505, 516 and 513: — here we have the fourth primal root-number, 523. We have just reached tcnnaganthy deducting 29, the lower sec- tion of 74:2, from 513; we now deduct the upper section of 74:2 from 523, and we have: 528—50 (74:2)=473— 79 (73:1)=394. 588-394=194 + 1=195+3 // col. =198. • 198 72:2 termagant Here again we have the terminal number, 394; but how? We obtained it in the last instance by deducting from 513 (—29=484) the ////><';' section of 73:2, to-wit, 90; now we obtain it by deducting from 523 ( — 50^473; the hnver section of 73:2, to-wit, 79. And again the 394 produces the word /Am/ But think of the exquisite ad- justments that were necessary to bring this about. The cryptologist could not use t'le word termagant (even though applied, as in the text, to a man !), or the word plays, very often, without exciting suspicion; and he tells us in the De Atigmentis that oneof the first requirements of a cipher is that it " be such as not to raise suspicion." ' Therefore he so adjusted the fragments of 73:1 that, counting up-ivard ixoxn the end of the scene, with the number 513 — 29, it would yield 394, which gives us both » Bacon's Works, vol. ix, p. 115. THE QUEEN'S OA'DEA'S TO FEYD SHAKSPERE. 863 termagant and pl'ws; while counting dinvmvanl, from the same point, with 523 — 50, would again give us 394 and the same words, termagant and f/avs ! But this is not all. Turn back to the two immediately preceding instances, and we have the same process repeated, but with different elements. Thus: Page and Word. Column. 505—167=338—50=288—90=198. 198 ri:z termagant 516— 167=349— 22 /'& /^=827— 50=277— 79=198. 198 72:2 termagant Here we have the same process of cunning adjustment: — Again we count up from the end of the scene to produce 19S — /c^Wf?^^--,?;//,- and again we count r^rcw from the same point to produce iqS — termagant! And observe these numbers are not accidental: they are produced in the same way: 505—167 (74:2)=338— 50=288. 516=167 (74:2)=349— 50=299— 22 /p & //=277. And the difference between 288 and 277 is eleven; and the difference between 79 and 90 is eleven ! But even this is not all. Let us take the fifth primal number, 506, and deduct 50, and we have 456. Now we have seen that in the middle section of 73:1, be- tween 28 and 90, there are 62 words. Let us deduct this fragment, just as we deducted 79 and go before, and we have: 506—50=456—62=394. 394 72:2 plays 506—50=456-62=394. 588—394=194+1=195+ 3 h col.=198. 198 72:2 termagant Or let us take the first primal number again, 505, and deduct the fragment at the top of 74:2, from 50 upwards, to-wit, 49, and we have the same result : 505—49=456—62=394. 394 72:2 plays 505—49=456—62=394. 588—394=194+ 1=195+ 3// col. =198. 198 72:2 termagant But even this does not end the use of the word termagant. We have : 50.5— 193 (75:1 )=31 2— 284 (74:1 )=28 + 170=1 98. 198 72:2 termagant But there is still more. When the brothers, Francis and Anthony Bacon, are discussing the bad news, the Cipher (with a root-number carried back from 74:2) refers again to the old termagant ; thus: 523— 30(74:2=493— 254 (75:1)=239— 141 (73:1)= 98 72:2 old 523—30=493—254=239—90=149. 346—149=197 + 1=198. 198 72:2 termagant Let the critical reader study this. Here we have the same formula, 523—30 ^493 — 254^239. But how do the terminals vary ? Old'xs obtained by counting 239 words from the beginning of the second section of 73:1 to the end of the column; now, as between 28 and 169 there are 141 words, we deduct 141 from 239, and we have 98 left; and the 98th word on the next preceding column is old. But to find the word termagant we commence at the top of the yfrj-/ section 73:1, instead of the second, and instead of going to the end of the column we go to the end of the scene; this gives us 90 words; and go deducted from 239 leaves 149, and this, taken to the S64. THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. end of the second section of 72:2, and carried upward, yields /tvw;?^'-^;;/. Let me put this in the form of a diagram: Col. 2, p. 72./' ^\ Col. I, p. 73. I think it is probable that a full investigation of the Cipher will show that these words — old termagant — are used at least a score of times in the internal nar- rative. Here are some instances of the word old: If we commence with the root-number 505, to count from the end of 73:2 and count upward and forward, counting in the whole of page 73, containing 406 words, and also the one hyphenated word, the 505th word is the gSth word, old; thus: 505-407=98. Word. 98 Page and Column. 72:2 old We also have, matching the tcnnagant already cited, the following: 98 73:2 523-29 (74:2)=494) 588—494=94+1=95 + 3 // col. 523—50 (74:2)=473— 79=394. 588—394=194+1= 195+3// col.=198: 198 old termagant Observe the precision of this: the only difference is this, that the first word comes out of 523 less the /(?.r/ section of 74:2; the other, out of the first section of 74:2; and that in the first case we commence to count, really, from the end of the third section of 73:1, and in the other case from the beginning of the same. And here we have another duplication: 505-167=338—237 (73:2)=101— 3 l> (237)=98. 98 505—167=338—50=288—90 (73:1)=19S. 198 72:2 70.0 old termagant Here the count runs first from the end of scene 4, act v, ist Henry IV., then from the beginning of it. And here is still another: 505—30 (74:2)=475— 50=425— 237 (73:2)=188 —90 (73:1;= 98 505—49 (74:2)=456— 63 (73:1)=394. 588—394= + 1=195 + 3 //=198. =194 98 198 72:3 old 72:2 termagant But away and beyond all these adjustments the word termagant is used by the large root-numbers, which I have shown to lie at the very beginning of the Cipher narrative, and of which 505, 506, 513, 516 and 523 are but modifications. Thus, THE QUE EX'S ORO^kS TO FIND SHAKSPERE. 865 there are twelve italic words in column i of page 74; let us multiply 74, the num- ber of the page, by this number 12, and we have 888. Now commence to count at the top of 72:1 and count downward, and go forward to the next column and down- ward again, and we have plays, and counting downward and forward as before, but upward, counting in the hyphens on 73:2, we have termagant. Thus: 74x12=888—494 (72:lj=394. 74x12=888—494=394. 588—394=194+1=195+ 3 h col.=198. Word. 394 198 Paare and Column. 72:2 plays termagant Here, then, I have shown that not only does termagant come out at the call of every one of our Cipher numbers, 505, 506, 513, 516 and 523, but even at the sum- mons of one, at least, of the higher numbers which precede these in the order of the narrative. In short, every act, scene, fragment of scene, page, column, word, bracket and hyphen, in all the pages of these two plays, and, as I believe, of all the Plays, has been the subject of the most patient, painstaking prevision and arithmetical calculation and adjustment, to a degree that is almost inconceivable. These His- tories are, indeed, histories in a double sense; these Comedies may be the mask for inner tragedies; and, perhaps, — with a fine touch of humor, — the Tragedies them- selves may be but the cover for comedies of real life. '\ The man was sublime: — he played with words ; he made the grandest and pro- foundest thoughts of which the brain is capable the strings of his exquisite puz- zle; he made a jest of mankind, by setting up a stock and stone for their worship; ' and he dealt at once and forever a deadly blow to all absolute belief in the teachy ings of history. I should not dare to utter these opinions save in the presence of so many marvelous proofs. But there is no imagination in the multiplication table; no self- deception can invade the precincts of addition and subtraction; two and two are four, everywhere, to the end of the chapter. But to resume our narrative: And Cecil tells them when they find Shakspere and his men to ofi'er them immunity for their past misdeeds, if they will make a clean breast of it and tell who really prepared the dangerous play of Riehard II. Observe how remarkably the significant words come out from the terminal root-number, 312. 505-193 (75:1)=312. 312—237 (73:2)=75— 50 (73:2)=25. 312—208 (73:2)=104— 90 (73:1)=14. 312—209 (73:2)=103. 312—208 (73:2)=104. 312—90=222—30=192—3 b col. =189. 312—208 (73:2)=104. 169—104=65+1=66. 312—237=75—30 (74:2)=45. 312—27 (73:1)=285— 237=48. 312— 208(73:2)=104— 27(73:1)=77. 588—77=511+1=512 312—79 (73:1)=233. 312—237=75—30 (74:2)=45— 3 b (237)=42. 312— 50=262— 79=183+346 (72:2)=529. 312—142 (73:1)=170— 30 (74:2)=140. 588—140= 448+1=449. 312— 28(73:1)=284. 25 73:1 Terms 14 72:2 of 103 73:1 grace, 104 73:1 pardon 189 73:2 and 06 73:1 reward 45 73:1 to 48 74:2 himself =512 72:2 and 233 73:2 all 42 73:2 of 529 72:2 them 449 72:2 if 284 72-2 he 866 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 312—79=233+170=403—1 h col —402. 312—90=222. 588—222=366—1=367. 312—208 (73:2)=104— 27 (73:1)=77. 312—90=222—27 (73:1)=195. 312—79=233. 312— 90=222— 169 (73:l)=r)3+170=228. 312—50=262—27 (73:1)=235. 31 2— 50=262— 208=104— 90=1 4 + 346=360. 312—27 (73:1)=285— 29 (74:2)=256— 237=19. 248- 19=229+1=230. 313—90=222—30 (74:2)=192. 237— 192=45 -f-l= 46+3/^ col. =49. 312—27 (73:1)=285— 29 (74:2)=256— 237=19. 248 —19=229 + 1=230+1 h col. =231. 312-90 (73:1)=222. 312—90=222—50=172—28 (73:2)=144— 10 b col.= 312—79=233—30=203—3/^ col. =200. 312—237=75—27 (73:1)=48— 29 (73:'^)=19. 312—90=222—50=172. 237—172=65+1=66. 312—237=75—27 (73:1)=48. 312-209=103. 171-103=68+1=69. 312-90=222-27 (73:1)=195. 588—195=393+1= 312—90= ; 22. 312—90=222—50=172. 312 -79=233— 27 (73:1)=206. 588—206=382+1= 312— 284(74;1)=28. 312—284=28+91=119. 512—143 (73:1)=1G9. 237—169=68+1=69+3 h col. 312—28 (73:1)=284— 171 ^72:2)=113. 312—29 (73 :2)=283— 90=193. 312—142 (73:1)=170. 312—29 (73:2)=283— 90=193— 170. 312—90=222 + 171 (72:2)=393— 2 // col. =391. 312—29 (73 :2)=283— 79=204. 312—28 (73:1 )=284— 171 (72:2)=113. 494—113= 381 + 1=382. 312—208=104—79=25. 312—79 (73:1)=233— 170=63. 494—63=431 + 1= 432+1 // col. =433. 312—90 (73:l)=222-208 (73:2)=14. 284—14= 270+1=271. 312—29 (73:2)=283— 90=193. 346—193=153+1= 154+2 / o their own heads. Fat fellow. Thus confirming the statements found on pages 78 and 79 of the Folio. And Cecil tells the Earl that the Queen is in a great rage. And here, again, it is not safe to say in the text Queen or her Majesty, or to have more than one ternia- o-a/tt in several pages, and so the Queen is alluded to as "the royal maiden." 312—28 (73 :1)=284— 237=47. 284—47=237+1= 312—79 (73:1)=233. 588—238=355+1=356. 312—90=222 + 170=392—2 A col.=390. 312—142=170+ 170=340. 312—90=222. 346—222=124 + 1=125. 312—208 (73:2)=104— 29 (74:2)=75— 8/^ (208)=72. 312— 208(78:2)=104— 80 (74:2)=74— 8/; (208)=71. 284— 71=213+1=214+6// col. =220. 220 74:1 238 74:1 Royal 856 72:2 maiden 390 72:2 is 340 72:2 in 125 72:2 a 72 73:1 great rage. 312 72:2 swear of Riehard II. on the stage, 123 72:2 should 213 72:2 die 118 72:2 a 153 72:2 bloody- 19 73:2 death. And the Queen doth swear: 312. that every man engaged in the production of the play of Riehard II. unless they give up the real author, — 312—237=75—27 (73:l)=-48. 170—48=122+1= 812—237=75—80=45-3 /' (237)=42+ 171=213. 812— 90=222— 169 (73: 1)=53. 170—53=117 + 1 = 312—90=222—28 (73:1)=194. 346—194=152+1= 312—90=222. 237—222=15 + 1=16+3 h col. =19. And Cecil says she told him to — 312— 28(73 :1)=284+ 170=454—3// col.=451. 312—27 (73:1)=285— 29 (74:2)=256— 237=19. 284— 19=265 + 1=266. 812-27 (73:1)=285. 312— 90=222— 28 (73:1)=194. 346—194=152 + 1= 153+2// col.=155. And as for Shakspere, if he does not confess the truth, she will — 312— 29 (73:2)=288. 588—283=305+1=306. 80*5 312—287=75—30=45+90=135. i35 312—29(78:2)283—30=258. 433—253=180+1= 181 312—79=233—30=203. 303 312—209 (78:2)=108. 169—108=66+1=67. 67 451 72:2 let 266 74:1 them 285 72:2 be 155 72:2 imbowelled, 72:2 make 73:1 a 71:2 carbonado 73:2 of 73:1 him. But if he will reveal a'l he knows he will be spared: 201 71:2 Save 235 73:2 own 23 71:2 life 5 73:2 fortune 868 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. Page and Word. Column. 312—79 (73:1)=233. 346—233=113+1=114+ 3 h col. =117. 117 72:2 spared; and not only spared, but favors shown him by the court: 312— 90=222— 169 (73:1)=53. 53 72:2 favors. And the officers are directed to say nothing to any one about their mission, lest the actors fly the country. And when they arrest Shakspere they are at first to treat him kindly, and ask him why he should try to injure the Queen, who had never harmed him; and appeal to his better feelings; and urge him to confess, to save his own life and fortune. 312—79 (73:1)=233. 433(71:2)— 233=200+1=201. 312—27 (73 :1)=285— 50=235. 312—90=222—30=192. 213 (71 :2)— 192=21 + 1=22 + 1=23. 312—79=233. 237—233=4+1=5. And they are to say to him that he must not hold back the information he has as to the treasonable play; that there is — 312— 27=285— 170(72:2)=115. 494—115=379 + 1= 380 72:1 No 312—90=232—30=192. 192 72:2 time 312— 169(73:1)=143. 346+143=489. 489 72:2 to 312— 29 (73:2)=283. 433—283=150+1=151. 151 71:2 dally. In short, the crafty Cecil directed the officers that when they found Shakspere they were to work upon him in every way possible — by appeals to his cupidity, his ambition, and his terror of being burned alive — to tell the real author of the Plays, especially of that dangerous play which represented the deposition and murder of an unpopular King, and the execution of those councilors who stood to him in the same relation in which Cecil stood to the Queen. The reader will observe that every "wjrd of the story, for the last few pages, gro7vs out of the same terminal root-number, ji2, and nothing else. And that all the modifications of this number arise out of the fragments of the scenes in columns I and 2 of the same page, j^- A few words are carried backward to the begin- ning of the third scene, page 71, column 2; just as we saw the Cipher carried for- ward to the ends or the beginnings of acts and scenes in ^tf Henry IV. So that not only do we find the same capacity of the text to produce a coherent narra- tive in these pages of ist Henry IV., which we found to exist in 2d Henry IV., but the story coheres with the narrative produced by the same root-number, 312, in 2d Henry IV. For instance, we saw that 505, counting from the end of the first section of 75:1 forward and down the next column, produced sent out: 505—193=312. 312 75:2 Sent 505—193=312. 498—312=186+1=187. 187 76:1 out 505— 248 (74:2)=257. 257 74:1 posts to 505—193=312—237=75. 169— 75=194h 1=195. 195 73:1 find 50.5—30 (74:2)=475— 447=28. 28 75:2 Shak'st ) 505—197=308—248=60. 60 75:1 spur. \ But here the very 312 which produced sent out and find tells the story of THE QUEEN'S ORDERS TO FIND SHAKSPERE. 869 what the posts were to do when they did find Shakspere; how they were to offer him pardon and grace if he would make a confession as to who was the real author of the Plays; and if he would not, that they were to threaten all the players who had taken part in the presentation of the deposition scene of Richard II. with a bloody death, that they should be inibo'wel/ed, etc.; and we have even the fierce threat of the savage old termagant, that of Shakspere himself she would make a (arbonado — a bon-fire — for the insults to the Christian religion contained m Measure for Measure, of which he was the alleged author. And observe how the fragments of 312 carried over from the first column of page 74 produce so many significant words: 312 — 284 (74:i)=23; and 28 up the the next column (73:2) is lose (lose his office), addressed by the Queen to Cecil, if he did not find Shakspere and prove his story against Bacon to be true. And 28 up from the end of scene third (73:1) is reivards; and 28 down from the same point is offers ("offers of rewards ") : Word. Page and Column. 63 73:1 rewards 118 73:1 offers 312— 384=2S. 90—38=62+1=63. 313—284=28. 90+28=118. Or take 312 again less the second column of page 74 instead of the first; we have 312 — 248=64; now 64 down 73:2 is with; and 64 tip ■jy.2 is speed; and 312 — 50 (74:2) =262, and this carried up 74:1 lands us in the midst of the first bracket sentence on the word zoind {nde -with the speed of the wind); and while 64 up 73:2 produces speed, the 174th word, if we add the modifier 30 it gives us march (174 + 30=204); thus: 312— 248=64— 30 (74:2)=34. 237—34=203+1= 204 73:3 march; and march, applied to the movements of the " well-horsed posts," is cunningly disguised in the name of " the Earl of March." I repeat that we cannot penetrate the text of these two plays, at any point, without perceiving that, apart from any rule, the Cipher numbers call out words that cohere in meaning and purpose, in a way that no other text in the world is capable of. Page and Column. 75 ;3 Took 76:2 ratsbane. CHAPTER XXI. FRAGMENTS. And the hand of time Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. King John ^ ii^ I. I AM constrained by the great size of my book to leave out much that I had intended to insert. I have worked out the story of Bacon attempting suicide by taking ratsbane: Word. 505—50 (74:2)==455— 50 (76:1)=405— 145 (76:2)=260 — 50 (76:1)=210. 508—210=298 + 1=299. 299 505—50 f74:2)=455— 50 (76:1)=405— 145 (76:2)=260. 603—260=343+1=344+8/' col.=352. 352 Preceding this we have, originating from pages 72 and 73 and their subdivi- sions, a full account of his griefs, his intense feelings, his desire to shield the mem- ory of his father, Sir Nicholas, from the ignominy which would fall upon it if it was known that his son had shared with such a low creature as Shakspere the profits of the Plays. Observe how the number 505 brings out ignominy: 505. 588—505=83 + 1=84. 84 72:2 ignominy. And here we have his father's name: 505—27 (73 : 1 )=478— 212 (71 :2)=266. 494—266= 228+1=229. 229 72:1 Sir 505— 169(73:1)=336— 212(71.2)=124. 124 72:1 Nicholas. Observe this: the Sir is 505 commencing at the end of the first section of 73:1, at the 27th word, and counting upward; the remainder is then taken to the end of the third scene (71:2), and carried up and brought back into the scene and down the column. The Nicholas is the same root-number, 505, carried through precisely the same process, save that we begin to count with 505 from the top of the same first section of 73:1, instead of the bottom, and we go do7vn 73:1, instead of up; and when we return from the beginning of scene 3 (71:2) we go up the column in- stead of do'vn. And here observe that the same number 478 (505 — 27 (73:i)=478), which car- ried to the end of the scene and brought back gave us Sir, if carried up 72:2 gives us ^ack; and this, with sphere, — Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere, — gives us another form of the word Shakspere. 870 FRAGMENTS. 871 Page and Word. Column. 505—27=478. 588—478=110+1=111. Ill 72:2 Jack ^ 505— 80=425— 221 (71 •.2)=204. 494—204=290+1= 291 72:1 sphere. \ Here again we see the systematic arrangement: 505 — 27 (the first section 73:1) is alternated with 80, the number of words from the end of the second section of 73:1 to end of the column. But when the remainder is carried to the beginning of scene 3, 71:2, it is taken doivn the column through 221 words, instead of up the column through 212 words. And here we have Sir Nicholas again, — repeated in the progress of the inner story: 505— 169 (73:l)=336—l/z (169)=335— 212(71:2)= 123 72:1 Sir | 505— 63(73:1)=442— 212(71:2)=230. 230 72:1 Nicholas. )" Here, it will be observed, the words flow again from the same corner of 73:1: that is, for Sir we commence to count from the top of the first section of 73:1, and count down the column, as we did to obtain Nic holash&ioxn; but now we count in the one hyphenated word in the column, and we get Sir. And the next A^icholas is a different word from the one we used last : that was 124, 72:1 ; this is 230, 72:1. We obtained that word by beginning to count, with 505, from the beginnmg of the first section of 73:1 and going through the whole column; we procure this iVich- olas by starting with the same number, 505, but, instead of going through the whole column, we stop at the end of scene third; this gives us 63 words. (27 to 90^63.) And here again we note the beautiful adjustments of the text to the Cipher; for, start- ing from substantially the same place, with the same root-number, we produce Sir Nicholas twice and Shakspere once ! And the 442 (505 — 63=442) which gave us the last Nicholas, carried down 72:2 gives us, as the 442d word, father (iwy father, Sir Nicholas) ! And Bacon refers to the /^'7/('w/;/r his exposure would bring upon his ancestors, "those proud spirits," Sir Anthony Cooke, his grandfather; his father. Sir Nicholas, and others of whom we know little or nothing, who had "won great titles in the world." It is a pitiful and terrible story, told with great detail. Bacon sacrificed him- self, or intended to do so, to save his family and the good name of his ancestors from the ignominy of his trial and execution at Smithfield as a traitor and an infidel. And then we have the terrible story of his sufferings: He lost consciousness for a time and fell in the orchard and cut his head on the stones. He thought, in ' is dreadful mental excitement and torture, — for he knew what it was Upon the tortures of the mind to lie In restless ecstacy, — that the spirits of his dead ancestors appeared and urged him to die ! Then came a young gentleman who was visiting at the house, St. Albans; he walked forth into the orchard; he stumbled over Bacon's body; he thought at first it was a dead deer: — 523— 79 (73:1)=444. 588—444=144 + 1=145. 145 72:2 deer. When he found it was a man, he drew his sword, in great terror, and asked who it was, and what he was doing there, and finally ran to the house and returned, fol- lowed by Harry Percy and the whole household, who came running. Then we have Bacon resolving to keep quiet and counterfeit death, so as to allow the deadly drug. 872 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. "which like a poisonous mineral doth gnaw the inwards," to do its complete work; rejoicing to think that in a little while he will be beyond the reach of Cecil's envy and the Queen's fury. Then we have the recognition, by Percy, that it is "our young master; " and the lifting up of the body, and the carrying of it to the house and to his room: Page and Word. Column. 505—79=426—1 h (79)=425— 406=19. 19 73:2 room. Then follows the wiping the blood from his face; the undressing of him, — taking off " his satin cloak and silken slops; " the sending for the doctor, — 505—50=455. 455 76:1 doctor,— who was the village apothecary, a Mr. Moore; then the discussion of the family as to what was the matter, some thinking he had fought a duel, others that he had been assailed by ruffians, for he was too gentle, it was said, to quarrel with any one. Then we have the refusal of the doctor to come, because the young man owed him a large bill for previous services, which had been standing for some time and not paid; and he demanded payment. And, strange to say, we find this very doctor's bill referred to in a letter of Lady Bacon to her son Anthony, given by Hepworth Dixon.' She says, under date of June 15, 1596: Paying Mr. Moore's bill for my physic, I asked him whether you did owe any- thing for physic ? He said he had not reckoned with you since Michaelmas last. Alas ! Why so long? say I. I think I said further it can be muted, for he hath his confections from strangers; and to tell you truly, I bade him secretly send his bill, which he seemed loth, but at my pressing, when I saw it came to above xv /. or xvj /. If it had been but vij or viij, I would have made some shift to pay. I told him I would say nothing to you because he was so unwilling. It may be he would take half willingly, because " ready money made always a cunning apothe- cary," said covetous Morgan, as his proverb. We can imagine that the apothecary was incensed, because after his bill had been presented, at the request of Lady Ann Bacon, it had not been paid; and that months had rolled by, from June, 1596, until the events occurred which are nar- rated in the Cipher — that is to say, until as I suppose, the spring of 1597; and hence the heat of the man of drugs and his refusal to attend. The apothecary was probably the only substitute for a doctor possessed by the village of St. Albans at that time. And here we have another little illustration of the cunning of the work. Where the doctor said that they " owed " him money, the text is twisted to get in the word thus : Falstaff says to the page: Sirra, you giant, what says the doctor to my water? Page. He said, sir. the water itself was a good healthy water; but for the party that oivned it, he might have more diseases than he knew for. This is the way it is found in the standard editions; but if the reader will turn to my facsimiles he will find the word cwz/tv/ printed pwd. In this way, Bacon got in the doctor's statement in the Cipher story, by misspelling a word in the text. But Bacon's aunt, Lady Burleigh, sister to his mother, and mother of his per- secutor, Cecil, overheard the servants report that the doctor would not come unless • Personal History 0/ Lord Bacon., page 391. FRAGMENTS. 873 liis bill was paid, and she secretly gave the servant the money to pay it. And observe, again, how cunningly the word aunt is hidden in the text: Page and Word. Column. 505-145 (76 :2)=360. 360 77:1 aunt But it is not spelled aunt, but ant, to-\vit, and it. Now, if the reader will examine the text of the play, he will find that and it is usually printed, where it is condensed into one word, asand't. See the 485th word, 76:2. And Esse.x had arrived to warn Bacon of his danger, and he observed that the ■doctor did not come when he was first sent for, and he rebuked him fiercely, and threatened to have his ears cut off; and the doctor answered with considerable spirit, under cover of the retorts of Falstaff to the Chief Justice's servants. See upper part of 77:1. Then we have the voluble doctor's declaration that Bacon's troubles were due to overstudy and perturbation of the brain, and were in the nature of an apoplectic fit; and he prescribed for him. In the meantime, Bacon suffered terribly from the effects of the poison, and, as he had taken a double dose, his stomach rejected it, ^nd his life was thereby saved. Then we have the story of Harry Percy being sent in disguise to Stratford. I have worked out enough of it to make a story as long as all the Cipher narrative thus far given in these pages. Percy's rapid journey, his arrival, his dem.and to speak at once with Shakspere; the difficulties in the way. At last, he is shown up into the bed-room; the windows are all closed, according to the medical treatment of that age; and Shakspere is sweltering in a fur-trimmed cloak. Here we have a full and painful and precise •description of his appearance, very much emaciated from the terrible disorder which possessed him. Percy told him the news and urged him to fly. Shakspere refused. Percy saw that Shakspere intended to promptly confess and deliver up " Master Francis," and save himself. Percy was prepared for such a contingency, and told him that the man who was the ostensible author would suffer death with the real author; and he asks him: Did you not share in the profits; did you not strut about London and claim the Plays as yours, and did you not instruct the actor who played Richard J/, to imitate the peculiarities of gesture and speech of the Queen, so as to point the moral of the play: that she was as deserving of deposition as King Richard ? {" Know you not," said the Queen to Lambarde, "that I am Richard the Second ! ") And do you think, said Percy, that the man who did all this can escape punish- ment ? When Shakspere saw, as he thought, that he could not save himself by betraying Bacon, he at last consented to fly. Then followed a stormy scene. Mrs. Shakspere hung upon her husband's neck and wept; his sister, Mrs. Hart, bawled; her children howled, and the brother Gilbert, who was drunk, commenced an assault on Harry Percy, and drew a rusty old sword on him. Harry picked up a bung- mallet, and knocked him down, and threw him down stairs into the malt cellar. Then bedlam was let loose. In the midst of the uproar entered Susannah, who at once calmed the tempest. Harry was astonished at her beauty and good sense. He wonders how " so sweet a blossom could grow from so corrupt a root." We have a long description of her. She put the children to bed, and when she had heard Percy's story she advised her father to fly. He commenced to talk about his family, and how well he stood with his neighbors, for that question of gentility was his weak point. She replied, very sensibly, that they owed their neighbors no obligations, and need care nothing for what they said or thought. And 874 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. Percy advised that they tell the neighbors that the Queen had sent for him to prepare a play for some approaching marriage at court. Mrs. Shakspere still wept and clung to him, and said she would " never see her dear hus- band again;" that he was too sick to travel, etc. To all this Percy replied that a sea-voyage and change of scene and air were the best remedies for his sickness; that they would go to Holland and from there to France, and that " Master Fran- cis" was acquainted with the family of De la Montaigne, and they could visit there; and in the meantime that Essex would, as soon as the Queen's rage had subsided, intercede for him, and he would thus be able to come back improved in health to the enjoyment of his wealth ; while if he stayed he would forfeit both life and fortune. And Percy said he had a friend, a Captain Grant, who was about to marry a rela- tive of his; his ship was then unloading at London, and they would have time to get to London before it was ready to sail. They would go twenty miles a day across the country, and hide in the vicinity of St. Albans, with some friends of Percy's, and thence work their way to London in the night; that when the posts found he had fled they would naturally think he had gone northward to Wales or Scotland; they would not look for him near St. Albans or London. And Percy suggested that Shakspere tell Captain Grant, to account for his secret flight, that he was an unmarried man, and that he had fallen into some trouble with a young woman; that a child was about to be born and that he was leaving the country on that account. The night was stormy and dark, and the roads muddy, and there would be none abroad to notice their flight. Convinced by all these arguments, Shakspere told his wife to get some supper ready and to bring him an old suit of leather jerkins, etc., which he had worn when a butcher's 'prentice, and he proceeded to array himself in these. Then follows, with great detail, a description of the supper, served by the handsome Susannah; and every article of food is given, much of it coarse and in poor condition; and Percy is vehement in his description and denunciation of the very poor quality of the wine, which was far inferior to the kind that was served at his spendthrift master's table. I only touch upon the salient points of the narrative. We have all the conver- sations given in detail, and with the graphic power that might be expected from such a writer. I have progressed far enough beyond this point to see that Shakspere went to sea. Turn to page 85 of the facsimiles, and in the first column we have tempest, commotion, vapor, captains, etc., while in the second column of the same page the reader will find high and giddy mast, ship, surge, -winds, monstrous billorvs, slippery, clouds, hurley, sea, sea, ocean, Neptune; while on page 82, column 2, we have vessel, vessel, 7'essel, marchanfs venture, Burdeaux-stuff, hold {oi a ship), hogs-head, etc.; in 83:2 we have Captain, several times repeated, and in 82:2 we have grant, two or three times. The story of the brawl is told on pages 83 and 84; in 85:1 we have Percy's description of how he overtook and outrode the scouts,, concealed in the lines: I met and over-tooke a dozen captains. Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns And asking every one for Sir John Falstaffe. For the description of the supper, we have (82:1) disli, apple-Johns; (82:2) cana- ries — mine — pike — dry toasts; (83:1) ancient — mouldy — dried — cakes; stexved- prunes — bottle-ale — cup — sack; (84: i) bread — mustard; {84:2) bread — kitchen — roast — fat; (85:1) joint of mutton. Here are all the essentials of a supper, and yet there is no supper described in the text. And we have just seen that we have FRAGMENTS. 875 (85:1, 85:2 and 82:2) all the words to describe a sea-voyage and a tempest on the ocean, and yet there is no sea-scene in the play. And here is another evidence of the Cipher, and of the microscopic character of the work. I showed some time since that on page 83 the 184th word was shake, and that it is forced into the text; because Dame Quickly, who had, in a pre- ceding scene in the same act, threatened to throw the corpulent Sir John Falstaff into the channel, and who did not fear his thrust, is now so terrified, by the mere approach of a swaggerer, that she says, " Feel, masters, how I shake." This is the first part of the name of Shakspere. Where is the rest of the name? It is on the same page, in the next column, and yet it will puzzle my readers to find it. Let them attempt it. And here I would observe that Bacon avoids putting Shake and spear nediX each other, lest it might create suspicion. Hence, where we have shak'st, we find near at hand spur; where we have sphere (pronounced then spere) we have close at hand not Shake hwX. Jack, pronounced shack. And so here, where we have shake, the last syllable is most cunningly concealed in the Italian quota- tion of Pistol: Si fortune me toriiieulc, sperato me coiiteiite. Now, in the Folio there is a hair space between sper and ato; and this gives us the necessary syllable to make the " Shake" Shake-sper. But the distinction is so minute that when Lionel Booth made his literal copy of the Folio of 1623, the printers, while they faithfully followed every detail of capitalization, spelling, pronunciation, etc., of the original Folio, missed this point and printed the word as sperato. And in the very last scene of the play, page 100, Pistol repeats his quotation, in a different form: Si fortuna me tormento sper a >7ie coutento. Here again we have sper separated from a. And note the different spelling: in the first instance /?r/«/«f serves in the Cipher story {ox fortune, the name of the Fortune theater; tonnente is used for iomient; and coii- tente iox conteHi; hul in the other instance, we have "fortune-," " tormentc," and "content£i," because the Cipher grew less intricate as the end of the play approached, and there was no necessity for the words to do double duty, as in the former instance. And here I would note another point. Falstaff says, "Throw the quean in the channel:" and some of the commentators have changed this word, because there was no channel at or near London, and the scene of Falstaff's arrest is clearly placed in London. What does it mean? The Cipher is telling something about the English Channel; and hence this violation of the geographical unities. In the same way it will be found that the sea-coast of Bohemia, Machiavel, in /st and j>(/ I/enry VI., and Aristotle, in Troilus and Cressida, are to be accounted for: they were necessi- ties of the Cipher narrative, and the congruitics of time and p^ace had to give way to its requirements. The correctness of the inside story was more important, in the mind of the author, than the proprieties of the external play. If the reader will turn to page 56 he will see how adroitly the name of the Spanish city of Cadiz, the scene of an English invasion, is worked into the text. The Prince is talking nonsense to the drawer, Francis, and he says: Wilt thou rob this Leatherne-jerkin, Christall button, Not-plated, Agat ring. Puke stocking, Caddice garter. Smooth tongue, Spanish pouch ? And the boy very naturally exclaims: '• O Lord, sir, who do you mean ?" Yet here, in this rambling nonsense, Caddice conceals Cadiz, and four words distant we have Spanish— 3.XiA Cadiz was a Spanish town. In that incoherent jumble of words were probably grouped together the tail-ends of half a dozen dif- ferent parts of the Cipher story. The wonder of the world will never cease when all this Cipher narrative is worked out; it will be indeed — S76 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. " The life-long wonder and astonishment " of mankind for thousands of years to come. It is not, of course, possible for me to prove the truth of my statements as to the foregoing Cipher narrative in this volume; but I hope to follow this work with another, in which I shall give the story in detail, and even follow the sick Shakspere across the sea. While Cecil could not prove his case against Bacon without the testimony of Shakspere, it must have been apparent to the Queen that the actor had received warning of his danger from some one about the court; and it might have been that facts enough came out to satisfy the Queen of Bacon's guilt; and hence his inability to rise to any office of great trust during Elizabeth's reign. But I will give one little specimen which is most significant, and may be clearer to the reader because of its simplicity. In most cases the scenes are divided up into fragments by the stage directions, and these fragments complicate the working of the Cipher; but here the entire scene is but a column in length, about one-half of it being in 81:2, and the remainder in the next column, 82:1. The sentence I give is: Harry at length persuaded him to fly. This significant collocation of words refers to Harry Percy, after a long discussion, persuading Shakspere to fly the country — the very flight referred to by Coke, in his allusion to clapping a capias titlagatunt on Bacon's back, some years afterward. The Cipher number is 505. It commences to count from the upper section of 73:2, containing 29 words; therefore, 505 — 29=476; and the number here used is 476. And here we perceive the subtlety of the Cipher: If any one thought he saw on pages 81 and 82 traces of a Cipher, he would naturally look for the key- number on or near those pages; he would not think of going back to the end of a preceding play, ist Henry IV., to find the first modifier of a number obtained from the first page of 2d Henry IV. But here we have the Cipher contained on pages 81 and 82 revealed by a number growing out of pages 73 and 74, eight or nine pages distant. Now this little scene of one column (scene 3, act ii, 2d Heniy IV.) is literally packed with Cipher words. I give only a fragment. First we have : 505—29=476. But I stated in the chapters in which I explained the Cipher rule that the second group of modifiers was found in 73:1, and that they consisted of 27 or 28, 62 or 63, 90 and 79, and 141 or 142. Here we have in this brief sentence of seven words these modifiers: 28 — 62 — 90. If we deduct 28 from 476 we have 448; if we deduct from it 62 we have 414; if we deduct from it 90, we have 386. Now, if these numbers, carried to a part of the play eight pages distant from where they are obtained, produce a perfectly coherent sentence, no one but an individual lacking in the ordinary faculties of the human mind can believe that it is accidental. Here, then, we have the sentence: 476—28=448—334 (81:2)=214. 83+9 /' & //=93. 476—62=414—134 (83:1)=380. 476—38=448—234 (81:3)=314. 476—63=414—296 (82:1)=118. 476—90=386—296 (83:1)=90. 296 214=83-1-1 Word. Pag:e and Column. 420—280=140+1= 93 141 82:1 81:2 Harry at 186+118=304. 420—90=330+1= 214 304 331 82:1 81:2 81:2 length persuaded him FRAGMENTS. 877 Page and Word. Column. 476— 62=414— 296 (83:1)=118. 118 81:2 to 476— 90=386— 234 (81 ■.2)=152. 296—152=144+1= 145 82:1 fly. And note that the first formula above, 476 — 28=448 — 234, carried up from the end of the scene, gives us the S3d word (82:1), which is Marshal, and here is its associate, Knight — the " Knight Marshal " was one of the officers of the court: 476— 28=448— 186 (81 :2)=262. 262 81:2 Knight 476— 28=448— 234 (81 :2)=214. 296—214=82+1= 83 82:1 Marshal. But to make the first sentence plainer I give the following diagram, showing the precise and regular movement of the four words — Harry at length persuaded: f Col. 2. p. Si. —IT- at •0 4^ ^ 1 \o 1 00 t7 1 -l^Scene^ J.\ 1 1 \ \ ;t_Persfiadefl | ^ \ 1 \ \ \ ^1/ \ \ \ Or take the words Knight Marshal: Col. I, p. 81 . ^ ^, Col. 2, p Si. \ \ \ \ 1 1 I 1 XScene 3* 1 1 \ \ Col. I, p. 82. Those words — Harry at length persuaded— ought alone to settle the question of a Cipher in the Plays. They stand thus: 476—28= Harry 476—62= at 476—28= length 476 62= persuaded. But observe the movement of them: 878 THE CIPHER NA RRA TIVE. 476 — 28. Commence beginning scene 3, do-wn, Harry 476— G2 " end scene 3, ?//, at 476 — 28 " beginning scene 3, down, length 476 — 62 " end scene 3, up. persuaded. But everywhere you touch with these numbers in this vicinity you bring out significant words. For instance, .J76 — go gave us 386 (which yielded him and fly). But the same go (386 — 2g6=go), which, carried up 81:2, gave us him. carried down the same column gives us go (go, 81:2), a word naturally connected with "per- suaded him to fly;" and carried up from the end of the break in the same column the same go gives us rode; and the same 476 — 28=448, carried through that same first section of 81:2, leaves 262, and this, carried through the second section of 82:1 and down 82:2, plus the brackets, gives us muddy (" muddy roads "); and the same go taken downward from the end of first section of 81:2 yields ;/('7i'(the road is now muddy); and if we deduct from 476, instead of go, its co-modifier, 79, we have left 397; and if we commence at the beginning of scene third, as before, and count down and then up from the end of the scene, as in the other instances, we get the word seek (the Knight Marshal comes to seek you): Page and Word. Column. 476—79=397—234=163. 296—163=133+1=134 134. 82:1 seek. And this same 163, down 82:1, ////j the brackets, is armed (the armed soldiers with the Knight Marshal). And here we have the drunken brother alluded to. We saw that 505 — 29=476 — 28=448 produced, less the fragments in 81:2, Harry, length, muddy, etc. Now, if, instead of counting from the beginning of scene third doivnward, through 234 words, we count upward, through 186 words, counting in that first word (for this part of the narrative belongs to the third scene), we have the following: 476—28=448—186=262. 262 82:1 A 476—28=448—234=214—133 (82:1)=81. 425—81= 344+1=345. 345 82:2 swaggering 476—28=448—186=262—134 (82:1)=128— 5 h (134)= 123 82:2 rascal. Here the 214 which produces sivaggering is the same root-number that produced length — " Harry at length persuaded," etc. And here we have the statement that he was drunk, growing out of the same 414 which gave us /^r.; w^^/t'f/.- 476—62=414—234=180—134 (82:l)=46-5 h (134)= 41 82:2 drunk. And so I might go on for another volume. Here we have Shakspere's sister alluded to: Afisti-ess Hart — see word 136, 82:2, and word 78, 82:2; and again in Hart-deere-Harry, 282, 81.2; and just as we found the dear in this triple hyphenation spelled deere, because in the Cipher story it referred to a deer, so we even have hea)-t misspelled, to give us the correct spell- ing of Shakspere's sister's name. Here we have it : 273, 80:2, hart I And here, growing out of the same root-number, 448, we have St. Albans: 476— 28=448— 134 (82:1)=314. 420—314=106+1= 107 81:2 St. Albans. And if we count in the nine brackets in the column below St. Albans, we have the word bestow; and if we count in both brackets and hyphens we have night; and if we take 414 (476 — 62=414), which we have seen to alternate with 448, up %i:\, plus the brackets, it brings us to second; thus: 476-28=448— 297 (82:1)=151. 151 82:2 The FRAGMENTS. 879 Word. 476—62=414. 430 (82:1)— 414=16+1=17+9/' col.= 26 476—28=448—134=314. 420 (81:2)— 314=106 + 1= 107 + 12 /'& //=1 19. 119 And here we have: 169 476—28=448—430 (82:1)=18. 186—18=168 + 1= 476—28=448—134 (82:1)=314. 420-314=106+1-- 107+9 /;col.=116. 116 The second night we shall bc$to7v ourseh'es at St. Albans. 476—28=448—297 (82:1)=151— 9/^ (297)=142— 1/, col. =141. 141 476— 28=448— 134 (.82: 1)=314. 420—314=106 + 1= 107 Page and Column. 82:1 second 81:2 night 81:2 shall 8'':1 bestow 81:2 82:1 at St. Albans. 488 84:1 Merry 18 81:1 Wives 193 79:2 Windsor. Here the number 44S parts at the .stage direction in S2:i, and carried up, back- ward and down, it produces at, while carried down, backward and up, it produces St. Albans ! And observe how cunningly that at is made to do double duty, first in the sen- tence, Harry at length persuaded, etc., and then in the above: 476— 62=414— 134 (82:1)=280. 420—280=140+1= 141 81:2 at 476—28=448—297 (82:1)=151— 9 b (297)=142— l^col.=141. 141 81:2 at Think of the infinite adjustments in every part of this text, any one of which failing would destroy much of the Cipher narrative ! And here, again, we have, out of the same root-numbers. The Merry Wives of Windsor: 476—62=414—26 (85:l)=388+50 (84:1)=438. 476—28=448—186 (81:2)=262— o7=20r)— 186 (81:2) =19— 1/^ col. =18. 476—62=414—186 (81:2)=228— 31 (79:1)=197— 4/;& h col. =193. And here we have: 476—62=414—234 (81:2)=180— 57 (80:1)=123. 185 —123=62+1=63. 63 81:2 Master 476— 28=448— 186'(81:2)=262. 333 (85:1)— 262=71 +1=72+12 /;& /^ col. =84. 84 85:1 Francis. The word Francis occurs in the Folio fifteen times; Francisco twice; Francois once; and Frank ten times; or twenty-eight in all. It is probable that Bacon often refers to himself under the disguise of France-is. France fills up nearly three col- umns of Mrs. Clarke's Concordance, and is found in twenty of the Plays; even in plays like The Merry Wives, the Merchant of Venice, the Comedy of Errors, and Hamlet, where we would not naturally expect to m-eet it. In Lo7'e's Labor Lost, act iii, scene i, the word Francis is dragged in very oddly: Armada. Sirra Costard, I will infranchise thee. Clown. O marry me to one Francis. I smell some Lenvoy, some goose in this. Here infranchise is introduced to make a foundation for a pun on Francis. But, as Costard is a man, he could not marry a man, and the word should be 88o THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. Frances, and so it is printed in the ordinary editions of to-day; but in the Folio of 1623 it is Francis ! And in the same play we have, act v, scene i: Pedant. £a, pueritia, with a horn added. Page. Ba, most seely sheepe, with a horn. There is little meaning and no wit in this; but the word can added to Ba, with the broad pronunciation of that age, would give us, with the misspelled Frances, the whole name: Francis Ba-con. But let us pass away from these examples and this part of 2d Henry IV., and go backward, twenty-six columns, to act v, scene i, of ist Henry IV., and see if the text there also responds to the magical influence of these same Cipher num- bers. Some may say that I have shown nothing in the Cipher narrative that asserts that Francis Bacon wrote the Plays. True; and that is one of the proofs of the reality of the work I have performed. If I had wrought out only such sentences, as I desired, I would probably in the beginning have constructed a sentence directly making the claim that " /, Francis Bacon, of St. Albans, son of the late Lord Chan- cellor Nicholas Bacon, 'turote the so-called Shakespeare Plays." But I could not find what is not in the text; and I doubt if any such direct and distinct assertion of authorship is made; nor would it be natural, when one thinks it over, that it should be made; for if Bacon proceeds to give, in a long narrative, the history of his life, he would advance, step by step, from his youth upward; we should hear of his first essays in poetry; then of his first attempts at dramatic writing; then of his- acquaintance with Shakspere; then the history of a particular play; and so the narrative would advance without any sign-board declaration of the kind supposed above. But I have shown enough to satisfy any one that Shakspere did not write the Plays; and I have also shown that the man who did write them was a certain Master Francis, a cousin of Cecil, and that his father's name was Sir Nicholas; that he resided at St. Albans. But here we have a reference to my uncle Burly, which still further serves to identify the mysterious voice which is talking to us out of these arithmetical adjustments, as the voice of the great Francis Bacon. And it comes from another part of the text, showing that the Cipher is everywhere; and it responds, not to 505, like the sentences I have just been giving, but to another Cipher number, 523. Let us commence with 523 at the beginning of scene 2, act i, ist Henry IV., page 70, column i. From the first word, inclusive, of the scene, upward, we have in the column 341 words: deduct 341 from 523, and we have 182 left; carry this up. the preceding column, and it brings us to the word burly: Which gape and rub the elbow at the news Of hurly burly innovation. Why are these words not united by a hyphen, as are 7vater-colours, two lines, below them ? Now, if we take that root-number 523 again, and commence at the same point, but count do'ion the column, instead of up, as in the last sentence, we pass through 138 words; and these deducted from 523 leave 385; now deduct the common modi- ifier, 30(74:2), and we have 355. Now, instead of going up 69:2, let us carry this 355 to the end of the first section of scene i, act i, 6g:i, and go upward; there are 179 words from the end of that section to the top of the column; 179 deducted from 355 leaves 176, and 176 carried down the preceding column (68:2) is uncle. But if we count from the top of the second section of act i, scene i, we have i8o- words, and this deducted from 355 leaves 175, which gives us the word my. Here we have the words my uncle; and, growing out of precisely the same root-number^ we have the word Burly, by a different count from that just given: Page and Column. 68:2 My 68:2 uncle 69:2 Burly, FRAGMENTS. 88 1 Word. 523—138 (70:l)=3S5-30 (74:2)=355-.180 (69:1)= 175 523—138=385—30=355—179 (69:1)=176. 176 523—138=385—60 (2d § 79:1)=325— 2 // col.= 323 Or, to give the word Burly, as at first stated, we have: 23-341=182. 504—182=322+1=323. 323 69:2 Burly. Here the length of column 2 of page 69 was adjusted to the fragments of 70:1, so that ^2 J zvould produce the word Burly both tip and do7on the cohivin I And observe how singularly this word uncle appears in the Plays. It is found but once in each of the following plays: Merchant of Venice, All's Well, Comedy of Errors and Cymbeline j but twice in each of the following plays: Tempest, Merry IVives, Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet and Othello; while it is altogether absent from The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Measure for Measure, Love's Labor Lost, Mid- summer Night's Dream, The Taming of the Shrew, Twelfth Night, The Winters Tale, Henry VIIL, Coriolanus, Timon of Athens, Julius dvsar, Lear and Anthony and Cleopatra. On the other hand, it is found eight times \n King John, fiventy times in Richard I/., ten times in ist Henry IV., seventeen times in Richard I//., and eleven times in Troiliis and Cressida. But while found ten times in ist Henry I V. and eight times in Henry V., it does not occur at all in the play between these, — 2d Henry I]'.! There is no reason why tmcle should appear eleven times in the Greek play of Troilus and Cressida, and not at all in that other Greek play of Timon of Athens, or in the Roman plays of Coriolanus and Julius Cesar, or why it should be found twenty times in Richard II. and not at all in Henry J'lII..' The explanation will be found to be, that in some plays Bacon is telling the history of his youth, with which his uncle Burleigh had a great deal to do, while Lear, Timon of Athens, the Roman plays, Henry J'lll., etc., were written after his uncle's death, and the inter- nal story does not relate to him, while the more youthful and joyous plays, like The T7V0 Gentlemen, of Verona and Love's Lnbor Lost, were composed before the dark shadow of his kinsman's hostility fell upon his life. And here is another significant fact. The difference between the first Burly and the last is the difTerence of deducting the modifier 30. Now let us take the last Burly and deduct the other modifier 50, that is, go down the column 50 words, a-d what do we find ? Burly is the 323d word, 69:2, counting up the column; add 50 to 323 and we have 373, 69:2, and the 373d word is nepheiv : and Bacon was Burleigh's «^'/'/^<'7l' .' Now take that same 186 and carry it through the first section of scene i, act i, 6g:i ; we have 122 or 123 left, accordingly as we count from the 179th or 180th word; and we get the following words: 523—341=1 82—59=1 23. 523_841=182— 60=122. 202 (68:2)— 122=80 + 1= 523—341=182—59=123. 202 (68:2)-123=79 +1 =80+2 //=82. 523—431=182—60=122. 202 (68:2)— 122=80+1 =81+2 //=83. 523—341=182—60=122. 203 (68:2)— 122=81 + 1 =82+2/^=84. How? By excessive and extravagant praises of the Plays, hoping that in his pride Bacon would admit the authorship. The accomplice of Burleigh and Cecil in this work was Sir IValter (Raleigh), and Sir Walter is often referred to in the text. Here we have him: 123 69:2 Had 81 68:2 sought 82 68:2 to 83 68:2 intrap 84 68:2 me. 882 THE CIPHER .VARRATIVK. Pajjc and WorJ. Column. 523— 138 (70:1)=3;>J-180 (69:1)— L'05. 205 68:2 Sir 523—138 (70:1)=385— 30=355— 120 (69:1)=235— 201 (68:2)=34. 34 68:1 Walter. And here is the word praise: 523—138=385. 385 69:2 praise. And the play they especially praised was The Eamons Victories, one of tlie early plays, here alluded to simply as the Victories. And the same root-num- ber, 123, that produced sought to iiitrap vie, produces also l^ictories, thus : 523—341 (70:1)=182— 5f. (69:1)=123. 202—123=79+1=80. 68:2 Victories. And note again, that while 523 — 138 (70:i)=385, and this, counting from the beginning of the second section of 6g:i, produced sir, and from the top of the first section of 69:1 produced IValter, that from the end of the first section of 6g:i it leaves 206, and this less the modifier 30 is 176, and 176 is again uncle. 523—138=385—179=206—30=176. 176 68:2 uncle. And I could go on and on adinfinifiiin, and show how 176 up from the end of scene third (68:2) produces A7//^'v and I might then point to the word Richanfs, 387, 69:1; deposed, 25, 68:2; depri^'cd, 31, 68:2; life, 35, 68:2; purpose, 180, 68:2; council-board, 92, 68:2; insurrection, 329, 69:2; rebellion, 296, 69:2; Sir W^alter, 147-8, 68:2, and a whole host of most significant words, every one of which has its Cipher arithmet- ical arrangements. And here, too, is told the story of the sending of Percy to Shakspere's home. There are 283 words in scene i, act i, in column i, page 6g: 505— 193 (75:1)=312— 283=29. 29 69:2 home. And here we have the word strait growing out of precisely the same root as home: 505— 193(75:11=312 — 59 (first section, act v, scene i) =253—191 (68:2)=62. 458—62=396 + 1—397. 397 68:1 strait. And we saw that 29, carried forward to 69:2, made the word home, but carried backward to 68:2 and down from the end of scene third, it gives us directed, thus: 505—193=312—283=29+202=231. 231 68:2 directed. While counting in the four hyphens in 283 and in the column gives us 227, to; and 312 — 120 (from top of act v to top of column)=ig2, and the I92d word, 69:2, is bird, a rare word; the sentence is: directed him to go as straight as a bird flies to his home; and 312 — 5g again =253, less the two hyphens in the column, gives us 251 (6g:2), as: and 312 — 179 (from end section i, scene i, act v, up to top of column) gives us 133; and 133 up the next preceding column (68:2) gives the 26rst word, a {straight as a bird); and then we have the word indirect: Percy is to go not by the indirect ways, but straight as a bird flies, etc. 312—179=133. 133 68:2 indirect. And 312 — 180 (from the top of second section, act v, scene i, upward) = 132, and xhis, minus 50(74:2) leaves 82, and this carried to the beginning of scene 4(68:2) and downward gives us iindeistattd (82 + 202^284, ^'8:2), while 83 (312 — 179= 133 — 50^83) carried up from the same point yields the 120th word, safety: to let Shakspere understand ihat his own safety requires him to fly. And so I might go on and work out another volume of the story right here. Page and Vord. Column. m 73:2 The 419 75:1 Earl 43 78:2 of 179 74:2 Shrewsbury- 376 76:1 tells 1 75:1 me 478 76:1 he 130 75:2 saw FRAGMENTS. 883 And now let us turn to some other fragments, for 1 desire to show that all the Cipher numbers, 505, 506, 513, 516 and 523, applied in all parts of the text, pro- duce coherent narratives, which I have now neither the space nor time to work out in full. Take the root-number 516 and deduct the 167 words in the second section of 74:2. and we have 349; now deduct the 22 /' & // in 167, and we have 327. And here we have a fragment of the statement of Cecil to the Queen, to-wit, that, suspecting the real authorship of the Plays, the Earl of Shrewsbury went to the Curtain (286, 75:1) Play-house to see Shakspere act: 516—107=349—22 h & h (16r)=;32r. 349—22/^ & //=327— 284 (74:1)— 43— 10 /> (284)=33. 349—22 i & 7^=327— 50=277— 248=29. 447—29= 418+1=419. 349—22 /; & 7^=327-284 (74:1)=43. 349—22 /> & 7^=327— 254=73. 248—73=175 + 1= 176+3=179. 349—33 /; & /•=327— 254 (75:1)=73. 448—73=375 + 1=376. 349—22 /' & 7/=327— 50=277— 248=29— 22 /- (248)= 349— 22 ^& 7/=327— 50=277— 248=29+449=478. 349— 22/; & 7/=327-50=277— 145=132— 2 7;=180. 349—22 /;& 7/=327— 30=297— 50 (76:1 )=247— 146 (76:2) =101. 498—101=397+1=398. 398 76:1 him 349—22 d & 7/=327— 49 (76:1)=278— 254 24— 15^&/,=9. 508—9=499 + 1=500. 500 75:2 act. 349_33/,& 7^=327—49=278. 278 76:2 He 349—22 /> & 7/=327— 30=297— 50=247. 247 76:2 said, 349— 22/;& //=327— 254(75:2)=73. 248—73=175 + 1=176+4/; & 7/=180. 180 74:2 I 349—22 /> & 7^=327—30=297—50=247—3 /;=243. 243 76:2 assure 349—22 l> & 7/=327— 50=277— 248=29— 22 /> (248)= 7 74:1 you 349—33 /;& //=337_.50=277. 277 76:2 your 349—22 i & 7/=327— 50=277— 248=29. 447—29= 418-^-l=419+2 /■=421. 421 75:1 divination 319— 00^^% /,_337— 193=134. 284—134^150+1= 151 74:1 is 349—22/' & 7/=327— 50=277— 145 (76:2)=132— 8/;&//=124. 124 74:2 right. And he goes on to say that he — ;)49— 00 /, ^ /,_307— 5o=o77_2i9 (74:0)=58. 498—58=440+1=441. 441 76:1 never 349—22 d & 7/=327— 50=277— 248=29+ 193=222 o ;, ooA 220 75:1 witnessed such a performance; that he had to stuff his