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 :UM
 
 THE WORKS 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 THE TKXT REGULATED BY THK FOLIO OF 1632 ; 
 
 WITH ; EADIXGS FROM FORMER EDITIONS, 
 
 A HISTORY OF THE STAGE, A LIFE OF 
 
 THE POET, AND AN INTRODUCTION 
 
 TO EACH PLAY. 
 
 iND OTHER NOTES, BY KNIGHT, DYCE, 
 DOUCE, COLLIER, HALLTWELL, HUNTER, 
 AND RICHARDSON. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 OKGE LONG DUYCKLNCK. 
 VOL. I.. 
 
 PORTER & COATES, 
 PHILADELPHIA.
 
 AMERICAN PREFACE. 
 
 or 
 * It 
 
 QC IT has been the aim of the publisher, in the 
 present edition of the Works of Shakespeare, to 
 ** produce, in an elegant, compact, and readable 
 form, the complete works of the immortal bard, 
 has also been the intention, by close condensa- 
 tion, to convey a greater amount of information 
 |j directly illustrative of the text, than has ever 
 B been presented in a similar form. The notes, 
 illustrative of obsolete words, expressions, and 
 customs, have been derived from Mr. Knight's 
 , Pictorial Shakespeare, the works of Dyce, Douce, 
 0j Haliiwell, Hunter, Richardson, and Collier, with 
 5 such aid as a long acquaintance with the dra- 
 Q matic and general literature of the age of Eliz- 
 |j abeth and James could furnish. 
 
 Notes, pointing out or commenting upon th 
 sentiments expressed in the text, have been pur- 
 posely avoided, it being presumed that the reader. 
 
 434094 '
 
 IV AMERICAN PREFACE. 
 
 having been furnished with every material for 
 the employment of a correct taste and judgment, 
 will prefer to exercise these faculties for him- 
 self. 
 
 Comment of this description has also been 
 avoided in noting the variations between the 
 text of the present and former editions. The 
 reader has been placed in possession of the old 
 by the side of the new, and left to an unbiased 
 choice between them ; the frequent recurrence of 
 notes of this description rendered necessary the 
 simple abbreviation of f. e. for u former edition." 
 No other abbreviations occur in the notes, un- 
 less the mention of the first or folio of 1623 as 
 "the folio" be so regarded. 
 
 It may be proper to state that the notes, un- 
 less where otherwise expressed, refer to the 
 word preceding the corresponding numbers in 
 the text, 
 BOCTO Taly, 18M.
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 To the most Noble and Incomparable Pair of Biethren 
 
 William Earl of Pembroke, <fce. Lord Chamberlain to 
 
 the King's most Excellent Majesty. 
 
 And Philip Earl of Montgomery, <fec. Gentleman of 
 his Majesty's Bedchamber. Both Knights of the most 
 
 Noble Order of the Garter, and our singular good Lords. 
 Right Honourable, 
 
 Whilst we study to be thankful in our particular for the 
 many favours we have received from your Lordships, we 
 are fallen upon the ill fortune, to mingle two the most di- 
 verse things that can be, fear, and rashness ; rashness in the 
 enterprise, and fear of the success. For, when we value 
 the places your Higlmesses sustain, we cannot but know 
 their dignity greater, than to descend to the reading of these 
 trifles : and, while we name them trifles, we have deprived 
 ourselves of the defence of our Dedication. But since your 
 Lordships have been pleased to think these trifles some- 
 thing, heretofore ; and have prosecuted both them, and their 
 Author living, with so much favour, we hope, (that they 
 outliving him, and he not having the fate, common with some, 
 to be executor to his own writings) yon will use the like 
 indulgence toward them, you have done unto their parent 
 There is a great difference, whether any book choose his 
 patrons, or find them ; this hath done both. For, so much 
 were your Lordships' likings of the several parts, when 
 they were acted, as before they were published, the volume 
 asked to be yours. We have but collected them, and done 
 an office to the dead, to procure his orphans, guardians ; 
 without ambition either of self-profit, or fame : only to keep 
 the memory of so worthy a friend, and fellow alive, as was 
 our SHAKESPEARE, by humble offer of his plays, to your 
 most noble patronage. Wherein, as we have justly observed, 
 no man to come near your Lordships but with a kind of 
 religious address, it hath been the height of our care, who 
 are the presenters, to make the present worthy of your 
 Highnesses by the perfection. But, there we must'alsc
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 crave our abilities to be considered, my Lords. We cannot 
 so beyond our own powers. Country hands reach forth 
 milk, cream, fruits, or what they have ; and many nations, 
 'we have heard) that had not gums and incense, obtained 
 their requests with a leavened cake. It was no fault to ap- 
 proach their gods, by what means they could ; and the most 
 though meanest of things are made more precious, when 
 theyare dedicated to temples. In that name therefore, we 
 most humbly consecrate to your Highnesses these remains 
 of your servant SHAKESPEARE; that what delight is in them, 
 may be ever your Lordships', the reputation his, and the 
 faults ours, if any be committed, by a pair so careful to shew 
 their gratitude both to the living, and the dead, as is 
 
 Your Lordships' most bounden, 
 JOHN HEMINGE, 
 HENBY CONDELL 
 
 TO THE GREAT VARIETY OF READERS. 
 
 From the most able, to him that can but spell : there 
 you are numbered. We had rather you were weighed. 
 Especially, when the fate of all books depends upon your 
 capacities ; and not of your heads alone, but of your purses. 
 Well, it is now public, and you will stand for your privileges, 
 we know : to read, and censure. Do so, but buy it first 
 That doth best commend a book, the stationer says. Then, 
 how odd soever your brains be, or your wisdams, make your 
 licence the same, and spare not Judge your sixpeu'orth, 
 your shilling's worth, your five shillings' worth at a time, 
 or higher, so you rise to the just rates, and welcome. But, 
 whatever you do, buy. Censure will not drive a trade, or 
 make the jack go. And though you be a magistrate of 
 wit and sit on the stage at Blackfriars, or the Cock-pit, to 
 arraign plays dailv, know, these plays have had their trial 
 uliviuly, and stood" out all appeals; and do now come forth 
 quitted rather by a decree of court, than any purchased 
 letters of commendation. 
 
 It had been a thing, we confess, worthy to have been 
 wished, that the Author himself had lived to have set forth, 
 an 1 overseen his own writings ; but since it hath been or- 
 dam.'d otherwise, and he by death departed from that right, 
 we pray you do not envy his friends the office of their care, 
 aqd pain, to have collected and published them ; and so to 
 have published them, as where (before) you were abused
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 with divers stolen, and surreptitious copies, maimed, ana 
 deformed by the frauds and stealths of injurious impostors 
 that exposed them ; even those, are now offered to your view 
 cured, and perfect of their limbs, and all the rest, absolute 
 in their numbers, as he conceived them. Who, as he was a 
 happy imitator of Nature, was a most gentle expresser of it. 
 His mind and hand went together ; and what he thought, 
 he uttered with that easiness, that we have scarce received 
 from him a blot in his papers. But it is not our province, 
 who only gather his works, and give them you, to praise 
 him. It is yours that read him. And there we hope, to 
 your divers capacities, you will find enough, both to draw, 
 and hold you ; for his wit can no more lie hid, than it could 
 be lost Read him, therefore ; and again, and again : and 
 if then you do not like him, surely you are in some mani- 
 fest danger, not to understand him. And so we leave vou 
 to other of his friends, who, if you need, can be your guides : 
 if you need them not, you can lead yourselves, and others, 
 And such readers we wish him. 
 
 JOHN HEMIXGE. 
 
 HENRY CONDELL.
 
 COMMENDATORY VEKSES. 
 
 Upon the Effigies of my worthy Friend, the Author 
 Master William Sltakespeare, and his Works. 
 Spectator, this life's shadow is : to see 
 The truer image, and a livelier he, 
 Turn reader. But observe his comic vein, 
 Laugh ; and proceed next to a tragic strain, 
 Then weep : so, when thou find'st two contraries, 
 Two different passions from thy wrapt soul rise, 
 Say, (who alone effect such wonders could) 
 Rare Shake-spearc to the Me thou dost behold. 
 
 An Epitaph on the admirable Dramatic Poet, W. Shake- 
 speare* 
 
 What need my Shakespeare for his honour'd bones, 
 The labour of an age in piled stones ; 
 Or that his hallow' d reliques should be hid 
 Under a star-ypointing pyramid 1 
 Dear son of me.nory, great heir of fame, 
 What need'st thou such dull witness of thy name ? 
 Thou, in our wonder and astonishment, 
 Hast built thyself a lasting monument : 
 For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art, 
 Thy easy numbers flow ; and that each part 
 Hath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book, 
 
 An Epitaph on the admirable Dramatic Poet, W. Shakespeare.] 
 These lines, like the preceding, have no name appended to them in 
 the folio, 163-2, but the authorship is ascertained by the publication 
 of them as JVIilton's, in the edition of his Poems in 1645. Svo. We 
 give them as they stand there, because it is evident that they -were 
 then printed from a copy corrected by the author : the variations are 
 interesting, and Malone pointed out only one, and that certainly the 
 least important. Instead of " weak witness" in line 6. the folio 1632 
 has " dull witness :" instead of " live-long monument," in line 8, tha 
 folio has " lusting monument :" instead of " heart," in line 10, the 
 folio has " part," an evident misprint : and instead of " itself be- 
 reaving," in line 13, the folio has " herself bereaving." The last ii 
 the difference mentioned by Malone, who also places " John Milton" 
 t the end, as if the name were found in the folio of 1632.
 
 li COMMENDATORY VERSES. 
 
 Those Delphic lineB with deep impression took ; 
 Then thou, our fancy of herself bereaving, 
 Dost make us marble with too much conceiving 
 And, so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie, 
 That kings for such a tomb would wish to die. 
 
 To the Memory of the deceased Author, Master W. Sliake- 
 
 speare. 
 
 Shake-fpeare, at length thy pious fellows give 
 The world thy works ; thy works, by which outlive 
 Thy tomb thy name must : when that stone is rent, 
 And time dissolves thy Stratford monument, 
 Here we alive shall view thee still : this book, 
 When brass and marble fade, shall make thee look 
 Fresh to all ages ; when posterity- 
 Shall loathe what 's new, think all is prodigy 
 That is not Shakespeare's, every line, each verse, 
 Here shall revive, redeem thee from thy hearse. 
 Nor fire, nor cankering age, as Naso said 
 Of his, thy wit-fraught book shall once invade : 
 Nor shall I e'er believe or think thee dead, 
 (Though missV^ until our bankrupt stage be sped 
 (Impossible) T.th some new strain t' out-do 
 Passions of r uliet, and her Romeo ; 
 Or till I b-v-r a scene more nobly take, 
 Than when thy half-sword parleying Romans spake :' 
 
 i Than v n thy half-sword parleying Homans spake :] Leonard 
 Oigges pr'ttto a long copy of verses to the edition of Shakespeare's 
 Poems i^ jC4(), Svo, in which he makes this passage, referring to 
 " Julius f rsar," more distinct ; he also there speaks of the audiences 
 Shakec *8.re's plays at that time drew, in comparison with Ben. Jon- 
 on'tt. "*his is the only part of his production worth. adding in a note 
 
 So have I seen, when Caesar would appear, 
 
 And on the stage at half-sword parley were 
 
 Brutus and Cassius, 0, how the audience 
 
 When, some new day, they would not brook a line 
 Of tedious, though well-labour'd, Cataline ; 
 Seiauus too, was irksome : they priz'd more 
 ' Honest' lago, or the jealous Moor. 
 And though the Fox and subtil Alchymist, 
 Long intermitted, could not quite be mist, 
 Though these have sham'd all th' ancients, and might r&JM 
 Their author's merit with a crown of bays, 
 Yet these sometimes, even at a friend's desire, 
 Acted, have scarce defrayed the sea-coai fire, 
 And door-keepers : when, let but Falstaff come, 
 Hal, Poms, the rest, you scarce shall have a room, 
 All is o pester'd : let but Beatrice 
 And Benedick be seen, lo ! in a trice 
 The cock-pit, galleries, boxes, all are full, 
 . To hear Malvolio, that cross-garter'd gull. 
 
 Brief, there is nothing in his wit-fraught book, 
 Whoe sound we would not hear, on. whose 
 
 worth look," &o.
 
 COMMENDATORY VERSES. 
 
 i 
 
 Till these, till any of thy volume's rest, 
 Shall with more fire, more feeling, be express'd, 
 Be sure, (our Shake-speare,) thou canst net er die, 
 But, crown'd with laurel, live eternally. 
 
 L. DIGGKS. 
 
 To the Memory of M. W. Shake-speare. 
 We wonder'd (Shake-speare) that thou weut'st so soon 
 From the world's stage to the grave's tiring-room : 
 We thought thee dead ; but this thy printed worth 
 Tells thy spectators, that thou went'st but forth 
 To enter with applause. An actor's art 
 Can die, and li ve to act a second part : 
 That 's but an exit of mortality, 
 This a re-entrance to a plaudite. L M. 1 
 
 To the Memory of my beloved, the Author. Mr. William 
 
 Shakespeare, and what he hath left us. 
 To draw no envy (Shakespeare) on thy name, 
 Am I thus ample to thv book, and fame ; 
 While I confess thy writings to be such, 
 As neither man, nor muse, can praise too much ; 
 'T is true, and all men's suffrage ; but these ways 
 Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise : 
 For seeliest ignorance on these may light, 
 Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right ; 
 Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance 
 The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance ; 
 Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, 
 And think to ruin, where it seem'd to raise : 
 These are, as some infamous bawd, or whore, 
 Should praise a matron ; what could hurt her more ? 
 But thou art proof against them ; and, indeed, 
 Above th' ill fortune of them, or the need. 
 I, therefore, will begin : Soul of the age, 
 The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage, 
 My Shakespeare, rise ! I will not lodge thee by 
 Chaucer, or Spenser ; or bid Beaumont lie 
 A little further, to make thee a room* : 
 Thou art a monument without a tomb ; 
 . nd art alive still, while thy book doth live, 
 
 Perhaps the initials of John Marston. 
 
 * Referring to lines by William Basse, then circulating in MS , 
 nd not printed (,as far as is now known) until 163:3, when they were 
 falsely imputed to Dr. Donne, in the edition of his poems in tbal 
 year. All the MSS. of the linos, now extant, differ in minute par- 
 ticulars.
 
 V COMMENDATORY VERSES. 
 
 And we have wits to read, and praise to give. 
 
 Thati not mix thee so, my brain excuses ; 
 
 I mean, with great but disproportion'd muses : 
 
 For, if I thought my judgment were of years, 
 
 I should commit thee surely with thy peers ; 
 
 And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine, 
 
 Or sporting Kyd, or Marlowe's mighty line : 
 
 And though thou hadst small Latin, and less Greek, 
 
 From thence to honour thee, I would not seek 
 
 For names ; but call forth thundering JSschylus, 
 
 Euripides, and Sophocles, to us, 
 
 Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, 
 
 To live 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. 
 
 Triumph, mv Britain ! thou hast one to show, 
 
 To whom ail scenes of Europe homage owe. 
 
 He was not of an age, but for all time ; 
 
 And all the muses still were in their prime, 
 
 When like Apollo he came forth to warm 
 
 Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm. 
 
 Nature herself was proud of his designs, 
 
 And joy'd to wear the dressing of his lines ; 
 
 Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, 
 
 As since she will vouchsafe no other wit 
 
 The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, 
 
 JN eat 1 erence, witty Plautus, now not please * 
 
 But antiquated and deserted lie 
 
 As they were not of Nature's family. 
 
 Yet must I not give Nature all ; thy art, 
 
 My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part: 
 
 Foe 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, 
 
 (buch as thine are) and strike the second heat 
 
 Upon the muses' anvil ; turn the same 
 
 (And himself with it) that he thinks to' frame ; 
 
 Or for the laurel he may gain a scorn, 
 
 *or a good poet ' 
 
 A wZ A ,^' c1 e 8eems to 8hak e alance, 
 As brand,sh-d at the eyes of ignorance, ^ 
 Sweet Swan of Avon, what a sight it were,
 
 COMMENDATORY VERSES. V 
 
 To see thee in our water yet appear ; 
 
 And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, 
 
 That so did take Eliza, and our James. 
 
 But stay ; I see thee in the hemisphere 
 
 Advanc'd, and made a constellation there : 
 
 Shine forth, thou star of poets ; and with rage, 
 
 Or influence, chide, or cheer, the drooping stage 
 
 Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourn'd lik< 
 
 night, 
 And despairs day, but for thy volume 's light 
 
 BEN JONSON 
 
 On worthy Master Shakespeare, and his poems. 1 
 
 A mind reflecting ages past, whose clear 
 And equal surface can make things appear, 
 Distant a thousand years, and represent 
 Them in their lively colours, just extent : 
 To outrun hasty time, retrieve the fates, 
 Roll back the heavens, blow ope the iron gates 
 Of death and Lethe, where (confused) lie 
 Great heaps of ruinous mortality : 
 In that deep dusky dungeon to discern 
 A royal ghost from churls ; by art to learn 
 The physiognomy of shades, and give 
 Them sudden birth, wondering how oft they live ; 
 What story coldly telb, what poets feign 
 At second hand, and picture without brain, 
 Senseless and soul-less shows : to give a stage 
 (Ample, and true with life) voice, action, age, 
 As Plato's year, and new scene of the world. 
 Them unto us, or us to them had hurl'd : 
 To raise our ancient sovereigns from their hearse, 
 Make kings his subjects ; by exchanging verse 
 Enlive their pale trunks, that the present age 
 Joys in their joy, and trembles at their rage : 
 Yet so to tempter passion, that our ears 
 Take pleasure in their pain, and eyes in tears 
 Both weep and smile ; fearful at plots so sad, 
 
 On worthy Master Shakespeare, and his Poems.] These lines are 
 .nbscribed I. M. S. in the folio 1632, " probably Jasper Mayne," says 
 Malone. Most probably not, because Mayne has lett nothing behind 
 him to lead us to suppose that he could have produced this surpassing 
 tribute. I. M. S. may possibly be lohn Milton, Student, and no name 
 may have been appended to the other copy of verses by him prefixed 
 to the folio of 1632, in order that his initials should stand at the end 
 of the present. We know of no other poet of the time capable of 
 writing the ensuing lines. We feel morally certain that they are bj 
 Milton.
 
 \ COMMENDATORY VERSES. 
 
 Then laughing at our fear ; abus'd, and glad 
 To be abus'd ; affected with that truth 
 Which we perceive is false, pleas'd in that ruth 
 At which we start, and, by elaborate play, 
 Tortur'd and tickled ; by a crab-like way 
 Time past made pastime, and in ugly sort 
 Disgorging up his ravin for our sport : 
 While the plebeian imp, from lofty throne. 
 Creates and rules a world, and works upon 
 Mankind by secret engines ; now to move 
 A chilling pity, then a rigorous love ; 
 To strike up and stroke down, both joy and ire ; 
 To steer th' affections ; and by heavenly fire 
 Mould us anew, stol'u from ourselves : 
 
 This, and much more, which cannot be express'd 
 But bv himself, his tongue, and his own breast, 
 Was Shakespeare's freehold ; which his cunning brain 
 Improv'd by favour of the nine-fold train ; 
 The buskin'd muse, the comic queen, the grand 
 And louder tone of Clio, nimble hand 
 And nimbler foot of the melodious pair, 
 The silver-voiced lady, the most fair 
 Calliope, whose speaking silence daunts, 
 And she whose praise the heavenly body chants ; 
 These jointly woo'd him, envying one another, 
 (Obey'd by all as spouse, but lov'd as brother) 
 And wrought a curious robe, of sable grave, 
 Fresh green, and pleasant yellow, red most brave 
 And constant blue, rich purple, guiltless white, 
 The lowly russet, and the scarlet bright : 
 Branch'd and embroider'd like the painted spring , 
 Each leaf match'd with a flower, and each string 
 Of golden wire, each line of silk ; there run 
 Italian works, whose thread the sisters spun ; 
 And there did sing, or seem to sing, the choice 
 Birds of a foreign note and various voice : 
 Here hangs a mossy rock ; there plays a fair 
 But chiding fountain, purled : not the air, 
 Nor clouds, nor thunder, but were living drawn , 
 Not out of common tiffany or lawn, 
 But line materials, which "the muses know, 
 And only know the countries where they grow. 
 
 Now. when they could no longer him enjoy, 
 Tn mortal garments pent, death may destroy, 
 Thev say, his body ; but his verse shall live, 
 And more than nature takes our hands shall give : 
 In a less volume, but more strongly bound, 
 Shakespeare shall breathe and speak ; with laurel crown'd.
 
 COMMENDATORY VERSES. VU 
 
 Which never fades ; fed -with ambrosian meat, 
 In a well-lined vesture, rich, and neat 
 So with this robe they clothe him, bid him wear it ; 
 For time shall never stain, nor envy tear it 
 
 The friendly admirer of his endowments. 
 
 I.M.S. 
 
 Upon the Lines, and Life, of the famous Scenic Poet t 
 Master W. Shakespeare. 
 
 Those hands which you so clapp'd, go now and wring, 
 You Britons brave ; for done are Shake-speare's days : 
 His days are done that made the dainty plays, 
 
 Which made the Globe of heaven and earth to ring. 
 
 Dried is that vein, dried is the Thespian spring, 
 Turn'd all to tears, and Phcebus clouds his rays ; 
 That corpse, that coffin, now bestick those bays, 
 
 Which crown'd him poet first then poet's king. 
 If tragedies might any prologue have, 
 
 All those he made would scarce make one to this ; 
 Where fame, now that he gone is to the grave, 
 
 (Death's public tiring-house) the Nuntius is : 
 
 For, though his line of life went soon about, 
 
 The life yet of his lines shall never out. 
 
 HUGH HOLLAND 
 
 The following are Ben Jonsorfs lines on the Portrait of 
 Shakespeare, precisely as they stand on a separate leaf 
 opposite to the title-page of the edition of 1623, ana 
 which are reprinted in the same place, with some trifling 
 variation of typography, in the folio of 1632. 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 This Figure, that thou here seest put, 
 It was for gentle Shakespeare cut ; 
 Wherein the Graver had a strife 
 With Mature, to out-do the life : 
 0, 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. 
 But since he cannot, Reader, look 
 Not at his picture, but his book
 
 THE NAMES 
 
 OF THE 
 
 PRINCIPAL ACTORS IN ALL THESE PLAYS. 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKKSPEAKE. SAMUEL GILBURNE 
 
 RICHARD BURBADGE. ROBERT ARMIN. 
 
 JOHN HEMMINGS. WILLIAM OSTLER, 
 
 ABGDSTINE PHILLIPS NATHAN FIELD. 
 
 WILLIAM KEMPT. JOHN UNDERWOOD. 
 
 THOMAS POOPE. NICHOLAS TOOLEY. 
 
 GEORGE BRYAN. WILLIAM ECCLESTONK. 
 
 HENRY CONDELL. JOSEPH TAYLOR. 
 
 WILLIAM SLYE. ROBERT BENFIELD. 
 
 RICHARD COWLEY. ROBERT GOUGHE. 
 
 JOHN LOWINK. RICHARD ROBINSOH. 
 
 SAMUELL CROSSE. JOHN SHANCKE. 
 
 AtlXANDKB COOKE, JOHN RlCK.
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I 
 
 MM 
 
 HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA AND 
 
 STAGE ii 
 
 THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE . xlvii 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S WILL ccviij 
 
 THE TEMPEST 5 
 
 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 6? 
 
 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR 12 
 
 VOL. i. 2
 
 HISTORY 
 
 THE ENGLISH DRAMA AND STAGE 
 
 TO 
 
 THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 IN order to make the reader acquainted with the origin of 
 the English stage, such as Shakespeare found it when he 
 became connected with it, it is necessary to mention that a 
 miiacle-play or mystery, (as it has been termed hi modern 
 times), is the oldest form of dramatic composition in our 
 language. The stories of productions of this kind wei-e 
 derived from the Sacred Writings, from the pseudo-evan- 
 gelium, or from the lives and legends of saints aud martyrs. 
 Miracle pl;;vs were common in London in the year 1170; 
 and as early as 1119 the miracle-play of St. Katherine had 
 been represented at Duustiiple. It has been conjectured, 
 aud indeed in part established', that so7iie of these perform- 
 ances were iu French, as well as in Latin ; and it was not 
 until the reign of Edward III. that they were generally 
 acted in English. We have three existing series of miracle- 
 
 Clavs. all of which have been recently printed; the Towne- 
 ;y collection by the Surtees Club, and those known as the 
 Coventry and Chester pageants by the Shakespeare Society. 
 The Abbotsford Club has likewise printed, from a manu- 
 script at Oxford, three detached miracle-plays which once, 
 probably, formed a portion of a connected succession of pro- 
 auctions of that class and description. 
 
 During about 300 years this species of theatrical enter- 
 taiumeutf seems to have flourished, often under the auspices 
 of the clergy, who used it as the means of religious instruc- 
 tion ; but prior to the reign of Henry VI., a new kind of 
 drama had become popular, which by" writers of the time 
 was denominated a moral, or moral play, and more recently 
 a morality. It acquired this name from the nature and 
 > See Hist, of Engl Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. ii. p. 131.
 
 Aii HISTORY OF THR ENGLISH STAGE 
 
 purpose of the representation, which usually conveyed a 
 lesson for the better conduct of human life, the characters 
 employed not being scriptural, as in miracle-plays, but alle- 
 gorical, or symbolical. Miracle-plays continued to be repre- 
 sented long after moral plays were introduced, but from a 
 remote date abstract impersonations had by degrees, not 
 now easily traced, found their way into mii'acle-plays : thus, 
 perhaps, moral plays, consisting only of such charactei 5. 
 grew out of them. 
 
 A very remarkable and interesting miracle-play, not 
 founded upon the Sacred Writings, but upon a popular 
 legend, and all the characters of which, with one exception, 
 purport to be real personages, has recently been discovered 
 in the library of Trinity College, Dublin, in a manuscript 
 certainly as old as the hiter part of the reign of Edward 
 IV. 1 It is perhaps the only specimen of the kind iu our 
 language ; and as it was unknown to all who have hitherto 
 written on the history of our ancient drama, it will not here 
 be out of place to give some account of the incidents to 
 which it relates, and of the persons concerned in them. The 
 title of the piece, and the year iu which the events are sup 
 posed to have occurred, are given at the close, where we 
 are told that it is " The Play of the Blessed Sacrament 2 ," 
 and that the miracle to which it refers was wrought " in 
 the forest of Arragon, in the famous city of Araclea, in the 
 year of our Lord God 1461." There can be no doubt that 
 the scene of action was imaginary, being fixed merely for 
 the greater satisfaction of the spectators as to the reality 
 of the occurrences, and as little that a legend of the kind 
 was of a much older date than that assigned in the manu- 
 script, which was probably near the time when the drama 
 had been represented. 
 
 In its form it closely resembles the miracle-plays wliich 
 had their origin iu Scripture-liistory, and one of the charac- 
 ters, that of the Saviour, common in productions of that 
 class, is introduced into it: the rest of the persouagea 
 i-iigii^rd are five Jews, named Jonathas, Jason, Jasdon, 
 Masphat, and Malchus ; a Christian merchant called Aris- 
 torius, a bishop, Sir Isidore a priest, a physician from 
 Brabant called "Mr. Brundyche," and Colle his servant 3 . 
 
 We are indebted for a correct transcript of the original to the zeal 
 Mid kindness of Dr. J. H. Todd, V.P., R.sfA. 
 
 ^> In another part of the manuscript it is called "The Play of the 
 
 Iff ar Jonathas, the Jew, by the Miracle of the Blessed 
 
 lent ; but inferior Jews are converted, besides Sir Jonathas, 
 
 flS- head of the tribe in the "famous city of Araclea." 
 T ?'* name m , a y possibly throw some light on an obscure passage, 
 Ji a letter dated about 1535, and quoted in "The History of Kngl 
 Dram. Poetry and the Stage,'' 1. 131, where a person of the name of 
 Ihoma* Wylley micros Cromwell, Earl of Essex, that he had written
 
 TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. X11I 
 
 The plot mates to the purchase of the Eucharist by the 
 Jews from Aristorius for 100/., under an assurance also 
 that if they find its miraculous powers verified, they will 
 become converts to Christianity. Aristorius, having pos- 
 session of the key of the church, enters it secretly, takes 
 away the Host, and sells it to the Jews. They put it to 
 various tests and torments: they stab "the cake" with 
 their daggers, and it bleeds, while one of the Jews goes 
 mad at the sight They next attempt to nail it to a post, 
 but the Jew who uses the hammer has his hand torn off; 
 and here the doctor and his servant, Mr. Brundyche and 
 Colle, make their appearance in order to attend the wounded 
 Jew; but after a long comic scene between the quack and 
 his man, highly illustrative of the manners of the time, 
 they are d:iven out as impostors. The Jews then proceed 
 to boil the Host, but the water turns blood-red, and taking 
 it out of the cauldron with pincers, they throw it into a 
 blaziug oven: the oven, after blood has run out "at the 
 crannies," burets asunder, and an image of the Saviour 
 rising, he addresses the Jews, who are as good as their 
 word, for they are converted on the spot They kueel to 
 the Christian" bishop, and Aristorius having confessed his 
 crime and declared his repentance, is forgiven after a suit- 
 able admonition, and a strict charge never again to buy or 
 sell. 
 
 This very singular and striking performance is opened, 
 as was usual with miracle-plays," by two Vexillators, who 
 explain the nature of the story about to be represented, in 
 alternate stanzas ; and the whole performance is wound up 
 by an epilogue from the bishop, enforcing the moral, which 
 of course was intended to illustrate, and impress upon the 
 audience, the divine origin of the doctrine of transubstantia- 
 tion. Were it necessary to our design, and did space allow 
 of it, we should be strongly tempted to introduce some 
 characteristic extracts from this hitherto unseen production ; 
 but we must content ourselves with saving, that the language 
 in several places appears to be older than the reign of 
 Edward IV., or even of Henry VI., and that we might be 
 disposed to carry back the original composition of the drama 
 to the period of Wickliffe, and the Lollards. 
 
 It was not until the reign of Elizabeth that miracle-plays 
 were generally abandoned, but in some distant parts of in 
 kingdom they" were persevered with even till the time of 
 James I. Miracle-plays, in fact, gradually gave way to 
 moral plays, which presented more variety of situation and 
 character ; and- moral plitys in turn were superseded by a 
 
 a play in -whit h a character called " Colle, clogger of Conscience,'' wu 
 introduced, to he <{rea.t offence of the Roman Catholic clergy.
 
 llv HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH STAGE 
 
 epecies of mixed drama, which was strictly neither moral 
 play nor historical play, but a combination of both in the 
 same representation. 
 
 Of this singular union of discordant materials, no person 
 who has hitherto written upon the history of our dramatic 
 poetry has taken due notice ; but it is very necessary not to 
 pass it over, inasmuch as it may be said to have led ulti- 
 mately to the introduction of tragedy, comedy, and histoiy, 
 as we now understand the terms, upon the boards of our 
 public theatres. No blame for the omission can fairly be 
 imputed to our predecessors, because the earliest specimens 
 of this sort of mixed drama which remain to us have been 
 brought to light within a comparatively few years. The 
 most important of these is the " Kynge Johan " of Bishop 
 Bale. We are not able to settle with precision the date 
 when it was originally written, but it was evidently per- 
 formed, with additions and alterations, after Elizabeth came 
 to the throne. 1 The purpose of the author was to promote 
 the Reformation, by applying to the circumstances of his 
 own times the events of the reign of King John, when the 
 kingdom was placed by the Pope under an interdict, and 
 when, according to popular belief, the sovereign was poisoned 
 by a draught administered to him by a monk. This drama 
 resembles a moral play in the introduction of abstract im- 
 personations, and a historical play in the adaptation of a 
 portion of our national annals, with real characters, to the 
 purposes of the stage. Though performed in the reign of 
 Elizabeth, we may carry back the first composition and 
 representation of "Kynge Johan" to the time of Edward 
 V I. ; but, as it has been printed by the Camden Society, it 
 is not necessary that we should enlarge upon it 
 
 The object of Bale's play was, as we have stated, to 
 
 Bale died in Nov. 15(53; but he is nevertheless thus spoken of, as 
 till living, in B. Googe's "Eglogs, Epitaphes, and Sonnettes," pub- 
 ined, we have reason to believe, in the spring of that year : we have 
 never seen this tribute quoted, and therefore subjoin it. 
 Good aged Bale, that -with thy hoary heares 
 Doste yet persyste to turne the paynefull booka ; 
 O hapye, man ! that hast obtaynde such yeares, 
 And leav'st not yet on papers pale to looke ; 
 Gyve over now to beate thy weryed braine. 
 And rest thy penne, that long hath laboured score : 
 for aged men unfyt sure is suche paine, 
 And thee beseems to labour now no more : 
 But them, I thynke Don Platoes part will playe, 
 With booke in hand to have thy dying daye." 
 
 BMidM " King Johan," Bale was the author of four extant dramatiu 
 IOM, which may be looked upon as miracle-plavs, both in theii 
 form and characters, viz. 1. "The Three Laws of Nature. Moses and 
 Christ;" 2. "God'g Promises;" 3. "John the Baptist;" 4 "Th 
 TVmptu,.n of CHri.-.." He also wrote fourteen other drama.' of vari 
 u. kind., none of which have come down to us.
 
 TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. XV 
 
 advance the Reformation under Edward VI.; but in the 
 reign of his successor a drama of a similar description, and 
 of a directly opposite tendency, was written and acted. If 
 has. never been mentioned, and as it exists only in manu- 
 script of the time, 1 it will not be out of place to quote its 
 title, and to explain briefly in what manner the anonymous 
 author carries out his design. He calls his drama " Res- 
 publica," and he adds that it was " made in the year of our 
 Lord 1553, and the first year of the most prosperous reign 
 of our most gracious Sovereign, Queen Mary the First." 
 He was supposed to speak the prologue himself, in the 
 character of "a Poet;" and although everv person he intro- 
 duces is in fact called by some abstract name, he avowedly 
 brings forward the Queen herself as " Nemesis, the Goddess" 
 of redress and correction," while her kingdom of England is 
 intended by " Respublica," and its inhabitants represented 
 by " People :" the Reformation in the Church is distinguished 
 as " Oppression ;" and Policy, Authority, and Honesty, are 
 designated "Avarice," "Insolence," and "Adulation." All 
 this is distinctly stated by the author on his title-page, while 
 he also employs the im personations of Misericordia, Veri- 
 tas, Justitia, and Pax, (agents not unfrequently resorted to 
 in the older miracle-plays) as the friends of " Nemesis," the 
 Queen, and as the supporters of the Roman Catholic religion 
 in her dominions. 
 
 Nothing would be gained by a detail of the import of the 
 tedious interlocutions between the character, represented 
 it would seem, by boys, who were perhaps the children of 
 the Chapel Royal ; for there we traces in the performance 
 that it was originally acted at court Respublica is a widow 
 greatly injured and abused by Avarice, Insolence, Oppres- 
 sion, and Adulation; while People, using throughout a 
 rustic dialect, also complain bitterly of their sufferings, 
 especially since the introduction of what had been termed 
 "Reformation" hi mattei's of faith: in the end Justitia 
 brings in Nemesis, to effect a total change by restoring the 
 former condition of religious affairs ; and the piece closes 
 with the delivery of the offenders to condign punishment. 
 The production was evidently written by a man of educa- 
 tion ; but, although there are many attempts at humour, 
 and some at variety, both in character and situation, the 
 whole must have been a very wearisome performance 
 adapted to please the court by its general tendency, but 
 little calculated to accomplish any other purpose entertained 
 by the writer. In all respects "it is much inferior to the 
 
 l In the library of Mr. Hudson Gurney, tc whom we beg t jxprest 
 lur obligations foi the use of it
 
 X\rf HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH STAGE 
 
 Kynge Johan" of Bale, which it followed in point of date, 
 and to which, perhaps, it was meant to be a counterpart 
 
 In the midst of the performance of dramatic productions 
 of a religious or political character, each party supporting 
 the views which most accorded with the author's individual 
 opinions, John Heywood, who was a zealous Roman Catho- 
 lic, and who subsequently suffered for his creed under 
 Edward VL and Elizabeth, discovered a new species of 
 entertainment, of a highly humorous, and not altogether 
 of an uuinstructive kind ; which seems to have been very 
 acceptable to the sovereign and nobility, and to have 
 obtained for the author a distinguished character as a court 
 dramatist, and ample rewards as a court dependent 1 
 These were properly called " interludes," being short comic 
 pieces, represented ordinarily in the interval between the 
 feast and the banquet; and we may easily believe that 
 they had considerable influence in the settlement of the 
 form which our stage-performances ultimately assumed. 
 Heywood does not appear to have begun writing until 
 after Heiiry VIIL had been some years on the throne; but, 
 while Skelton was composing such tedious elaborations as 
 his " Magnificence," which, without any improvement merely 
 curries to a still greater length of absurdity the old style 
 of moral plays, Heywood was writing his " John Tib and 
 Sir John," his " Four Ps," his " Pardoner and Friar," and 
 pieces of that description, which presented both variety of 
 matter and novelty of construction, as well as considerable 
 wit and drollery in the language. He was a very original 
 writer, and certainly merits more admiration than any of 
 his dramatic contemporaries. 
 
 To the commencement of the reign of Elizabeth we may 
 refer several theatrical productions which make approaches, 
 more or less near, to comedy, tragedy, and history, and still 
 retain many of the known features of moral plays. " Tom 
 Tiler aud his Wife" is a comedy in its incidents ; but the 
 ftllegorical personages, Desire, Destiny, Strife, and Patience, 
 connect it immediately with the earlier species of stage- 
 entertainment " The Conflict of Conscience," on the other 
 hand, is a tragedy on the fate of an historical personage; 
 but Conscience, Hypocrisy, Avarice, Horror, <fcc., are called 
 in aid of the purpose of the writer. " Appius aud Virginia" 
 U in most respects a history, founded upon facts; but 
 Rumour, Comfort, and Doctrine, are importantly concerned 
 
 "John Heywood, who flourished in the reign of Henry VIII., is not 
 confounded, as some modern editors of Shakespeare have con- 
 ounded him, vnth Thomas Heywood, who became a dramatist more 
 than half a century afterwards, and who continued a writer for th 
 tUge unt.l near the date of the closing of the theatres by the Pnntans. 
 tohn Heywood, in all probability, died before Thoma Heywood wa. born
 
 TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. XVII 
 
 in the representation. These, and other productions of the 
 same class, which it is not necessary to particularize, show 
 the gradual advances made towards a better, because a 
 more natural, species of theatrical composition.' Into miracle- 
 plays were gradually introduced allegorical personages, who 
 filially usurped the whole stage ; while they in tuni yielded 
 to real and historical charsctei-s, at first only intended to 
 give variety to abstract impersonations. Hence the origin 
 of comedy, tragedy, and historv, such as we find them io 
 the works of Shakespeare, and^ of some of his immediate 
 predecessors. 
 
 What is justly to be considered the oldest known comedy 
 in our language is of a date not much posterior to the reign 
 of Henry V1IL, if, indeed, it were not composed while he 
 was on "the throne. It has the title of " Ralph Roister 
 Doister," and it was written by Nicholas Udall, who was 
 master of Eton school in 1540, and who died in 1557. a It 
 is on every account a very remarkable performance; and 
 as the scene is laid in London, it affords a curious picture 
 of metropolitan manners. The regularity of its construction, 
 even at that early date, may be gathered from tbe fact, 
 that in the single copy which has descended to us 3 it is 
 divided into acts and scenes. The story is one of common, 
 every-day life ; and none of the character are such as peo- 
 ple had been accustomed to find in ordinary dramatic enter- 
 tainments. The piece takes its name from ita hero, a young 
 town-gallant, who is mightily enamoured of himself, and 
 who is encouraged in the good opinion he entertains of his 
 own person and accomplishments by Matthew Merrygreek. 
 a poor relation, who attends him in the double capacity of 
 companion and servant Ralph Roister Doister is in love 
 with a lady of property, called distance, betrothed to 
 Gawiu Goodluck, a merchant, who is at sea when the 
 comedy begins, but who returns before it concludes. The 
 main incidents relate to the mode in which the hero, with 
 
 1 One of the latest pieces without mixture of history or fable, and 
 consisting wholly of abstract personages, is, " The Tide tarryeth n: 
 Man," by George Wapul, printed in 1570 : only a single copy of it has 
 been preserved, and that is in the library of the Duke of Devonshire. 
 The principal persons introduced into it have the following names: 
 Painted-profit, No-good-neighbourhood, Wastefulness, Christianity, 
 Correction, Courage, Beigned-furtherance, Greediness, Wantonness, 
 and Authority-in-despair. 
 
 * A very interesting epistle from Udall is to be fonnd in S.'r Henry 
 Kllis's volume (edited for the Camden Society) " Original Letters of 
 Eminent Literary Men." That of Udall is first in the series. 
 
 3 This single copy is without title-page, so that the yar when it wai 
 printeu cannot be ascertained ; but Thomas llacket hasl a license in 
 15(56 for the publication of "a play entitled Rauf Ruyster Duster," ai 
 it is called on the registers of the Stationers' company. We may p-e- 
 lume that it -was published in that year, or in the next.
 
 Xviii HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 
 
 the treacherous help of his associate, endeavours to gain 
 the affections of Custance. He writes her a letter, which 
 Merrygreek reads without a due observance of the punctua 
 tion, so that it entirely perverts the meaning of the writer 
 he visits her while she is surrounded by her female domes- 
 tics, but he is unceremoniously rejected: he resolves to 
 carry her by force of arms, and makes an assault upon her 
 habitation; but with the assistance of her maids, arnieu 
 with mops and brooms, she drives him from the attack. 
 Then, her betrothed lover returns, who has been misinformed 
 on the subject of her fidelity, but he is soon reconciled ou 
 an explanation of the facts; and Ralph Roister Doister, 
 finding that he has no chance of success, and that he has 
 wily been cajoled and laughed at, makes up hi? mind to be 
 merry at the wedding of Goodluck and Custance. 
 
 In all this we have no trace of anything like a moral 
 play, with the exception, perhaps, of the character of 
 Matthew Merrygreek, which, in some of its features, its 
 love of mischief and its drollery, bears a resemblance to 
 the Vice of the older drama.' Were the dialogue modern- 
 ised, the comedy might be performed, even in our own 
 day, to the satisfaction of many of the usual attendants at 
 our theatres. 
 
 In considering the merits of this piece, we are to recollect 
 that Bishop Still's " Gammer Gurton's Needle," which, until 
 of late, was held to be our earliest comedy, was written 
 Borne twenty years after " Ralph Roister Doister :" it was 
 not acted at Cambridge until 1566, nine years subsequent 
 to the death of Udull; and it is in eveiy point of view an 
 inferior production. The plot is a mere piece of absurdity, 
 the language is provincial (well fitted, indeed, to the country 
 where the scene is laid, and to the clownish persons engaged 
 in it^ and the manners depicted are chiefly those of illiterate 
 rustics. The story, such as it is, relates to the loss of a needle 
 with which Gammer Gurton had mended Hodge's breeches, 
 and which is afterwards found by the hero, when he is about 
 to sit down. The humour, generally speaking, is as coarse 
 as the dialogue ; and though it is impossible to deny that 
 
 1 By " the older drama," we mean moral plays, into which the Vic* 
 was introduced for the amusement of the spectators : no charactei so 
 eV.ied, or with similar propensities, is to be traced in miracle-plays. 
 He was, in fact, ihe buffoon of our drama in, what may be termed, its 
 bend stage ; after audiences began to grow weary of plays founded 
 uyxm Pcripture-histnry, and when even moral plays, in order to be 
 rclnhed, required the insertion of a character of broad humour, and 
 vicious inclinations, who was sometimes to be the companion, and at 
 other*, the castigator, of the devil, who represented the principle of evil 
 unoiif; mankind. The Vice of moral plays subsequently became the 
 ool and jester of comedy, tragedy, and history, and forms another, and 
 Mi important, link of connexion between them.
 
 TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. XIX 
 
 the author was a man of talents, they were harcLy such aa 
 could hare produced " Ralph Roister Doister." 
 
 The drama which we have been accustomed to regard as 
 our oldest tragedy, and which probably has a just claim 
 to the distinction, was acted on 18th January, 1562, and 
 piinted in 1565. 1 It was originally called "Gorboduc;" but 
 it was reprinted in 1571 under the title of "Forrex and 
 Porrex," and a third tune in 1590 as " Gorboduc." The first 
 three acts were written by Thomas Norton, and the last two 
 by Thomas Sackville,. afterwards Earl of Dorset, and it 
 was pel-formed " by the gentlemen of the Inner Temple." 
 Although the form of the Greek drama is observed in 
 " Gorboduc," and each act concluded by a chorus, yet Sir 
 Philip Sidney, who admitted (in his " Apology of Poetry") 
 that it was "full of stately speeches and well-sounding 
 phrases," could not avoid complaining that the unities of 
 time and place had been disregarded. Thus, in the very 
 outset and origin of our stage, as regards what may be 
 termed the regular drama, the liberty, which allowed full 
 exercise to the imagination of the audience, and which was 
 afterwards happily carried to a greater excess, was distinctly 
 asserted aud maintained. It is also to be remarked, that 
 " Gorboduc" is the earliest known play in our language in 
 which blank-verse was employed ; 2 but of the introduction 
 of blank-verse upon our public stage, we shall have occasion 
 to speak hereafter. It was an important change, which 
 requires to be separately considered. 
 
 We have now entered upon the reign of Elizabeth ; and 
 although, as already observed, moral plavs and even miracle- 
 plays were still acted, we shall soon see what a variety of 
 subjects, taken from ancient history, from mythology, fable, 
 and romance, were employed for the purposes of the drama. 
 
 i In the Hist, of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage. 11. 4-2. it is said 
 'hat the earliest edition of " Gorboduc" has no date. This is a mistake 
 as is shown by the copy in the collection of Lord Francis Egerton, 
 which has "anno 1565, Septemb. 22" at the bottom of the title-pag 
 Mr. Hallam, in his admirable "Introduction to the Literature of 
 Europe," &c. (Second Edit. vol. ii. p. 167), expresses his dissent from 
 the position, that the three first acts were by Norton, and the tu-o last 
 by Sackville. The old title-page states, that " three acts were written 
 by Thomas Norton, and the two last by Thomas Sackville." Unles* 
 the printer, William Griffith, were misinformed, this seems decisive. 
 Norton's abilities have not had justice done to them. 
 
 * Richard Edwards, a very distinguished dramatic poet, who died in 
 1500. and who wrote the lost play of "Palamon and Arcite," which 
 was acted before the Queen in September of that year, did not follow 
 thr example of Sackville and Norton : his "Damon and Pithias" (the 
 enly piece by him that has survived) is in rhyme. See T>cds:ey's Old 
 Piays, last edition, vol. i.p.177. Thomas Twine, an actor in " 1'ji.imrn 
 and Arcite," wrote an epitaph upon its author. " Gammer Gurtpn'i 
 Needle," and " Gorboduc ; " (the last printed from the second edition} 
 ire also inserted in vols. i. and ii. of Dodslers Old PliT8.
 
 XX HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH STAGE 
 
 Stephen Gosson, one of the earliest enemies of theatrics 
 performances, writing his " Plays confuted in Five Actions' 
 a little after the period of which we are now speaking, but 
 adverting to the drama as it had existed some years before, 
 tells us, that " the Palace of Pleasure, the Gold*>u Ass, the 
 ./Ethiopian History, Aniadis of France, and the Round 
 Table," as well as " comedies in Latin, French, Italian, ano 
 Spanish, have been thoroughly ransacked to furnish the 
 play-houses in London." Hence, unquestionably, many of 
 the materials of what is termed our romantic drama were 
 obtained. The accounts of the Master of the Revels between 
 1570 and 1580 contain the names of various plays repre- 
 sented at court ; and it is to be noted, that it was certainly 
 the practice at a later date, and it was probably the prac- 
 tice at the time to which we are now adverting, to select 
 for performance before the Queen such pieces as were most 
 in favour with public audiences : consequently the mention 
 of a few of the titles of productions represented before 
 Elizabeth at Greenwich, Whitehall, Richmond, or Nonesuch, 
 will show the character of the popular performances of the 
 day. We derive the following names from Mr. P. Cunning- 
 ham's " Extracts from the Revels' Accounts," printed for the 
 Shakespeare Society : 
 
 Lady Barbara. 
 Iphigenia. 
 Ajux and Ulysses. 
 Narcissus. 
 Paris and Vienna. 
 The Play of Fortune. 
 Alcuiffion. 
 Qtiintus Fabius. 
 Timoclen at the Siege of Thebes. 
 Perseus and Andromeda. 
 The Painter's Daughter. 
 The History of the Collier. 
 
 Mutius ScsDvola. 
 Portio and Demorantes. 
 Titus and Gisippus. 
 Three Sisters of Mantua. 
 Cruelty of a Stepmother. 
 The Greek Muid. 
 Rape of the second Helen. 
 The Four Sous of Fabius. 
 History of Sarpedon. 
 Murderous Michael. 
 Scipio African us. 
 The Duke of Milan. 
 
 The History of Error. 
 
 These are only a few out of many dramas, establishing th, 
 
 multiplicity of sources to which the poets of the tim- 
 
 ted. Nevertheless, we find on the same indisputable 
 
 .wJi!"' Play u 0f , Fortune -" in the above list, is doubtless the piece 
 Lev* n? r, "V" a P rillted sha P e . as ''The Rare Triumphs of 
 ,->.., V', ,T, : '* Was acted at court M ear 'y as 1573, and again 
 it did not come from the press until 1580. and the only 
 K library of Lord Francis Egorton. The purpose of 
 n'l^" ",'i,!." '.''^."' I'"*" to com Ps an entertainment which should 
 loi variety, with as much show as could at
 
 TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. XX) 
 
 Authority, that moral plays were not yet altogether dis- 
 carded in the court entertainments ; for we read, in the 
 original records, of productions the titles of -which prove 
 that they -were pieces of that allegorical description . 
 among these arc '' Truth, Faithfulness, and Mercv," and 
 " The Marriage of Mind and Measure," -which is expressly 
 called " a moral." 
 
 Our main object in referring to these pieces has been to 
 show the great diversity of subjects which had been drama- 
 tised before 1580. In 1581 Barnabe Rich published his 
 ** Farewell to Military Profession," 1 consisting of a collection 
 of eight novels ; and "jit the close of the work he inserts this 
 strange address "to the reader:" " Now tliou hast perused 
 these histories to the end, I doubt not but thou wilt deem 
 of them as they worthily deserve, and think such vanities 
 more fitter to be presented on a stage (as some of them 
 have been) than to be published in print." The fact is, that 
 three dramas are extant which more or less closely resem- 
 ble three of Rich's novels: one of them "Twelfth Night? 
 another, "The Weakest goeth to the Wall;" and the third 
 the old play of " Philotus"." 2 
 
 Upon the manner in which the materials thus procured 
 were then handled, we have several contemporaneous 
 authorities. George Whetstone, (an author who has prin- 
 cipally acquired celebrity by writing an earlier drama upon 
 the incidents employed by Shakespeare in his "Measure 
 for Measure") in the dedication of his " Promos and Cassan- 
 dra," gives a compendious description of the nature of popu- 
 lar theatrical representations in 1578. " The Englishman 
 (he remarks) in this quality is most vain, indiscreet, and out 
 of order. He first grounds his work on impossibilities ; 
 then, in three hours, runs he through the world, marries, gets 
 children, makes children men, men to conquer kingdoms, 
 murder monsters, and bringeth gods from heaven, and 
 fetcheth devils from hell : and, that which is worst, their 
 ground is not so unperfect as their working indiscreet ; not 
 weighing, so the people laugh, though they laug> them for 
 their follies to scorn. Many times, to make mirth, they 
 make a clown companion with a king : in their grave coun- 
 cils they allow the advice of fools ; yea, they use one order 
 
 quently known and printed as " Grim, the Collier of Croydon ;" and it 
 has been reasonably supposed, that "The History of Error" was an old 
 play on the same subject as Shakespeare's " Comedy of Errors." 
 
 i Until recently no edition of an earlier date than that of 1GOT. wa 
 known ; but there is an impression of 1.561 at Oxford, which is about 
 to be reprinted by the Shakespeare Society. Malone had heard of a 
 copy in 1583. but it is certainly a mistake. 
 
 * It was reprinted for the Bannatyna Club in 1&35, by J. W. Mack 
 euzie. Esq.
 
 XXii HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH 8TAGR 
 
 of speech for all persons, a gross indecorum." This, it will 
 be perceived, is an accurate account of the ordinary license 
 taken in our romantic drama, and of the reliance of poets, 
 long before the time of Shakespeare, upon the imaginations 
 of their auditors. 
 
 To the same effect we may quote a work by Stephen 
 Gosson, to which we have before been indebted, " Plays 
 confuted in Five Actions," which must have been printed 
 about 1580 : " If a true history (says Gosson) be token'in 
 hand, it is made, like our shadows, longest at the risitg and 
 falling of the sun, shortest of all at high noon ; for the poets 
 drive it commonly unto such points, as may best show the 
 majesty of their pen in tragical speeches, or set the hearers 
 agog with discourses of love ; or paint a few antics s to fit 
 their own humours with scoffs and taunts ; or bring in a 
 show, to furnish the stage when it is bare." Again, speak- 
 ing of plays professedly founded upon romance, and not 
 upon "true history," he remarks: "Sometimes you shall 
 see nothing but the adventures of an amorous knight, pass- 
 ing from country to country for the love of his lady, encoun- 
 tering many a terrible monster, made of brown paper, and 
 at his return is so wonderfully changed, that he cannot be 
 known but by some posy in his tablet, or by a broken ring, 
 or a handkerchief, or a piece of cockle-shell." We can 
 hardly doubfthat when Gosson wrote this passage he had 
 particular productions in his mind, and several of the cha- 
 racter he describes are still extant. 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney is believed to have written his "Apology 
 of Poetry" in 1583, and we have already referred to it in 
 connexion with " Gorboduc." His observations, upon the 
 general character of dramatic representations in his time, 
 throw much light on the state of the stage a very few 
 years before Shakespeare is supposed to have quitted 
 Stratford-upon-Avon, and attached himself to a theatrical 
 company. " Our tragedies and comedies (says Sidney) are 
 not without cause cried out against, observing neither rules 
 
 of honest civility, nor skilful poetry But if it be so 
 
 in Gorboduc, how much more in all the rest, where you 
 Bhall have Asia of the one side, and Afric of the other, and 
 BO many other under-kingdoms, that the player, whec he 
 .mi's in, must ever begin with telling where he is, or else 
 the t;il; will not be conceived. Now you shall have three 
 Udiec walk to gather flowers, and then we must believe 
 the stage to be a garden: by and by we hear news of a 
 shipwreck in the same place ; then, we are to blame if we 
 accent it not for a rock. Upon the buck of that comes out 
 a hideous monster with fire and smoke, and then the miser- 
 Me beholders are bound to take it for a cave; while, in
 
 TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. XXI 11 
 
 (he meantime, two armies fly in, represented with four 
 swords and bucklers, and then what hard heart will not 
 receive it for a pitched field ? Now, of time they are much 
 more liberal ; for ordinary it is that two young princes fall 
 in love: after many traverses she is got with child, delivered 
 of a fair boy; he is U-st, groweth a man, falleth in Live, and 
 is ready to get another child, and all this in two hours' 
 space : which how absurd it is in sense, even sense may 
 imagine, and art hath taught, and all ancient examples justi- 
 fied." He afterwards comes to a point previously urged by 
 Whetstone ; for Sidney complains that plays were " neither 
 right tragedies nor right comedies, mingling kings and 
 clowns, not because the matter so carrieth it, but thrust in 
 the clown by head and shoulders, to play a part in majesti- 
 cal matters with neither decency nor discretion ; so as neither 
 the admiration and commiseration, nor light sportfulness is 
 by their mongrel tragi-comedy obtained." 
 
 It will be remarked that, with the exception of the 
 instance of " Gorboduc," no writer we have had occasion to 
 cite mentions the English Chronicles, as having yet furnished 
 dramatists with stories for the stage ; and we may perhaps 
 infer that resort was not had to them, for the purposes of tie 
 pubh'c theatres, until after the date of which we are now 
 speaking. 
 
 Having thus briefly adverted to the nature and character 
 of dramatic representations from the earliest times to the 
 year 1583, and having established that our romantic drama 
 was of ancient origin, it is necessary shortly to describe the 
 circumstances under which plays "were at different early 
 periods performed. 
 
 There were no regular theatres, or buildings permanently 
 constructed for the purposes of the drama, until .after 1576 
 Miracle-plays were sometimes exhibited in churches and in 
 the halls of corporations, but more frequently upon move- 
 able stages, or scaffolds, erected in the open air. Moral 
 plays were subsequently performed under nearly similar 
 circumstances, excepting that a practice had grown up, 
 among the nobility and wealthier gentry, of having dramatic 
 entertainments at particular seasons in their own residences. 1 
 These were sometimes performed by a company of actors 
 retained in the family, and sometimes by itinerant players,* 
 
 1 As early as 1465 a company of players had performed at the wed- 
 ding of a person of the name of Molines, "who was nearly related to 
 Sir John Howard, afterwards Duke of Norfolk. See " Manners ard 
 Household, Expenses of England," printed by Mr. Botfield, M. P., for 
 the Roxburshe Club in 1=41, p. 511. 
 
 2 The anonymous MS. play of " Sir Thomas More," -written towards 
 the close of the reign of Elizabeth, gives a very correct notion of the 
 mode in which offers to perform were made by a comply of players,
 
 Xx'lV HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH STAGE 
 
 who belonged to large towns, or -who called themselves 'Ji* 
 servants of members of the aristocracy. In 14 Eliz. an net 
 was passed allowing strolling actors to perform, if licensed 
 by some baron or nobleman of higher degree, but subjecting 
 all others to the penalties inflicted upon vagrants. There- 
 fore, although many companies of players went round the 
 country, and acted as the servants of some of the nobility, 
 they had no legislative protection until 1572. It is a singu- 
 lar fact, that the earliest kuown company of players, travel- 
 ling under the name and patronage of one of the nobility, 
 was that of the Duke of Gloucester, afterwards Richard 
 III. 1 Henry VII. had two distinct bodies of "actors of 
 interludes" in his pay, and from henceforward the profession 
 of a player became well tuidei-stood and recognized. In the 
 later part of the reign of Heuiy VII., the players of the 
 Dukes of Norfolk and Buckingham, and of the Earls of 
 Aruudel, Oxford, and Northumberland, performed at court 
 About this period, and somewhat earlier, we also hear of 
 companies attached to particular places ; and iu coeval 
 records we read of the players of York, Coventry. Laven- 
 ham, Wy combe, Chester, Manningtree, Evesharn, Mile-end, 
 Kingston, Ac. 
 
 In the reign of Henry VIIL, and perhaps in that of hia 
 predecessor, the gentlemen and singing-boys of the Chapel 
 Royal were employed to act plays and interludes before 
 the court ; and afterwards the children of Westminster, St, 
 Paul's, and Windsor, under their several masters, are not 
 unfrequently mentioned in the household books of the 
 palace, and in the accounts of the department of the revels* 
 
 and accepted by the owner of the mansion. Four players and a boy 
 (for the female characters) tender their services to the Lord Chancel- 
 lor, just as he is on the point of giving a grand supper to the Lord 
 Mayor and Corporation of London : Sir Thomas More inquires what 
 pieces they can perform, and the answer of the leader of the company 
 supplies the names of seven which were' then popular ; viz., ' The 
 Cradle of Security " " Hit Nail on the Head," "Impatient Poverty," 
 " The Four }%" " bivps and Lazarus," "Lusty Jnventus," and " "f he 
 Marriage of Wit and Wisdom." Sir Thomas More fixes upon the las:, 
 and it is accordingly represented, as a play within a play, before the 
 banquet. " Sir Thomas More " was regularly licensed for public per- 
 formance. 
 
 1 Either from preference or policy, Richard III. appears to naT 
 been a great encourager of actors and musicians : besides his players, 
 he patronized two distinct bodies of -'minstrels." and performe-s on 
 instruments called " shalms." These facts are derived from a manu- 
 cript of the household-book of John Lord Howard, afterwards duke of 
 Nortolk, preserved in the library of the Society of Antiquaries, and 
 recently printed for the use of the members of the Roxburghe CJub, 
 a a sequel to Mr. Botfield's volume. 
 
 At a considerably subsequent date some of these infant companies 
 perlormed before general audiences; and to them were added the 
 
 hildren of the Revels, who had never been attached to any religious 
 stabushment, but were chiefly encouraged as a nursery for actors. 
 The Queen of James I. had also a company of theatrical childrec 
 Jnder her patronage
 
 TO THE TIME OF SHAKKSPEARE. AXV 
 
 In 1514 the king added a new company to the dramatic 
 retinue of the court, besides the two companies which had 
 been paid by liis father, and the associations of theatrical 
 children. In fact, at this period dramatic entertainments, 
 masques, disguisings, and revels of every description, were 
 carried to a costly excess. Hemy VIII. raised the sum, 
 until then paid for a play, from 6/. 13s. 4d. to Wl. Willian 
 '^oi-nyshe, the master of the children of the chapel, on on 
 occa.-iou was paid no less a sum than 200/.. in the money of 
 that time, by way of reward ; and John Heywood, the authoi 
 of interludes before mentioned, who was also a player upon 
 the virginals, had a salary of 20/. per annum, in addition to 
 his other emoluments. During seasons of festivity a Lord 
 of Misrule was regularly appointed to superintend the 
 sports, and he also was separately and libe rally remune- 
 rated. The example of the court was followed by the 
 courtiers, and the companies of theatrical retainers, in the 
 pay, or acting in various parts of the kingdom under the 
 names of particular noblemen, became extremely numerous. 
 Religious houses gave them encouragement, and even assisted 
 in the getting up and representation of the performances, 
 espp'.'ially shortly before the dissolution of the monasteries : 
 in inr account-book of the Prior of Dunmow, between 
 March 1532 and July 1536, we find entries of payments 
 t<> Lords of Misrule there appointed, as well as to the players 
 of the King, and of the Earls of Derby, Exeter, and Sussex' 
 
 In 1543 was passed a statute, rendered necessary by the 
 polemical character of some of the dramas publicly repre- 
 sented, although, not many years before, the king had him- 
 self encouraged such performances at court, bv being present 
 at a play in which Luther and his wife were ridiculed/ The 
 
 1 For this information we are indebted to Sir N. H. Nicholas, -who 
 has the original document in his library. Similar facts might be 
 establisned irom other authorities, both of an earlier and somewhat 
 '.ater date. 
 
 See Hist, of Engl Dram. Poetry and the Stage. Vol. i p. 107. 
 T) e official account, made out by Richard Gibson, who had the prepa- 
 ra.ion of tha dresses, &c., is so curious and characteristic, tha we 
 qi ote it in the words, though not in the uncouth orthography, o the 
 original document : the date is the 10th Nov. 15'2S, not long befor the 
 kins saw reason to change the whole course of his policy as regarded 
 the Reformation. 
 
 "Tie king's pleasure was that at the said revels, by clerks i the 
 Latin tongue, should he played in his presence a play, whereof nsu- 
 eth the names. First an Orator in apparel of gold ; a Poet in apparel 
 of cloth of gold ; Religion, Ecclesia, Veritas, like three NovieeB, in 
 garments of siik. and veils of lawn and cypress : Heiesy, False-inter- 
 pretation, Corruptio-scriptoris, like ladies of Bohemia, apparelled in 
 garments of silk of divers colours; the heretic Luther, like a. party 
 friar, in russet, damask and black taffeta ; Luthers wife, like a frow 
 of Spiers in Almain, in red silk ; Peter. Paul, and James, in three 
 ha'-iir* of -white sarsenet and three red mantles, and hair* of si'ver af
 
 XXVI HISTORY OF TUB ENGLISH STAGE 
 
 act prohibits " ballads, plays, rhymes, songs, and other fan- 
 tasies" of a religious or doctrinal tendency, but at the same 
 time carefully provides, tluit the clauses shall not extend tc 
 CMS, plays, and interludes" which had for object "the 
 rebuking and reproaching of vices, and the setting forth of 
 virtue ; so always the said songs, plays, or interludes med- 
 dle not with the interpretations of Scripture." 
 
 The permanent office of Master of the Revels, for the 
 superintendence of all dramatic performances, was created 
 in 1546, and Sir Thomas Cawarden was appointed to it with 
 an annual salary of Wl. A person of the name of Johii 
 Bernard was made Clerk of the Revels, with an allowance 
 of &/. per day and livery 1 . 
 
 It is a remarkable point, established by Mr. Tytler", that 
 Henry VIIL was not yet buried, and Bishop Gardiner and 
 his pai-ishioners were about to sing a dirge for his soul, 
 when the actors of the Earl of Oxford posted bills for the 
 performance of a play in Southwark. This was long before 
 the construction of any regular theatre on the Bankside ; 
 but it shows at how early a date that part of the town was 
 selected for such exhibitions. When Mr. Tytler adds, that 
 the players of the Earl of Oxford were " the first that were 
 kept by any nobleman," he falls into an error, because 
 Richard III, and others of the nobility, as already remark- 
 ed, had companies of players attached to their households. 
 We have the evidence of Putteuham, in his " Art of English 
 Poesie," 1589, for stating that the Earl of Oxford, under 
 whose name the players in 1547 were about to perform, 
 was himself a dramatist 
 
 Very soon after Edward VI. came to the throne, severe 
 measures were taken to restrain not only dramatic per- 
 
 damask and pelerines of scarlet, and a cardinal in his apparel ; two 
 Sergeants in rich apparel ; the Dauphin and his brother in coats of 
 velvet embroidered with gold, and eaps of satin bound with velvet ; a 
 Messenger in tinsel-satin ; six men in gowns of green sarsenet ; six 
 women in gowns of crimson sarsenet ; War in rich cloth of gold and 
 feathers, and armed ; three Almains in apparel all cut and slit of silk : 
 Lady Peace, in lady's apparel, all white and rich ; and Lady Quietness, 
 and Dame Tranquillity, richly beseen in ladies' apparel. 
 
 The drama represented by these personages appears to have been 
 the composition of John Rightwise, then master of the children of 
 
 1 Tho original appointment of John Bernard is preserved in the 
 library of Sir Thomas Phillippes, Bart., to whom we owe the, addi- 
 tionnl information, that this Clerk of the Revels had a house assigned 
 In him, strangely called, in the instrument, "Egypt, and Flesh- 
 Iln.1." with a garden which had belonged to the dissolved monastery 
 of the Charter-house : the words of the original are, omnia ilia, do- 
 ta Egipte ft Fleshnll, et iUam domum 
 le garneter. The theatrical wardrobe of 
 d kept at St. John's Gate, ClerkenweU. 
 In hi* ' Edward VI. and Mary," 1830, vol. i. p. 20 
 
 o e arter-ouse : the wo 
 num et alifitia nuper vocat 
 artjaftnum nuper voratam le 
 the court was at this period ke
 
 TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. XXVII 
 
 formances, but the publication of dramas. Playing and 
 printing plays wen: first entirely suspended; then, the 
 companies of noblemen were allowed to perform, but not 
 without special authority ; and, finally, the sign manual, or 
 the names of six of The Privy Council were required to 
 their licenses. The objection stated was, that the plays had 
 a political, not a polemical, purpose. One of the first acts 
 of Mary's government, was to issue a proclamation to put 
 a stop to the performance of interludes calculated to ad- 
 vance the principles of the Reformation ; and we may b 
 Bure that the play ordered at the coronation of the queen 
 was of a contrary description 1 . It appears on other autho- 
 rities, that for two years there was an entire cessation of 
 public dramatic performances ; but in this reign the repre- 
 sentation of the old Roman Catholic miracle-plays was par- 
 tially and authoritatively revived. 
 
 It is not necessary to detail the proceedings in connexion 
 with theatrical representations at the opening of the reign 
 of Elizabeth. At first plays were discountenanced, but by 
 degrees they were permitted ; and the queen seems at all 
 times to have derived much pleasure from the services of 
 her own players, those of her nobility, and of the different 
 companies of children belonging to Westminster, St. Paul's, 
 Windsor, and the Chapel Royal. The members of the inns 
 of court also performed " Gorboduc" on 18th January, 1562 ; 
 and on February Ist^ an historical play, under the name of 
 " Julius Cassar," was represented, but by what company is 
 no where mentioned. 
 
 In 1572 the act was passed (which was renewed with ad- 
 ditional force in 1597) to restrain the number of itinerant 
 performers. Two years afterwards, the Earl of Leicester 
 obtained from Elizabeth a patent under the great seal, to 
 enable his players James Burbage, John Perkyu, John Lau- 
 ham, William Johnson, and Robert Wilson, to perform 
 " comedies, tragedies, interludes, and stage-plays," in any 
 part of the kingdom, with the exception of the metropolis^. 
 
 i See Kempe's " Losely Manuscripts." 1S35. p. 61. The warrant 
 for the purpose was under the sign manual, and it was directed to 
 Sir T. Cawarden. as Master of the Revels : u We will and command 
 
 you, upon the sight hereof, forthwith to make and deliver out of our 
 Revels, unto the Gentlemen of our Chapel, for a play to be played 
 before us at the feast of our Coronation, as in times past hath been 
 
 accustomed to be done by the Gentlemen of the Chapel of our pro- 
 genitors, all siwh necessary garments, and other tilings for the fur- 
 niture thereof, as shall be thought meet," &c. The play, although 
 ordered for this occasion, viz. 1st Oct. 1553, was for some unex- 
 plained reason deferred until Christmas. 
 
 a There is a material difference between the warrant under the 
 privy seal, and the patent under the great seal, granted upon this 
 occasion : the former gives the players a right to perform " as well 
 within the city of London and liberties of the same " as elsewhere ;
 
 HISTOUY OF THE ENGLISH STAGE 
 
 The Lord Mayor and Aldermen succeeded in excluding 
 the players from the strict boundaries of the city, but they 
 were not able to shut them out of the libeides ; and it w 
 not to be forgotten that James Burbage and his associates 
 were supported by court favour generally, and by the pow- 
 erful patronage of the Earl of Leicester m particular. Ac- 
 cordingly, in the year after they had obtained their patent, 
 Jaines Burbage and his fellows took a large house in the 
 precinct of the dissolved monastery of the Black Friars, and 
 converted it into a theatre. This was accomplished in 1 576, 
 and it is the first time we hear of any building set apart for 
 theatrical representations. Until then the various compa- 
 nies of actors had been obliged to content themselves with 
 churches, halls, with temporary erections in the streets, or 
 with inn yards, in which they raised a stage, the spectators 
 standing below, or occupying the galleries that surrounded 
 the open space 1 . Just about the same period two other 
 edifices were built for the exhibition of plays in Shoreditch, 
 one of which was called " The Curtain," 2 and the other " The 
 Theatre." Both these are mentioned as in existence and 
 operation in 1577 3 . Thus we see that two buildings close 
 to the walls of the city, and a third within a privileged dis- 
 trict in the city, all expressly applied to tne purpose of 
 stage-plays, were in use almost immediately after the date 
 of the Patent to the players of the Earl of Leicester. It is 
 extremely likely, though we have no distinct evidence of 
 the fact, that one or more play-houses were opened about 
 
 but the latter (dated three days afterwards, viz. 10 May, 1574) omits 
 this paragraph; and we need entertain little doubt that it was ex- 
 cluded at the instance of the Corporation of London, always opposed 
 to theatrical performances. 
 
 * In 1557 the Boar's Head, Aldgate, had been used for the per- 
 formance of a drama called " The Sack full of News;" and Stephen 
 Gosson in his " School of Abuse," 1579. (reprinted by the Shakespeare 
 Society) mentions the Belle Savage and the Bull as inns at which 
 particular plays had been represented. R. Flecknae, in his " Short 
 Discourse of the English Stage," appended to his "Love's Kingdom," 
 1GW, says that " at this day is to be seen " that ' : the inn yards of tho 
 Cross-Keys, and Bull, in Grace and Bishopsgate Streets" had been 
 used as theatres. There is reason to believe that the Boar's Head, 
 Aldgato, had belonged to the lather of Edward Alleyn. 
 
 It has been supposed by some, that the Curtain theatre owed its 
 nnme to tho curtain employed to separate the actors from the audi- 
 ence. We have before us documents (which on account of their 
 length we cannot insert) showing that such was probably not the fact, 
 nd that the ground on which the building stood was called the Cur- 
 tain (perhaps as part of tho fortifications of London) before any play- 
 bouse was built there. For this information we have to offer our 
 thanks to Mr. T. E. Tomlins of Islington. 
 
 In John Northbrooke's "Treatise." &c. againsj "vain plays or 
 interludes." licensed for the press in 1577, the work being then ready 
 nd in the printer's hand* It hag been reprinted by the Shakespears 
 Socinly
 
 TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. XXIX 
 
 the same tune in South wark; and we know that the Ros 
 theatre was standing there not many years afterwards 1 
 John Stockwood, a puritanical preacher, published a sermon 
 in 1578, in which he asserted that there were " eight ordi- 
 nary places " in and near London for dramatic exhibitions, 
 and that the united profits were not less than 2000 a year, 
 at least 12,000 of our present money. Another divine, of 
 the name of White, equally opposed to such performances, 
 preaching in 1576, called the plav-houses at that time 
 erected, " sumptuous theatres." No" doubt, the puritanical 
 zeal of these divines had been excited by the opening of the 
 Blackfriars, the Curtain, and the Theatre, in 1576 and 1577, 
 for the exclusive purpose of the drama ; and the five addi- 
 tional places, where plays, according to Stockwood, were 
 acted before 1578, were most likely a play-house at Newiug- 
 ton-butts, or inn-yards, converted occasionally into theatres. 
 An important fact, in connexion with the manner in which 
 dramatic performances were patronized by Queen Elizabeth, 
 has been recently brought to light 2 . It has been hithert* 
 supposed tliat in 1583 she selected one company of twelve 
 performers, to be called " the Queen's players ;" but it seems 
 that she had two separate associations in her pay, each dis- 
 tinguished as " the Queen's players." Tyluey, the master 
 of the revels at the time, records, in one of his accounts, 
 that in March, 1583, he had been sent for by her Majesty 
 " to chuse out a company of players :" Richard Tarlton and 
 Robert Wilson were placed at the head of that association, 
 which was probably soon afterwards divided into two dis- 
 tinct bodies of performers. In 1590, John Lanham was the 
 leader of one body, 3 and Lawrence Dutton of the other- 
 
 See the il Memoirs of Edward Alleyn." (published by the Shake- 
 speare Society) p. 189. It seems that the Rose had been the sign of 
 a house of public entertainment before it was converted into a theatre. 
 Such was also the case with the Swan, and the Hope, in the same 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 2 By .Mr. Peter Cunningham, in his " Extracts from the Accounts 
 of the Revels." printed for the Shakespeare Society, pp. 32 and 
 18(5. The editor's ' Introduction " is full of new and valuable In for 
 ination. 
 
 3 Tarlton died on 3 Sept. 15SS. and we apprehend that it was not 
 until after this date that Lanham became leader of one company ol 
 the Queen's Players. Mr. Halliwell discovered Tarlton's will in the 
 Prerogative Office, bearing date on the day of his decease : ho there 
 calls himself one of the grooms of the Queen's chamber, and leave* 
 all his "goods, cattels. chattels, plate, ready money, jewels. bond 
 obligatory, specialties, and debts," to his son Philip Tarlton. a minor. 
 He appoints his mother. Katherine Tarlton. lu's friend Robert Adams, 
 and "his fellow William Johnson, one also of the grooms of hei 
 Majesty's chamber," trustees for his son. and executors of his will, 
 which was proved by Adams three days after the death of the testator 
 As Tarlton says nothing about his wife in his will, we may presume 
 that he was a "widower ; and of his son, Philip Tarlton, we never hoai 
 afterwards.
 
 XZX HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 
 
 We have thus brought our sketch of dramatic perform- 
 ances and performers down to about the same period, the 
 year 1583. We propose to continue it to 1590, and to as- 
 sume that as the period not, of course, when Shakespeare 
 first joined a theatrical company, but when he began writ- 
 ing original pieces for the stage. This is a matter which 
 is more distinctly considered in the biography of the poet ; 
 but it is necessary here to fix upon some date to which we 
 are to extend our introductory account of the progress and 
 condition of theatrical affairs. What we have still to offer 
 will apply to the seven years from 1583 to 1590. 
 
 The accounts of the revels at court about this period 
 afford us little information, and indeed for several years, 
 when such entertainments were certainly required by the 
 Queeu\ we are without any details either of the pieces per- 
 formed, or of the cost of preparation. We have such par- 
 ticulars for the years 1581, 1582. 1584, and 1587, but for 
 the intermediate years they are wanting. 1 
 
 The accounts of 1581, 1582, and 1584, give us the fol- 
 lowing names of dramatic performances of various kinds 
 exhibited before the Queen : 
 
 A comedy called Delight. Ariodante and Genevora. 
 
 The Story of Pompev. Pastoral of Phillada and 
 
 A Game of the Cards. Clorin. 
 
 A comedy of Beauty and History of Felix and Phi- 
 
 Housewifry. liomena. 
 
 Love and Fortune. Five Plays in One. 
 
 History of Farrar. Three Plays in One. 
 
 History of Telomo. Agamemnon and Ulysses. 
 
 This list of dramas (the accounts mention that others 
 were acted without supplying their titles) establishes that 
 moral plays had not yet been excluded 2 . The "Game of 
 the Cards " is expressly called " a comedy or moral," in the 
 accounts of 1582 ; and we may not unreasonably suppose 
 that " Delight," and "Beauty and Housewifry.wereofthe 
 same class. " The Story of Pompey," and ""Agamemnon 
 and Ulysses," were evidently performances founded upon 
 ancient history, and such may have been the case with "The 
 History of Tolomo." " Love and Fortune " has been called 
 " the play of Fortune " in the account of 1573 ; and we may 
 feel assured that " Ariodaute and Geiievora " was the story 
 
 1 From 15f)7 to 1604, the most important period as regards Shake- 
 ipeare, it does not appear that any official statements by the master 
 of the r.-Yels have been preserved. In the same way there : an un- 
 fortunate interval between 161)4 and Kill. 
 
 * One of the last nieces represented before Queen I lizabeth was fl 
 onl play, under the titU of '-The Contention between Liberality 
 nted '" ^ ^ acted ' ^ a PP ears bv the itron S'
 
 TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. XXXl 
 
 told by Ariosto, -which also foi-ms part of the plot of 
 " Much Ado about Nothing." " The History of Ferrar" was 
 doubtless " The History of Error" of the account of 1577, 
 the clerk having written the title by his ear ; and we may 
 reasonably suspect that " Felix and Philiomena" was the 
 tale of Felix and Felismena, narrated in the " Diana" of 
 M<>iitemayor. It is thus evident, that the Master of the 
 Revels and the actors exerted themselves to furnish variety 
 for the entertainment of the Queen and her nobility ; but 
 we still see no trace (" Gorboduc" excepted) of any play at 
 court, the materials for which were obtained from the Eng- 
 lish Chronicles. It is very certain, however, that anterior 
 to 1 588 such pieces had been written, and acted before pub- 
 lic audiences 1 ; but those who catered for the court in these 
 matters might not consider it expedient to exhibit, in the 
 presence of the Queen, any play which involved the actions 
 or conduct of her predecessors. The companies of players 
 engaged in these representations were those of the Queen, 
 the Earls of Leicester, Derby, Sussex, Oxford, the Lords 
 Hunsdon and Strange, and the children of the Chapel Royal 
 and of St Paul's. 
 
 About this date the number of companies of actors per- 
 forming publicly in and near London seems to have been 
 very considerable. A person, who calls himself " a soldier," 
 writing to Secretary Walsingham, in January, 1586, 2 tells 
 him. mat " every day in the week the players' bills are set 
 up iu sundry places of the citv," ami after mentioning the 
 actors of the Queen, the Earl of Leicester, 3 the Earl of 
 Oxford, and the Lord Admiral, he goes on to state that not 
 fewer than two hundred persons, thus retained and em- 
 ployed, strutted iu their silks about the streets. It may be 
 doubted whether this statement is much exaggerated, re- 
 collecting the many noblemen who had playei-sWting under 
 
 1 Tarlton, -who died, as we hare already stated, in Sept. 15SS, ob- 
 tained great celebrity by his performance of the two parts of Derrick 
 and the Judge, in the old historical play of " The Famous Victories 
 of Henry the Fifth." 
 
 * See the original letter in Harleian MSS. No. 2SO. 
 3 The manner in which, about this time, the players were bribed 
 rway from Oxford is curious, and one of the items in the accounts 
 expressly applies to the Earl of Leicester's servants. We are obliged 
 to the Rev. Dr. Bliss for the following extracts, relating to this pe- 
 nod and a little afterwards : 
 1567 Solut. Histrionibus Comitis Lecestriaj. ut cum suis ludis 
 
 sine majore Acad?rr.ia molestia discedant . . xx t 
 Solut. Histhonibus HoJiratissimi Domini Howard . x 
 1693 Solut. Histrionibus, ne ludos inhonestos exercerent in- 
 fra Universitatem (no sum) 
 
 Ii0 Solut. per D. Eedes, vice-cancellarii locum tenentem, 
 quibusdam Histrionibus. ut sine perturbatione et 
 strepitu ab Academia dicederenl V
 
 XXXli HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH STAGE 
 
 their names at this date, and that each company consisted 
 probably of eight or ten performers. On the same authority 
 we learn that theatrical representations upon the Sabbath 
 had been forbidden ; but this restriction does not seem to 
 have been imposed without a considerable struggle. Before 
 1581 the Privy Council had hsued an order upon the sub- 
 ject, but it was disregardec in some of the suburbs of Lon- 
 don ; and it was not until after a fatal exhibition of bear- 
 baiting at Paris Garden, upon Sunday, 13 June, 1583, wheu 
 many persons were killed and wounded by the falling of a 
 scaffold, that the practice of playing, as well as bear-baiting, 
 on the Sabbath wais at all generally cheeked. In 1586, as 
 far as we can judge from the information that has come 
 dowu to our day, the order which had been issued iu this 
 respect was pretty strictly enforced. At this period, and 
 afterwards, plays were not unfrequeutly played at court on 
 Sunday, aud the clu'ef difficulty therefore seems to have 
 been to induce the Privy Council to act with energy against 
 similar performances m public theatres. 
 
 The annual official statement of the Master of the Revels 
 merely tells us, in general terms, that between Christmas 
 1586, and Shrovetide 1587, "seven plays, besides feats of 
 activity, aud other shows by the children of Paul's, her 
 Majesty's servants, and the gentlemen of Gray's Inn," were 
 prepared and represented before the Queen at Greenwich. 
 No names of plays are furnished, but in 1587 was printed a 
 tragedy, under the title of "The Misfortunes of Arthur," 
 which purports to have been acted by some of the members 
 of Gray's Inn before the Queen, on 28 Feb, 1587 : this, in 
 fact, must be the very production stated in the revels' ac- 
 counts to have been got up and performed by these par- 
 ties ; and it requires notice, not merely for its own intrinsic 
 excellence as a drama, but because, iu point of date, it is 
 the second play founded upon English history represented 
 at court, as well as the second original theatrical production 
 iu blank-verse that has been preserved 1 . The example, in 
 this particular, had been set, as we have already shown, in 
 " Gorboduc," fifteen years before ; and it is probable, that iu 
 that interval not a few of the serious compositions exhibited 
 at court were iu blank-verse, but it had not yet been used 
 on any of our public stages. 
 
 The main body O f " The Misfortunes of Arthur" was the 
 authorship of Thomas Hughes, a member of Gray's Inn ; 
 
 Gascoyne's "Jocasta," printed in 1577, and represented by the 
 author and other members of the society at Gray's Inn in 1500 as a 
 private ihow, was a translation flora Euripides, 'it is. as far as has 
 jrt been ascertained, the second play in our language written in 
 blnlc-vers but it was not an original work. The same auti,ur 
 '- taken from Arioslo, is in prvse.
 
 TO 1HE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. XXXUJ 
 
 but some speeches and two choruses (which are in rhyme) 
 were added by William Fulbecke and Francis Flower, 
 while no less a man than Lord Bucou assisted Christopher 
 Yelverton and John Lancaster in the preparation of the 
 dumb-shows. Hughes evidently took "Gorboduc" as hib 
 model, both in subject and style, and, like Sackville and 
 Norton, he adopted the form of the Greek and Roman 
 drama, and adhered more strictly than his predt -cess<>rs t>> 
 the unities of time and place. The plot relates to the re- 
 bellion of Mordred against his father, king Arthur, aud part 
 to the plot is very revolting, on account of the incest be- 
 fwe-n Mordred and his stepmother Guenevora, Mordred 
 himself being the. sou of Arthur's sister: there :s also a vast 
 deal of blood" aud slaughter throughout, and the catastrophe 
 is the killing of the sou by the father, and of the father bv 
 the son ; so that a more painfully disagreeable st< >ry c< >ul< 1 
 hardly have been selected. The author, however, ] > 
 a very bold and vigorous genius ; his characters are strongly 
 drawn, and the language they employ is consistent with 
 their situations and habits: his blank-verse, both in force 
 aud variety, is superior to that of either Sackville or Nor 
 ton 1 . 
 
 It is very clear, that up to the year 1580, about which 
 date Gosson published his " Plays confuted in Five Ac- 
 tions," dramatic performances on the public stages of Lon- 
 don were sometimes in prose, but more constantly in ihvme. 
 In his "School of Abuse," 1579, Gossou speaks of ''two 
 prose books played at the Bell Savage 2 ;" but in his " Plays 
 confuted'' he tells us, that " poets send their verses to the 
 stage upon such feet as continually are rolled up in rhyme." 
 With one or two exceptions, all the plays publicly acted, of 
 a date anterior to 1590, that have come down to us, are 
 either in prose or in rhyme 8 . The case seems to have been 
 different, as already remarked, with some of the court- 
 
 > "The Misfortunes of Arthur." with four other dramas, has been 
 reprinted in a supplementary volume to the last edition of Dodsley's 
 Old Plays. It is not, therefore, necessary here to enter into an ex- 
 amination of its structure or versification. It is a. work of extraor- 
 dinary power. 
 
 See the Shakespeare Society's reprint, p. 30. Gosson gives them 
 the highest praise, asserting that they contained "never a word 
 without wit, never a line without pith, never a letter placed in 
 ain." 
 
 3 Sometimes plays written in prose were, at a subsequent date, 
 when blank-verse had become the popular form of composition, pub- 
 lished as if they had been composed in measured lines. The old his- 
 torical play, "The Famous Victories of Henry the Fifth.'' which 
 preceded that of Shakespeare, is an instance directly in point . it wai 
 written in prose, but the old printer chopped it up into lines of un- 
 rqaaJ length, so is to mak it appear to the eye something like blanfr 
 worse
 
 XXXiv HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH STACK 
 
 shows and private entertainments ; but we are now advert 
 ing to the pieces represented at such places as the Theatre 
 the Curtain, Blackfriars, and in inn-yards adapted tempo 
 rarilv to dramatic amusements, to which the public was 
 indiscriminately admitted. The earliest work, in which the 
 employment of blank-verse for the purpose of the common 
 stage is noticed, is an epistle by Thomas Nash introducing 
 to the world his friend Robert Greene's " Meuaphon," in 
 1587': there, in reference to "vain-glorious tragedians," he 
 says, that they we " mounted on the stage of arrogance," 
 and that they " think to out-brave better pens with the 
 swelling bombast of bragging blank- verse." He aftei-wards 
 talks of the "drumming decasyllibon" they employed, and 
 ridicules them for " reposing eternity in the mouth of a 
 player." This question is farther illustrated by a produc- 
 tion by Greene, published in the next year, " Perimedes, 
 the Blacksmith," from which it is evident that Nash had an 
 individual allusion in what he had said in 1587. Greene 
 fixes on the author of the tragedy of " Tamburlaine," whom 
 he accuses of " setting the end of scholarisrn in an English 
 blank-vei'se," and who, it should seem, had somewhere ac- 
 cused Greene of not being able to write it. 
 
 We learn from various authorities, that Christopher 
 Marlowe 5 was the author of " Tamburlaine the Great," a 
 
 i Greene began writing in 1583, his " Mamillia" having been 
 then printed: his "Mirror of Modesty" and ' Monardo,'' bear the 
 date of 1584. His "Menaphon" (afterwards called "Greene's Ar- 
 cadia") first appeared in 15S7, and it was reprinted in 15K9. We 
 have never seen the earliest edition of ft, but it is mentioned by 
 various bibliographers; and those who have thrown doubt upon the 
 point, (stated in the History of English Dramatic Poetry and the 
 Stage, vol. iii., p. 150), for the sake of founding an argument upon 
 it. have not adverted to the conclusive fact, that "Menaphon'' is 
 mentioned as already in print in the introductory matter to another 
 of Greene's pamphlets, dated in 157 we mean l; Euphues his 
 Censure to Philautus." 
 
 * If Marlowe were born, as has been supposed, about 1562, (Oldyg 
 places the event earlier,) he was twenty-four when he wrote " Tam- 
 hurlaine." as we believe, in 15<5, and only thirty-one when he was 
 killed by a person of the name of Archer, in an affray arising out of 
 an amorous intrigue, in 1593. In a manuscript note of tl e time, in 
 a copy of his version of " Hero and Leander," edit. 10-29, in our pos- 
 i. it is said, among other things, that " Marlowe's father was a 
 
 shoemaker at Canterbury," and that he had an acquaintance at Dover 
 whom he infected wit 
 
 ury," and that he had an acquaintance at 
 ith the extreme liberality of his opinio 
 
 matters of religion. At the back of the title-page of the samf 
 volume IS inserted the following epitaph, subscribed with Marlowe'* 
 me, and no doubt of his composition, although never before 
 
 "In obitum honoratissimi viri 
 ROGKRI MAN-WOOD, Militis. Qusestorii 
 
 Reginalis Capitalis Baronis. 
 Noctivagi terror, paneonis triste flagellum, 
 Et fovis Alcides. rigido vulturque latroni, 
 '<rna subtegitur : scelerum gaudete nepotea
 
 TO THE TIME OT SHAKESPEARE. XXX7 
 
 dramatic work of the liighest celebrity and popularity 
 printed as early as 1590, and affording the first known in- 
 stance of the use of blank-verse in a public theatre : the 
 title-page of the edition 1590 states, that it had beeu " sun- 
 dry times shown upon stages in the city of London." In 
 the prologue the author claims to have introduced a new 
 form of composition : 
 
 " From jigging veins of rhyming mother- wits, 
 And such conceits as clownage keeps in pay, 
 We '11 lead you to the stately tent of war," &c. 
 
 Accordingly, nearly the whole drama, consisting of a first 
 and second part, is in blank-verse. Hence we see the value 
 of Dry den's loose assertion, in the dedication to Lord Ur- 
 i-eiy of his " Rival Ladies," in 1664, that "Shakespeare was 
 the fii-st who, to shun the pains of continual rhyming, in- 
 vented that kind of writing which we call blank-verse." 
 The distinction belongs to Marlowe, the greatest of Shakes- 
 peare's predecessors, and a poet who, if he had lived, might, 
 perhaps, have been a formidable rival of his genius. We 
 have too much reverence for the exhaustless originality of 
 our great dramatist, to think that he cannot afford this, 01 
 any other tribute to a poet, who, as far as the public stage 
 is 'concerned, deserves to be regarded as the inventor of a 
 new style of composition. 
 
 Tliaf the attempt was viewed with jealousy, there can be 
 no doubt, after what we have quoted from Nash and Greene. 
 It is most likely that Greene, who was older than Nash, 
 had previously written various dramas in rhyme ; and the 
 bold experiment <>f Marlowe having been instantly success- 
 ful, Greene was obliged to abandon his old course, and his 
 extant plays are all in blank-verse. Nash, who had at- 
 tacked Marlowe in 1587, before 1593 (when Marlowe was 
 killed) had joined him in the production of a blank-verse 
 tragedv on the story of Dido, which was printed in 1594. 
 
 It has been objected to " Tamburlaine," that it is written 
 in a turgid and ambitious style, such indeed as Nash and 
 Q reene ridicule ; but we are to recollect that Marlowe was 
 
 Tnsons. luctifica sparsis cervice capillis, 
 Planjre. fori lumen, venerandae gloria legis 
 Occidit : heu ! secum eflfctas Acherontis ad 
 
 Mnlta abiit virtv.s. Pro tot virtutibus uni, 
 Livor. parce viro : non audacissimus esto 
 Illius in cineres, cuius tot millia vultns 
 
 VUnraBtexiUiguU, feUcit^ossa qu^eJcant, " 
 Famaeque marmore: superet monumenta sepulchri." 
 It is added, that " Marlowe was a rare scholar, and died ajred about 
 .hirty." The above is the only extant specimen of his Latin com 
 oosition, and we insert it exactly as it stands in manuscript
 
 XXXVl HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH STAOK 
 
 at this time endeavouring to wean audiences from the 
 "jigging veins of rhyming mother-wits," and that, in order to 
 satisfy the ear for the loss of the jingle, he was obliged to 
 
 give what Nash calls " the swelling bombast of 
 blauk -verse." This consideration will of itself account foi 
 breaches of a more correct taste to be found in " Tambur 
 laine." In the Prologue, besides what we have alreadj 
 quoted, Marlowe tells the audience to expect "high as 
 touudiug terms," and he did not disappoint expectation, 
 Perhaps the better to reconcile the ordinary frequenters of 
 public theatres to the change, he inserted various scenes of 
 low comedy, which the printer of the edition in 1590 
 thought fit to exclude, as " digressing, and far unmeet foi 
 the matter." Marlowe likewise sprinkled couplets here 
 and there, although it is to be remembered, that having ac- 
 complished his object of substituting blank-verse by the 
 first part of " Tamburlaine," he did not, even iu the second 
 part, think it necessary by any means so frequently to in- 
 troduce occasional rhymes. In those plays which there is 
 grouud for believing to be the first works of Shakespeare, 
 couplets, and even stanzas, are more frequent than iu any 
 of the surviving productions of Marlowe. This circum- 
 stance is, perhaps, in part to be accounted for by the fact 
 (as far as we may so call it) that our great poet retained 
 in smne of his performances portions of old rhyming dramas, 
 which he altered and adapted to the stage ; but iu early 
 plays, which are to be looked upon as entirely his own, 
 Shakespeare appears to have deemed rhyme more neces- 
 sary to satisfy the ear of liis auditory than Marlowe held it 
 when he wiote liis "Tamburlaine the Great" 
 
 As the first employment of blank-verse upon the public 
 stage by Marlowe is a matter of much impoitance, in rela- 
 tion to the history of our more ancient drama, and to the 
 subsequent adoption of that form of composition by Shakes- 
 peare, we ought not to dismiss it without affording a single 
 tpecimen from " Tamburlaiue the Great" The following 
 w a portion of a speech by the hero to Zenocrate, when first 
 hi meets and sues to her: 
 
 " Disdains ZciK.crate to live with me, 
 Or you, my lords, to be my followers ? 
 flunk you I weigh this treasure more than you I 
 Tsot nil the gold in India's wealthy arms 
 Shall buy the meanest soldier in my train. 
 Zenoorate, lovelier than the love of Jove, 
 Brighter ilixii is the silver Rhodope, 
 Fairer than whitest snow on Scythian hills, 
 lliv person is more worth to Ti'.rnburlaine, 
 limn the possession of the Persian crown, 
 v\ Inch gracious stars have promis'd at my birth.
 
 TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. XXXVL* 
 
 A hundred Tartars shall attend on thee, 
 Mounted on steeds swifter than Pofrasus : 
 Thy garments shuil be made of Median silk, 
 Enchas'd with precious jewels of mine own, 
 More ricli and vulurous than ZenocrateV : 
 With milk-white harts upon an ivory sled 
 Thou shall be drawn amidst the frozen poles, 
 And scale the icy mountains' lofty tops, 
 "Which with thy'beauty will be soon dissolv'd." 1 
 
 Nash having alluded to " Tamburlaine" in 1587, it is evi- 
 dent that it could hardly have been written later than 15&5 
 ~>T 1586, which is about the period when it has been gener- 
 ally, and with much appearance of probability, supposed 
 that Shakespeare arrived in Londoa In considering the 
 state of the stage just before our great dramatist became a 
 writer for it, it is clearly, therefore, necessaiT to advert 
 briefly to the other works, of Marlowe, observing in addi- 
 tion, with reference to "Tamburlaine," that it is a historical 
 drama, in which not a single unity is regarded ; time, place, 
 and action, are equally set at defiance, and the scene shifts 
 at once to or from Persia, Scythia, Georgia, and Morocco, 
 as best suited the purpose of the poet. 
 
 .Marlowe was also, most likely, the author of a play in 
 which the Priest of the Sun was prominent, as Greene men 
 tions it with "Tamburlaine" in 1588, but no such piece is 
 now known : he, however, wrote " The Tragical History of 
 the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus," " The Massacre at 
 Paris," " The rich Jew of Malta," and an English historical 
 play, called " The troublesome Reign and lamentable Death 
 of Edward the Second," besides aiding Nash in " Dido 
 Queen of Carthage," as already mentioned. 2 If they were 
 not all of them of a date anterior to any of Shakespeare's 
 original works, they were written by a man who had set 
 the example of the employment of blank-verse upon the 
 
 1 Our quotation is from a copy of the edition of 1590, 4to, in the 
 library of Lord Francis Egerton, which we believe to be the earliest : 
 on the title-page it is stated that it is ; ' now first and newly pub- 
 lished." 1 It was several times reprinted No modern edition is to be 
 trusted : they are full of the grossest errors, and never could have 
 been collated. 
 
 2 Another play, not published until 16-37, tinder the title of " Lust's 
 Dominion." has also been constantly, but falsely, assigned to Mar- 
 iowe : some of the historical events contained in it did not happen 
 until five years after the death of that poet. This fact was distinctly 
 poimted out nearly twenty years ago, in the last edition of Dcdsley s 
 Old Plays (vol. ii.. p. 311] ; but nevertheless "Lust's Dominion'' lis 
 lince been spoken of and treated as Marlowe's undoubted production, 
 and even included in editions of his works. It is in all probability 
 the same drama as that which, in Henslowe's Diary, is called '' Th* 
 Spanish Moor's Tragedy," which was written by D Vkker, Haughton, 
 t^l Day, in the beginning of the yeai 1600.
 
 XXXviii HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH STACK 
 
 public stage, and perhaps of the historical and romantic 
 drama in all its leading features and characteristics. Ilia 
 " Edward the Second" affords sufficient proof of both these 
 points : the versification displays, though not perhaps in the 
 same abundance, nearly all the excellences of Shakespeare ; 
 and in point of construction, as well as in interest, it bears 
 a strong resemblance to the " Richard the Second" of our 
 great dramatist It is impossible to read the one without 
 being .reminded of the other, and we can have no difficulty 
 in assigning " Edward the Second" to an anterior period. 1 
 
 The same remark as to date may be made upon the 
 plays which came from the pen of Robert Greene, who 
 died in September, 1592, when Shakespeare was rising into 
 notice, and exciting the jealousy of dramatists who had 
 previously furnished the public stages. This jealousy broke 
 out on the part of Greene in, if not before, 1592, (in which 
 year his " Groatsworth of Wit," a posthumous work, was 
 published by his contemporary, Henry Chettle 3 ,) when he 
 complained that Shakespeare had "beautified himself" 
 with the feathers of othei-s : he alluded, as we apprehend, 
 to the manner in which Shakespeare had availed himself 
 of the two parts of the " Contention between the Houses, 
 York and Lancaster," in the authorship of which there is 
 much reason to suppose Greene had been concerned. 3 Such 
 evidence as remains upon this point has been adduced in 
 our " Introduction" to " The Third Part of Henry VI. ;" and 
 a perusal of the two pai-ts of the " Contention," in theii 
 original state, w.ill serve to show the condition of our dra- 
 matic literature at that great epoch of our stage-history, 
 when Shakespeare began to acquire celebrity. 4 "The True 
 
 1 In the History of English Dramatic Poetry and the Stage, vol. 
 iii., p. 139, it is incautiously stated, that " the character of Shakes- 
 peare's Richard II. seems modelled in no slight ' 
 fcdward II." We willingly adopt the qualific: 
 upon this point, where he says, ( il Introduction 
 Europe," vol. ii., p. 171, edit. 1S43,) " 1 am relu 
 Shakespeare modelled his characters by those of others ; and it is 
 natural to ask whether there were not an extraordinary likeness in 
 ihe dispositions, as well as in the fortunes of the two kings ?" 
 
 '> In our biographical account of Shakespeare, under the date of 
 159-2, we have necessarily entered more at large into this question. 
 
 > Mr. Hallam ( u Introduction to the Literature of Europe." vol. ii., 
 p. 171) supposes that the words of Greene, referring to Shakespeare, 
 "There is an upstart crow beautified with our feathers." are addressed 
 tc Marlowe, who may have had a principal share in the production 
 of the two parts of the ''Contention." This conjecture is certainly 
 more than plausible ; but we may easily imagine Greene to have 
 illuded to himself also, and that he had been Marlowe's partner in 
 In* composition of the two dramas, which Shakespeare remodelled, 
 ----i, not very long before th ' 
 ey nave been accurately i 
 
 . 
 
 Edward II." We willingly adopt the qualification of Mr. Hallam 
 
 the Literature of 
 
 , 
 perhaps, not very long before the death of Greene. 
 
 They have been accurately reprinted by the Shakespeare Society 
 f Ml ' H<ah " re "- from the earliest impressions in 

 
 TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Tragedy of Richard IIL" is a drama of about the same 
 period, which has come down to us in a much more imper- 
 fect state, the original manuscript having been obviously 
 very corrupt It was printed in 1594, and Shakespeare, 
 finding it in the possession of the company to which he 
 was attached, probably had no scruple in constructing hia 
 "Richard the Third" of some of its rude materials. It 
 seems not uulikely that Robert Greene, and perhaps some 
 other popular dramatists of his day, had been engaged 
 upon " The True Tragedy of Richard III." J 
 
 The dramatic works published under the name or initials 
 of Robert Greene, or by extraneous testimony ascertained 
 to be his, were "Orlando Furioso," (founded upon the 
 poems of Boiardo and Ariosto,) first printed in 1594; a 
 " Friar Bacon and Friar Bungav," also first printed in 1594, 
 and taken from a popular story-book of the time ; " Al- 
 phousus King of Arragon," 1599, for which we know of no 
 original ; aud " James the Fourth" of Scotland, 1598, 
 partly borrowed from history, and partly mere invention. 
 Greene also joined with Thomas Lodge in writing a species 
 of moral-miracle-play, (partaking of the nature of both,) 
 under the title of " A Looking-Glass for London and Eng- 
 land," 1594, derived from sacred history; and to him lias 
 also been imputed "George a Greene, the Pinner of Wake- 
 field," aud " The Contention between Liberality and Prodi- 
 gality," the one printed in 1599, and the other "in 1602. It 
 may be seriously doubted whether he had any hand in the 
 two last, but the productions above-named deserve atten- 
 tion, as works written at an early date for the gratification 
 of popular audiences. 
 
 In the passage already referred to from the " Groats- 
 vro'/th of Wit," 1592, Greene also objects to Shakespeare 
 on the ground that be thought himself " as well able to 
 bombast out a bkmk-verse" as the best of his contempora- 
 ries. The fact is, that in this respect, as in all others, 
 Greene was much inferior to Marlowe, and still less can his 
 
 1 This drama has also been reprinted by the Shakespeare Society, 
 with perfect fidelity to the original edition of 1594, in the library of 
 the Duke of Devonshire. The reprint was superintended by Mr. B. 
 Field. 
 
 2 In "The History of English Dramatic Poetry and the Stage," 
 vol. iii., p. 15.3, it is observed of "Orlando Purioso :'' "How far this 
 play was printed according to the authors copy, we have no means 
 of deciding ; but it has evidently come down to us in a very imper- 
 fect state." Means of determining the point beyond dispute have 
 *ioce been discovered in a manuscript of the part of Orlando (a* -writ- 
 ten out ibr Edward Alleyn by the copyist of the thea'.re) preserved at 
 Pulwich College. Hence it is clear that much was omitted and cor 
 ropted in the two printed editions of 1591 and 1599. See the ".V.* 
 moire of Edward Alleyn," p. 193.
 
 tl HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH 8TAGB 
 
 line? bear comparison with those of Shakespeare. H 
 doubtless began to write for the stage in rhyme, and his 
 blank-verse preserves nearly all the defects of th-it early 
 form : it reads heavily and monotonously, without variety 
 of pause and inflection, and almost the only difference be- 
 tween it and rhyme is the absence of corresponding sounds 
 at the ends of the lines. 
 
 The same defects, and in quite as striking a degree, lie- 
 long to another of the dramatists who is entitled to be con- . 
 eidered a predecessor of Shakespeare, and whose name has 
 been before introduced Thomas Lodge. Only one play in 
 which he was unassisted has descended to us, and it bears 
 the title of " The Wounds of Civil War, lively set forth in 
 the True Tragedies of Marius and Sylla," It was not 
 printed until 1594, but the author began to write as early 
 as 1580, and we may safely consider his tragedy anterior 
 to the original works of Shakespeare: it was probably 
 written about 1587 or 1588, as a not very successful experi- 
 ment in blank-verse, in imitation of that style which Mar- 
 lowe had at once rendered popular. 
 
 As regards the dates when his pieces came from the 
 press, John Lyly is entitled to earlier notice than Greene, 
 Lodge, or even Marlowe; and it is possible, as he was ten 
 years older than Shakespeare, that he was a writer before 
 any of them : it does not seem, however, that his dramas 
 were intended for the public stage, but for court-shows or 
 private entertainments.' His " Alexander and Campaspe," 
 the best of his productions, was represented at Court, and 
 it was twice printed, in 1584, and again in 1591 : it is, like 
 most of this author's productions, in prose ; but his " Wo- 
 man in the Moon" (printed in 1597) is in blauk-veiM', and 
 the "Maid's Metamorphosis," 1600, (if indeed it be by him,) 
 is in rhyme. As none of these dramas, generally com- 
 posed in a refined, affected, and artificial style, can be said 
 to have had any material influence upon stage-entertain- 
 ments before miscellaneous audiences in London, it is un- 
 necessary for our present purpose to say more regarding 
 them. 
 
 George Peele was about the same age as Lyly ;* but hia 
 
 1 They were acted by the children of the chapel, or by the childif n 
 of St. Paul's, and a few of them bear evidence on the ti'fle-pa-es that 
 they were presented at a private theatre none of them that they had 
 been played upon public stages before popular audiences. 
 
 "He is supposed to have been born about the year 1553. He was 
 irobably son to Stephen Peele. who was a bookseller and a writer of 
 be.ll.vU. Stephen Peele was the publisher of Bishop Bale's miracle- 
 'ftV of "Gods Promises," in 1577, and his name is subscribed, as 
 author to two Ballads printed by the Percy Society in the earliest 
 iction from th,r pr^ss The connexion between Stephen and 
 U*or(ZB lecle nas never struck any of the biographers of the la.lcr
 
 TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. x' 
 
 theatrical productions (-with the exception of "The Ar. 
 raignmeut of Paris," printed in 1584. and written for the 
 court) are of a different description, having been intended 
 for exhibition at the ordinary theatres. His "Edward the 
 First" he calls a ' famous chronicle," and most of the inci- 
 dents are derived from history : it is, in fact, one of our 
 earliest plays founded upon English annals. It was printed 
 in 1593 and in 1599, but with so many imperfections, that 
 we cannot accept it as any fair representation of the state 
 in which it came from "the author's pen. The most re- 
 markable feature belonging to it is the unworthy manner 
 in which Peele sacrificed the cliaracter of the Queen to hia 
 desire to gratify the popular antipathy to the Spaniards : 
 the opening of it is spirited, and affords evidence of the 
 authors skill as a writer of blank-verse. His "Battle of 
 Alcazar" may also be termed a historical drama, in which 
 he allowed himself the most extravagant licence as to 
 time, incidents, and characters. It perhaps preceded his 
 " Edward the First" in point of date, (though not printed 
 until 1594.) and the principal event it refers to occurred in 
 1578. " Sir Clyomon and Clamydes" is merely a romaBce, 
 in the old form of a rhyming play / and ' David and Beth- 
 sabe," a scriptural drama, and a great improvement upon 
 older pieces of the same description : Peele here confined 
 himself strictly to the incidents in Holy Writ, and it cer- 
 tainly contains the best specimens of his blank-verse com- 
 position. His " Old Wives' Tale," in the shape in which it 
 has reached us, seems hardly deserving of criticism, and it 
 would have received little notice but for some remote, and 
 perhaps accidental, resemblance between its story and that 
 of Milton's " Comus." 2 
 
 Stephen Peele was most likely the author of a pageant on the mayor- 
 alty of Sir W. Draper, in 150(5-7. of which an account is given by 
 Mr. Fairholt, in his work upon " Lord Mayors' Pageants.'' printed 
 for the Percy Society : he erroneously supposed it to have been the 
 work of George Peele. who could not then have been more than four 
 teen years old, even if we carry back the date of his birth to 1553. 
 George Peele was dead in loiK 
 
 1 It may be doubted whether Peele wrote any part of this produc 
 lion : it was printed anonymously in 1599, and all the evidence of 
 authorship is the existence of a copy with the name of Peele, i;. an 
 old hand, upon the title-page. If he wrote it at all. it was doubtless 
 a very early composition, and it belongs precisely to the class of ro 
 
 nntic plays ridiculed by Stephen Gosson about 
 See Milton's Minor Poems, by T. 
 
 , by T. Warton. p. 135. edit. 1791. Of 
 
 this resemblance. Warton. who first pointed it out. remarks. " That 
 Milton had an eye on this ancient drama, which might have been a 
 faTourite in his early youth, perhaps it may be affirmed with at least 
 as much credibility. as'that he conceived the Paradise Lost from seeing 
 a mystery at Florence written by Adreini, a Florentine, in 1617, 
 entitled Adamo." The fact may have been, that Pee'.e and Milton 
 resorted to the same original, now lost: "The Old Wives' Talt'' 
 wads exactly as if it were founded upon some popular story-book. 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 JtlH HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH STAGE 
 
 The " Jeronimo" of Thomas Kyd is to be looked upou aa 
 a species of transition play: the date of its composition, 
 on the testimony of Ben Jonson, may be stated to be prior 
 to 1588 1 , just after Marlowe had produced his " Tambur- 
 laine," and when Kyd hesitated to follow his bold step to 
 the full extent of his progress. " Jeronimo" is therefore 
 partly iu blank-verse, and partly in rhyme : the same ob- 
 servation -will apply, though not in the me degree, to 
 Kyd's " Spanish Tragedy :" it is in truth a second part of 
 " Jeronimo," the story being continued from one play to the 
 other, and managed with considerable dexterity. The in- 
 terest in the latter is great, and generally well sustained, 
 and some of the characters are drawn with no little art and 
 force. The success of " Jeronimo," doubtless, induced Kyd 
 to write the second part of it immediately ; and we need 
 not hesitate in concluding that " The Spanish Tragedy" had 
 been acted before 1590. 
 
 Besides Marlowe, Greene, Lodge, Lyly, Peele, and Kyd, 
 there were other dramatists, who may be looked upon as 
 the immediate predecessors of Shakespeare, but few of 
 whose printed works are of an earlier date, as regards 
 composition, than some of those which came from the pen 
 of our great poet. Among these, Thomas Nash was the 
 most distinguished, whose contribution to " Dido," in con- 
 junction with Marlowe, has been before noticed : the por- 
 tions which came from the pen of Marlowe are, we think, 
 easily to be distinguished from those written by Nash, 
 whose genius does not seem to have been of an imaginative 
 or dramatic, but of a satirical and objurgatory character. 
 He produced alone a piece called " Summer's Last Will 
 and Testament," which was written in the autumn of 1592, 
 but not printed uutil 1600: it bears internal evidence that 
 it was exhibited as a private show, and it could never have 
 bcn meant for public performance. 8 Henry Chettle. who 
 was also senior to Shakespeare, has left behind him a 
 tragedy called "Hoffman," which was not printed until 
 
 In the Induction to his "Cynthia's Revels." acted in 1(300. 
 where he is speaking of the revival of plays, and among others of 
 " the ^old Jeronimo," which, he adds, had " departed a dozen yean 
 
 4 It can be shown to have been represented at Croydon, notloub; 
 at Beddington. the residence of the Carews, under whose palrona<r 
 Nnsh acknowledges himself to have been living. See the dedication 
 to his " Terrors of the Night," 4to. 1594. The date of the death of 
 rah, who probably took a part in the representation of his " Sum- 
 mer's Last Will and Testament," has been disputed whether it was 
 before or after 1601 ; but the production of a cenotaph upon him. 
 from Fitz-geotfrey s Afanies, printed in 16(11, must put an end to all 
 doubt, See the Introductio* to Nash's "Pierce Pennyless," 1592, a* 
 'pnntd for the Shakespeare Society.
 
 TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. xliii 
 
 1630 ; and lie was engaged with Anthony Munday in pro- 
 ducing " The Death of Robert Earl of Huntingtou,* 
 printed in 1601. From Henslowe'a Diary we learn that 
 both these pieces were written subsequent to the date when 
 Shakespeare had acquired a high reputation. Monday had 
 been a dramatist as early as 1584, when a rhyming trans- 
 lation by him, under the" title of "The Two Italian Gentle- 
 men," came from the press ;' and in the interval between 
 that year and 1602, he w-rote the whole or parts of various 
 plays which have been lost" Robert Wilson ought not to 
 be omitted : he seems to have been a prolific dramatist, 
 but only one comedy by him has survived, under the title 
 of " The Cobbler's Prophecy," and it was printed in 1594. 
 According to the evidence of Henslowe, he aided Dray ton 
 and Honda; in writing "The First Part of the Life of Sir 
 John Oldcastle," printed in 1600 ; but he must at that date 
 have been old, if he were the same Robert Wilson who waa 
 one of Lord Leicester's theatrical servants in 1574, and 
 who became one of the leaders of the company called the 
 Queen's Players in 1583. He seems to have been a low 
 comedian, and his "Cobbler's Prophecy" is a piece, the 
 drollery of which must have depended "in a great degree 
 upon the performers. 
 
 With regard to mechanical facilities for the representa- 
 tion of plays before, and indeed long after, the time of 
 Shakespeare, it may be sufficient to state, that our old pub- 
 lic theatres were merely round wooden buildings, open to 
 the sky in the audience part of the house, although the 
 stage was covered by a hanging roof : the spectators stood 
 on the ground in front or at the sides, or were accommo- 
 dated in boxes round the inner circumference of the edifice, 
 or in galleries at a greater elevation. Our ancient stage 
 was unfurnished with moveable scenery ; and tables, chairs, 
 a few boards for a battlemented wall, or a rude structure 
 for a tomb or an altar, seem to have been nearly all the 
 properties it possessed. It was usually hung round with 
 decayed tapestry ; and as there was no other mode of con- 
 veyiiig the necessary information, the author often provided 
 that the player, on" his entrance, should take occasion to 
 mention the place of action. When the business of a piece 
 required that the stage should represent two apartments, 
 the effect was accomplished by a curtain, called a traverse, 
 
 1 The only known copy of this comedy is without a title-page, but 
 it was entered at Stationers' Hall for publication in 15e4, and we 
 may presume that it? was printed about that date. 
 
 * He had some share in writing the first part of the "Life of Sir 
 lohn Oldcastle." which was printed as Shakespeare's work in 10(K), 
 ilthough some copies of the play exist without 1 .s name on the title- 
 page.
 
 Xliv HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH STAGE 
 
 drawn across it ; and a sort of balcony in the rear enabled 
 the writer to represent his characters tit a window, on th 
 platform of a castle, or on an elevated terrace. 
 
 To this simplicity, and to these deficiencies, we doubt- 
 less owe some of the finest passages in our early plays ; for 
 it was part of the business of the dramatist to supply the 
 absence of coloured canvas by grandeur and luxuriance 
 of description. The ear was thus made the substitute for 
 the eye, and the poet's pen, aided by the auditor's imagina- 
 tion, more than supplied the place of the painter's brush. 
 Moveable scenery was unknown in our public theatres until 
 after the Restoration ; and, as has been observed elsewhere, 
 " the introduction of it gives the date to the commence- 
 ment of the decline of our dramatic poetry." ' 
 
 How far propiiety of costume was regarded, we have 
 no sufficient means of deciding ; but we apprehend that 
 more attention was paid to it than has been generally sup- 
 posed, or thau was accomplished at a much later and more 
 refined period. It is indisputable, that often in this depart- 
 ment no outlay was spared : the most costly dresses were 
 purchased, that characters might be consistently habited ; 
 and, as a single proof, we may mention, that sometimes 
 more than 20/. were given for a cloak, 2 an enormous price, 
 when it is recollected that money was then five or six times 
 as valuable as at present 
 
 We have thus briefly stated all that seems absolutely re- 
 quired to give the reader a correct notion of the state of 
 the English drama and stage at the period when, according 
 to the best judgment we can form from such evidence as 
 remains to us, Shakespeare advanced to a forward place 
 among the dramatists of the day. As long ago as 1679, 
 Dryden gave currency to the notion, which we have shown 
 to be mistaken, that Shakespeare " created first the stage," 
 and he repeated it in 1692 : 3 it is not necessary to the just 
 
 1 " History of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage." vol. iii.. p 360. 
 See " The Alleyn Papers," printed by the Shakespeare Society, 
 
 i ,-n 1 " hi * fro'og 116 to the alteration of "Troilus and Cressida," 
 1/0, he puts these lines into the mouth of the Ghost of Shakes- 
 peare : 
 
 "Untaught, unpractis'd, in a barbarous age, 
 
 I found not, but created first the stage." 
 
 in Urn dedication of the translation of Juvenal, thirteen years after- 
 wards, Urydcn repeats the same assertion in nearly the same words j 
 id the stage among us." Shakespeare did not create the 
 *tace. and least of all did he create it such as it existed in the time 
 Uryden : "it was, in truth, created by no one man and in no one 
 ;e; and whatever improvements Shakespeare introduced, when he 
 egan to write for the theatre our romantic drama was completely 
 
 h < L to " The n " 1 - of EneK v ' a
 
 TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE. xv 
 
 adniiuation of our noble dramatist, that we should do injus- 
 tice to his predecessors or earlier contemporaries : on the 
 contrary, his miraculous powers are best to be estimated by 
 a comparison with his ablest rivals ; and if he appear not 
 greatest when his works are placed beside those of Mar- 
 lowe, Greene, Peele, or Lodge, however distinguished their 
 rank as dramatists, and however deserved their popularity, 
 we shall be content to think, that for more than two cen- 
 turies the world has been under a delusion as to his claims. 
 JT rose to eminence, and he maintained it, amid struggles 
 for equality by men of high genius and varied talents ; and 
 with his example ever since before us, no poet of our own, 
 or of any other country, has even approached his excel- 
 lence. Shakespeare is greatest by a comparison with great- 
 Dees, or he is nothing.
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 No Shakespeare advanced or rewarded by Henry VII. An- 
 tiquity or the Shakespeare* in Warwickshire, &c. Earliest 
 occurrence of the name at Stratford-upon-Avon. The 
 Trade of John Shakespeare. Richard Shakespeare of Snit- 
 terfield, probably father to John Shakespeare, and cer- 
 tainly tenant to Robert Arden, father of John Shakespeare's 
 wife. Robert Arden'a seven daughters. Antiquity and 
 property of the Arden family. Marriage of John Shakes- 
 peare and Mary Arden : iheir circumstances. Purchase 
 of two houses in Stratford by John Shakespeare. His 
 progress in the corporation. 
 
 IT has been supposed that some of the paternal ances- 
 tors of William Shakespeare were advanced, and rewarded 
 with lands and tenements in Warwickshire, for services 
 rendered to Henry VIL 1 The rolls of that reign have 
 been recently most carefully searched, and the name of 
 Shakespeare, according to any mode of spelling it, does 
 not occur in them. 
 
 Many Shakespeares were resident in different parts of 
 Warwickshire, as well as in some of the adjoining counties, 
 at an early date. The register of the Guild of St. Anne of 
 Knolle, or Knowle, beginning in 1407 and ending in 1535, 
 when it was dissolved, contains various repetitious of the 
 name, during the reigns of Henry VI., Edward IV., Rich- 
 ard III, Henry VIL, aud Henry" VIII : we there find a 
 Thomas Shakespere of Balishalle, or Balsal, Thomas 
 Chacsper and John Shakespeyre of Rowington, Richard 
 Shakspere of Woldiche, together with Joan, Jane, and 
 William Shakespeare, of places not mentioned : an Isabella 
 
 i On the authority of a grant of arms from the Herald's College tc 
 John Shakespeare, which circumstance is considered hereafter.
 
 THE LIFE OP 
 
 Shakspere is also there stated to have been prioris.ta <fc 
 Wraxale in the 19th Henry VII. 1 The Shakespeares of 
 Wroxal, of Rowington, and of Balsal, are mentioned by 
 Malone, as well as other persons of the same name at 
 Claverdon and Hampton. He carrier back his information 
 regarding the Shakespoar i.s of Wai-wick no higher than 
 1602, but a William Shakespeare was drowned in the 
 Avon near Warwick in 1574, a John Shakespeare was 
 resident on "the High Pavement" in 1678, and a Thomas 
 Shakespeare in the same place in 1585." 
 
 The earliest date at which we hear of a Shakespeare in 
 the borough of Stratford-upon-Avon is 17th June, 1555, 
 when Thomas Siche instituted a proceeding in the court of 
 the bailiff, for the recovery of the sum of 8/. from John 
 Shakespeare, who has always been taken to be the father 
 of our great dramatist. Thomas Siche was of Arlescote, 
 or Arscotte, in Worcestershire, and in the Latin record of 
 the suit ohu Shakespeare is called " glover," in English. 
 Taking it for granted, as we have every reason to do, that 
 this Jolm Shakespeare was the father of the poet, the 
 docitneut satisfied Malone that he was a glover, and not a 
 butcher, as Aubrey had affirmed, 8 nor a dealer in wool, as 
 Rowe had stated.* We think that Malone was light, and 
 the testimony is unquestionably more positive and authen- 
 
 i For this information we are indebted to Mr. Staunton, of Long- 
 bridge House, near Warwick, the owner of the original Registerium 
 fratrum et Serorum. Gitde Sancte Anne de Knolle, a MS. upon 
 vellum. 
 
 * For the circumstane of the drowning W the namesake of our 
 poet, we are obliged to the Rev. Joseph Hunter. Mr. Charles 
 Dickens was good enough to be the medium of the information 
 respecting the Shakespeares of Warwick, transmitted from Mr. 
 Sandys, who derived it from the land-revenue, records of &e respec- 
 tive periods. 
 
 3 Aubrey's words, in his MS. in the Ashmolean Museum, at Ox- 
 ford, are these : "William Shakespeare's father was a butcher, and 
 I have been told heretofore by some of the neighbours, that when he 
 was a boy he exercised his father's trade ; but when he killed a calf, 
 he would do it in a high style, and make a speech." This tradition 
 eertainly does not read like truth, and at what date Aubrey obtained 
 his information has not been ascertained : Malone conjectured that 
 Aubrey was in Stratford about IGsiO : he died about 17UU, and, in all 
 probability, obtained his knowledge from the same source as the 
 writer of a letter, dated April 10, 1093, to Mr. Edward Southwell, 
 
 dited in 1638. h appears from hence that the parish clerk of Strat- 
 , who was "above eighty years old" in 1003, had told Mr. Ed- 
 ward Southwell's correspondent that William Shakespeare had been 
 ' bound apprentice to a butcher;" but he did not say that his fathei 
 ras a butcher, nor did he add any thing as absurd as Aubrey sub- 
 p>ins, respecting the killing of a calf " in a high style." 
 
 Rowe is supposed to have derived his materials from Retterton, 
 the actor, who died in 1710, and who, it is said went to Stratford to 
 ollect such particulars as could be obtained : t'.e date of his viiit il
 
 TVILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xl'lX 
 
 tic than the traditions to which we have referred. As it is 
 also the most ancient piece of direct evidence connected 
 with the establishment of the Shakespeare family at Strat- 
 ford, and as Malone did not copy it quite accurately from 
 the register of the bailiff's court, we quote it as it theie 
 stands: 
 
 " Stretford, RS. Cur. Phi. et Maria Dei gra, &c. secundo ct 
 tercio, ibiii tent, die Marcurii videlicet xvij die Junij ann, 
 predict, coram Johiie Barbage IW' iuo, &c. 
 
 Thomas Siche de Arscotte in com. Wigorn. querit' versus 
 John Shakyspere de Stretford in com. Wurwic. Glou in plac. 
 quod reddat ei oct. libras &c." 
 
 John Shakespeare's trade, " glover," is expressed by the 
 common contraction for the termination of the word ; and 
 it is, as usual at the time, spelt with the letter -n instead of 
 v. It deserves remark also, that although John Shakes- 
 peare is often subsequently mentioned in the records of 
 the corporation of Stratford, no addition ever accompanies 
 his name. We may presume that in 1556, he was estab- 
 lished in his business, because on the 30th April of that 
 year he was one of twelve jurymen of a court-leek His 
 name in the list was at first struck through with a pen, but 
 underneath it the word stet was written, probably by the 
 town-clerk. Thus we find him in 1556 acting as a regular 
 trading inhabitant of the borough of Stratford-upon-Avou. 
 
 Little doubt can be entertained that he came from Suit- 
 tertield, three miles from Stratford ; and upon this point we 
 have several new documents before us. It appears from 
 them, that a person of the name of Richard Shakespeare 
 (no where before mentioned) was resident at Snitterfield in 
 1550 :' he was tenant of a house and land belonging to 
 Robert Arden (or Ardern, as the name was anciently spelt, 
 and as it stands in the papers in our hands) of Wilmecote, in 
 the parish of Aston Cautlowe. Bv a couvevauce, dated 
 21st Deo, llth Henry VIII. we find that Robert Ardeu 
 then became possessed of houses and land in Suitterfield, 
 from Richard Rushbv and his wife : from Robert Arden the 
 property descended to his son, and it was part of thie 
 estate which was occupied by Richard Shakespeare in 1550. 
 We have no distinct evidence upon the point ; but if we 
 suppose Richard Shakespeare of Snitterfield 2 to have been 
 
 1 In 1569, a person of the name of Antony Shakespeare lived at 
 Snitterfi.ild, and, as we learn from the Muster-book of the COT nty of 
 Warwick for that year in the State Paper office, he was appointed a 
 ' billraan." 
 
 3 Richard Shakespeare, who, upon this supposition, was the grand- 
 father of the poet, was living in 1500, when Agnes Arden. widow, 
 granted a lease for forty years to Alexander Webbe (probably some 
 m< inber of he; own family) of two houses and a cottage in Snitter-
 
 1 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the father of John Shakespeare of Stratford, 1 who ruarriea 
 Mary Arden, the youngest daughter of Robert Arden, it 
 will easily and naturally explain the manner in which John 
 Shakespeare became introduced to the family of the Ar- 
 dens, inasmuch as Richard Shakespeare, the father of John, 
 aud the grandfather of William Shakespeare, was one of 
 the tenants of Robert Arden. 
 
 Malone, not having the information we now possess be- 
 fore him, was of opinion that Robert Arden, who married 
 Agnes Webbe, and died in 1656, had only four daughtei-s, 
 but the fact undoubtedly is that he had at least seven. On 
 the 7th and 17th July, 1550, he executed two deeds, by 
 which he made over to Adam Palmer and Hugh Porter, in 
 trust for some of his daughters, certain lands and tene- 
 ments in- Suitterneld." In these deeds he mentions six 
 daughters by name, four of them married and two single : 
 viz^ Agues Stringer, (who had been twice married, first 
 to John Hewyns,) Joan Lambert, Katherine Etkins, Mar 
 garet Webbe, Jocose Ardeu, and Alicia Arden. Mary, his 
 youngest daughter, was not included, and it is possible that 
 he had either made some other provision for her, or that, 
 by a separate and subsequent deed of trust, he gave to her 
 an equivalent in Suitterneld for what he had made over 
 to her sisters. It is quite certain, as will be seen hereafter, 
 that Mary Arden brought property in Snitterfield, as part 
 of her fortune, to her husband John Shakespeare. 
 
 Although the Ardens were an ancient aud considerable 
 family in Warwickshire, which derived its name from the 
 forest of Ardeu, or Ardern, in or near which they had pos- 
 sessions, Robert Arden, in the two deeds above referred to, 
 which were of course prepared at his instance, is only 
 called "husbandman:" " Robertus Ardern de Wilmecole, 
 tn parochia de Aston Cantlowe, in comitatu Warwici, 
 
 3eld, in the occupation of Richard Shakespeare and two others. 
 Malone discovered that there was also a Henry Shakespeare resident 
 %t Snitterfield in 15SO, and he apprehended (there is little doubt of 
 the fact) that he was the brother of John Shakespeare. Henry 
 dhakespeare was buried Dec. 29th, 1596. There was also a Thomna 
 Bhakespeare in the same village in 1532, and he may have been 
 Shake" ear 011 * 61 f J h " Shakes P eare > and a11 three sons to Riohard 
 1 This is rendered the more probable by the fact that John Shakes- 
 peare christened one of his children (born in 1573) Richa'd. Malone 
 found that another Richard Shakespeare was living at Rowington in 
 
 > They are thus described : " Totum iltud messuagium meum. et 
 rei quartronas terra, cum prutis eisdem pcrtinoititius. cum suis per- 
 tinent,,,, in Snytterfylde. qua, nu nc gunt in tenura cujusdam Ricardi 
 en/ry, at. totum iilud cot.tapium meum. cum gardino et pomarto 
 
 ,, cum suispertinent.it*. in Snytterfyld, qua, 
 nura Hngouis Purler." Adam Palmer, the other trusUe, does nol 
 to na-r occupied any part of the property.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 11 
 
 husbandman." Nevertheless, it is evident from his will 
 (dated 24th November, and proved on the 17th December, 
 1556) that he was a man of good landed estate. He men- 
 tions his wife's "jointure in Snitterfield," payable, no doubt, 
 out of some other property than that which, a few years 
 before, he had conveyed to trustees for the benefit of six of 
 his daughters ; and liis freehold and copyhold estates in 
 the parish of Aston Cantlowe could not have been incon- 
 siderable. Sir John Arden, the brother of his grandfather, 
 had been esquire of the body to Henry VIL, and his ne- 
 phew had been page of the bedchamber to the same 
 monarch, who had bountifully rewarded their services and 
 fidelity. Sir John Arden died in 1526, and it was his 
 nephew, Robert Arden, who purchased of Rushby and his 
 wife the estate in Suitterfield in 1520. He was the father 
 of the Robert Arden who died in 1556, and to whose 
 seventh daughter, Mary, John Shakespeare was married. 
 
 No registration of that marriage has been discovered, 
 but we need not hesitate in deciding that the ceremony 
 took place in 1557. Mary Arden and her- sister Alicia 
 were certainly unmarried, when they were appointed " ex- 
 ec/itores' under their father's will, dated 24th Nov., 1556, 
 and the probability seems to be that they were on that 
 account chosen for the office, in preference to their five 
 married sisters. Joan, the first child of John Shakespeare 
 and his wife Mary, was baptized in the church of Stratford- 
 upou-Avon on the 15th Sept, 1558, 1 so that we may fix 
 their union towards the close of 1557, about a year after 
 the death of Robert Arden. 
 
 What were the circumstances of John Shakespeare at 
 the time of his marriage, we can only conjecture. It haa 
 oeen shown that two years before that event, a claim of 8/. 
 was made upon him in the borough court of Stratford, and 
 we must conclude, either that the monev was not due and 
 the demand unjust, or that he was unable to pay the debt, 
 and was therefore proceeded against lite issue of the 
 suit is not known ; but in the next year he seems to have 
 been established in business as a glover, a branch of trade 
 much carried on in that part of the kingdom, and, as al 
 ready mentioned, he certainly served upon the jury of a 
 court-leet in 1556. Therefore, we are, perhaps, justified in 
 thinking that his affairs were sufficiently prosperous to 
 
 ine register of this event is in the following form, under th 
 head " Baptismes, Anno Doni. 1558 :" 
 
 : Septeber 15. Jone Shakspere daughter to John Shakspere." 
 It seems likely that the child was named after her aunt, Joan, mar- 
 ried to Edward Lambert of Barton on the Heath. Edward Lambert 
 was related to Edmund Lambert, afterwards mentioned
 
 Hi THE LIFE OF 
 
 warrant his union with the youngest of seve p co-heiresses 
 who brought him some independent property. 
 
 Under her father's will she inherited 6/. 13s. 4d. in 
 money, and a small estate in fee, in the parish of Aston 
 Cautlowe, called Asbyes, consisting of a messuage, fifty 
 acres of arable land, six acres of meadow and pasture, and 
 a right of common for all kinds of cattle. 1 Malone knew 
 nothing of Mary Arden's property in Suitterfield, to which 
 we have already referred, and, without it, he estimated that 
 her fortune was equal to 110^. 13s. 4d., which seems to us 
 rathor an uuder calculation of its actual value. 2 He also 
 speculated, that at the time of their marriage John Shakes- 
 peare was twenty-seven years old, and Mary Arden 
 eighteen ; s but the truth is that we have not a particle of 
 direct evidence upon the point. Had she been so young, 
 it seems very unlikely that her father would have ap- 
 pointed her one of his executors in the preceding year, and 
 we are inclined to think that she must have been of full 
 age in Nov. 1556. 
 
 It was probably in contemplation of his marriage that, 
 on 2d October, 1556, John Shakespeare became the owner 
 of two copy -hold houses in Stratford, the one in Greeuhill- 
 street, and the other in Henley-street, which were alienated 
 to him by George Tumor aim Edward West, respectively ; 
 the house in Greenhill-street had a garden and croft at- 
 tached to it, and the house in Henley-street only a garden ; 
 and for each he was to pay to the lord of the manor an an- 
 nual rent of sixpence. 4 In 1557 he was again sworn as a 
 juryman upon the court-leet, and hi the spring of the fol- 
 lowing year he was amerced in the sum of fourpence for 
 not keeping clean the gutter in front of his dwelling : Fran- 
 cis Burbage, the then bailiff, Adrian Quiney, " Mr. Hall and 
 Mr. Clopton" (so their names stand in the instrument) were 
 each of them at the same time fined a similar sum for the 
 
 Shakspeare, by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 25. 
 
 * The terras of Robert Arden's bequest to his daughter Mary are 
 lh*se : " Also I geve and bequeth to my youngste daughter. Marye, 
 all my lande in Willmecote. called Asbyes, and the crop upon th 
 ground, sowne and tyllede as hit is : and vjli. xiijs. iiijd. of money, to 
 be payde over ere my goodes be devydede." Hence we are not to un- 
 derstand that he had no more land in Wilmecote than Asbyes. but 
 that he gave his daughter Mary all his land in Wilmecote, which 
 was known by the name of Asbyes. 
 
 3 t-hakspeare, by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 39. 
 We copy the following descriptions from the original borough- 
 
 cord, only avoiding the abbreviations, which render it less Intel- 
 Jgible : 
 
 Item, tjuodQeor/rius Tumor alirnavitJohanni Shnkcspere, be. unvm te- 
 memeulum cumgardin et croft,cum pertinentilnts, inGrenchytl atrete.&c, 
 
 Et quud Kduardus West altenavit predicto .iohanm S/,a,etpert 
 * tenementum, cum fardin adjacentc, in Henley atrele.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. illl 
 
 game oeglect.' It is a point of little importance, but it is 
 highly probable that John Shakespeare was first admitted 
 a me'iuber of the corporation of Stratford iu 1557, when 
 ho was made one of the ale-tasters of the town ; and iu 
 Sept.. 1558, he was appointed one of the four constables, 
 liis name following those of Humphrey Plymley, Roger 
 Sadler, and John. Taylor.* He continued constable in 1559, 
 his associates then "being John Taylor, William Tyler, and 
 William Smith, and he was besides one of four persons, 
 called atfeerors, whose duty it was to impose fines upon 
 their fellow-townsmen (such us, he had himself paid in 1557) 
 for offences against the bye-laws of the borough. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Death of John Shakespeare's eldest child, Joan. Two John 
 Shakespeare* in Stratford. Amercements of members of 
 the corporation. Birth and death of John Shakespeare's 
 second child, Margaret. Birth of William Shakespeare : 
 his birth -day, and the house in which he was born. The 
 plague in Stratford. Contributions to the sick and poor by 
 John Shakespeare end others. John Shakespeare elected 
 alderman, and subsequently bailiff. Gilbert Shake.pear 
 born. Another dau<rhter, baptized Joan, born. Proofs 
 that John Shakespeare could not write. 
 
 IT was while John Shakespeare executed the duties of 
 constable in 1558, that his eldest child, Joan, was born, hav- 
 ing been baptized, as already stated, on the 15th Septem- 
 ber, of that year : she died in her infancy, and as her burial 
 does not appear in the register of Stratford, she was, per- 
 haps, interred at Suitterfield, where Richard Shakespeare, 
 probably the father of John Shakespeare, still resided, 3 aa 
 
 1 The original memorandum runs thus : 
 
 li Francis Herbage, Master Baly that now ys, Adreane Quyny, 
 Mr. Hall. Mr. Clopton, for the gutter alonge the chappell in Chap- 
 pell Lane. John Shakspeyr, for not kepynge of their gutters cleane, 
 they stand amerced." 
 
 The sum which they were so amerced, 4d., is placed above the names 
 of each of the parties. 
 
 J The following are the terms used : 
 
 "Item, ther trysty and welbelovyd Humfrey Plymley, Koger 
 Sadler. John Taylor, and John Shakspeyr, constabulles." 
 
 3 This fact appears from a lease, before noticed, granted on 21st 
 May. lotid. by Mary Arden to Alexander Webbe, of two messuage*, 
 with a cottage, one of which is stated then to be in the occupation ol 
 Richard Shakespeare. We quote the terms of the original deed iu 
 the hands of the Shakespeare Society : " Wytnesseth. that the said 
 Agnes Arderne. for dyverse and sundry consyderations, hath de- 
 mysed graunted, &c. to the said Alexander Webbe, and to his as- 
 signes all these her two messuages, with a cottage, with all an" 1
 
 llV THE LIFE OF 
 
 tenant to Agnes Arden, widow of Robert Arden, and mo 
 ther of Mary Shakespeare. In respect to the registers of 
 marriages, baptisms, and deaths at Stratford, some confusion 
 has been produced by the indisputable fact, that two per- 
 sons of the name of John Shakespeare were living in th 
 town at the same time, and it is not always easy to dis- 
 tinguish between the entries which relate to the one, or to 
 the other : for instance, it was formerly thought that John 
 Shakespeare, the father of the poet, had lost his first wife, 
 Mary Ardeu, and had taken a second, in consequence of a 
 memorandum in the register, showing that on the 25th Nov., 
 1584, John Shakespeare had married Margery Robert* : 
 Malone, however, took great pains to prove, and may be 
 said to have succeeded in proving, that this entry and 
 others, of the births of Philip, Ursula, and Humphrey 
 Shakespeare, relate to John Shakespeare, a shoemaker, 1 
 and not to John Shakespeare the glover. 
 
 John Shakespeare was again chosen one of the four 
 affeerors of Stratford in 1561, and the Shakespeare Society 
 is in possession of the original presentation made by these 
 officers on the 4th May in that year, the name of the father 
 of our great dramatist, coming last, after those of Henry 
 Bydyll, Lewis ap William, and William Mynske. The 
 most remarkable circumstance connected with it is the 
 number of persons who were amerced in sums varying from 
 6s. 8ti to 2rf. "The bailiff that now is," was fined 3s. 4d. 
 for " breaking the assize," he being a " common baker :" three 
 other bakers were severally compelled to pay similar 
 amounts on the same occasion, and for the same offence. 8 
 In September following the date of this report John Shake- 
 
 iingular their appurtenances in Snytterfeild. and a yarde and a halfe 
 of ayrable lande thereunto belonging, &c., being in the towne and 
 fyldes of Snytterfeild aflbrsaid : all which now are in the octupation 
 of Richarde Shakspere, John Henley, and John Hargreve." Of course 
 this property formed part of the jointure of Agnes Arden, mentioned 
 in the will of her husband. 
 
 1 John Shakespeare, the shoemaker, seems not to have belonged to 
 the corporation, at all events, till many years afterwards, so that the 
 confusion to which we have referred does not extend itself to any of 
 the records of that body. After John Shakespeare, the father of our 
 pot, had been bailiff, he is always called Mr. or Magistrr John 
 Shakespeare ; while the shoemaker, who married Margery Roberts. 
 and was the father of Philip, Ursula, and Humphrey, is invariably 
 ityled only John Shakespeare. There is no trace of any relationship 
 between the two. 
 
 a The affeerors seem to have displayed unusual vigilance, and cc n- 
 nderablo severity : \Villiam Trout, Christopher Smythe, Maud Har- 
 ?age, and John Jamson were all fined 3.. 4d, "for xeLing ale. and 
 having and keeping gaining contrary to the order of the Court :" 
 lleven other inhabitants were amerced in smaller sums on the tame 
 round Robert Perrot was compelled to pay 6s. 8d. " foi makinj 
 ad ifllling unwholesome ale."
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Iv 
 
 speare was elected one of the chamberlains of the borough. 
 a very responsible post, in which he remained two years. 
 
 His second child, Margaret, or Margareta, (as the name 
 stands in the register,) was baptized on the 2d Dec., lo'l-J, 
 while he continued chamberlain. She was buried on 30th 
 April, 1563'. 
 
 The greatest event, perhaps, in the literary history of tha 
 world occurred a year afterwards William Shakespeare 
 was born. The day of his birth cannot be fixed with abso- 
 lute certainty, but he was baptized on the 26th April, 1564, 
 and the memorandum iu the register is precisely in the 
 following form : 
 
 "1564. April 26. Gullelmus filius Johannes Shatspere." 
 So that whoever kept the book (in all probability the clerk) 
 either committed a common clerical error, or was no great 
 proficient in the rules of grammar. It seems most likely 
 that our great dramatist had been brought into the world 
 only three days before lie was baptized , and it was then 
 the custom to carry infants very early to the font. A house 
 is still pointed out by tradition, in Henley-street, as that in 
 which William Shakespeare first saw the light, and we 
 have already shown that his father was the owner of two 
 copy -hold dwellings in Henley -street and Greeuhill-street, 
 and we may, perhaps, conclude that the birth took place in 
 the former. John and Mary Shakespeave having previously 
 lest two girls, Joan and Margaret, William was at this time 
 the onlv child of his parents. 
 
 A malignant fever, denominated the plague, broke out at 
 Stratford while William Shakespeare was iu extreme in- 
 fancy : he was not two months old when it made its appear 
 ance, having been brought from London, where, according 
 to Stow, (Annales, p. 1112, edit. 1615,) it raged with great 
 violence throughout the year 1563, and did not so far abate 
 that term could be kept, as usual at Westminster, i:util 
 Easter, 1 564. It was most fatal at Stratford between June 
 and December, 1564, and Malone calculated that it carried 
 off in that interval more than a seventh part of the whole 
 
 > The registrations of her birth and death are both in Latin : 
 "1562. JJecember'Z. Margareta jUin .lukannis Shakspere." 
 "1563. JiprilW. Margareta filiaJohannis S/iakspere." 
 The inscription on his monument supports the opinion that ha 
 was lorn on the 23d April : -without the contractions it runs thus : 
 " Obiit.lmio Domini 1616. 
 
 JEtatis 53. die -J3 Jprilis." 
 
 and this, in truth, is the only piece of evidence upon the point. Ma- 
 lone referred to the statement of the Rev. J. Greene, as an authority ; 
 but he was master of the free-school at Stratford nearly two centnnei 
 tfter the death of Shakespeare, and, in all Trobabiliy, spoke only frori 
 the tenor of the inscription in the church.
 
 Ivi THE LIFE OF 
 
 population, consisting of about 1400 inhabitants. Tt doe 
 i...t appear that it reached any member of tLe immediate 
 family of John Shakespeare, and it is not at, all unlikely that 
 he avoided its ravages by quitting Stratford for Snittorfield 
 where he owned some property in right of his wife, and 
 where perhaps his father was still living as tenant to Alex- 
 ander Webbe, who, as we have seen, in 1560, had obtained 
 n lease for forty years from his relative, the widow Agnes 
 Arden, of the messuage in which Richard Shakespeare re- 
 aided. 
 
 In order to show that John Shakespeare was at this date 
 in moderate, and probably comfortable, though not in afflu- 
 ent circumstances, Malone adduced a piece of evidence de- 
 rived from the records of Stratford : it consists of the 
 names of persons in the borough who, on this calamitous 
 visitation of the plague, contributed various sums to the re- 
 lief of the poor. The meeting at which it was determined 
 to collect subscriptions with this object was convened in the 
 open air, " At a hall holdeu in our garden," <tc. ; no doubt 
 on account of the infection. The donations varied between 
 7.i. 4d. (given by only one individual of the name of Rich- 
 ard Symeus) and Qd. ; and the sum against the name of John 
 Shakespeare is 1*. It is to be recollected that at this date 
 he was not an alderman ; and of twenty-four pei^sous 
 enumerated five others gave the same amount, while six 
 gave less : the bailiff contributed 3*. 4d., and the head alder- 
 man 2*. 8</., while ten more put down either 2s. 6</. or 2*. 
 each, and a person of the name of Botte 4s. These sub- 
 scriptions were raised on the 80th August, but on the 6th 
 September a farther sum seems to have been required, and 
 the bailiff and six aldermen gave Is. each, Adrian Quyney 
 1*. 6</., and John Shakespeare and four others 6rf. each: only 
 one member of the corporation. Robert Bratt, whose name 
 will afterwards occur, coutributed 4d. We are, we think, 
 warranted in concluding, that in 1564 John Shakespeare 
 was an industrious and thriving tradesman. 
 
 He continued steadily to advance in rank and importance 
 in the corporation, and was elected one of the fourteen alder- 
 men of Stratford on the 4th July, 1565 ; but he did not 
 take the usual oath until the 12th September following. 
 The bailiff of the year was Richard Hill, a woollen-draper ; 
 and the father of our poet became the occupnnt of that 
 Ittuatioo rather more than three years aftenvim\ wheu 
 his sou William was about four years and a half oid. John 
 Bbtkwpeare was bailiff of Stratford-upon-Avon from Mi- 
 ehjuilinus 1568, to Michaelmas 1569, the autumn being th 
 
 ' Shak^are, by Roswell, vol. ii. p. 83.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. v 
 
 customary period of election. In the meantime his wife 
 bad brought him another son, who was christened Gilbert, 
 on 13th October, 1566 1 . 
 
 Joan seems to have been a favourite name with the Shake- 
 epeares : and Joan Shakespeare is mentioned in the records 
 of the guild of Knowle, in the reign of Henry VIII. ; and 
 John and Mary Shakespeare christened their first child, 
 which died an infant, Joan. A third daughter was bom to 
 them while John Shakespeare was bailiff, and her they also 
 baptized Joan, on 15th April, 1569 2 . The partiality for 
 the name of Joan, in this instance, upon which some bi- 
 ographers have remarked without being able to explain it, 
 may be accounted for by the fact that a maternal aunt, 
 married to Edward Lambert, was called Joan ; and it is 
 veiy possible that she stood god-mother upon both occa- 
 sions. Joan Lambert was one of the daughters of Robert 
 Arden, regarding whom, until recently, we have had no 
 information. 
 
 We have now traced John Shakespeare through various 
 offices in the borough of Stratford, until he reached the 
 highest distinction which it was in the power of his fellow- 
 townsmen to bestow : he was bailiff, and ex-officio a magis- 
 trate. 
 
 T vo new documents have recently come to light which 
 belong to this period, and which show, beyond all dispute, 
 that although John Shakespeare had risen to a station so 
 respectable as that of bailiff of Stratford, with his name in 
 the commission of the peace, he was not able to write. 
 Malonc referred to the records of the borough to establish 
 that in 1565, when John Wheler was called upon by nine- 
 teen aldermen and burgesses to undertake the duties of 
 bailiff, John Shakespeare was among twelve other marks- 
 men, including George Whately, the then bailiff, and Roger 
 Sadler, the "head alderman." There was, therefore, nothing 
 remarkable in this inability to write ; and if there were 
 any doubt upon this point, (it being a little ambiguous 
 whether the signum referred to the name of Thomas 
 Dyxun, or of John Shakespeare,) it can never be enter- 
 tained hereafter, because the Shakespeare Society has been 
 put in possession of two warrants, granted by John Shake- 
 Bpeare as bailiff of Stratford, the one dated the 3rd, and 
 the other the 9th December, 11 Elizabeth, for the caption 
 
 1 Thn register of the parish-church contains tha subsequent 
 entry : 
 
 "1566. October 13. Qilbertus Jilius Johannis Stiakspere." 
 
 2 Although John Shakespeare -was at this time bailir!', no Mr. ot 
 JWnrriftcr is prefixed to his name in the register, a distinction which 
 appears only to have been made after he had served that office. 
 
 " 1569, April 15. Jone the daughter of John Shakspere." 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 Iviii THE LIFE OF 
 
 of Johu Ball and Kichard Walcar, on account of debt* 
 severally due from them, to both of which his mark only ia 
 Appended. The same fact is established by two other 
 documents, to which we shall have occasion hereafter 1/> 
 advert, belonging to a period ten years subsequent to that 
 of which we are now speaking. 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 The grant of arms to John Shakespeare considered. The con- 
 firmation and exemplification of arms. Sir W. Dethick's 
 conduct, liigon meadow in John Shakespeare's tenancy. 
 Birth and death of his daughter, Anne. Kichard Shake- 
 speare born in 1574, and named, perhaps, after his grand- 
 father. John Shakespeare's purchase of two freehold 
 houses in Stratford. Decline in his pecuniary affairs, and 
 new evidence upon the point. Indenture of sale of John 
 Shakespeare's and his wife's share of property at Snitter- 
 field, to Robert Webbe. Birth of Edmund Shakespeare in 
 1580. 
 
 ALTHOUGH John Shakespeare could not write his name, 
 it has generally been stated, and believed, that while he 
 filled the office of bailiff he obtained a grant of arms from 
 Clarencieux Cooke, who was in office from 1666 to 1592. 
 We have considerable doubt of this fact, partly arising out 
 of the circumstance, that although Cooke's original book, in 
 which he entered the amis he granted, has been preserved 
 in the Heralds' College, we find in it no note of any such 
 concession to John Shakespeare. It is true that this book 
 might not contain memoranda of all the arms Cooke had 
 granted, but it is a circumstance deserving notice, that in 
 this case such an entry is wanting. A confirmation of these 
 arms was made in 1696, but we cannot help thinking, with 
 Maloue, that this instrument was obtained at the personal 
 instance of the poet, who had then actually purchased, or 
 was on the eve of purchasing, New Place"(or " the great 
 house," as it was also called) in Stratford. The confirma- 
 tion states, that the heralds had been " by credible report 
 informed," that "the parents and late autecessors" 1 of John 
 
 1 Malone gcve both the confirmation and exemplification of arms, 
 but with some variations, which are perhaps pardonable on account 
 of the statu of the originals in the Heralds' College : thus he printed 
 ' parent and late antecessore," instead of "parents and late ante- 
 e*or*," in the confirmation ; and > whose parent and great grand- 
 fcther, and late antecessor." instead of " whose parent, great grand- 
 tather, and late antecessor." in the exemplification. We are bound 
 kre to expresi our acknowledgments to Sir Charles Ycung, th-
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. ij 
 
 Shakespeare " were for their valiant and faithful services 
 advauced and rewarded of the most prudent prince, Henry 
 the Seventh ;" but, as has been before stated, on examining 
 the rolls of that reign, we can discover no trace of ad- 
 vancement or reward to any person of the name of Shake- 
 speare. It is true that the Ardens, or Arderns, were so 
 " advanced and rewarded j" 1 and these, though not strictly 
 the " parents," were certainly the " autecessors" of William 
 Shakespeare. In 1599, an exemplification of arms was 
 procured, and in this document it is asserted that the " great 
 grandfather" of John Shakespeare had been " advanced 
 and rewarded with lands and tenements" by Henry VIL 
 Our poet's " great grandfather," by the mother's side, was 
 so " advanced and rewarded f and we know that he did 
 " faithful and approved service" to that " most prudent 
 prince." 
 
 Another point, though one of less importance, is, that 
 it is stated, in a note at the foot of the confirmation of 1596, 
 that John Shakespeare " showeth" a patent " under Clarence 
 Gooke's hand:" the. word seems originally to have been 
 sent, over which " showeth" was written : if the original 
 patent, uuder Cooke's hand, had been sent to the Heralds' 
 Collie iu 1596, there could have been little question about 
 it ; but the substituted word " showeth" is more indefinite, 
 and may mean only, that the party applying for the con- 
 firmation alleged that Cooke had granted such a coat of 
 arms*. That William Shakespeare could not have pro- 
 cured a grant of arms for himself in 1596 is highly proba- 
 ble, from the fact that he was an actor, (a profession then 
 much looked down upon) and not of a rank in life to en- 
 title him to it: he, therefore, may have very fairly and 
 properly put forward his father's name and claims as 
 having been bailiff of Stratford, and a "justice of peace," 
 and coupled that fact with the deserts and rewards of the 
 Ardeus under Henry V IL, one of whom was his maternal 
 
 present Garter King at Arms, for the trouble he took in minutely 
 collating Malone's copies with the documents themselves. Other 
 errors he pointed out do not require particular notice, as they apply 
 to parts ot the instruments not necessary for our argument. 
 
 ' Robert Ardern had two offices conferred upon him by Henry VII., 
 in thelUth and 17th years of his reign; and he is spoken of in the 
 
 keep 
 
 lordship ot Uodnor. and keeper ot the par 
 
 of lanls in & Henry VII. ; viz. the large manor of Yoxsall, in the 
 
 Keeper of the park at Aldercar, and the other that of bailiff of he 
 lordship of Cod nor. and keeper of the j ' 
 
 ark there. He obtained a giant 
 rge manor of Yoxsall, in the 
 
 county of Stafford, on condition of a payment of a rent to the king of 
 4&. per annum. 
 
 1 The word " showeth" is thus employed in nearly every petition, 
 and it is only there equivalent to statet/i, or settet/i fortfi. The as- 
 sertion that such a grant had been alleged was, probably, that of the 
 
 heralds
 
 b. THE LIFE OF 
 
 treat grandfather," and all of whom, by reason of thi 
 marriage of his father with an Arden, were his "ante- 
 cessora." 
 
 We only doubt whether John Shakespeare obtained any 
 grant of arms, as has been supposed, iu 1568-9; and it la 
 to be observed that the documents relating to this question, 
 still preserved in the Heralds' College, are full of correc- 
 tions and interlineations, particularly as regards the an- 
 cestors of John Shakespeare : we are persuaded that when 
 William Shakespeare applied to the office in 1596, Garter 
 of that day, or his assistants, made a confusion between the 
 " great grandfather" and the " antecessors" of Johu, and of 
 William Shakespeare. What is stated, both in the confir- 
 mation and exemplification, as to parentage and descent, is 
 true as regards William Shakespeare, but erroneous as re- 
 gards John Shakespeare 1 . 
 
 It appears that Sir William Dethick, garter-king-at- 
 arms in 1596 and 1599, was subsequently called to account 
 for having granted coats to pei-sons whose station in society 
 and circumstances gave them no right to the distinction. 
 The case of John Shakespeare was one of those complained 
 of in this respect ; and had Clarencieux Cooke really put 
 his name in 1568-9 to any such patent as, it was asserted, 
 had been exhibited to Sir William Dethick, a copy of it, or 
 some record of it, w r ould probably have remaiiied in the 
 office of arms in 1596 ; and the production of that alone, 
 proving that he had merely acted on the precedent of Cla- 
 rencieux Cooke would, to a considerable extent at least, 
 
 1 The confirmation and the exemplification differ slightly as to 
 the mode in which the arras are set out : in the former it is thus : 
 " 1 have therefore assigned, graunted, and by these have confirmed, 
 this shield or cote of arms, viz. gould. on a bend sable and a speare 
 of the first, the point steeled, proper ; and for his crest or cognizance 
 a faulcon. his wings displayed, argent, standing on a wrethe of his 
 coullors, supporting a speare gould steele as aforesaid, sett uppon a 
 helmett with mantelles and tasselles as hath been accustomed." In 
 the exemplification the arms are stated as follows : " In a field of 
 puld upon a bend sables a speare of the first, the poynt upward, 
 bedded argent ; and for his crest or cognisance a falcon with hii 
 wyngs displayed, standing on a wrethe of his coullors, supporting a 
 tpeare armed hedded or steeled sylver, fyxed upon a helmet, -with 
 mantelles an! tasselles." In the confirmation, as well as in the ex- 
 emphficatior. it is stated that the arms are ''depicted in the mar- 
 pin;" and in the latter a reference is made to another escutcheon, in 
 which the arms of Shakespeare are impaled with " the auncyent 
 xms of Arden of Wellingcote. signifying thereby that it maye and 
 hall be lawful! for the said John Shakespeare, gent, to beare and 
 use the same shield of arms, single, or impaled as aforesaid, during 
 a'atio^"*. 11 ly**." Th motto, as given it the head of the confir- 
 
 NOX SAN-Z DROICT. 
 
 f WelUngcote " the heralds *1"*W have laid Arden at
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. x 
 
 have justified Sir William Dethick. No copy, nor record 
 was however so produced, but merely a memorandum at 
 the foot of the confirmation of 1596, that an original grant 
 had been sent or shown, which memorandum may have 
 been added when Sir William Dethick's conduct was called 
 in question ; and certain other statements are made at the 
 bottom of the same document, wliich would be material to 
 Garter's vindication, but which are not borne out by facts 
 One of these statements is, that John Shakespeare, in 
 1596, was worth 500/., an error certainly as regarded him, 
 but a truth probably as regarded his son. 
 
 It is really a matter of little moment whether John 
 Shakespeare did or did not obtain a grant of arms while he 
 was bailiff of Stratford ; but we are strongly inclined to 
 think that he did not, and that the assertion that he did, and 
 that he was worth 500/. in 1596, originated with Sir W. 
 Dethick, when he subsequently wanted to make out his own 
 vindication from the charge of having conceded arms to 
 various persons without due caution and inquiry. 
 
 IT 1570, when William Shakespeare was in his seventh 
 year, his father was in possession of a field called Ingon, 
 or Ington, meadow, within two miles of Stratford, wliich 
 he held under William Clopton. We cannot tell in what 
 year he first rented it, because the instrument proving his 
 tenancy is dated llth June, 1581, and only states the fact, 
 that on llth Dec., 1570, it was in his occupation. The an- 
 nual payment for it was 8^., a considerable sum, certainly, 
 for that time ; but if there had been " a good dwelling- 
 house and orchard" upon the field, as Malone conjectured, 
 that circumstance w.ould, in all probability, have been men- 
 tioned 1 . We may presume that John Shakespeare em- 
 ployed it for agricultural purposes, but upon this point we 
 are without information. That he lived in Stratford at the 
 time we infer from the fact, that on the 28th September, 
 1571, a second daughter, named Anne, was baptized at the 
 parish-church. He had thus four children living, two boys 
 and two girls, William, Gilbert, Joan, and Anne, but the 
 last died at an early age, having been buried on 4th April, 
 1579 4 . It will be remarked that, on the baptism of hif 
 daughter Anne, he was, for the first time, called " Magister 
 
 i Malone places reliance on the words of the close roll, (from which 
 the information is derived) " with the appurtenances ;" but surely 
 "a good dwelling-house and orchard" would have been specified, 
 and not included in such general terms : they are not mere "ap- 
 purtenances." 
 
 3 The following are copies of the registration of the baptism and 
 burial of Anne Shakespeare : 
 
 "1571 Scpteb' -28. Jlmtn fiiia Maestri Shakspere." 
 
 " 1579 April 4. Anne daughter of Mr. John Shakspere "
 
 Ixil THE LIFE OP 
 
 Shakespeare" in the Latin entry in the Register, a distinc- 
 tion he seems to have acquired by having served the office 
 of bailiff two years before. The same obsemitiou will 
 apply to the registration of his fifth child, Richard, who 
 was baptised on llth March, 1573-4, as the son of "Mr. 
 John Shakespeare 1 ." Richard Shakespeare may have been 
 named after his grandfather of Snitterfield, who perhaps 
 was sponsor on the occasion 2 . 
 
 The increase of John Shakespeare's family seems, for 
 Kime time, to have been accompanied by an increase of his 
 means, and in 1574 he gave Edmund and Emma Hall 40/. 
 for two freehold houses, with gardens and orchards, in 
 Henley-street 3 . It will not be forgotten that he was al- 
 ready the owner of a copyhold tenement in the same street, 
 which he had bought of Edward West, in 1556, before hia 
 marriage with Mary Arden. To one of the two last-pur- 
 chased dwellings John Shakespeare is supposed to have re- 
 moved his family ; but, for aught we know, he had lived 
 from the time of his marriage, and continued to live iu 
 1574, iu the house in Henley-street, which had been alien- 
 ated to him eighteen years before. It does not appear that 
 he had ever parted with West's house, so that in 1574 he 
 was the owner of three houses in Henley-street. Forty 
 pounds, even allowing for great difference in value of 
 money, seems a small sum for the two freehold houses, 
 with gardens and orchards, sold to him by Edmund and 
 Emma Hall. 
 
 It is, we apprehend, indisputable that soon after this 
 date the tide of John Shakespeare's affairs began to turn, 
 and that he experienced disappointments and losses which 
 seriously affected his pecuniary circumstances. Malone 
 was iu possession of several important facts upon this sub- 
 ject, and recently a strong piece of confirmatory testimony 
 has been procured. We wUl first advert to that which was 
 iu the hands of Malone, applicable to the beginning of 
 1578. At a borough hall on the 29th Jan. in that y-ar, it 
 was ordered that every alderman hi Stratford should pay 
 fi*. 8rf., and every burgess 3*. 4<L towards u the furniture of 
 three pikemen, two billmeu, and one archer." Now, al- 
 though John Shakespeare was not only an alderman, but 
 had been chosen " head alderman" in 1571, he was allowed 
 
 The baptismal register runs thus : 
 "1573 March II. Richard sonne to M 
 
 i uiipusmai register runs thus : 
 
 "1573 March II. Richard sonne to Mr. John Shakspeer." 
 Malone speculated (Shakspcare. by Boswell, vol. ii. p. IOC.) that 
 Richard Hill, an alderman of Stratford, had stood godfather to thin 
 hi Id, but he was not aware of the existence of any such person at 
 Richard Shakespeare, of Snitterfield, who, there U good ground to 
 bf Ueve. was father to John Shakespeare. 
 " VJalone'i Shakspeare, by Boswell," vol. ii. p. 93
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Ixlh 
 
 to contribute only 3s. 4<, as if he had been merely a b'or- 
 gess : Humphrey Plymley, another alderman, paid 5, 
 while Juhn Walker, Thomas Brogden, aud Anthony Turner 
 contributed 2s. 6d. each, Wilh'am Brace 2s., and Robert 
 Bnitt " nothing in this place." It is possible that Bratt 
 had been called upon to furnish a contribution in some 
 other place, or perhaps the words are to be taken to mean, 
 that he was excused altogether ; aud it is to be remarked 
 that in the contribution to the poor in Sept 1564, Bratt 
 was the only individual who gave no more than fourpence. 
 Li November, 1578, when it was required that every alder- 
 man should " pay weekly to the relief of the poor 4rf," 
 John Shakespeare aud Robert Bratt were excepted : they 
 were " not to be tajted to pay any thing," while two others 
 (one of them Alderman Plymley) were rated at 3d. a week. 
 In March. 1578-9, when another call was made upon the 
 town for the purpose of purchasing corslets, calivers, <tc, 
 the name of John Shakespeare is found, at the end of the 
 account, in a list of persons whose " sums were unpaid and 
 unaccounted for." Another fact tends strongly to the con- 
 clusion that iti 1578 John Shakespeare was distressed for 
 money : he owed a baker of the name of Roger Sadler 5/, 
 for which Edmund Lambert, and a person of the name of 
 Coruishe, had become security : Sadler died, and in his will, 
 dated 14th November, 1578, he included the following 
 among the debts due to him : " Item of Edmund Lambert 
 aud Cornish**, for the debt of Mr. John Shacksper, 5/." 
 
 Malone conjectured that E'dmund Lambert was some re- 
 lation to Mary Shakespeare, aud there can be little doubt 
 of it, as an Edward Lambert had married her sister Joan 
 Arden. To Edmund Lambert John Shakespeare, in 1578, 
 mortgaged his wife's estate hi Ashtou Cautlowe, called 
 Asbyes, for 40^., an additional circumstance to prove that 
 he was in want of money ; and so severe the pressure of 
 his necessities about this "date seems to have been, that in 
 1579 he parted with his wife's interest iu two tenements in 
 Suitterfield to Robert Webbe for the small sum of 41. This 
 is a striking confirmation of John Shakespeare's embarrass- 
 ment?, with which Malooe was not acquainted ; but the orig- 
 inal deed, with the bond for the fulfilment of covenants, 
 (both bearing date 15th Oct. 1579) subscribed with the dis- 
 tinct marks of John and Mary Shakespeare, and sealed with 
 their respective seals, is in the hands of the Shakespeare 
 Society. His houses hi Stratford descended to his sou, but 
 they may have been mortgaged at this period, and it is in- 
 disputable that John Shakespeare divested himself, in 1578 
 aud 1579, of the landed property his wife had brought him, 
 being in the end d>' ; ven to the extremity of raising th
 
 1X1V THE LIFE DF 
 
 trifling sum of 4 '. by the sale of her share of two m 
 suages in Suitterfield 1 . 
 
 It hits been supposed that he might not at this tim 
 reside in Stratford-upon-Avon, and that for this reason, he 
 only contributed 3s. 4rf. for pikemen, <fcc., and nothing to the 
 poor of the town, in 1578. This notion is refuted by the 
 fact, that in the deed for the sale of his wife's property in 
 Snitterfield to Webbe, in 1579, he is called "John Sback- 
 spere of Stratford-upon-Avon," and in the bond for the per- 
 formance of covenants, "Johannem Shackspere de Stratford- 
 upon-Avon, in cwnitat. Warwici." Had he been resident 
 at Ingon, or at Snitterfield, he would hardly have been de- 
 scribed as of Stratford-upon-Avon. Another point re- 
 quiring notice hi connexion with these two newly-discovered 
 documents is, that in both John Shakespeare is termed 
 "yeoman," and not (//over: perhaps in 1579, although he 
 continued to occupy a house hi Stratford, he had relin- 
 quished his original trade, and having embarked in agricul- 
 tural pursuits, to which he had not been educated, had been 
 unsuccessful This may appear not an unnatural mode of 
 accounting for some of his difficulties. In the midst ol 
 them, in the spring of 1580, auother son, named Edmund, 
 (perhaps after Edmund Lambert, the mortgagee of As- 
 byes) was bom, and christened at the parish church". 
 
 1 The property is thus described in the indenture between John 
 Shakespeare and his wife, and Robert Webbe. For and in conside- 
 ration of the sum of 41. in hand paid, they u give, graunte, bar- 
 gayne. and sell unto the said Robert Webbe, his heires and assignee 
 for ever, all that theire moitye, parte, and partes, be it more or lesse, 
 of and in two messuages or tenementes, with thappurtenuances, sett, 
 lyinge and beynge in Snitterfield aforesaid, in the said county of 
 Warwicke." The deed terminates thus : 
 
 " In witnesse whereof the parties above said to these present inden- 
 tures interchangeablie have put theire handes and seales, the day 
 and yeare fyrst above wrytten. 
 
 " The marke + of John Shackspere. The marke M of Maryt 
 Shackspere. 
 M Sealed and delivered in the presens of 
 
 Nycholas Knoolles, Vicar of Anston, 
 
 Wyllyam Maydes, and Anthony Os- 
 
 taston, with other moe.' 1 
 
 The seal affixed by John Shakespeare has his initials I. S. upon it, 
 while that appended to the mark of his wife represents a rudely-en 
 paved horse. The mark of .Mary Shakespeare seems to have beei 
 intended tor an uncouth imitation of the letter M. With referenc* 
 to the word " moiety," used throughout the indenture, it is to be re- 
 membered that at its date the term did not, as no v, imply half, bn! 
 Ul /-Ji ) ? rt ' or share ' Shakespeare repeatedly so uses it. 
 
 * The register contains the following : 
 
 "1580. May 3. Edmund sonne to .Mr. John Shakspere."
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESVEARE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Education of William Shakespeare : probably at t.ne free- 
 school of Stratford. At what time, and under what cir- 
 cumstances, he left school. Possibly an assistant in the 
 schooJ, and afterwards in an aHorncy's office. His hand- 
 writing. His marriage with Annu Hathaway. The prelimi- 
 nary bond given by'Fulk Sandells and John Richardson. 
 Birth of Susanna, the first child of William Shakespeare 
 and his wife Anne, in 1583. Shakespeare's opinion on the 
 marriage of persons of disproportionate age. His domestic 
 circumstances. Anne Iluthaway's family. 
 
 AT the period of the sale of then- Snitterfield property by 
 his father and mother, William Shakespeare was iu liis" six 
 teeuth year, and iu what way he had been educated is mere 
 matter of conjecture. It is highly probable that he was at 
 the free-school of Stratford, founded by Thomas Jolyffe in 
 the reign of Edward IV., and subsequently chartered by 
 Edward VI.; but we are destitute of all evidence beyond 
 Rowe's assertion. Of course, we know nothing of the time 
 when he might have been first sent there ; but if so sent 
 between 1570 and 1578, Walter Roche, Thomas Hunt, and 
 Thomas Jenkins, were successively masters, and from them 
 he must have derived the rudiments of his Latin and Greek. 
 That his father and mother .could give him no instruction 
 of the kind is quite certain from the proof we have adduced, 
 that neither of them could write ; but this very deficiency 
 might render them more desirous that their eldest son, at 
 least, if not their children in general, should receive the 
 best education circumstances would allow. The free gram- 
 mar-school of Stratford afforded an opportunity of which, 
 it is not unlikely, the parents of William Shakespeare 
 availed themselves. 
 
 As we are ignorant of the time when he went to school, 
 we are also in the dark as to the period when he left it 
 Rowe, indeed, has told us that the poverty of John Shake- 
 speare, and the necessity of employing his son profitably 
 at home, induced him, at an early age, to withdraw him 
 trom the place of instruction. 1 Such may have been the 
 case ; but, iu considering the question, we must not leave 
 out of view the fact, that the education of the son of a mem 
 her of the corporation would cost nothing ; so that, if the 
 boy were removed from school at the period of his father's 
 
 1 " The narrowness of his father's circumstances, and the want of 
 his assistance at home forced his father to withdraw him from 
 thence, and unhappily prevented his farther proficiency.'' Rowe'i 
 Life.
 
 Jxvi TUB LIFE OF 
 
 embarrassments, the expense of continuing his studies there 
 could not have entered into the calculation: he must have 
 beeu taken away, as Rowe states, in order to aid his father 
 in the maintenance of his family, consisting, after the death 
 of his daughter Anue in 1679, and the birth of his son Ed- 
 mund in 1580, of his wife and five children. However, we 
 are without the power of confirming or contradicting Howe's 
 statement 
 
 Aubrey has asserted positively, in his MSS. in the Ash- 
 molean Museum, that " in his younger years Shakespeare 
 had been a schoolmaster in the country ;" and the truth may 
 be, though we are not aware that the speculation has ever 
 been hazarded, that being a young man of abilities, and 
 rapid iu the acquisition of knowledge, he had been em- 
 ployed bv Jenkins (the master of the school from 1577 to 
 1580, if not for a longer period) to aid him in the instruc- 
 tion of the junior boys. Such a course is certainly not very 
 unusual, and it may serve to account for this part of Au- 
 brey's narrative 1 . 
 
 We decidedly concur with Malone in thinking, that after 
 Shakespeare quitted the free-school, he was employed in 
 the office of an attorney. Proofs of something like a legal 
 education are to be found in many of his plays ; and it may 
 be safely asserted, that they do not occur anything like so 
 frequently in the dramatic productions of his contempo- 
 raries. We doubt if, in the whole works of Marlowe, 
 Greene, Peele, Jonson. Heywood, Chapman, Marston, Dek- 
 ker, and Webster, so many law terms and allusions are to 
 be found, as in only six or eight plays by Shakespeare ; and, 
 moreover, they are applied with much technical exactness 
 and propriety. Maloue has accumulated some of these, 
 and it would be easy to multiply them 2 . We may presume 
 
 ' Aubrey cites "Mr. Beeston" as his authority, and as persons of 
 that name were connected with theatres before the death of Shake- 
 peare. and long afterwards, we ought to treat the assertion with the 
 more respect. Simon Forman, according to his Diary, was employed 
 in this way in the free-school where he was educated, and was paid 
 by the parent* of the boys for his assistance. The same might be 
 the case with Shakespeare. 
 
 1 A passage from the epistle of Thomas Nash before Greene's 
 ^Menaphon." has been held by some to apply to Shakespeare, to his 
 'Hamlet,'' and to his early occupation in an attorney's office. The 
 bet answer to this supposition is an attention to dates : " Mcnaphon " 
 was not printed for the first time, as has been supposed, in 15s9, but 
 In 188) ; in all probability before Shakespeare had written any play, 
 much less " Hamlet. 1 ' The " Hamlet " to which Nash alludes must 
 h*ve been e old drama, which was in existence long before Shake- 
 ipeare took up the subject. The terms Nash employs are these ; and 
 /t u to be observed, that by noverint he means an attorney or attor- 
 * clerk, employed to draw up bonds, &c.. commencing Jfonrrint 
 *ieri, fco. " It is a common practice now-a-dayes, amongst a sort
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. XVU 
 
 thai, if BO eriployed. he was paid something for his ser- 
 vices ; for, if he were to earn nothing, his father could have 
 had no other motive for taking him from school Suppos- 
 ing him to have ceased to receive instruction from Jenkins 
 in 1579, when John Shakespeare's distresses -were appa- 
 rently most severe, we may easily imagine that he was. for 
 the next year or two, in the office of one of the seven at- 
 torn.-ys in Stratford, whose names Malone introduces. Thai 
 he wrote a good hand we are perfectly sure, not only from 
 the extant specimens of his signature, when we may sup- 
 pose him to have been in health, but from the ridicule which, 
 in " Hamlet," (act v. sc. 2) he throws upon such as affected 
 to write illegibly : 
 
 " I once did hold it, as onr statists do, 
 A baseness to write fnir." 
 
 In truth, many of his dramatic contemporaries wrote ex- 
 eellfiiUy: Ben Jonson's penmanship was beautiful; and 
 Peele, Chapman, Dekker, and Marston, (to say nothing of 
 some inferior authors) must have given printers and copy- 
 ists little trouble. 1 
 
 of shifting companions, that run through every art and thrive by 
 none, to leave the trade of nouerint, whereto they were borne, and 
 busie themselves with the indevours of art. that could scarcely Lat- 
 inize their neck verse, if they should have neede : yet English Seneca, 
 read by candle-light, yields many good sentences, as Bloutt is a beg- 
 per, and so forth ; and if you intreate him faire in a irostie morning, 
 he will affoord you whole Hamlets. I should say handfuls of tragical 
 speeches.*' Hence we may possibly infer that the author of the old 
 'Hamlet, 1 ' preceding Shakespeare's tragedy, had been an attorney's 
 clerk. In loS7. Shakespeare was only in his twenty-third year, and 
 could hardly be said by that time to have " run through every art, 
 and thriven by none." Seneca had been translated, and published 
 collectively, six years before Nash wrote. He may have intended to 
 speak generally, and without more individual allusion than a mod- 
 ern poet, when, in the very same spirit, he wrote the couplet, 
 " Some clerk foredoom'd his father's soul to cross, 
 Who pens a stanza when he should ingross." 
 
 ! It is certain also that Shakespeare wrote -with great facility, and 
 that his compositions required little correction. This fact we hive 
 upon the indubitable assertion of Ben Jonson, who thus speaks in 
 t:s " Discoveries,'' written in old age, when, as he tells us. his mem- 
 ory began to fail, and printed with the date of 1(541 : ' 
 
 " I remember the players have often mentioned it as an honour 
 to Shakespeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he 
 never blotted out line. My answer hath been. Would he had blotted 
 a thousand ! which they thought a malevolent speech. I had not 
 told posterity this, but for their ignorance, who chuse that circum- 
 stance to commend their friend by, wherein he most faulted : and to 
 justify mine own candour, fcr I loved the man. and do honour hi 
 memory (on this side idolatry) as much as any. He was indeed 
 honest, and of an open and free nature; had an excellent fancy, 
 brave ni iions. and gentle expressions, wherein he flowed with thai 
 facility, that sometimes it was necessary he slrould be stoppeJ
 
 Lxviii THE LIFE OF 
 
 Excepting by mere tradition, we hear not a syllable re- 
 garding William Shakespeare from the time of his birth 
 until he had considerably passed his eighteenth year, and 
 then we suddenly come to one of the most important events 
 of his life, established upon irrefragable testimony : we al- 
 lude t<> his marriage with Anne Hathaway, which could not 
 have taken place before the 28th Nov. 1582, because on 
 that day two persons, named Fulk Sandells and John Rich- 
 ardson entered into a preliminary bond (which we subjoin 
 in a note 1 ) in the penalty of 40/. to be forfeited to the bishop 
 of the diocese of Worcester, if it were thereafter found that 
 there existed any lawful impediment to the solemnization 
 
 Sufflaminandus erat, as Augustus said of Ilaterius. His wit was in 
 his own power ; would the use of it had bee 
 Hence he 
 
 players had " oftPn mentioned," we find the following in 
 of Heminge and Condell, " To the great variety of Reade 
 the folio of 1623 : " His rnind and hand went together, ai 
 
 proceeds to instance a pl,-*>s.ge in "Julius Cffisar." Ben 
 Jonson then adds in conclusion : "Bat he redeemed his vices with 
 his virtues : there was ever more in Kim to be praised, than to be 
 pardoned." Consistently with what Ben Jonson tells us above tne 
 i had " oftPn mentioned," we find the following in the address 
 
 ders," before 
 gether, and what he 
 thought he uttered with that easiness, that we have scarce received 
 from him a blot in his papers." 
 1 The instrument, divested of useless formal contractions, runs 
 
 "Noverint universi per presentes, nos Fulconem Sandells de Strat- 
 ford in comitatu Warwici. agricolarri, et Johannem Richardson ibi- 
 dem agricolam, teneri et firmiter obligari Ricardo Cosin, generoso, et 
 Roberto Warmstry, notario publico, in qnadraginta libris bonne et le- 
 galis monetoo AngliaE solvendis eisdem Ricardo et Roberto, heredibus, 
 executoribus, vel assignatis suis, ad quam quidem solutionem bene 
 et hdeliter faciendam obligamus nos, et utrumque nostrum, per se 
 pro toto et in soliilo, heredes, executores, et administratores nostros 
 flrmiter per presentes. sigillis nostris sigillatos. Datum 28 die No- 
 yembris, anno Regni Dominae nostrae Elizabeths, Dei gratia Anglia. 
 Francis, et Hiberniae ReginiB, Fidei Defensoris. &c. 2.5. 
 
 "The condition of this obligation ys suche, that if hereafter there 
 shall not appere any lawfull lett or impediment, by reason of any 
 precontract, consanguinitie, amnitie, or by any other lawfull 
 meanes whatsoever, but that William Shagspere one thone partie, 
 and Anne Hathwey, of Stratford in the Dioces of "Worcester, maiden, 
 may lawfully solemnize matrimony together, and in the same after- 
 wards remaine and continew like man and wilTe. accordinn- unto the 
 lawes in that behalf provided : and moreover, if there be not at this 
 present time any action, sute, quarrel, or demaund. moved or depend- 
 Jg before any judge, ecclesiastical or temporal, for and concerning 
 any suche lawfull lett or impediment : and moreover, if the said 
 VVUliam Sbagspere do not proceed to solemnization of marriadg with 
 the said Anne Hathwey without the consent of her frinds : and also 
 if the said William do, upon his owne proper costs and expenses de- 
 fend and save harrnles the Right Reverend Father in God, Lord John 
 Bushop of Worcester, and his offycers, for licencing them the said 
 lliara and Anne to be maried together with once asking of the 
 i ol matrimony betwene them, and for all other causes which 
 may ensue by reason or occasion thereof, that then the said obliga- 
 tion to b vovd and of none effect, of els to stand and abide in full* 
 fcree and vertue." 
 
 The marks ind seals of Sandells and Richardson.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. x 
 
 of matrimony between William Shakespeare and Anne 
 Hathaway, of Stratford. It is not known at what church the 
 ceremony was performed, but certainly not at Stratford- 
 upon-Avou, 1 to which both the parties belonged, where the 
 bondsmen resided, and where it might be expected that it 
 would have been registered. The object of the bond waa 
 to obtain such a dispensation from the bishop of Wore'sttr 
 as would authorize a clergyman to unite the bride and 
 groom after only a single publication of the banns ; and it is 
 not to be concealed, or denied, that the whole proceeding 
 seems to indicate haste and secresy. However, it ought 
 not to escape notice that the seal used when the bond was 
 executed, although damaged, has upon it the initials R. H, 
 as if it had belonged to R. Hathaway, the father of the bride, 
 and had been used on the occasion with his consent. 2 
 
 Considering all the circumstances, there might be good 
 reasons why the father of Anne Hathaway should concur in 
 the alliance, independently of any regard to the worldly 
 prospects of the parties. The first child of William and 
 Anne Shakespeare was christened Susanna on 26th May, 
 1583 s . Anne was between seven and eight years older 
 than her young husband, and several passages in Shake- 
 speare's plays have been pointed out by Malone, and 
 repeated by other biographers, which seem to point directly 
 at the evils resulting from unions in which the parties were 
 " misgraffed in respect of years." The most remarkable 
 of these is certainly the 'well-known speech of the Duke to 
 Viola, in " Twelfth Night," (act ii. sc. 4) where he says, 
 
 " Let still the woman take 
 An elder than herself: so wears she to him ; 
 So sways she level in her husband's heart: 
 For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, 
 Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, 
 More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, 
 Than women's are." 
 
 Afterwards the Duke adds, 
 
 l Malone conjectured that the marriage took place at Weston, or 
 Billesley. but the old registers there having been lost or destroyed, it 
 is impossible to ascertain the fact. A more recent search in the reg- 
 isters of some other churches in the neighbourhood of Stratford haa 
 
 not been attended with any success. Possibly, the 
 
 performed in the vicinity of Worcester, but the mere tact that the 
 
 Dond was there executed proves nothing. An examination of the 
 
 registers at Worcester has been equally fruitless. 
 
 2 Rowe tells us. (and we are without any other authority'l that 
 Hathaway was "said to have been a substantial yeoman.' 1 and h 
 was most'likely in possession of a seal, such as John Shakespeare had 
 used in 1579. 
 
 3 The fact is registered in this form : 
 
 " L5S3. May '2H. Susanna daughter to William Shakspere."
 
 1XX THE LIFE 07 
 
 " Then let thy love be youngrer than thyself, 
 Or thy affection cannot hold the bent. ' 
 
 Whether these lines did or did not originate in the u- 
 thor's reflections upon his own marriage, they are BO appli- 
 cable to his own case, that it seefris impossible he should 
 have -written them without recalling the circumstances at- 
 tending his hasty union, and the disparity of years between 
 himself and his wife. Such, we kuow, was the confirmed 
 opinion of Coleridge, expressed on two distinct occasions in 
 his lectures, and such we think will be the conclusion at 
 which most readers will arrive : " I cannot hesitate in be- 
 lieving," observed Coleridge in 1815, "that in this passage 
 from 'Twelfth Night,' Shakespeare meant to give a caution 
 arising out of his own experience ; and, but for the fact of 
 the disproportion in point of years between himself and his 
 wife, I doubt much whether the dialogue between Viola and 
 the Duke would have received this turn 1 ." It is incident to 
 our nature that youths, just advancing to manhood, should 
 feel with peculiar strength the attraction of women whose 
 charms have reached the full-blown summer of beauty ; but 
 we cannot think that it was so necessary a consequence, as 
 some have supposed 2 , that Anne Hathaway should have pos- 
 sessed peculiar personal advantages. It may be remarked, 
 that poets have often appeared comparatively indifferent 
 to the features and persons of their mistresses, since, in pro- 
 portion to the strength of their imaginative faculty, they 
 have been able to supply all physical deficiencies 3 . Cole- 
 ridge was aware, if not from his own particular case, from 
 recorded examples, that the beauty of the objects of the 
 affection of poets was sometimes more fanciful than real ; 
 and his notion was, that Anne Hathaway was a woman 
 with whom the boyish Shakespeare had fallen in love, per- 
 haps from proximity of residence and frequency of inter- 
 course, and that she had not any peculiar recommendations 
 of a personal description. The truth, however, is, that we 
 
 1 We derive this opinion from our own notes of what fell from 
 Coleridge upon the occasion in question. The lectures, upon which 
 he was then engaged, were delivered in a room belonging to the 
 G.obe tavern, in Fleet-street. He repeated the same sentiment in 
 public in 1>1*, and we have more than once heard it from him in 
 private society. 
 
 * The Kev. Mr. Dyce, in his Life of Shakespeare, prefixed to the 
 Aldine edition of his 1'oeins, lamo. 1832. p. xi. It comprises all the 
 main points of the biography of our poet then known. 
 
 VV hen the Rev. .Mr. Dyce observes that "it is unlikely that a WO- 
 LD devoid of personal charms should have won the youthful affec- 
 tions of to imaginative a being as Shakespeare." he forgets that the 
 mere fact that Shakespeare was an "imaginative being" would 
 
 r 'personal charms" in his wife less necessary to his happi-
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xxl 
 
 have no evidence either way ; and when Oldys remarki 
 upon the 93rd Bonnet, that it " seems to have been addressed 
 by Shakespeare to his beautiful wife, on some suspicion of 
 her infidelity 1 ," it is clear that he was under an entire mia 
 take as to the individual : the lines, 
 
 "So shall I live supposing thon art true 
 Like a deceived husband; so love's face 
 May still seem love to me," &c. 
 
 were most certainly not applied to his wife ; and Oldys could 
 have had no other ground for asserting that Anne Hatha- 
 way was ' beautiful," than general supposition, and the er- 
 roneous belief that a sonnet like that from which we have 
 made a brief quotation had Shakespeare's wife for its ob- 
 ject 
 
 The present may not be an improper opportunity for 
 remarking (if, indeed, the remark might not be entirely 
 spared, and the reader left to draw his own inferences) that 
 the b;il;iuce of such imperfect information as remains to us, 
 leads us to the opinion that Shakespeare was not a very 
 happy married man. The disparity in age between him- 
 self and his wife from the first was such, that she could 
 not " svray level in her husband's heart ;" and this difference, 
 for a certain time at least, became more apparent as they 
 advanced in years : may we say also, that the peculiar cir- 
 cumstances attending their marriage, and the birth of then* 
 first child, would not tend, even in the most grateful and 
 considerate mind, to increase that respect which is the chief 
 source of confidence and comfort in domestic life. To this 
 may be added the fact (by whatever circumstances it may 
 have been occasioned, which we shall consider presently) 
 that Shakespeare quitted his home at Stratford a veiy few 
 years after he had become a husband and a father, and that 
 although he revisited his native town frequently, and ulti- 
 mately settled there with his family, there is no proof that 
 his wife ever returned with him to London, or resided with 
 him during any of his lengthened sojourns in the metropo- 
 lis : that she may have done so is very possible : and in 
 1609 he certainly paid a weekly poor-rate to an amount 
 that may indicate that he occupied a house in Southwark 
 capable of receiving his family , but we are here, as upon 
 
 I In his MS. notes to Langbaine, in the British Museum, as quoted 
 by Steevens. Ses "Malone's Shakspeare, by Boswell," vol. xx. 
 p. 306. 
 
 3 "We have noticed this matter more at length hereafter, with re- 
 ference to the question, whether Shakespeare, in 1609 were not rated 
 to the poor ot Southwark in respect of his theatrical property, and 
 not foi any dwelling-house which he occupied.
 
 Ixxii THE LIFE OF 
 
 many other points, compelled to deplore the absence of dis- 
 tinct testimony. We put out of view the doubtful and am- 
 biguous indications to be gleaned from Shakespeare's Son- 
 nets, observing merely, that they contain little to show that 
 he was of a domestic turn, or that he found any great en- 
 joyment in the society of his wife. That such may have 
 been the fact we do not. pretend to deny, and we willingly 
 believe that nuuh favourable evidence upon the point has 
 been lost: all we venture to advance on a question of so 
 much difficulty and delicacy is, that what remains to us is 
 not, as far as it goes, perfectly satisfactory. 
 
 A question was formerly agitated, which the marriage 
 bond, already quoted, tends to set at rest Some of Shake- 
 speare's biographers have contended that Anne Hathaway 
 came from Shottery, within a mile of Stratford, while Ma- 
 lone argued that she was probably from Luddington, about 
 three miles from the borough. There is no doubt that a 
 family of the name of Hathaway had been resident at 
 Shottery from the year 1543, and continued to occupy a 
 house there long after the death of Shakespeare 1 ; there is 
 also j> tradition in favour of a particular cottage in the vil- 
 lage, and, on the whole, we may perhaps conclude that 
 Anne Hathaway was of that family, She is, however, 
 described in the bond as " of Stratford," and we may take 
 it for granted, until other and better proof is offered, that 
 she was resident at the time in the borough, although she 
 may have come from Shottery 2 . Had the parties seeking 
 the licence wished to misdescribe her, it might have an- 
 swered their purpose better to have stated her to be of any 
 other place rather than of Stratford. 
 
 Richard Hathaway, alias Gardener, of Shottery, had a daughter 
 named Johanna, baptized at Stratford church on 9th May. 156G ; but 
 there is no trace of the baptism of Anne Hathaway. 
 
 * From an extract of a letter from Abraham Sturley, dated 24 
 Jan., 159w, printed in "Male-no's Shakspeare by Boswell," vol. ii. p. 
 >(), it appears that our preat dramatist then contemplated the pur- 
 chase of " some odd yard-land or other at Shotterv." This intention 
 p*rbap* arose out of the connexion of his wif. with the village.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. IxXUl 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Shakespeare's twins, Hamnet and Judith, born h, 1585. His 
 departure from Stratford. The question of deer-stealing 
 from Sir Thomas Lucy considered. Authorities for the 
 story; Rowe, Betterton, Fulman's MSS., Oldys. Ballad 
 by Shakespeare against Sir Thomas Lucy. Proof, in op- 
 position to Malone, that Sir Thomas Lucy had deer : his 
 present of a buck to Lord Ellesmere. Other inducements 
 to Shakespeare to quit Stratford. Companies of players 
 encouraged by the Corporation. Several of Shakespeare's 
 fellow-actors from Stratford and Warwickshire. The 
 Princely Pleasures of Kenilworth. 
 
 IN the beginning of 1585 Shakespeare's vrife produced him 
 twins a boy and a girl and they were baptized at Strat- 
 ford Church on the 2d Feb. in that year 1 . Malone sup- 
 posed, and the supposition is very likely well founded, that 
 Hamnet Sadler and his wife Judith stood sponsors for the 
 infants, which were baptized by the Christian names of the 
 godfather and godmother, Hamnet 2 and Judith. It is a fact 
 not altogether unimportant, with relation to the terms of af- 
 fection between Shakespeare and his wife in the subsequent 
 part of his career, that she brought him no more children, 
 although in 1585 she was only thirty years old. 
 
 That Shakespeare quitted his home and his family not 
 long afterwards has not been disputed, but no ground for 
 this step has ever been derived from domestic disagree- 
 ments. It has been alleged that he was obliged to leave 
 Stratford on account of a scrape in which he had involved 
 himself by stealing, or assisting in stealing, deer from the 
 grounds of Charlcote, the property of Sir Thomas Lucy, 
 about rive miles from the borough. As Rowe is the oldest 
 authority in print for this story, we give it in his own 
 words : " He had, by a misfortune common enough to 
 young fellows, fallen into ill company ; and among them 
 some, that made a frequent practice of deer-stealing, en- 
 gaged him more than once in robbing the park that be- 
 longed to Sir Thomas Lucy of Charlecot, near Stratford. 
 For this he was prosecuted by that gentleman, as he 
 thought, somewhat too severely ; and, in order to revenge 
 
 1 The registration is, of course, dated 2 Feb. ,1584, as the year 1585 
 did not at that date begin until after 25th March : it runs thus : 
 
 " lo-4. Feb. 2. Hamnet &. Judith sonne & daughter to Willia 
 Shakspere." 
 
 2 There was an actor called Hamnet (the name is sometimes spelt 
 Hamlet, see " Memoirs of Edward Alleyn.'' p. 127) in one of the Lou 
 don companies at a subsequent date. It is not at all impossible that, 
 like not a few players of that day, Ue came from Warwickshire. 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 THE LIFE OY 
 
 that ill-usage, he made a ballad upon h.m. And though 
 this, probablv the first essay of his poetry, be lost, yet it ia 
 eaid to have 'been so very bitter, that it redoubled the pros- 
 ecution against him to that degree, that he was obliged to 
 leave his business and family in Warwickshire for some 
 time, ai-d shelter him self in London." 
 
 We have said that Howe is the oldest printed source of 
 this anecdote, his " Life of Shakespeare " having been pub- 
 lished in 1709 ; but Malone produced a manuscript of un- 
 certain date, anterior, however, to the publication of Rowe's 
 " Life," which gives the incident some confirmation. Had 
 this manuscript authority been of the same, or even of more 
 recent date, and derived from an independent quarter, un- 
 connected with Rowe or his informant, it would on this ac- 
 count have deserved attention ; but it was older than the 
 publication of Rowe's " Life," because the Rev. R. Davies, 
 who added it to the papers of Fulman. (now in the library 
 of Corpus Christi College) died in 1707 1 . Rowe (as he dis- 
 tinctly admits) obtained not a few of his matei-ials from 
 Bettei ton, the actor, who died the year after Rowe's " Life " 
 came out, and who, it has been repeatedly asserted, paid a 
 visit to Stratford expressly to glean such particulars aa 
 could be obtained regarding Shakespeare. In what year 
 he paid that visit is not known, but Malone was of opinion 
 that it was late in life : on the contrary, we think that it 
 must have been comparatively early in Betterton's career, 
 when he would naturally be more enthusiastic in a pursuit 
 of the kind, and when he had not been afflicted by that dis- 
 order from which he suffered so severely in his later years, 
 and to which, in fact, he owed his death. Betterton was 
 bora in 1635, and became an actor before 1660 ; and we 
 should not be disposed to place his journey to Stratford later 
 than 1670 or 1675, when he was thirty-fire or forty years 
 old. He was at that period in the height of his popularity, 
 and being in the frequent habit of playing such parts aa 
 Harnlet, Lear, and Othello, we may readily believe that he 
 would be anxious to collect any information regarding the 
 author of those tragedies that then existed in his native 
 town. We therefore apprehend, that Betterton must have 
 
 1 The terms used by the Rev. Mr. Davies are these : 
 
 He [Shakespeare] was much given to all unluckiness in stealing 
 renison and rabbits, particularly from Sir Lucy, -who had him oft 
 whipped and sometimes imprisoned, and at last made him fly his 
 native country, to his great advancement. But his revenge was so 
 great that he is his Justice Clodpate ; and calU him a great man. and 
 that, in allusion to his name, bore three louses rampant fcr his 
 arms." Fulman's MSS. vol. xv. Here we see that Davies callo Sii 
 Thomas Lucy only '-Sir Lucy," as if he did not know his Chrisva* 
 fjne, and he was \gnorant that such a character as Justice 
 M not to be found in any of Shakespeare's play*.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xXV 
 
 gone to Stratford many years before the Rev. Richard 
 'Davk'S made his additions to Fulman's brief account of 
 Shakespeare, for Fuhuau's papers did not devolve into hia 
 hands until 1688. The conclusion at which we arrive is, 
 that Howe's printed account is in truth older, as far as 
 regards its origin hi Betterton's inquiries, than the manu- 
 script authority 1 produced by Maloue ; and certainly the 
 latter does not come much recommended to us on any other 
 ground. Davies must have been ignorant both of persons 
 and plays ; but this veiy circumstance may possibly be 
 looked upon as in favour of the originality and genuineness 
 of what he furnishes. He does not tell us from whence, 
 uor from whom, he procured his information, but it reads 
 as if it had been obtained from some source independent of 
 Betterton, and perhaps even from inquiries on the spot. 
 The whole was obviously exaggerated and distorted, but 
 whether by Davies, or by the person from whom he derived 
 the story, we must remain hi doubt. The reverend gentle 
 man died three years before Betterton, and both may cer- 
 tainly have been indebted for the information to the same 
 parties ; but most likely Davies simply recorded what he 
 had heard. 
 
 In reflecting upon the general probability or improbabil 
 ity of this important incident in Shakespeare's life, it is not 
 to be forgotten, as Malone remarks, that deer-stealing, at 
 the period referred to, was by no means an uncommon 
 offence ; that it is referred to by several authors, and pun- 
 ished by more than one statute. Neither was it considered 
 to include any moral stain, but was often committed by 
 young men, by way of frolic, for the purpose of furnishing 
 
 i We may, perhaps, consider the authority for the story obtained 
 by Oldys prior in point of date to any other. According to him, a 
 gentleman of the name of Jones, of Turbich in Worcestershire, d le d 
 in 17li:j, at the age of ninety, and he remembered to have heard, from 
 several old people of Stratford, the story of Shakespeare's robbing Sir 
 Thomas Lucy's park : and they added that the ballad of which llowa 
 makes mention, had been affixed on the park-gate, as an additional 
 exasperation to the knight. Oldys preserved a stanza of this satiri- 
 cat effusion, which he had received from a person of the name of 
 W iikes, a relation of Mr. Jones : it runs thus : 
 
 "A parliament member, a justice of peace, 
 At home a poor scare-crowe, at London an asse ; 
 If lowsie is Lucy, as some volke miscalle it, 
 Then Lucy is lowsie, whatever befall it : 
 He thinks himself great, 
 Yet an asse in his state 
 
 We allow by his ears but with asses to mate. 
 If Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscall it, 
 Sing lowsie Lucy, whatever befall it." 
 
 What is called a "complete copy of the verses," contained in " ,Ma- 
 lone's Shakspeare, by Boswell," vol. ii. p. 505, is evidently not gen-
 
 IXXVI THE LIFE OF 
 
 a feast, and not -with any view to sale or emolument If 
 Shakespeare ever ran into such an indiscretion, (and we 
 uwu that we cannot entirely discredit the story) he did no 
 more tlian many of his contemporaries ; and one of the 
 ablest, most learned, and bitterest enemies of theatrical 
 performances, who wrote just before the close of the six- 
 teenth century, expressly mentions deer-stealing as a venial 
 crime of which uni-uly and misguided youth was sometimes 
 guilty, and he couples it merely with carousing in taverns 
 and robbing orchards 1 . 
 
 It is very possible, therefore, that the main offence against 
 Sir Thomas Lucy was, not stealing his deer, but writing 
 the ballad, and sticking it on his gate ; and for this Shake- 
 speare may have been so " severely prosecuted " by Sir 
 Thomas Lucy, as to render it expedient for him to abandon 
 Stratford " for some time." Sir Thomas Lucy died in 1600, 
 
 * Dr. John Rainolds, in his "Overthrow of Stage Playes," 4to, 
 1599, p. *J. Some copies of the work (one of which is in the library 
 of Lord Francis Kgerton) bear date in 1600, and purport to have been 
 printed at Middleburgh : they are, in fact, the same edition, and there 
 is little doubt that they were printed in London, although no name 
 is found at the bottom of any of the title-pages. His words on the 
 point to which we are now referring, are these : "Time of recrea- 
 tion is necessary, I grant ; and think as necessary for scholars, that 
 are scholars indeed, I mean good students, as it is for any : yet in my 
 opinion it were not fit for them to play at stuol-ball among wenches, 
 nor at mum-chance or maw with idle loose companions, nor at trunks 
 in guild-halls, nor to dance about may-poles, nor torine in ale-houses, 
 nor to carouse in taverns, nor to steal deer, nor to rob orchards." 
 
 This work was published at the time when the building of a new 
 theatre, called the Fortune, belonging to Henslowe and Alleyn, was 
 exciiing a great deal of general attention, and particular an'imosity 
 on the part of the Puritans. To precisely the same import as the 
 above Quotation we might produce a passage from Forman's Diary, 
 referred to by Malone. and cited by Mr. Halliwell, in a note to ''The 
 First Part of the Contention between the Houses, York and Lancas- 
 ter," printed for the Shakespeare Society, p. 106. One of the most 
 curious illustrations of this point is derived from a MS. note by Philip, 
 Karl of Pembroke and Montgomery, in a copy of Ropers Life of Sir 
 Thomas More, edit. 1642, sold among the books of Horace Walpole. 
 Speaking of Aurelian Townshend, who, he says, was a poor poet liv- 
 ing in Barbican, near the Earl of Bridgewaters, he adds that he had 
 ' a tine fair daughter, mistress to the Palgrave first, and then aftei- 
 wards to the noble Count of Dorset, a Privy Councillor, and a Knigh-. 
 ol the Uarter, and o deer-Mealer." &c. It was to W iliam Earl o. 1 " 
 Pembroke, and Philip Earl of Montgomery, that ,ne player-edil 
 m r V d . ed ', ated the " )lio Shakespeare of 10-23; and one of Earl 
 
 lulips Mb. notes, in the volume from which we have already 
 ated, contains tne following mention of seven drlmatic poets, in- 
 CiUding bhakespeare : " The full and heightended style of Master 
 Chapman; the laboured and understanding works of Mr. Jhonson; 
 Mr. Beaumont, Ml Fletcher, (brother to Nat Fetcher, Mrs. White's 
 lervant, sons to Bishop Fletcher of London, and great tobacconist, 
 nd married to my Lady Baker)-Mr. Shakeepear, Mr. Deckar, Mr! 
 
 ywuod ' Horace Walpole registers on the title-page of the 
 n-lum* that the notes were made by Philip. Earl of Pembroke and
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 and the mention of deer-stealing, and of the " dozon white 
 luces " by Slender, and of " the dozen white lowses " by Sii 
 Hugh Lvans in the opening of " The Merry Wives of 
 Windsor," seems too obvious to be mistaken, aud leads us 
 to the conviction that the comedy was written bet'oiv the 
 demise of Sir Thomas Lucy, whose indignation Shakespeare 
 had incurred. True it is", that the coat of arms of Sir 
 Thomas Lucy contained only " three luces (pike-fishes) ha- 
 riant, argent ;" but it is easy to imagine, that while Shake- 
 speare would wish the ridicule to be understood and felt by 
 the knight and his friends, he might not desire that it should 
 be too generally intelligible, aud therefore multiplied the 
 luces to " a dozen," instead of stating the true number. We 
 believe that " The Merry Wives of Windsor " was written 
 before 1600, among other reasons, because we are convinced 
 that Shakespeare was too generous in his nature to have 
 carried his resentment beyond the grave, and to have cast 
 ridicule upon a dead adversary, whatever might have been 
 his sufferings while he was a living one. 
 
 Malone has attacked the story of deer-stealing on the 
 ground that Sir Thomas Lucy never had any park at Charl- 
 cote or elsewhere, but it admits of an easy aud immediate 
 answer ; for, although Sir Thomas Lucy had no park, ho 
 may have had deer, and that his successor had deer, though 
 no park, can be proved, we think, satisfactorily. Malona 
 has remarked that Sir Thomas Lucy never seems to have 
 sent the corporation of Stratford a buck, a not unusual 
 present to a body of the kind from persons of rank and 
 wealth in the vicinity. This may be so, and the fact may 
 be accounted for on several grounds ; but that the Sir 
 Thomas Lucy, who succeeded his father in 1600, made such 
 gifts, though not perhaps to the corporation of Stratford, 
 is very certain. When Lord Keeper Egerton entertained 
 Queen Elizabeth at Harefield, in August 1602, many of the 
 nobility and gentry, in nearly all parts of the kingdom, 
 sent him an abundance of presents to be used or consumed 
 in the entertainment, and on that occasion Sir Thomas Lucy 
 contributed " a buck," for which a reward of 6s. 8d. was 
 given to the bringer 1 . This single circumstance shows that 
 
 i See "The Egerton Papers," printed by the Camden Society, 4to. 
 1S40. pp. 350. a.3o. The editor of that volume observes : " Many of 
 these [presents] deserve notice, but especially one of the items, where 
 It is stated that Sir Thomas Lucy (against whom Shakespeare is said 
 to have written a ballad) sent a present of a 'buck.' Malone dis- 
 credits the whole story of the deer-stealing, because Sir Thomas Lucy 
 had no park at Charlcote : ' I conceive (he says) it will very readily 
 be granted that Sir Thomas Lucy could not lose that of which he was 
 never possessed.' We find, however, from what follows, that he W8J 
 aessessed of deer, for he sent a present of a buck to Lori Ellesmere
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 if he had no park, he had deer, and it is most likely that b 
 inherited them from his father. Thus we may pretty safely 
 conclude that Sir Thomas Lucy who resided at Cbarl- 
 cote when Shakespeare was in his youth, had venison to be 
 Btolen, although it does not at all necessarily follow that 
 Shakespeare was ever concerned in stealing it. 
 
 The question whether he did or did not quit Stratford 
 for the metropolis on this account, is one of much importance 
 in the poet's history, but it is one also upon which we shall, 
 in all probability, never arrive at certainty. Our opinion is 
 that the traditions related by Rowe, and mentioned in Ful- 
 man's and in Oldys' MSS. (which do not seem to have orig- 
 inated in the same source) may be founded upon an actual 
 occurrence ; but, at the same time, it is very possible that 
 that alone did not determine Shakespeare's line of conduct. 
 His residence in Stratford may have been rendered incon- 
 venient by the near neighbourhood of such a hostile and 
 powerful magistrate, but perhaps he would neveitheless 
 not have quitted the town, had not other circumstances com- 
 bined to produce such a decision. What those circum- 
 stances might be it is our business now to inquire. 
 
 Aubrey, who was a very curious and minute investigator, 
 although undoubtedly too credulous, says nothing about 
 deer-stealing, but he tells us that Shakespeare was " inclined 
 naturally to poetry and acting, and to this inclination he at- 
 tributes his journey to London at an early age. That this 
 youthful propensity existed there can be no dispute, and it 
 is easy to trace how it may have been promoted and 
 strengthened. The corporation of Stratford seem to have 
 given great encouragement to companies of play ere arriving 
 there. We know from various authorities that when itine- 
 rant actors came to any considerable town, it was their cus- 
 tom to wait upon the mayor, bailiff, or other head of the 
 corporation, in order to ask permission to perform, either 
 in the town-hall, if that could be granted to them, or else 
 where. It so happens that the earliest record of the re- 
 presentation of any plays in Stratford-upon-Avon, is dated 
 in the year when John Shakespeare was bailiff : the precise 
 season is not stated, but it was in 1569, when " the Queen's 
 Players " (meaning probably, at this date, one company of 
 her " Interlude Players," retained under that name by her 
 father and grandfather) received 9s. out of the corporate 
 
 in 1002." He gave "a buck," because he had bred it himself, and 
 Mcause it was perhaps well known that he kept deer ; and he would 
 hardly have exposed himself to ridicule by buying a buck for a pre- 
 nt, nnder the ostentatious pretence that it was of his own rearing. 
 Malone thought that he had triumphantly overthrown the deer-steal- 
 tory, but his refutation amounts to little or nothing Whether 
 i. u nevertheless true is quite a different question.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. IxXJX 
 
 tui is ; -while the Earl of Worcester's servants in the snm 
 year obfcu'aed only 12J 1 . In 1573, just before the grant of 
 the royal license to them, the Earl of Leicester's Play- 
 ers, of whom James Burbage was the leader, received 6s. 
 8<i ; and in the next year the companies acting under the 
 names of the Earls of Warwick and Worcester obtained 17s. 
 and 5.s-. Id. respectively. It is unnecessary to state precisely 
 the sums disbursed at various times by the bailiff, alder- 
 men, and burgesses, but we may notice, that in 1577 the 
 ]" layers of the Earls of Leicester and Worcester again ex- 
 hibited ; and in 1579 we hear of a company in Stratford 
 patronized by one of the female nobility, (a very unusual 
 circumstance) the Countess of Essex 2 . " Lord 'Strange's 
 men " (at this date not players, but tumblers 3 ) also exhibited 
 in the s;uue year, and in 1580 the Earl of Derby's players 
 were duly rewarded 1 . The same encouragement was given 
 to the companies of the Earls of Worcester and Berkeley in 
 1581 ; but in 1 582 we only hear of the Earl of Worcester's 
 actors having been in the town. In 1583 the earl of Berke- 
 ley's players, and those of Lord Chandois, performed in 
 Stratford, while, in the next year, three companies appear 
 to have visited the borough. In 1586 " the players " (with- 
 out mentioning what company) exhibited ; and in 1587 no 
 fewer than n' ve associations were rewarded : viz. the 
 Queen's FlayeiB 5 , and those of the Earls of Essex, Leices- 
 ter, and Stafford, with " another company," the nobleman 
 countenancing them not being named. 
 
 It is to be remarked that several of the players, with 
 
 1 "We may conclude that the Earl of "Worcester's players did not 
 perform, but that !&/. was given them as some compensation, and to 
 aid them on their road to another place. 
 
 2 The widow of Walter Devereux, whom Leicester very soon after- 
 wards married. It is to be observed, that as early as 14S2 the Earl 
 t>f Essex had a company of players travelling under the protection 
 of his name, and that on the S>th. January Lord Howard, through one 
 of his stewards, gave them a reward. This Earl of Essex was, how- 
 ever, of a different family, viz. Henry Bourchier, who was created 
 in liSl, and who died in 14^3. See the Household Book of John 
 Lord Howard, afterwards Duke of Norfolk, printed in 1844 for the 
 lloxburghe Club, p. 149. 
 
 3 In the account of the cost of the Revels for the year 15~l-2. we 
 are told that " sundrey feates of tumbling and activitie were shewed 
 before her .Majestie on newe yeares night by the Lord Straunge his ser- 
 vauntes." See Mr. P. Cunningham's Extracts from the Revels ac- 
 counts, p. 177. 
 
 * .Malone, who gleaned these particulars from the accounts of thu 
 Chamberlains of "Stratford, mis-stated this date 1510, but we have 
 ascertained it to be 1-fcU, as indeed seems evident. 
 
 5 This was most likely one of the companies which the Queen had 
 directed to be formed, consisting of a selection of the best actors trom 
 the associations of several of the nobility, and not either of the dig- 
 tinct bodies of a interlude players'* who had visited Stratford while 
 ohn Shakespeare was bailiff.
 
 1XXX THE LIFE OF 
 
 whom Shakespeare was afterwards connected, appear t 
 have come origiually from Stratford or its neighbourhood 
 A family of the name of Burbage was resident iu Stratford, 
 and one member of it attained to the highest dignity in the 
 corporation 1 : in the Muster-book of the county of Warwick, 
 in 1569, preserved in the State-paper office, we meet in va- 
 rious places with the name of Burbage, Slye, and Heminge 
 although not with the same Christian names as those of the 
 actors in Shakespeare's plays : the usual combination of 
 Nicholas Tooley is, however, found there ; and he was a 
 well-known member of the company to which Shakespeare 
 was attached 2 . It is veiy distinctly ascertained that James 
 Burbage, the father of the celebrated Richard Burbage, 
 (the representative of many of the heroes in the works of 
 our great dramatist) and one of the original builders of the 
 Blackfriars theatre, migrated to London from that part of 
 the kingdom, and the name of Thomas Greene, who was 
 indisputably from Stratford, will be familiar to all who are 
 acquainted with the detailed history of our stage at that 
 period Malone supposed that Thomas Greene might have 
 introduced Shakespeare to the theatre, and at an early date 
 he was certainly a member of the company called the Lord 
 Chamberlaiu's servants : how long he continued we are 
 without information, although we know that he became, and 
 perhaps not long after 1689, an actor in the rival associa- 
 tion under Alleyu, and that he was one of Queen Anne's 
 Players when, on the accession of James L, she took a com- 
 pany under her patronage. If any introduction to the Lord 
 Chamberlain's servants had been necessary for Shakespeare 
 at an early date, he could easily have procured it from 
 several other quarters 3 . 
 
 i Malone attributes the following order, made by the corporation 
 of Stratford many years after the'date to which we are now advert- 
 ing, to the growth of puritanism; but possibly it originated in othei 
 motives, and may even have been connected with the attraction of 
 young men from their homes : 
 
 "17. Dec. 46 Eliz : 1(50:2. At this Hall yt is ordered, that there 
 
 lhall be no plays or interludes played in the Chamber, the Guildhall, 
 
 nor in any parte of the howse or courte, from hensforward, upon 
 
 payne, that whoever of the Bavlif, Aldermen, or Burgesses of the 
 
 le shall give leave cfr license thereunto, shall forfeyt for everie 
 
 Nicholas Tooley, was of Burmington, and he is said to be pos- 
 eaed of iM , goods. We are indebted to Mr. Lemon for directing 
 our attention to this document, which he only recently discovered in 
 the public ;hives. 
 
 3 j h* 8 . 1 * 811 conjectured, but, we believe, upon no evidence be- 
 yond the following entry in the register of deaths at Stratford, thai 
 Greene was in some way related to Shakespeare : 
 
 "1539. March G. Thomas Green, alias Shakspere." 
 Tki was perhaps the father of Thomas Greene, the actor, jvho was a 
 somedian >f great reputation and popularity, and became so famou*
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. IxXXl 
 
 The freqaeat performances of various associations of ac- 
 tors in Stratford and elsewhere, and the taste for theatricals 
 thereby produced, may have had the effect of drawing not 
 a few young mou in Warwickshire from their homes, to 
 follow "the attractive and profitable profession; and sm-h 
 may have been the case with Shakespeare, without sup- 
 posing that domestic differences, arising out of disparity of 
 age or any other cause, influenced his determination, or that 
 he was driven away by the terrors of Sir Thomas Lucy. 
 
 It has been matter of speculation, and of mere specula- 
 tion, for nobody has pretended to bring forward a particle 
 of proof upon the question, whether Shakespeare visited 
 Keuilworth Castle, when Queen Elizabeth was entertained 
 there by the Earl of Leicester in 1575, and whether the 
 pomp and pageantry he then witnessed did not give a 
 colour to his mind, and a direction to his pursuits. Con- 
 sidering that he was then only in his eleventh year, we own, 
 that we cannot believe he found his way into that gorgeous 
 and august assembly. Kenilworth was fourteen miles dis- 
 tant : John Shakespeare, although he had been bailifl; and 
 was still head-alderman of Stratford, was not a man of 
 sufficient rank and importance to be there in any official 
 capacity ; and he probably had not means to equip him- 
 self aud his sou for such an exhibition. It may be very 
 well as a matter of fancy to indulge such a notion, but. a"s 
 it seems to us, every reasonable probability is against it 1 . 
 That Shakespeare heard of the extensive preparations, and 
 of the magnificent entertainment, there can be no doubt : 
 it was an event calculated to create a strong sensation in 
 
 m a character called Bubble, that the play of the " City Gallant," 
 (acted by the Queen's Players) in which it occurs, -with the constantly 
 
 the Revels of 1(511-12, it is 'called first "the City Gallant," and after- 
 wards Tu gtioque : it was printed in 1614, under the double title of 
 " Greene's Tu Q.uoque, or the City Gallant," preceded by an epistle 
 from T. Heywood, by which it appears that Greene was then dead. 
 A piece of verse, called "A Poet's Vision and a Prince's Glory.' 1 l(iO:j, 
 *-as written by a Thomas Greene, but it may be doubted, whether 
 this were the comedian. The Greenes were a very respectable 
 family at Stratford, and one of them was a solicitor settled in 
 London. 
 
 1 Upon this point we differ from the Rev. Mr. Halpin in his in- 
 genious and agreeable " Essay upon Oberon's Vision," printed by 
 the Shakespeare Society. Bishop Percy, in his " Reliques," was th 
 first to start the idea that Shakespeare had been present at the enter- 
 tainment at Kenilworth, and the Rev Mr. Halpin calls it a ''plea 
 sant conceit,'' which had been countenanced by .\Ialono and adopted 
 by Dr. Drake : nevertheless, he afterwards seriously argues the mat 
 '.er. and arrivas at the conclusion tliat Shakespeare was present in 
 ightof his gentry on bo*,h sides of the family. This appears to vt 
 
 Drake, who supposed Shakespeare to have gone to Kenu worth ' lindei 
 1.9 wi ng " of Thomas Greene.
 
 THE LIFE OP 
 
 the whole of that part of the country ; and if the cele- 
 brated passage in " A Midsummer Night's Dream " (act it 
 BC. 1), had any reference to it, it did not require that Shake- 
 speare should have been present in order to have written 
 it, especially when, if necessary, lie had Gascoyne's " Princely 
 Pleasures of Keuilworth " and Laneham's " Letter " to a*- 
 gist his memory 1 . 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 John Shakespeare removed from his situation as alderman 
 of Stratford, and its possible connexion with William Shake- 
 speare's departure for London in the latter end of 1586. 
 William Shakespeare a sharer in the Blackfriars Theatre in 
 1589. Complaints against actors : two companies silenced 
 for bringing Martin Mar-prelate on the stage. Certificate 
 of the sharers in the Blaekfriars. Shakespeare, in all prob- 
 ability, a good actor : our older dramatists often players. 
 Shakespeare's earliest compositions for the stage. His 
 "Venus and Adonis" and "Lucrece" probably written 
 before he came to London. 
 
 IN reference to the period -when our great dramatist aban- 
 doned his native town for London, -we think that sufficient 
 attention has not been paid to an important incident in the 
 life of his father. John Shakespeare was deprived of his 
 gown as alderman of Stratford in the autumn of 1586 : we say 
 that he was deprived of his gown, not because any resolu- 
 tion precisely warranting those terms was come to by the 
 rest of the corporation, but because it is quite evident that 
 such was the fact, from the tenor of the entry in the records 
 of the borough. On the 6th Sept 1586, the following me- 
 morandum was made in the register by the town clerk": 
 
 "At this hall William Smythe and Kichard Courte are 
 chosen to be aldermen, in the place of John Wheler, and 
 John Shaxspere ; for that Mr. Wheler doth desyer to be put 
 
 : Gascoyne's" Princely Pleasures," &c. was printed in 1576, and 
 L*neham's "Letter" from Kenilworth in the preceding year. Gas- 
 eoyne was himself a performer in the shows, and. according to Lane- 
 ham, represented " a Savage .Man." who made a speech to the Queen 
 M she came from hunting. Robert Laneham, the affected but clevei 
 jrriter of the " Letter," was most likely (as is suggested in thf 
 Bndgewater Catalogue, 4to, 1S37, p. l(j-2) related to John Laneham, 
 the player, who was one of the Earl of Leicester's players., aud ii 
 named in the royal license of 1574. " Robert Laneham." observes 
 th compiler of that Catalogue, " seems to have been quite as much 
 * C ,!S'-'!! an Up n n pap " r - ** John Laneham was upon the stage." 
 
 W Uliam Tyler was the bailifl of the year. See Malone's Shafc 
 peare by Boswll, vol. ii. p. 164
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 out of tha companye, and Mr. Shaxspcre doth not come to 
 the halles, when they bo warned, nor hath not tfone of a 
 long tyme." 
 
 According to this note, it was Wheler's wish to be re- 
 moved from his situation of aldermuu, and hud such also 
 been the desire of John Shakespeare, we should, no doubt, 
 have been told so : therefore, we must presume that ho 
 was not a consenting, or at all events not a willing, party 
 to this proceeding ; but there is no doubt, as Maloue ascer- 
 tained from an inspection of the ancient books of the bo- 
 rough, that he had ceased to attend the halls, when they 
 were " warned " or summoned 1 , from the year 1579 down- 
 wards. This date of 1579 is the more important, although 
 Malone was not aware of the fact, because it was the same 
 year in which John Shakespeare was so distressed for 
 mouev, that he disposed of his wife's small property in Snit- 
 tertield for 4/. 
 
 We have thus additional reasons for thinking, that the 
 unprosperous state of John Shakespeare's pecuniary cir- 
 cumstances had induced him to abstain from attending the 
 ordinary meetings of the corporation, and finally led to his 
 removal from the office of alderman. What connexion this 
 last event may have had with William Shakespeare's de- 
 termination to quit Stratford cannot be kuown from any 
 circumstances that have since come to light, but it will not 
 fail to be remarked, that in point of date the events seem 
 to have been coincident 2 . 
 
 Malone " supposed " that our great poet left Stratford 
 "about the year 1586 or 1587 s ," but it seems to us more 
 likely that the event happened in the former, than in the 
 latter year. His twins, Hamuet aud Judith, were baptized, 
 
 > This use of the word "warned" occurs several times in SLake- 
 speare : in " Antony and Cleopatra," Octavius tells Antony, 
 
 "They mean to warn us at Philippi here :" 
 and in " King John," after King Philip has said, 
 
 " Some trumpet summon hither to the -walls 
 
 These men of Angiers," 
 a citizen exclaims from the battlements, 
 
 "Who is it that hath warned us to the walls?" 
 
 in any way by the execution of Edward Arden, a maternal relative 
 of the family, at the close of 15S3. According to Dugdale, it -was 
 more than suspected that he came to his end through the power of 
 Leicester, who was exasperated against him, t " for galling him bv 
 certain harsh expressions, touching his private accesses to the Count- 
 ess of Essex," while she was still the wife of Walter Devereux. It 
 ioes not appear that there had been any intercourse between Edward 
 Arden, then tho head of his family, and Mary Shakespeare, th 
 youngest daughter of the junior branch. 
 3 Shakspeare by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 157
 
 1.XXX1V THE LIFE OF 
 
 88 we "nave shown, early in February, 1585> and his lather 
 did not cease to be an alderman until about a year and seven 
 months afterwards. The fact, that his son had become a 
 player, may have had something to do with the lower rank 
 Ms brethren of the bench thought lie ought to hold in the 
 corporation ; or the resolution of the son to abandon his 
 home may have arisen out of the degradation of the fathei 
 in his native town ; but we cannot help thinking that the 
 two circumstances were in some way connected, and that 
 the period of the departure of William Shakespeare, to seek 
 bis fortune in a company of players in the metropolis, may 
 be fixed in the latter end of 1586. 
 
 Nevertheless, we do not hear of him in London until 
 three years afterwards, when we find him a sharer in the 
 Blackfriars theatre. It had been constructed (or, possibly, 
 if not an entirely new building, some large edifice had been 
 adapted to the purpose) upon part of the site of the dis- 
 solved monastery, because it was beyond the jurisdiction of 
 the lord mavor and corporation of London, who had always 
 evinced decided hostility to dramatic representations 1 . The 
 
 1 The excess to which the enmity between the corporation of Lon- 
 don and the players was carried may be judged by the following 
 quotation from "a Jig," or humorous theatrical ballad, called "Tho 
 Horse-load of Fools." which, in the manuscript in which it has been 
 handed down to us, is stated to have bean written by Richard Tarl- 
 ton, and in all probability was delivervd by him before applauding 
 audiences at the Theatre in Shoreditch. Tarlton introduces to the 
 pectator a number of puppets, accompanying the exhibition by sa- 
 tirical stanzas upon each, and he thus speaks of one of them : 
 
 " This foole comes from the citizens ; 
 
 Nay, prithee doe not frowne ; 
 I knowe him as well as you 
 By his liverie gowne : 
 
 Of a rare horne-mad famihe. 
 
 " He is a foole by prenticeship 
 
 And servitude, he saves, 
 And hates all kindes of wisedome, 
 But most of all in playes : 
 
 Of a verie obstinate familie. 
 
 " You have him in his liverie gowne, 
 
 But presentlie he can 
 Qualifie for a mule or a mare. 
 Or for an alderman ; 
 
 With a golde chaine in his family. 
 
 " Being borne and bred for a foole, 
 
 Why should he be wise, 
 It would make him not fitt to sitt 
 With his brethren of assize ; 
 
 Of a verie long earde familie." 
 
 Pomibly the lord mayor and aldermen complained of this vert 
 composition, and it may have been one of the causes which, soon af- 
 Urvrards, led to the silencing of the company : at all events it wai 
 ot Ukely to conciliate the members of the corporation.
 
 WILLIAM SH 4KESPEAHE. 1XXXV 
 
 undertaking seems to have been prosperous from th com 
 mencement ; and in 1589 no fewer than sixteen performers 
 were sharers iu it, including, besides Shakespeare and Bur- 
 haice. Thomas Greene of Stratford-upon-Avou, anil Xicholaa 
 Tooley, also a Warwickshire man : the association was prob- 
 ably thus numerous on account of the flourishing state of 
 the concern, many being desirous to obtain an interest in ita 
 receipts. In 1589 some general complaints seem to have 
 boon made, that improper matters were introduced into 
 plays ; and it is quite certain that " the children of Paul's," 
 as the acting choir-boys of that cathedral were called, and 
 the association of regular professional performers occupy- 
 ing the Theatre in Shoreditch at this date, had introduced 
 Martin Mar-prelate upon their stages, in a manner that had 
 given great offence to the Puritans. Tylney, the master of 
 the revels, had interposed, and having brought the matter 
 io the knowledge of Lord Burghley, two bodies of players, 
 tli ise of the Lord Admiral and Lord Strange, (the latter 
 by this time having advanced from tumblers to actors) had 
 been summoned before the lord mayor, and ordered to de- 
 sist from all performances 1 . The silencing of other associ- 
 ations would probably have been beneficial to that exhibit- 
 ing at BlacktViars, and if no proceeding of any kind had 
 been instituted against James Burbage and his partners, we 
 may presume that they wov l <l have continued quietly to 
 reap their augmented harvest. We are led to infer, how- 
 ever, that they also apprehended, and experienced, some mea- 
 sure of restraint, and feeling conscious that they had given 
 no just ground of offence, they transmitted to the privy 
 council a sort of certificate of their good conduct, asserting 
 that they had never introduced into their representations 
 matters of state and religion, and that no complaint of that 
 kind had ever been preferred against them. This certificate 
 passed into the hands of Lord Ellesmere, then attorney- 
 general, and it has been preserved among his papers. We 
 subjoin a copy of it in a note 1 . 
 
 1 All the known details of these transactions may be seen in "The 
 Hist, of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the tStage,'' vol. i. p. -211, Ace. 
 
 2 It is on a long slip of paper, very neatly written, but without 
 my names appended. 
 
 " These are to certifie your right Honble Lordships, that her Ma- 
 jesty's poore Playeres, James Burbadge. Richard Burbadge, John 
 Laneham. Thomas Greene, Robert Wilson, John Taylor, Anth. 
 Wadeson, Thomas Pope, George Peele, Augustine Phillipps, Nicho- 
 las Towley, William Shakespeare. William Kempe, William John 
 son, Baptiste Goodale, and Robert Armyn, being all of them sharers 
 in the blacke Fryers playehouse, have never given cause of displea- 
 sure, in that they have brought into their p lares maters of state ana 
 Religion, unlitt to be handled by them, or to be presented before 
 lewde spectators : neither hath anie complaynte in that kinde evei 
 iene mef) jd against them, or anie of them. Wherefore, they trust
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 It seems rather strange that this testimonial should hav 
 come from the players themselves : we should rather have 
 expected that they would have procured a certificate from 
 some disinterested parties ; and we are to take it merely as 
 a statement on their own authority, and possibly as a 
 sort of challenge for inquiry. When they say that no 
 complaint of the kind had ever been preferred against them, 
 we are of course to understand that the assertion applies 
 to a time previous to some general representation against 
 theatres, which had been made in 1589, and in which the 
 sharers at the Blackfriars thought themselves unjustly in- 
 cluded. In this document we see the important fact, as re- 
 gards the biography of Shakespeare, that in 1589 he was, 
 not only an actor, but a sharer in the undertaking at Black- 
 friars ; and whatever inference may be drawn from it, we 
 find that his name, following eleven others, precedes those 
 of Kempe, Johnson, Goodale, and Armyn. Kempe, we 
 know, was the successor of Tarlton (who died in 1588) in 
 comic parts 1 , and must have been an actor of great value 
 and eminence in the company : Johnson, as appears by the 
 royal license, had been one of the theatrical servants of the 
 Earl of Leicester in 157-t 2 : of Goodale we have no account, 
 but he bore a Stratford name 3 ; and Armyn, though he had 
 been instructed by Tarlton 4 , was perhaps at this date quite 
 young, and of low rank in the association. The situation in 
 
 most humblie in your Lordships consideration of their former good 
 behaviour, being at all tymes readie, and willing, to yeelde obedience 
 to any command whatsoever your Lordships in your wisdome may 
 thinke in such case meete, &c. 
 "Nov. 1589." 
 
 on the succession in which they are inserte'd. because among the four 
 names which follow that of our great dramatist are certainly two 
 performers, one of them of the highest reputation, and the other of 
 long standing in the profession. 
 
 1 In the dedication of his " Almond for a Parrot,'' printed without 
 date, but not later than 15S9, (the year of which we are now speak- 
 ing) Thomas Nash calls Kempe " Jestmonger and Vice-gerent gene- 
 la.1 to the ghost of Dick Tarlton." Heywood, in his "Apology for 
 Actors," lb'1-2, (Shakespeare Society's reprint, p. 43) tells us that 
 Kempe succeeded Tarlton -'as well in the favour of her Majesty, aa 
 in the opinion and good thoughts of the general audience." 
 
 a He was also one of the executors under Ta.rlton's will, and was 
 also trustee for his son Philip. See p. xiii. What became of Johnson 
 fter 15s<J, we have no information. 
 
 > He was one of the actors, with Laneham, in the anonymous 
 manuscript play of ' Sir Thomas More,'' (Harl. Coll., No. 730S) which, 
 we may conjecture, was licensed for the .stage before 1592. 
 
 'This tact is stated in a publication entitled li Tarlton's Jests," of 
 which the earliest extant impression is in 1611, but they were no 
 ionbt collected and published very soon after the death of Tarlton 
 in 153d.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. IxXXVli 
 
 the list which the name of Shakespeare occupies may seem 
 to show that, even iu 1589, he was a person of considerable 
 importance in relation to the success of the sharers in Black- 
 friars theatre. In November, 1589, he was iu the middle 
 of his twenty-sixth year, and iu the full strength, if not in 
 the highest maturity, of his mental and bodily powers. 
 
 We can have no hesitation in believing that he originally 
 came to London, in order to obtain his livelihood by the 
 stage, and with no other view. Aubrey tells us that he 
 was " inclined naturally to poetry and acting ;" and the 
 poverty of his father, and the difficulty of obtaining profit- 
 able employment in the country for the maintenance of his 
 family, without other motives, may have induced him readily 
 to give way to that inclination. Aubrey, who had probably 
 taken due means to inform himself, adds, that " he did act 
 exceedingly well ;" and we are convinced that the opinion, 
 founded chiefly upon a statement by Rowe, that Shake- 
 speare was a very moderate performer, is erroneous. It 
 seems likely that for two or three years he employed him- 
 self chiefly in the more active duties of the profession he 
 had chosen ; and Feele 1 , who was a very practised and popu- 
 lar play-wright, considerably older than Shakespeare, was a 
 member of the company, without saying anything of Wade- 
 
 l When the Rev. Mr. Dyce published his edition of Peele's Works, 
 he -was not aware that there was any impression of that authors 
 " Tale of Troy," in l(i'J4, as well as in 1539, containing such varia- 
 
 Peele after its first appearance. The impression of 1804 is the most 
 diminutive volume, perhaps, ever printed, not exceeding an inch and 
 a half high by an inch wide, with the following title : - The Tale 
 of Troy. By G. Peele, M. of Artes in Oxford. Printed by A. H. 
 16U4." We will add only two passages out of many, to prove the 
 nature of the changes and additions made by Peele after the original 
 publication. In the edition of 16U4 the poem thus opens : 
 
 " In that world's wounded part, whose waves yet swell 
 With everlasting showers of tears that f" 
 And bosom bleeds with great effuze of bn,^ 
 That long war shed, Troy, Neptune's city, stocd, 
 Gorgeously built, like to the house of Fame, 
 Or court of Jove, as some describe the same," &c. 
 
 The four lines which commence the second page of Mr Dye* 
 edition are thus extended in the copy of ItiUl : 
 
 An earthly heaven, or shining Paradise, 
 Where ladies troop'd in rich disguis'd attire, 
 Glistring like stars of pure immortal fire. 
 Thus happy. Priam, didst thou live of yore, 
 That to thy fortune heavens could add no more." 
 
 Peele was dead in 1598, and it is likely that there -were one or 
 more intervening impressions of "The Tale of Troy," between 15-jJ
 
 THK LIFE OF 
 
 on, regarding whom we know nothing, bat that at a subse- 
 quent date he was one of Henslowe's dramatists; or of 
 Arniyn, then only just coming forward as a comic performer. 
 There is reason to think that Peele did not continue one of 
 the Lord Chamberlain's servants after 1590, and his extant 
 dramas were acted by the Queen's players, or by those of 
 the Lord Admiral : to the latter association Peele seems 
 subsequently to have been attached, and his ' Battle of Al- 
 cazar," printed in 1594, purports on the title-page to have 
 been played by them. While Peele remained a member 
 of the company of the Lord Chamberlain's players, Shake- 
 speare's services as a dramatist may not materially have 
 interfered with his exertions as an actor ; but afterwards, 
 when Peele had joined a rival establishment, he may have 
 been much more frequently called upon to employ his pen, 
 and then his value m that department becoming clearly 
 understood, he was less frequently a performer. 
 
 Out of the sixteen sharers of which the company he be- 
 longed to consisted in 1589, (besides the usual proportion of 
 " hired men," who only took inferior characters) there would 
 be more than a sufficient number for the representation of 
 most plays, without the assistance of Shakespeare. He was, 
 doubtless", soon busily and profitably engaged as a dra- 
 matist ; and this remark on the rareness of his appearance 
 on the stage will of course apply more strongly in his after- 
 life, when "he produced one or more dramas every year. 
 
 His instructions to the players in " Hamlet " have often 
 been noticed as establishing that he was admirably ac- 
 quainted with the theory of the art ; and if, as Rowe as- 
 serts, he only took the short part of the Ghost 1 in this 
 tragedy, we are to recollect that even if he had considered 
 himself competent to it, the study of such a character as 
 Hamlet, (the longest on the stage as it is now acted, and 
 still longer as it was originally written) must have con- 
 sumed more time than he could well afford to bestow upon 
 it, especially when we call to mind that there was a mem- 
 ber of the company who had hitherto represented most of 
 Ihe heroes, and whose excellence was as undoubted, as his 
 popularity was extraordinary 2 . To Richard Burbage was 
 
 1 "His name is printed, as the custom was in those times, amongst 
 1 ln.e of the other players, before some old plays, but without any 
 l.-a-ticular account of what sort of parts he used to play ; and though 
 I hivi inquired, I never could meet with any further account of him 
 this wav. than that the top of his performance was the Ghost in his 
 own Hamlet/" Howe's Life. Shakespeare's name stands first 
 tnionpn.e^layere of "Every Man in his Humour," and fifth among 
 
 1 Krom a MS. Epitaph upon Burbaps, (who died in 1019.) sold 
 raonp the books of the late Mr. He her. we find that he was the orig- 
 inal Uainl't, Romeo, i'rince Henry, Henry V., Richard III., Mao-
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. IxXXlX 
 
 therefore assigned the arduous character of the Prince, 
 while the author took the brief, but important part of the 
 Ghost, which required person, deportment, judgment, and 
 voice, with a delivery distinct, solemn, and impressive. All 
 the elements of a great actor were needed for the due per- 
 formance of " the buried majesty of Denmark 1 ." 
 
 It may be observed, in passing, that at the period of out 
 drama, such as it existed in the hands of Shakespeare' 
 immediate predecessors, authors were most commonly ac- 
 tors also. Such was the case with Greene, Marlowe" 
 
 beth, Brutus, Coriolanus, Shylock, Lear, Pericles, and Othello, in 
 Shakespeare's Plays : in those of other dramatists he was Jeronimo, 
 in Kyd : s "Spanish Tragedy;" Antonio, in Marston's "Antonio and 
 Mellida;" Frankford, in T. Heywood's "Woman killed with Kind- 
 ness ;" Philaster. in Beaumont and Fletcher's play of that name : 
 Amintor, in their " Maid's Tragedy." See " The Alleyn Papers," 
 printed by the Shakespeare Society, p. xxx. On a subsequent page 
 we have inserted the whole passage relating to his characters from 
 the Epitaph on Burbage. 
 
 i Mr. Thomas Campbell, in his Life of Shakespeare, prefixed to 
 the edition, in one volume, Isi33. was. we believe, the first to remark 
 
 n the almost absolute n 
 
 T. for the part of the Gh 
 " It 
 down 
 
 pon the almost absolute necessity of having a good, if not a great 
 . for the part of the Ghost in ' Hamlet." 
 
 t seems from an obscure ballad upon Marlowe's death, (handed 
 MS., and quoted in "New Particulars regarding the 
 Works of Shakespeare,'' Svo. Ib3(i.) that he had broken his leg while 
 acting at the Curtain Theatre, which was considered a. judgment 
 upon him for his irreligious and lawless life. 
 
 "Both day and night would he blt-spheme, 
 
 And day and night would sweare ; 
 As if his life was but a dreame, 
 Not ending in despaire. 
 
 " A poet was he of repute, 
 
 And wrote full many a playe; 
 Now strutting in a silken sute, 
 Now begging by the way. 
 
 " He had alsoe a player beene 
 Upon the Curtaine stage. 
 But brake his leg in one lewd scene. 
 When in his early age 
 
 " He was a fellow to all those 
 
 That did God's lawes reject ; 
 Consorting with the Christian's foes, 
 And men of ill aspect," <fcc. 
 
 Tho ballad consists of twenty-four similar stanzas : if Marlowt'i 
 death the author thus writes : 
 
 " His lust was lawlesse as his life, 
 And biought about his death, 
 For in a deadly mortal strife, 
 Striving to stop the breath 
 
 ' Of one who was his rival foe, 
 
 With his owne dagger slaine, 
 He groan'd and word spoke never mo. 
 Pierc't through the eye and brain*." 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 XO THE LIFE OF 
 
 Lodge, Peele, probably Nash, Munday, "Wilson, and others 
 the same practice prevailed with some of their successor^ 
 Ben Jonsou. Heywood, Webster, Field, <fec. ; but at a some- 
 what later date dramatists do not usually appear to have 
 trodden the stage. We have no hint that Dekker, Chap 
 man, or Mareton, though contemporary with Ben Jonson, 
 were actors ; and Massiuger, Beaumont, Fletcher, Middleton, 
 Daborae, and Shirley, who may be said to have followed 
 them, as far as we now know, never had anything to do with 
 the performance of their own dramas, or of those of other 
 poeta. In their day the two departments of author and 
 actor seem to have been generally distinct, while the con- 
 trary was certainly the case some years anterior to the de- 
 mise of Elizabeth. 
 
 It is impossible to determine, almost impossible to guess, 
 what Shakespeare had or had not written in 1589. That 
 he had chiefly employed his pen in the revival, alteration, 
 and improvement of existing dramas we are strongly dis- 
 posed to believe, but that he had not ventured upon origi- 
 nal composition it would be much too bold to assert. " The 
 Comedy of Errors " we take to be one of the pieces, which, 
 having been first written by an inferior dramatist 1 , was 
 heightened and amended by Shakespeare, perhaps about 
 the date of which we are now speaking, and " Love's La- 
 bour's Lost," or " The Two Gentlemen of Verona," may have 
 been original compositions brought upon the stage prior to 
 1590. We also consider it more than probable that " Titus 
 Andronieus " belongs even to an earlier period ; but we feel 
 satisfied, that although Shakespeare had by this time given 
 clear indications of powers superior to those of any of his 
 rivals, he could not have written any of his greater works 
 until some years afterwards". With regard to productions 
 Which pretty exactly accords with the tradition of the mode in 
 which he came to his end, in a scuffle with a person of the name of 
 Archer : the register of his death at St. Nicholas. Deptford, ascertain* 
 the name : " 1st June, 1593. Christopher Marlowe slain by Francis 
 Archer." He was just dead when Peele wrote his ''Honour of the 
 Garter," in 15<, and there spoke of him as " unhappy in his end," 
 Md as having been "the Muses' darling for his verse." 
 
 1 hee pp. xx. and xxxi., where it is shown that there was an old 
 traica, acted at Court in 1573 and 15s2, called ' The History of Er- 
 ur" in one case, and "The History of Fcrrar " in the other. Sea 
 Uo the Introduction to l: The Comedy of Errors." 
 
 * Lpon this point we cannot agree with Mr. F. G. Tomlins, who 
 6a written a very sensible and clever work called " A brief view of 
 the English Drama,'' 12mo, 1*40 where he argues that Shakespeare 
 probably began with original composition, and not with the adapta- 
 tion and alteration of works he found in possession of the stage when 
 he joined the Lord Chamberlain's players. We know that the earli- 
 rt charge against him by a fellow dramatist was, that he had availed 
 MOW 3t the productions of others, and we have every reason to be- 
 > that some ot the plays upon which he wa* first employed wer
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. XCl 
 
 unconnected with the stage, there are several pieces among 
 his scattered poems, aad some of his sonnets', that indispu- 
 tably belong to an earlier part of his life. A young man, 
 so gifted, would not, and could not, wait until he was five 
 or six and twenty before he made considerable and most 
 succesful attempts at poetical composition; and we feel 
 morally certain that " Venus and Adonis " was in being 
 anterior to Shakespeare's quitting Stratford 9 . It bears all 
 the marks of youthful vigour, of strong passion, of luxuriant 
 imagination, together with a force and originality of ex- 
 pression which betoken the first efforts of a great mind, not 
 always well regulated in its taste : it seems to have been 
 written in the open air of a fine country like Warwickshire, 
 with all the freshness of the recent impression of natural 
 objects ; and we will go so far as to say, that we do not 
 think even Shakespeare himself could have produced it, in 
 the form it bears, after he had reached the age of forty. It 
 was quite new in its class, being founded upon no model, 
 either ancient or modern : nothing like it had been attempted 
 before, and nothing comparable to it was produced after- 
 Avards 3 . Thus b 1593 he might call it, in the dedication to 
 
 not by any means entirely his own : we allude among others to the 
 three parts of ' Henry VI." It seems to us much more likely that 
 Shakespeare in the first instance confined himself to alterations and 
 improvemer.es of the plays of predecessors, than that he at once found 
 himself capable of inventing and constructing a great original 
 drama. However, it is but fair to quote the words of Mr. Tomlins. 
 u We aro thus driven to the conclusion that his writing must have 
 procure! him this distinction. What had he written ? is the next 
 question that presents itself. Probably original plays, for the adap- 
 tation of the plays of others could scarcely be entrusted to the inex- 
 perienced hands of a young genius, who had not manifested his know- 
 ledge of stage matters by any productions of his own. This kind of 
 work would be jealously watched by the managers, and must ever 
 have required great skill and experience. Shakespeare, mighty as he 
 was. was human, and it is scarcely possible that a genius, so. ripe, 
 so rich, so overflowing as his, should not have its enthusiasm kin- 
 dle I into an original production, and not by the mechanical botching 
 of the inferior productions of others," p. 31. 
 
 Upon this passage we have only to remark that according to oui 
 view, it would have required much more "skill and experience'' to 
 write a new play, than merely to make additions to the speeches or 
 scenes of an old one. 
 
 i ' His sugar'd sonnets" were handed about "among his private 
 friends" many years before they were printed : Francis Meres men- 
 tions them in the words we have quoted, in 1598. 
 
 ' Malone was of opinion that " Venus and Adonis" was not writ. 
 ten until after Shakespeare came to London, because in one stanza 
 it contains an allusion to the stage, 
 
 "And all this dumb ptny had his acts made plain 
 
 With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did drain." 
 Surely, such a passage might have been written by a person who had 
 never seen a play in London, or even seen a pky at all. The stage- 
 Knowledge it displays is merely that of a schoo boy. 
 
 ' The work that oomis nearest to it, in some respects, is Marlowe'*
 
 Cii THE LIFE OF 
 
 Lord Southampton, " the first heir of his invention " in a 
 double sense, not merely because it was the first printed 
 but because it was the first written of his productions. 
 
 The information we now possess enables us at once tc 
 reject the story, against the truth of which Malone elabo- 
 rately argued, that Shakespeare's earliest employment at a 
 theatre was holding the horses of noblemen and gentlemen 
 who visited it, and that he had under him a number of lads 
 who were known as " Shakespeare's boys." Shiels in hia 
 * Lives of the Poets," (published in 1753 in the name of 
 Gibber) was the first to give currency to this idle inven- 
 tion : it was repeated by Dr. Johnson, and has often been 
 reiterated since; and we should hardly have thought it 
 worth notice now, if it had not found a place in many modem 
 accounts of our great dramatist 1 . The company to which 
 
 u Hero and Leander ;" but it was not printed until 1598. and although 
 its author was killed in 1593, he may have seen Shakespeare's " Ve- 
 nus and Adonis " in manuscript : it is quite as probable, as that 
 Shakespeare had seen " Hero and Leander " before it was printed. 
 Marston's " Pygmalion's Image," published five years after " Venus 
 and Adonis," is a gross exaggeration of its style ; and Barkstead'g 
 " Myrrha the Mother of Adonis " is a poor and coarse imitation : the 
 same poet's " Hiren, or the Fair Greek," is of a similar character. 
 Shirley's 'Narcissus." which must have been written many years 
 afterwards, is a production of the same class as Marston's " Pygma- 
 lion," but in better taste. The poem called " Salmasis and Herma- 
 phroditus," first printed in 16U-J, and assigned to Francis Beaumont 
 in 1640, when it was republished by Blaicklock the bookseller, we do 
 not believe to have been the authorship of Beaumont, and it is rathei 
 an imitation of " Hero and Leander " than of " Venus and Adonis'." 
 At the date when it originally came out (1602) Beaumont was only 
 sixteen, and the first edition has no name nor initials to the address 
 "To Calliope," to which Blaicklock in 1640, for his own book-selling 
 purposes, thought fit to add the letters F. B. In the same way, and 
 with the same object, he changed the initials to a commendatory 
 poem from A. F to I. P., in order to make it appear as if John 
 Fletcher had applauded his friend's early verses. These are facts 
 that hitherto have escaped observation, perhaps, on account of the 
 extreme rarity of copies of the original impression of " Salmasis and 
 Hermaphroditus," preventing a comparison of it with Blaick)ock's 
 fraudulent reprint, which also contains various pieces to which, it is 
 known, Beaumont had no pretensions. To afford the better means .-* 
 comparison, and as we know of only one copy of the edition of 160'J, 
 we subjoin the title-page prefixed to it : Salmasis and Hermaphroditus. 
 Snlmacida spolia sine sanguine el sudore. Imprinted at London for 
 John Hodgets, &c. 1602.' r 4to. 
 
 1 It is almost to be wondered that the getters up of this piece of 
 information did not support it by reference to Shakespeare's obvioui 
 knowledge of horses and horsemanship, displayed in so many parts 
 of his works. The description of the horse in "Venus and Adonis " 
 Will at once occur to every body ; and how much it was admired at 
 the time is evident from the iict, that it was plagiarised so soon after 
 It was published. (See the Introduction.) For his judgment of 
 
 till in riding, among other passages, see his account of Lamord'i 
 horsemanship in " Hamlet." The propagators and supporters of 
 the horee-holling anecdote ought to have added, that Shakespeare 
 Mobably deived his minute and accurate acquam^ance with the
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. XC1> 
 
 he attached himself had not unfrequently performed ii 
 Stiatford, and at that date the Queen's Players and th< 
 Lord Chamberlain's servants seem sometimes to have beec 
 confounded in the provinces, although the difference wat 
 well understood in London ; some of the chief members 
 of it had come from his own part of the country, and ever 
 from the very town in which he was born ; and he was uoi 
 in a station of life, nor so destitute of means and friends, at 
 to have been reduced to such an extremity. 
 
 Besides having written " Venus and Adonis " before he 
 came to London, Shakespeare may also have composed its 
 counterpart, " Lucrece," which, as our readers are aware, 
 first appeared in print in 1594. It is in a different stanza, 
 and in some respects in a different style ; and after he joined 
 the Blackfriars company, the author may possibly have 
 added parts, (such, for instance, as the long and minute de- 
 scription of the siege of Troy in the tapestry) which indi- 
 cate a closer acquaintance with the modes and habits of 
 society ; but even here no knowledge is displayed that 
 miiiht not have been acquired in Warwickshire. As he had 
 exhibited the wantonness of lawless passion in " Venus and 
 Adonis," he followed it by the exaltation of matron-like 
 chastity in " Lucrece ;" and there is, we think, nothing in the 
 latter poem which a young man of one or two and twenty, 
 so endowed, might not have written. Neither is it at all 
 impossible that he had done something in connexion with 
 the stage while he was yet resident in his native town, and 
 before he had made up his mind to quit it If his " inclina- 
 tion for poetry and acting," to repeat Aubrey's words, were 
 so strong, it may have led him to have both written and 
 acted. He may have contributed temporary prologues or 
 epilogues, and without supposing him yet to have possessed 
 any extraordinary art as a dramatist only to be acquired 
 by" practice, he may have inserted speeches and occasional 
 passages in older plays : he may even have assisted some 
 of the companies in getting up, and performing the dramas 
 they represented in or near Stratford 1 . We own that this 
 
 subject from his early observation of the skill of the English nobility 
 ind gentry, after they had remounted at the play-house door : 
 "But chiefly skill to ride seems a science 
 
 Proper to gentle blood." Spensers F. Q,. b. ii. c. 4. 
 - We have already stated that although in 1536 only one un- 
 named company performed in Stratford, in the very next year 
 (that in which we have supposed Shakespeare to have become a regu- 
 lar actor) five companies were entertained in tne borough : one of 
 these consisted of the players of the Earl of Leicester, to whom the 
 Blackfriars theatre belonged ; and it is very possible that Shakespeare 
 at that date exhibited before his fellow-townsmen in his n ;w pro- 
 fessional capacity. Before this time his performances at Stratford 
 way have beea merelyof an amateur description. It is, at all event*,
 
 XC1V THE LIFE OF 
 
 conjecture appears to us at least plausible, and the Lord 
 Chamberlain's servants (known as the Earl of Leicester's 
 
 Q' ere until 1587) may bave experienced his utility in 
 departments, and may have held out strong induce 
 meuts to so promising a novice to continue his assistance by 
 accompanying them to London. 
 
 What we have here said seems a natural and easy way 
 of accounting for Shakespeare's station as a sharer at the 
 Blackfriurs theatre in 1589, about three years after we sup 
 pose him to have finally adopted the profession of an actor, 
 and to have come to London for the purpose of pursuing it 
 
 CHAPTER VI L 
 
 The earliest allusion to Shakespeare in Spenser's " Tears of 
 the Muses," 1591. Proofs of its applicability What 
 Shakespeare had probably by this date written Edmund 
 Spenser of Kinsrsbury, Warwickshire. No other dramatist 
 01 the time merited the character given by Spenser. Greene. 
 Kyd, Lodge, Peele, Marlowe, and Lyly, and their several 
 claims: that of Lyly supported by Malone. Temporary 
 cessation of dramatic performances in London. Prevalence 
 of the Plngue in 1592. Probability or improbability that 
 Shakespeare went to Italy. 
 
 WE come now to the earliest known allusion to Shakespeare 
 as a dramatist ; and although his surname is not given, we 
 apprehend that there can be no hesitation in applying what 
 is said to him : it is contained in Spenser's " Tears of the 
 Muses." a poem printed in 1591 1 . The application of the 
 passage to Shakespeare has been much contested, but the 
 difficulty in our mind is, how the lines are to be explained 
 by reference to any other dramatist of the time, even sup- 
 posing, as we have supposed and believe, that our great 
 poet was at this period only rising into notice as a writer for 
 the stage. We will first quote the lines, literatim as they 
 eland in the edition of 1591, and afterwards say something 
 of the claims of others to the distinction they confer, 
 ^striking circumstance, that in 1586 only one company performed, 
 
 theatricals in Stratford. 
 
 > Malone (Shakspeare by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 168) says that Spen- 
 ter's" Tears of the Muses" was published in 1590, but the volume 
 in which it first appeared bears date in 1591. It was printed with 
 tome other pieces under the title of " Complaints. Containing sun- 
 irie small Poems of the Worlds Vanitie Whereof the next Page 
 maketh mention. By Ed. Sp. London. Imprinted for William 
 Ponsonbie, &c. 1591.*' It will be evident from what follows in oui 
 text, that a j lai i of considerable importance to the question.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. XC* 
 
 " And he the man, whom Nature selfe had male 
 To mock her selfe, and Truth to imitate., 
 
 With kindly counter under Mimick shade-, 
 Our pleasant Willy, ah ! is dead of late : 
 
 With whom all joy and jolly merimett 
 
 Is also deaded, and in dolour drent. 
 
 " In stead thereof scoffing Scurrilitie, 
 
 And scornful! Follie with contempt is crept, 
 Rolling in rymes of shameless ribaudrie, 
 Without regard or due Decorum kept : 
 Each idle wit at will presumes to make, 
 And doth the Leurned's taske upon him take. 
 " But that same gentle Spirit, from whose pen 
 
 Large streames of lionnie and sweete Nectar flowo, 
 Scorning the boldnes of such base-borne men, 
 
 Which dare their follies forth so rashlie throwe, 
 Doth rather choose to sit in idle Cell, 
 Thau so himselfe to mockerie to sell." 
 
 The most striking of these lines, with reference to out 
 present inquiry, is, 
 
 " Our pleasant Willy, ah ! is dead of late;" 
 and hence, if it stood alone, we might infer that Willy, who- 
 ever he might be, was actually dead ; but the latter part 
 of the third stanza we have quoted shows us in what sense 
 the word " dead " is to be understood : Willy was " dead " 
 as far as regarded the admirable dramatic talents he had 
 already displayed, which had enabled him, even before 
 1591, to outstrip all living rivalry, and to afford the most 
 certain indications of the still greater things Spenser saw be 
 would accomplish : he was " dead," because he 
 
 " Doth rather choose to sit in idle Cell, 
 Than so himselfe to mockerie to sell." 
 
 It is to be borne in mind that these stanzas, and six 
 others, are put into the mouth of Thalia, whose lamenta- 
 tion on the degeneracy of the sUige, especially in comedy, 
 follows those of Calliope and Melpomene. Rowe, under 
 the impression that the whole passage referred to Shako- 
 speare, introduced it into his " Life," in his first edition of 
 1709, but silently withdrew it in his second edition of 171 4 
 bis reason, perhaps, was that he did not see how, befuro 
 1691, Shakespeare could have shown that he merited the 
 character given of him and his productions 
 
 " And he the man, whom Nnture selfe had made 
 To mock her selfe, and Truth to imitate." 
 
 Spenser knew what the object of his eulogy was capable 
 ol doing, as well, perhaps, as what he had d< ne ; and w$
 
 cvnfcl. |M fad ran to be 
 
 I I'liiTi mill ii if- Ijxd Cfeamberiaia s eanav*, 
 
 .-:_-- : - '.- / . _: 
 
 *- Seel *SKTO! th* be fad K* eonpoeed any rf IK grat 
 cat -rocks befcre 15?L be XLAT bare 
 
 rfaax fas eosi-e <ic--m to is. amply to 
 
 ten bevcod ill tk tLetttrieal 
 
 te 1597 ; 
 
 . . - ' .. 
 
 . . .. .. . 
 
 part <* rkrt be iMi se vntta B oa^awd m tLe fafi* 
 
 : . . _- _.--;;_ i . 
 
 : ! - j- 
 
 -is' m 1616 1 . be cciaded ev 
 vii* be fad bea aided br otbcr poets 1 , and re-rrote pmrt 
 of - SejacaB." because, as K soppieed. Shakespeare, (vbo 
 
 _ --: - ^ -_.-- -- j-_^" 
 in in tbe cccnpcekkc of tbe traeedr as it 
 . - . - - --:-_:._ : 
 
 -Com-aes. Tn^e&es. and ffistorks,* 
 . . -.-- - - 
 
 tnnfl'm^ m tbe ease rf tbe tkree parts of " Bearr TL ^ 
 tbe p = oc j>:^s. -rbo bad etotnbctad to tbeae BEtocies 
 (perfape Ibric.ve axd Gfavi fad been tben dad tbirty 
 
 years; btf rai reaped to flto- pHec% penow a n& 
 
 -:..._ - .. - 
 
 ^w AOL i*i he feir euiaui 1 . We cnlr 
 
 a. p;afcii ifi i IMII UMI i ; bat ve are 
 
 tr ix ii* aiezipcica to 
 
 - L 1 
 
 : -
 
 WILLIAM SHAE35PEARi. XCVU 
 
 Shakespeare, early in his theatrical life. HUH* i*v writte* 
 .-. alteratiooa, or jomt prudoe- 
 
 ::- _-- -- - - . : . -"- 
 
 - . - .- : _ ._ . :_..: :. : . . - . -- _-;: ... 
 
 . .... .- . - : : . - . :.:._'.'.-'. 
 
 he had <jBtjr breogfat oat *Tl*c Two GastlezBCB f Verma," 
 cod - Love's Labour 's Lost." they are so rfaifaiy superior 
 b>th best works <rf]iirdeeesaen,tirttiMJirtie*oi the 
 
 u whom Katare's w^fe had mad 
 
 a 
 
 presses nearly all the 
 IB soaoeptibie the 
 truth. 
 
 Spenser, if not W. 
 dent b Warwicksfci 
 aoquainted with Skakespeare. His 
 
 dent b Warwicksfcire, ad fater fife b* Bar bT 
 birth bad beat 
 
 tandly placed io 155S 1 , aod < tike Mtbrity cf ne&a 
 _i'tbalaaon"it has been supposed that be wad 
 bora in London: East ^il^iiVt nar the Tower, has abo 
 
 Tower, 
 
 been fixed upon as the part of ti* town wkc be first 
 drew breath: bet the parisk registers in dat 
 hood bave Wo aetrcfed n TM iar a nmerf f the 
 Aa Edmood SfMBMr vqnoftiaMblT dwrlt at 
 in Warwieksh^kTl^^iAWa the yw te 
 safer of Tbe Faerie QneeBe'went to CaKibridge, and 
 was atfeutted a saser at Pentafe Ck&ge. The fkct that 
 Eted Spenser (a 
 
 o ctkr imilT at tkat tiirw. as fir s our re- 
 kar eitrmded. It has t*B too hastily
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Was an inhabitant of Kingsbury in 1569 is established bj 
 the muster-book of Warwickshh e, preserved in the state 
 paper office, to which we have before had occasion to refer 
 but it does not give the ages of the parties. This Edmund 
 Spenser may possibly have been the father of the poet, 
 (whose Christian name is no where recorded) and if it were 
 the one or the other, it seems to afford a link of connexion, 
 however slight, between Spenser and Shakespeare, of which 
 we have had no previous knowledge. Spenser was at least 
 eleven years older than Shakespeare, but their early resi- 
 dence in the same part of the kingdom may have given 
 rise to an intimacy afterwards 1 : Spenser must have appre- 
 ciated and admired the genius of Shakespeare, and the au- 
 thor of " The Tears of the Muses," at the age of thirty- 
 seven, may have paid a merited tribute to his young friend 
 of twenty'-six. 
 
 The Edmund Spenser of Kingsbury may have been en- 
 tirely a different person, of a distinct family, and perhaps 
 we are disposed to lay too much stress upon a mere coinci- 
 dence of names ; but we may be forgiven for clinging to 
 the conjecture that he may have been the author of " The 
 Faerie Queeue," and that the greatest romantic poet of this 
 country was upon terms of friendship and cordiality with 
 the greatest dramatist of the world. This circumstance, 
 with which we were unacquainted when we wrote the In- 
 troduction to " A Midsummer-Night's Dream," mav appear 
 to give new point, and a more certain application, to the 
 well-remembered lines of that drama (Act v. sc. i.) in which 
 Shakespeare has been supposed to refer to the death of 
 Spenser', and which may have been a subsequent insertion, 
 
 printed at the end of his " Tragical Tales," 1537, was not the poet. 
 Taking Wood's representation, that these letters were -written as 
 early as 1509, it is still very possible that the author of " The Faerie 
 Queene" was the person to whom they were sent: he was a very 
 young man, it is true, but perhaps not quite so young as has been 
 imagined. 
 
 1 Nobody has been able even to speculate where Spenser was at 
 ohool ; possibly at Kingsbury. Drayton was also a Warwicksh-re 
 man. 
 
 * Differences of opinion, founded upon discordances of contempo- 
 raneous, or nearly contemporaneous, representations, have prevailed 
 respecting the extreme poverty of Spenser at the time of his death. 
 There is no doubt that he had a pension of 501. a year (at least 250/. 
 of our present money) from the royal bounty, which probably he 
 received to the last. At the same time we think there is much plau- 
 nbility in the story that Lord Burghley stood in the way of some 
 pecial pecuniary gift from Elizabeth. The Rev. H. .T. TodJ disbe- 
 lieves it, and in his " Life of Spenser " calls it " a calumny,' 1 on the 
 iounuation of the pension, without considering, perhaps, that the 
 mjrram, attributed to Spenser, may have been occasioned by the 
 obstruction by the Lord Treasurer of some additional proof of the 
 '^ueen admiration for the author of " The Faerie Queene." Fullei
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. XCU 
 
 for the sake of repaying by one poet a debt of gratitude to 
 the other. 
 
 Without taking into consideration what may have been 
 lost, if we are asked what we think it likely that Shake- 
 speare had written in and before 1591, we should answer, 
 that he hud altered and added to three parts of " Henry 
 VI.," that he bid written, or aided in writing, " Titus Au- 
 dronicus," that he had revived and amended " The Comedy 
 of Errors," and that he had composed " The Two Gentle- 
 men of Verona," and " Love's Labour 's Lost." Thus, look- 
 ing only at Ins extant works, we see that the eulogy of 
 Spenser was well warranted by the plays Shakespeare, at 
 that early date, had produced. 
 
 If the evidence upon this point were even more scanty, 
 we should be convinced that by " our pleasant Willy," Spen- 
 eer meant William Shakespeare, by the fact that such a 
 character as he gives could belong to no other dramatist of 
 the time. Greene can have no pretensions to it, nor Lodge, 
 nor Kyd, nor Peele; Marlowe had never touched comedy: 
 but if these have no title to the praise that they had mocked 
 nature and imitated truth, the claim put in by Malone for 
 Lyly is little short of absurd. Lyly was, beyond dispute, 
 the most artificial and affected writer of his day: his 
 dramas have nothing like nature or truth in them ; and if it 
 could be established that Spenser and Lyly were on the 
 most intimate footing, even the exaggerated admiration of 
 the fondest friendship could hardly have carried Spenser to 
 the extreme to which he has gone in his " Tears of the 
 Muses." If Malone had wished to point out a dramatist of 
 that day to whom the words of Spenser could by no possi- 
 bility fitly apply, he could not have made a better choice 
 than when he fixed upon Lyly. However, he labours the 
 
 first published the anecdote in his " Worthies," 106-2 ; but sixty years 
 earlier, and within a very short time after the death of Spenser, the 
 story was current, for we find the lines in Manningham's Diary, 
 (llarl. MS. 5353) under the date of May 4, lb'02 : they are thus intro- 
 duced : 
 
 " When her Majesty had given order that Spenser should have a 
 reward for his poems, but Spenser could have nothing, he presented 
 her with these verses : 
 
 " It pleased your Grace upon a time 
 
 But from that time until this season. , 
 I heard of neither rhyme nor reason." 
 
 The -wording differs slightly from Fuller's copy. We add the fol 
 lowing epigram upon the death of Spenser, also on the authority of 
 Manningham : 
 
 " In Spenscrum. 
 
 " Famous alive, and dead, here is the odds; 
 Then god of poets, now poet of the gods.' 1
 
 C THE LIFE OF 
 
 contrary position with great pertinacity and considerable 
 ingenuity, and it is extraordinary how a man of much read- 
 ing, and of sound judgment upon many points of literary 
 discussion, could impose upon himself, and be led so fai 
 from the truth, by the desire to establish a novelty. At all 
 events, he might have contented himself with an endeavour 
 to prove the negative as regards Shakespeare, without going 
 the strange length of attempting to make out the affirma- 
 tive as regards Lyly. 
 
 We do not for an instant admit the right of any of Shake- 
 apoare's predecessors or contemporaries to the tribute of 
 Spenser ; but Malone might have made out a case for any 
 of them with more plausibility than for Lyly. Greene waa 
 a writer of fertile fancy, but choked and smothered by the 
 overlaying of scholastic learning : Kyd was a man of strong 
 natural parts, and a composer of vigorous lines : Lodge was a 
 poet of genius, though not in the department of the drama : 
 Peele had an elegant mind, and was a smooth and agreea- 
 ble versifier ; while Marlowe was gifted with a soaring and 
 a daring spirit, though unchecked by a well-regulated taste : 
 but all had more nature in their dramas than Lyly, who 
 generally chose classical or mythological subjects, and dealt 
 with those subjects with a wearisome monotony of style, 
 with thoughts quaint, conceited, and violent, and with an 
 utter absence of force and distinctness in his characteriza- 
 tioa 
 
 It is not necessary to enter farther into this part of the 
 question, because, we think, it is now established that Spen- 
 ser's lines might apply to Shakespeare as regards the date 
 of their pubDcation, and indisputably applied with most 
 felicitous exactness to the works he has left behind him. 
 
 With regard to the lines which state, that Willy 
 
 " Doth rather choose to sit in idle Cell, 
 Thau so hiinselt'e to mockerie to sell," 
 
 we have already shown that in 1589 there must have been 
 wine compulsory cessation of theatrical performances, 
 which affected not only offending, but unoffending compa 
 nies : hence the certificate, or more properly remonstrance, 
 of the sixteen sharers in the Blaekfriars The choir-boys 
 of St Paul's were silenced for bringing " matters of state 
 and religion " on their stage, when they introduced Martin 
 Mar-prelate into one of their dramas: and the players of 
 the Lord Admiral and Lord Strange were prohibited from 
 acting, as far as we can learn, on a similar ground. The in- 
 terdiction of performances by the children of Paul's waa 
 persevered in for about ten years ; and although the public 
 companies (after the completion of some inquiries by com-
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CJ 
 
 tmssiouers specially appointed) were allowed again to fol- 
 low their vocation, there can be no doubt that there was a 
 temporary suspension of all theatrical exhibitions in Lon- 
 don. This suspension commenced a short time before 
 Spenser wrote his " Tears of the Muses," in which ho 
 notices the silence of Shakespeare. 
 
 We have no means of ascertaining how long the order 
 inhibiting theatrical performances generally, was persevered 
 in ; but the plague broke out in London in 1592, and in the 
 autumn of the year, when the number of deaths was great- 
 est, "the Queen's players 1 ," in their progress round the 
 country, whither they wandered when thus prevented from 
 acting in the metropolis, performed at Chesterton, near 
 Cambridge, to the great annoyance of the heads of the uni- 
 versity. 
 
 It was at this juncture, probably, if indeed he ever were 
 in that country, that Shakespeare visited Italy. Mr. C. 
 Armitage Brown, in his very clever, and in many respects 
 original work, " Shakespeare's Autobiographical Poems," 
 has maintained the affirmative with great confidence, and has 
 brought into one view all the internal evidence afforded by 
 the productions of our great dramatist External evidence 
 there is none, since not even a tradition of such a journey 
 has descended to us. We own that the internal evidence. 
 in our estimation, is by no means as strong as it appeared 
 to Mr. Brown, who has evinced great ingenuity and ability 
 in the conduct of his case, and has made as much as possi- 
 ble of his proofs. He dwells, among other things, upon the 
 fact, that there were no contemporaneous translations of the 
 titles on which " The Merchant of Venice " and " Othello " 
 are founded; but Shakespeare may have understood as 
 much Italian as answered his purpose without having gone 
 to Venice. For the same reason we lay no stress upon the 
 recently-discovered fact, (not known when Mr. Brown 
 wrote) that Shakespeare constructed his " Twelfth Night " 
 with the aid of one or two Italian comedies ; they mav 
 have found their way into England, and he may have read 
 them in the original language. That Shakespeare was ca- 
 pable of translating Italian sufficiently for his own pur- 
 poses, we are morally certain ; but we think that if he had 
 travelled to Venice, Verona, or Florence, we should have 
 had more distkict and positive testimony of the fact in his 
 works than can be adduced from them. 
 
 Other authors of the time have left such evidence behind 
 
 * They consisted of the company under the leadership of Lawrence 
 Button, one of the two associations acting at this period under th 
 Queen's name. Both we'e unconnected with Hie Lord Chamber* 
 tain's strrauis.
 
 c ii THE LIFE OF 
 
 them as cannot be disputed. Lyly tells us so distinctly in 
 more than one of his pieces, and Rich informs us that ta 
 became acquainted with the novels he translated on the 
 uther side of the Alps : Daniel goes the length of letting 
 us know where certain of his sonnets were composed: 
 Lodge wrote som< of his tracts abroad : Nash gives us the 
 places where he met particular persons; and his friend 
 Greene admits his obligations to Italy and Spain, whither 
 be had travelled early in life in pursuit of letters. In truth, 
 at that period and afterwards, there seems to have been a 
 prevailing rage for foreign travel, and it extended itself to 
 mere actors, as well as to poets ; for we know that William 
 Kempe was in Rome in 160 1 1 , during the interval between 
 the time when, for some unexplained reason, he quitted the 
 company of the Lord Chamberlain's players, and joined 
 that of the Lord Admiral 2 . Although we do not believe 
 that Shakespeare ever was in Italy, we admit that we are 
 without evidence to prove a negative ; and he may have 
 gone there without having left behind him any distinct 
 record of the fact At the date to which we are now ad- 
 
 i See Mr. Halliwell's " Ludus Coventria; " (printed for the Shake- 
 speare Society), p 410. Rowley, in his " Search for Money," speaks 
 of this expedition by Kempe, who, it seems, had wagered a certain 
 sum of money that he would go to Rome and back in a given num- 
 ber of days. In the introduction to the reprint of that rare tract by 
 the Percy Society, it is shown that Kempe also danced a morris in 
 France. These circumstances were unknown to the Rev. A. Dyce, 
 when he superintended a republication of Kempe's "Nine Days' 
 Wonder," 1600. for the Camden Society. 
 
 ' It is a new fact that Kempe at any time quitted the company 
 playing at the Blackfriars and Globe theatres : it is however indis- 
 putable, and we have it on the authority of Henslowe's Diary, where 
 payments are recorded to Kempe, and where entries are also made fof 
 the expenses of dresses supplied to him in 160:2. These memoranda 
 Malone overlooked, when the MS., belonging to Dulwich College, 
 was in his hands; but they may be very important with reference 
 ' 
 
 to the dates of some of Shakespeare's plays, and the particular actors 
 engaged in them: they also account for the non-appearanc 
 Kempe's name in the royal license granted in May, 1603, to the 
 
 gaged in them: they also account for the non-appearance of 
 empe's name in the royal license granted in May, 1603, to the com- 
 pany to which he had belonged. Mr. Dyce attributes the omission 
 of Kempe's name in that instrument to his death, because, in the 
 register <.f St. Saviour's, Southwark, Chalmers found an entry, dated 
 Nov. 2, 1(503, of the burial of "William Kempe, a m." There 
 were doubtless many men of the common names of William Kempe ; 
 ind the William Kempe, who had acted Dogberry, Peter, &c., was 
 certainly alive in 16(1.3, and had by that date rejoined the Lord Cham- 
 berlain's servants, then called "the King's players." The follow- 
 ing unnoticed memoranda relating to him are extracted from Hens- 
 lowe's Diary : 
 
 "Lent unto W Kempe, the 10 of Marche. 1602, in redy mony, 
 
 twentye shillinges for his necesary uses, the some of xx". 
 "Lent unto W"> Kempe, the 22 of Auguste, 160-2, to buye buck- 
 
 ram to make a payer of gyentes hosse, the some of v 
 "Pd unto the tyerman for mackynge of W"> Kempe's sewt, r.i 
 the b>yes, the 4 Septembr 1602, some of viij". b."
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. C1U 
 
 veiling he might certainly have had a convenient opportu- 
 nity for doing so, in consequence of the temporary prohibi 
 tiou of drariatic performances in London. 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 Death of Robert Greene in 1592, and publication of his 
 " Groutsworth of Wit," by H. Chettle. Greene's address 
 to Marlowe, Lodge, and Peele, and his envious mention of 
 Shakespeare. Shakespeare's offence at Chettle, and the 
 apology of the latter in his " Kind-heart's Dream." The 
 character of Shakespeare there given. Second allusion by 
 Spenser to Shakespeare in " Colin Clout's come home 
 again," 1594. The " gentle Shakespeare." Change in the 
 character of his composition between 1591 and 1594: his 
 " Richard II." and " Richard III." 
 
 DURING the prevalence of the infectious malady of 1692, 
 although not in consequence of it, died one of the most no- 
 torious and distinguished of the literary men of the time, 
 Robert Greene. He expired on the 3d of September, 1592, 
 and left behind him a work purporting to have been writ- 
 ten during his last illness : it was published a few months 
 afterwards by Henry Chettle, a fellow dramatist, under the 
 title of " A Groatsworth of Wit, bought with a Million of 
 Repentance," bearing the date of 1592, and preceded by an 
 address from Greene " To those Gentlemen, his quondam 
 acquaintance, who spend their wits in making Plays." Here 
 we meet with the second notice of Shakespeare, not indeed 
 by name, but with such a near approach to it, that nobody 
 can entertain a moment's doubt that he was intended. It 
 is necessary to quote the whole passage, and to observe, 
 before we do so, that Greene is addressing himself particu- 
 larly to Marlowe, Lodge, and Peele, and urging them to 
 break off all connexion with players' : " Base minded men 
 all three of you, if by my misery ye be not warned ; for 
 unto none of you, like me, sought those burs to cleave ; 
 those puppets, 1 mean, that speak from our mouths, those 
 auticks garnished in our coloui-s. Is it not strange that I> 
 
 1 We have some doubts of the authenticity of the " Groatsworth 
 of Wit," as a work by Greene. Chettle was a needy dramatist, and 
 possibly wrote it in order to avail himself of the high popularity of 
 Greene, then just dead. Falling into some discredit, in consequence 
 of the publication of il, Chettle re-asserted that it was by Greene, 
 but he admitted that the manuscript from which it was printed waj 
 in his own hand- writing : this circumstance he explained by stating 
 that Greene's copy was so illegible that he was obliged to transcribe 
 it : "it was ill- written." says Chettle. ' as Greene's hand was none 
 of the best : :l and therefore 'he re-wrote it.
 
 Civ THE LIFE OF 
 
 to whom they all have been beholding ; is it not like that 
 you, to whom they have all been beholding, shall (were ye 
 in that case that I am now) be both of them at once for- 
 saken ? Yes, trust them not ; for there is an upstart crow, 
 beautified with our feathers, that with his Tiger's heart 
 wrapp'd in a player's hide, supposes he is as well able 
 to bombast our blank-verse, as the best of you : and, being 
 an absolute Johannes Fac-totum, is, in his own conceit 
 the only Shake-scene in a country. ! that I might en- 
 treat your rare wits to be employed in more profitable 
 courses, and let these apes imitate your past excellence, 
 and never more acquaint them with your admired inven- 
 tions." 
 
 The chief and obvious purpose of this address is to in- 
 duce Marlowe, Lodge, and Peele to cease to write for the 
 stage ; and, in the course of his exhortation, Greene bitterly 
 inveighs against " an upstart crow," who had availed him- 
 self of the dramatic labours of others, who imagined him- 
 self able to write as good blank-verse as any of his con- 
 temporaries, who was a Johannes Fac-totum, and who, in 
 his own opinion, was " the only SHAKE-SCEXE in a country." 
 All this is clearly levelled at Shakespeare, under the pur- 
 posely-perverted name of Shake-scene, and the words, 
 " Tiger's heart wrapp'd in a player's hide," are a parody 
 upon a line in a historical play, (most likely by Greene) 
 " 0, tiger's heart wrapp'd in a woman's hide," from which 
 Shakespeare had taken his " Henry VI." part iii. 1 
 
 From lieuce it is evident that Shakespeare, near the end 
 of 1592, had established such a reputation, and was so im- 
 portant a rival of the dramatists, who, until he came for- 
 ward, had kept undisputed possession of the stage, as to ex- 
 cite the envy and eumity of Greene, even during his last and 
 fatal illuess. It also, we think, establishes another point not 
 hitherto adverted to, viz. that our great poet possessed such 
 variety of talent, that, for the purposes of the company of 
 which he was a member, he could do anything that he 
 might be called upon to perform : he was the" Johannes Fac- 
 totum of the association : he was an actor, and he was a 
 writer of original plays, an adapter and improver of those 
 already in existence, (some of them by Greene, Marlowe, 
 Lodge, or Peele) and no doubt he contributed prologues or 
 epilogues, and inserted scenes, speeches or passages on any 
 temporary emergency. Having his ready assistance, the 
 Lord Chamberlain's servants required few other contribu- 
 tions from rival dramatists* : Shakespeare was the Johati' 
 
 > See this point more fully illustrated in the Introduction tc 
 * Henry VI. "part iii. 
 At this date I'eele had relinquis hed his connection with the com
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPKARE. C? 
 
 nes Fac-totum who could turn his hand to any thing con- 
 nected with his profession, and who, in all probability, had 
 thrown men like Greene, Lodge, and Pcele, and even Mar- 
 lowe himself, into the shade. In our view, therefore, the 
 quotation we have made from the " Groatsworth of Wit " 
 proves more than has been usually collected from it. 
 
 It was natural and proper that Shakespeare should take 
 offence at this gross and public attack : that he did there is 
 no doubt, for we are told so by Chettle himself, the avowed 
 editor of the " Groatsworth of Wit :" he does not indeed 
 mention Shakespeare, but he designates him so intelligibly 
 that there is no room for dispute. Marlowe, also, and not 
 without reason, complained of the manner in which Greene 
 had spoken of him in the same work, but to him Chettle 
 made no apologv, while to Shakespeare he offered all the 
 amends in his power. 
 
 His apology to Shakespeare is contained in a tract called 
 " Kind-heart's" Dream," which was published without date, 
 but as Greene expired on 3d September, 1592, and Chettle 
 tells us in " Blind-heart's Dream," that Greene died " about 
 three months " before, it is certain that " Kind-heart's 
 Dream " came out prior to the end of 1592, as we now cal- 
 culate the year, and about three mouths before it expired, 
 according to the reckoning of that period. The whole pas- 
 sage relating to Marlowe and Shakespeare is highly inter- 
 esting, and we therefore extract it entire. 
 
 " About three months since died M. Eobert Greene, leav- 
 ing many papers in sundry booksellers' hands : among others 
 his Groatsworth of Wit, in which a letter, written to divera 
 play-makers, is offensively by one or two of them taken ; and 
 because on the dead they cannot be avenged, they wilfully 
 forge in their conceits a living author, and after tossing it to 
 and fro, no remedy but it must light on rne. How I have, all 
 the time of my conversing in printing, hindered the bitter in- 
 veighing against scholars, it hath been very well known : and 
 how in that I dealt, I can sufficiently prove. With neither 
 of them, that take offence, was I acquainted ; and with one 
 of them [Marlowe] I care not if I never be : the other, [Shake- 
 speare] whom at that time I did not so much spare, as since I 
 wish I had, for that as I have moderated the" heat of living 
 writers, and might have used my own discretion (especially 
 in such a case, the author being 'dead) that I did not I am as 
 sorry as if the original fault had been my fault; because my- 
 self have seen his demeanour no less civil, than he excellent 
 
 pany occupying the Blackfriars theatre, to which as will be remem- 
 bered, he was attached in 15*9. How far the rising genius of Shake- 
 peare, and his increased utility and importance, had contributed to 
 the withdrawal of Peele, and to his junction with the rival associa- 
 tion acting under the name of the Lord Admiral, it is impossible to 
 determine. We have previously adverted to this point 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 CV1 THE LIFE OF 
 
 in the quality he professes : besides, divers of worship have 
 reported his uprightness of dealing, which argues his honesty, 
 and his facetious grace in writing, that approves his art. For 
 the first, [Marlowe] whose learning I reverence, and at th 
 perusing of Greene's book struck out what then in conscience 
 I thought he in some displeasure writ, or had it been true, 
 yet to publish it was intolerable, him 1 would wish to use me 
 no worse than I deserve." 
 
 The accusation of Greene against Marlowe had reference 
 to the freedom of his religious opinions, of which it is not 
 necessary here to say more : the attack upon Shakespeare 
 we have already inserted and observed upon. In Chettle's 
 apology to the latter, one of the most noticeable points is 
 the tribute he pays to our great dramatist's abilities as an 
 actor, " his demeanour no less civil, than he excellent in 
 the quality he professes :" the word " quality " was applied, 
 at that date, peculiarly and technically to acting, and the 
 " quality " Shakespeare " professed " was that of an actor. 
 " His facetious grace in writing 1 " is separately adverted to 
 and admitted, while " his uprightness of dealing " is attested, 
 not only by Chettle's own experience, but by the evidence of 
 " divers of worship." Thus the amends made to Shake- 
 speare for the envious assault of Greene shows most deci- 
 sively the high opinion entertained of him, towards the 
 close of 1592, as an actor, an author, and a man 2 . 
 
 1 There -were not separate impressions of " Kind-heart's Dream ' 
 in 1592, but the only three copies known vary in some minute par- 
 ticulars : thus, with reference to these words, one impression at Ox- 
 ford reads, ' hisfattous grace in writing," and the other, correctly, ai 
 we have given it. "Kind-heart's Dream" has been re-printed, by 
 the Percy Society, from the third copy in the King's Library at the 
 
 ford reads, 
 
 iven it. "Kind-h 
 
 third copy 
 British Museum. 
 
 ' More than ten years afterwards, Chettle paid another tribute to 
 Shakespeare, under the name of Melicert, in his "England's Mourn- 
 ing Garment :" the author is reproaching the leading poets of the 
 day, Daniel, Warner, Chapman. Jonson. Drayton, Sackville, Dekker, 
 &c., for not writing in honour of Queen Elizabeth, who was just 
 dead : he thus addresses Shakespeare : 
 
 " Nor doth the silver-tongued Melicert 
 
 Drop from his honied Muse one sable tear, 
 To mourn her death that graced his desert, 
 
 And to his lays open'd her royal ear. 
 Shepherd, remember our Elizabeth, 
 And sing her Rape, done by that Tarquin death." 
 This passage is important, with reference to the Royal encourage- 
 ent given to Shakespeare, in consequence of the approbation of hii 
 plays at Court: Elizabeth had " graced his desert," and "open'd her 
 royal ear " to his lays." Chettle did not long survive the publica- 
 tion of England's Mourning Garment " in 1GU3 : he was dead in 
 160., as he is spoken of in Dekker's " Knight's Conjuring," of that 
 year, (there is an impression also without date, and possibly a few 
 Months earlier) as a very corpulent ghost in the Elysian Fields. H
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CV11 
 
 We have already inserted Spenser's warm, but not lew 
 judicious aud well-merited, eulogium of Shakespeare in 
 1591, when in his "Tears of the Muses " he addresses him 
 as Willy, and designates him 
 
 ; that same gentle spirit, from whose pen 
 
 Large streanies of honme and sweete nectar flowe." 
 
 If we were to trust printed dates, it would seem that in 
 the same year the author of " The Faerie Queeue " gave 
 another proof of his admiration of our great dramatist: 
 we allude to a passage in " Colin Clout's come home again," 
 which was published with a dedication dated 27th Decem- 
 ber, 1591 ; but Maloue proved, beyond all cavil, that for 
 1591 we ought to read 1594, the printer having made an ex- 
 traordinary blunder. In that poem (after the author has 
 spoken of many living and dead poets, some by their names, 
 as Alabaster and Daniel, and others by fictitious and fanci- 
 ful appellations') he inserts these lines : 
 
 " And there, though last not least, is .^Etion ; 
 
 A gentler shepherd may no where be found, 
 Whose Muse, full of high thought's invention, 
 Doth, like himself, heroically sound." 
 
 Malone takes unnecessary pains to establish that this pas- 
 Rage applies to Shakespeare, although he pertinaciously 
 denied that " our pleasant Willy " of " The Tears of the 
 Muses " was intended for him. We have no doubt on either 
 point ; and it is singular, that it should never have struck 
 Maloue that the same epithet is given in both cases to tho 
 
 had been originally a printer, then hecame a bookseller, and, finally) 
 a pamphleteer and dramatist. He was, in various degrees, concerned 
 in about forty plays. 
 
 1 Malone, with a good deal of research and patience, goes over all 
 the pseudo-names in ' Colin Clout's come home again, !> applying 
 each to poets of the time ; but how uncertain and unsatisfactory any 
 attempt of the kind must necessarily be may be illustrated in a 
 single instance. Malone refers the following lines to Arthur Golding : 
 
 Whose careful pipe may make the hearers rue ; 
 Yet he himself may rued be more right, 
 
 Who sung so long, until quite hoarse he grew." 
 
 The passage, in truth, applies to Thomas Churchyard, as he himself 
 informs us in his "Pleasant Discourse of Court and Wars," 1596 : h 
 eomplains of neglect, and tells us that the Court is 
 " The platform where all poets thrive, 
 
 The stage, where time away we drive, 
 
 As children in a pageant play." 
 
 In the same way we might show that Malone was mistaken as t 
 other poets he supposes alluded to by Spenser ; but it would lead ui 
 too far out of our way. No body has disputed that by jEuon, the 
 author of " Colin Clout " meant Shakespeare.
 
 CVlii THE LIFE OP 
 
 person addressed, and that epithet one which, ai a sul6' 
 nut nt, date, almost constantly accompanied the name of 
 Shakespearo. In " The Tears of the Muses" he is called a 
 " gentle spirit," and in " Colin Clout's come home again " we 
 are told that, 
 
 " A gentler shepherd may no where be found." 
 In the same feeling Ben Jonson calls him " my gentle Shake- 
 speare," in the noble copy of verses prefixed to the folio of 
 1623, so that ere long the term became peculiarly applied 
 to our great and amiable dramatist 1 . This coincidence of 
 expression is another circumstance to establish that Spenser 
 certainly had Shakespeare in his mind when he wrote his 
 " Tears of the Muses " in 1591, and his " Colin Clout's come 
 home again " in 1594. In the latter instance the whole de- 
 scription is nearly as appropriate as in the earlier, with the 
 addition of a line, which has a clear and obvious reference 
 to the patronymic of our poet : his Muse, says Spenser, 
 
 " Doth, like himself, heroically sound." 
 These words alone may be taken to show, that between 
 1591 and 1594 Shakespeare had somewhat changed the 
 character of his compositions : Spenser having applauded 
 him, in his " Tears of the Muses," for unrivalled talents in 
 comedy, (a department of the drama to which Shakespeare 
 had, perhaps, at that date especially, though not exclusively, 
 devoted himself) in his "Colin Clout" spoke of the "high 
 thought's invention," which then filled Shakespeare's muse, 
 and made her sound as " heroically " as his name. Of his 
 genius, in a loftier strain of poetry than belonged to comedy, 
 our great dramatist, by the year 1594, must have given 
 some remarkable and undeniable proofs. In 1591 he had 
 perhaps written his " Love's Labour 's Lost " and " Two 
 Gentlemen of Verona;" but in 1594 he had, no doubt, pro- 
 duced one or more of his great historical plays, his " Rich- 
 ard IL" and " Richard III.," both of which, as before re- 
 marked, together with " Romeo and Juliet," came from the 
 press in 1597, though the last in a very mangled, imperfect, 
 and unauthentic state. One circumstance may be mentioned, 
 as leading to the belief that " Richard III." was brought 
 out in 1594, viz. that in that year an impression of "The 
 True Tragedy of Richard the Third," (an older play than 
 that of Shakespeare) was published, that it might be 
 bought under the notion that it was the new drama by the 
 most popular poet of the day, then in a course of repre- 
 sentation. It is most probable that " Richard II." had been 
 1 In a passage we have already extracted from Ben Jonson's "Dig 
 HIM," he mentions Shakespeare's " gentle expressions ;" but h 
 ( tner< perhapi .alher referring to his style of composition.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. C1X 
 
 composed beiore " Richard ILL," and to either or botb of 
 them the lines, 
 
 " Whose Muse, full of high thought's invention, 
 Doth, like himself, heroically sound," 
 
 will abundantly apply. The difference in the character of 
 Spenser's tributes to Shakespeare in 1591 and 1594 was oc- 
 casioned by the difference in the character of his produc 
 
 tions 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The dramas written by Shakespeare up to 1594. New docu- 
 ments relating to his father, under the authority of oil 
 Thomas Lucy, Sir Fulk Greville, &c. Recusants in Strat- 
 ford-upon-Avon. John Shakespeare employed to value 
 the goods of H. Field. Publication of " Venus and Ado- 
 nis " during the plague in 1593. Dedication of it, and of 
 " Lucrece," 1594, to the Earl of Southampton. Bounty of 
 the Earl to Shakespeare, and coincidence between the date 
 of the gift and the building of the Globe theatre on the 
 Bankside. Probability of the story that Lord Southamp- 
 ton presented Shakespeare with 100(W. 
 
 HAVING arrived at the year 1594, we may take this oppor- 
 tunity of stating -which of Shakespeare's extant -works, in 
 our opinion, had by that date been produced. We have al- 
 ivaiiv mentioned the three parts of " Henry VL," " Titus 
 Andronicus," " The Comedy of Errors," " The Two Gentle- 
 men of Verona," and " Love's Labour 's Lost," as in being in 
 1591 ; and in the interval between 1591 and 1594, we ap- 
 
 frehend, he had added to them " Richard II." and " Richard 
 IL" Of these, the four last were entirely the work of 
 our great dramatist : in the others he more or less availed 
 himself of previous dramas, or possibly, of the assistance 
 of contemporaries. 
 
 We must now return to Stratford-upon-Avon, in order to 
 advert to a very different subject 
 
 A document has been recently discovered hi the State 
 Paper Office, which is highly interesting with respect to 
 the religious tenets, or worldly circumstances, of Shake- 
 speare's father in 1592 1 . Sir Thomas Lucy, Sir Fulk Gre- 
 ville, Sir Henry Goodere, Sir John Harrington, and four 
 others, having been appointed commissioners to make in- 
 quiries " touching all such persons " as were "Jesuits, semi,. 
 
 i We have to express our best thanks to Mr. Lemon for directing oui 
 attention to this manuscript, and for supplying us with an anaiysir 
 of its contents.
 
 OX THE LIFE OF 
 
 nary priests, fugitives, or recusantea," in the county of War 
 wick, sent to the Privy Council what they call their " second 
 certificate," on the 25th Sept 1592 1 . It is dirided into 
 different heads, according to the respective hundreds, pa- 
 rishes, Ac., and each page is signed by them. One of 
 these divisions applies to Stratford-upon-Avon, and the re- 
 turn of names there is thus introduced : 
 
 " The names of all sutch Recusantes as have benc hearto- 
 fore presented for not cominge mouethlie to th 
 church, according to her Majesties lawes, and yet are 
 thought to forbeare the church for debt, and for feare 
 of processe, or for some other worse faultes, or for age, 
 sicklies, or iuipotencie of bodie." 
 
 The names which are appended to this introduction are the 
 following : 
 
 "Mr. John Wheeler, William Bainton, 
 
 John Wheeler, his son, Richard Harrington, 
 
 Mr. John Shackspere, William Flullen, 
 
 Mr. Nicholas Barneshurste, George Bardolphe" :" 
 Thomas James, alias Gyles, 
 
 and opposite to them, separated by a bracket, we read these 
 words : 
 
 " It is sayd, that these last nine coome not to churche for 
 feare of processe of debte." 
 
 Here we find the name of " Mr. John Shakespeare " either 
 as a recusant, or as " forbearing the Church," on account of 
 the fear of process for debt, or on account of " age, sickness, 
 or impoteucy of body," mentioned in the introduction to 
 the document The question is, to which cause we are to 
 attribute his absence ; and with regard to process for debt, 
 we are to recollect that it could not be served on Sunday, 
 BO that apprehension of that kind need not have kept him 
 away from church on the Sabbath. Neither was it likely 
 that his son, who was at this date profitably employed in 
 London as an actor and author, and who three years before 
 was a sharer in the Blackfriars theatre, would have allowed 
 his father to continue so distressed for money, as not to be 
 able to attend the usual place of divine worship". There 
 
 > The first certificate has not been found in the State Paper Office, 
 after the most diligent search. 
 
 > Hence we see that Shakespeare took two names in his "Henry 
 V." from persons who bore them in his native town. Awdrey wai 
 alo a female appellation known in Stratford, as appears elsewhere in 
 the same document. 
 
 ' By an account of rents received by Thomas Rogers, Chamber- 
 lain of Stratford, in 15S9, it appears that "John Shakespeare " occu- 
 (led a nous* in Bridge-street, at an annual rent of twelve shillings,
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXI 
 
 fore, although John Shakespeare was certainly in great pe 
 cuuiary difficulties at the time his son William quitted 
 Stratford, we altogether reject the notion that that SOLI had 
 permitted his father to live in comparative want, while he 
 himself possessed more than competence. 
 
 "Age, sickness, and impotency of body," may indeed 
 have kept John Shakespeare from church, but upon this 
 point we have no information beyond the fact, that if he 
 were bom, as Malone supposes, in 1530, he was at this date 
 only sixty -two. 
 
 With regard to his religious opinions, it is certain that 
 after he became alderman of Stratford, on 4th July 1565, 
 he must have taken the usual oath required from all pro- 
 testants ; but, according to the records of the borough, it 
 was not administered to him until the 12th September fol- 
 lowing his election. This trifling circumstance perhaps 
 hardly deserves notice, as it may have been usual to choose 
 the corporate officers at one court, and to swear them in at 
 the next. So far John Shakespeare may have conformed 
 to the requirements of the law, but it is still possible that 
 he may not have adopted all the new protestant tenets, or 
 that having adopted them, like various other conscientious 
 men, he saw reason afterwards to return to the faith he had 
 abandoned. We have no evidence on this point as regards 
 him ; but we have evidence, as regards a person of the 
 name of Thomas Greene, (who, although it seems very un- 
 likely, may have been the same man who was an actor in 
 the company to which Shakespeare belonged, and who was 
 a co-sharer in the Blackfriars Theatre, in 1589) who is de- 
 scribed in the certificate of the commissioners as then of a 
 different parish, and who, it is added, had confessed that he 
 had been " reconciled to the Romish religion." The memo- 
 randum is in these terms : 
 
 " It is here to be remembred that one Thomas Greene, of 
 this parisshe, heretofore presented and indicted for a recu- 
 sante, hath confessed to Mr. Eobt. Burgoyn, one of the com- 
 missioners for this service, that auould Freest reconciled him 
 to the Komishe religion, while he was prisoner in Worcester 
 goale. This Greene is not everie day to be t'ounde." 
 
 On the same authority we learn that the wife of Thomas 
 Greene was " a most wilful recusant ;" and although we are 
 
 nine shiLinjs of which had been paid. Perhaps (as Malone thought) 
 this -was John Shakespeare, the shoemaker ; because the father of the 
 poet, having been bailiff and head-alderman, was usually styled Mr. 
 John Shake^peare, as we have before remarked. However, it is a co- 
 incidence to be noted, that the name of John Shakespeare immediately 
 follows that of Henry Fylde or Field, whose goods Mr. John Shake 
 ipeare was subsequently employed to value : they were therefore in 
 all probability n ?ighbours
 
 CXli THE LIFE OF 
 
 by no means warranted in forming even an opinit n on th 
 question, whether Mary Shakespeare adhered to the ancient 
 faith, it is indisputable, if we may rely upon the represen- 
 tation of the commissioners, that some of her family con- 
 tinued Roman Catholics. In the document under consiJcra 
 tion it is stated, that Mrs. Mary Arden and her servant 
 John Browne had been presented to the commissioners aa 
 recusants, and that they had been so prior to the date of 
 the former return by the same official persons. 
 
 In considering the subject of the faith of our poet's father 
 we ought to put entirely out of view the paper upon which 
 Dr. Drake lays some stress 1 ; we mean the sort of religious 
 will, or confession of faith, supposed to have been found, 
 about the year 1770, concealed in the tiling of the house 
 John Shakespeare is conjectured to have inhabited. It was 
 printed by Malone in 1790, but it obviously merits no at- 
 tention, and there are many reasons for believing it to be 
 spurious. Malone once looked upon it as authentic, but he 
 corrected his judgment respecting it afterwards. 
 
 Upon the new matter we have here been able to pro- 
 duce, we shall leave the reader to draw his own conclusion, 
 and to decide for himself whether John Shakespeare for- 
 bore church in 1592, because he was in fear of arrest, be- 
 cause he was " aged, sick, and impotent of body," or be- 
 cause he did not accord in the doctrines of the protestant faith. 
 
 We ought not, however, to omit to add, that if John 
 Shakespeare were infirm in 1592, or if he were harassed- 
 and threatened by creditors, neither the one circumstance 
 nor the other prevented him from being employed in Au- 
 gust 1592 (in what particular capacity, or for what precise 
 purpose is not stated) to assist " Thomas Trussell, gentle 
 man," and " Richard Sponer and others," in biking an inven- 
 tory of the goods and chattels of Henry Feelde of Strat- 
 ford, tanner, after his decease. A contemporary copy of 
 the original document has recently been placed in the hands 
 of the Shakespeare Society for publication, but the fact, 
 and not the details, is all that seems of importance here". 
 
 Shakspeaie and his Times," vol. i. p. 8. Dr. Drake seems to 
 the opinion that John Shakespeare may have refrained from 
 ling the corporation halls previous to 1530. on account of his 
 
 . 
 
 It has the following title : 
 
 "A true and perfect Inventory of the Goodes and Cattells, which 
 were the Goodes and C.-UteUs of Henry Feelde, late of Stretford- ippon- 
 Avon in the County of Warwyke, tanner, now decessed, beynge in 
 Btretford aforesayd, the 21st daye of Auguste, Anno Domini 15 2. By 
 Thomas Trussell, Gentleman, Mr. John Shaksper, Richard Sponer and 
 others. 
 
 The items of the inventory consist of nothing but an enumeration of 
 :ld bedsteads, painted cloths, andirons, &c. of no curiosity and of
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXUJ 
 
 In the heading of the paper our poet's father is called " Mr 
 John Shakespeare," and at the end we find his name at 
 " John Shakespeare senior :'' this appears to be the only in- 
 stance in which the addition of " senior " was made, aud the 
 object of it might be to distinguish him more effectually 
 from John Shakespeare, the shoemaker in Stratford, with 
 whom, of old perhaps, as in modem times, he was now and 
 then confounded. The fact itself may be material in de- 
 ciding whether John Shakespeare, at the age of sixty-two, 
 was, or was not so " aged, sick, or impotent of body " as to 
 be uoable to attend protestant divine worship. It certainly 
 does not seem likely that he would have been selected for 
 the performance of such a duty, however trifling, if he had 
 been so apprehensive of arrest as not to be able to leave 
 his dwelling, or if he had been very infirm from sickness or 
 old age. 
 
 Whether he were, or were not a member of the protes- 
 tant reformed Church, it is not to be disputed that his child- 
 ren, all of whom were born between 1558 and 1580, were 
 baptized at the ordinary and established place of worship 
 in the parish. That his son William was educated, lived, 
 and died a protestant we have no doubt 1 . 
 
 We have already stated our distinct and deliberate opin- 
 ion that " Venus aud Adonis " was written before its author 
 left his home in Warwickshire. He kept it by him for some 
 
 little value. It is to be observed that Thomas Trussel was an attor- 
 ney of Stratford, and it seems likely that the valuation was made in 
 relation to Field's will. The whole sum at which the goods were 
 estimated was 11. 14s. Od., and the total, with the names of the 
 persons making the appraisement, is thus stated at the end of the ac- 
 
 " Some totall 14. 14s. Oil. 
 John Shaksper senior 
 By me Richard Sponer 
 Per me Thomas Trussel 
 
 Script, present." 
 
 Of course, unless, as does not appear in this coeval copy, John 
 Shakespeare made his mark, the document must have been subscribed 
 by some person on his behalf. 
 
 i Nearly all the passages in his works, of a religious or doctrinal 
 character, have been brought into one view by Sir Frederick B.Wat- 
 son, K. C. H., in a very elegant volume, printed in 1843, for the 
 benefit of the theatrical funds of our two great theatres. The object 
 of the very zealous and amiable compiler was to counteract a notion, 
 formerly prevailing, that William Shakespeare was aRoman Catholic, 
 and he has done so very effectually, although we do not find among 
 
 it forms part of the prophecy of Cranmer. at the christening of Queen 
 Elizabeth in " Henry VIII." act v. sc. 4. It consists of but five ex- 
 pressive words, which we think clearly refer to the comrleuon of th 
 Reformation under our maiden queen. 
 
 " In her days * * 
 God shall be truly known."
 
 Oliv THE LIFE OF 
 
 years, and early in 1593 seems to have put it into the hands 
 of a printer, named Richard Field, who, it has been said, 
 was of Stratford, and might be the son of the Henry Feelde, 
 or Field, whose goods John Shakespeare was employed .to 
 value in 1592. It is to be recollected that at the time 
 Venus and Adonis " was sent to the press, while it was print- 
 ing, and when it was published, the plague prevailed in 
 London to such an excess, that it was deemed expedient by 
 the privy council to put a stop to all theatrical perform- 
 ances'. Shakespeare seems to have availed himself of this 
 interval, in order to bring before the world a production of 
 a different character to those which had been ordinarily seen 
 from his pen. Until " Venus and Adonis " came out, the 
 public at large could only have known him by the dramas 
 he had written, or by those which, at an earlier date, he had 
 altered, amended, and revived. The poem came from 
 Field's press in the spring of 1593, preceded by a dedica- 
 tion to the Earl of Southampton. Its popularity was great 
 and instantaneous, for a new edition of it was called for in 
 1594, a third in 1596, a fourth in 1600, and a fifth in 1602 2 : 
 there may have been, and probably were, intervening im- 
 pressions, which have disappeared among the popular and 
 destroyed literature of the time. We may conclude that 
 this admirable and unequalled production first introduced 
 its author to the notice of Lord Southampton ; and it is 
 evident from the opening of the dedication, that Shake- 
 speare had not taken the precaution of ascertaining, in the 
 first instance, the wishes of the young nobleman on the sub- 
 ject Lord Southampton was more than nine years younger 
 than Shakespeare, having been born on 6th Oct 1573. 
 
 We may be sure that the Dedication of " Venus and 
 Adonis " was, on every account, acceptable, and Shakespeare 
 followed it up by inscribing to the same peer, but in a much 
 more assured and confident strain, his " Lucrece " in the 
 
 1 By the following order, derived from the registers : 
 
 " That for avoyding of great concourse of people, which causeth 
 increase of the infection, it were convenient that all Playes, Bear- 
 baytings, Cockpitts, common Bowling-alleyes, and such like unne- 
 cessarie assemblies, should be suppressed during the time of infection, 
 to? that infected people, after their long keeping in. and before they 
 be cleared of their disease and infection, being desirous of recreation 
 us- to resort to such assemblies, where, through heate and thronge, 
 they infect many sound personnes." 
 
 In consequence of the virulence and extent of the disorder. Mich- 
 aelmas term, 1593, was kept at St. Alban's. It was about this period 
 that Nash's "Summer's Last Will and Testament" was acted as a 
 private entertainment at Croydon. 
 
 Malone knew nothing of any copy of 1594. The impression of 
 502 was printed for W. Leake ; only a single copy of the editton ha. 
 ome down to our day : it had been entered by him as early u
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CSV 
 
 succeeding >' ear. He then " dedicated hia love " to his ju- 
 venile patron, having "a warrant of his honourable dispo- 
 sition" towards his " pamphlet" and himself. "Lucrece" 
 was not calculated, from its subject and the treatment of it, 
 to be so popular as " Venus and Adonis," and the first 
 edition having appeared from Field's press in 1594, a re- 
 print of it does not seem to have been called for until after 
 the lapse of four years, and the third edition bears the date 
 of 1600. 
 
 It must have been about this period that the Earl of 
 Southampton bestowed a most extraordinary proof of hia 
 high-minded munificence upon the author of " Venus and 
 Adonis " and " Lucrece." It was not unusual, at that time 
 and afterwards, for noblemen, and others to whom works 
 were dedicated, to make presents of money to the writers 
 of them ; but there is certainly no instance upon record of 
 such generous bounty, on an occasion of the kind, as that 
 of which we are now to speak 1 : nevertheless, we have 
 every reliance upon the authenticity of the anecdote, taking 
 into account the unexampled merit of the poet, the known 
 liberality of the nobleman, and the evidence upon which 
 the story has been handed down. Rowe was the original 
 narrator of it in print, and he doubtless had it, with other 
 information, from Betteiton, who probably received it di- 
 rectly from Sir William Daveuant, and communicated it to 
 Rowe. If it cannot be asserted that Daveuaut was strictly 
 contemporary with Shakespeare, he was contemporary with 
 Shakespeare's contemporaries, and from them he must have 
 obtained the original information. Rowe gives the state- 
 ment in these words : 
 
 " There is one instance so singular in the munificence of 
 this patron of Shakespeare's that, if I had not been assured 
 that the story was handed down by Sir William Davenant, 
 who was probably very well acquainted with his [Shake- 
 speare's] affairs, I should not have ventured to have inserted ; 
 that my Lord Southampton at one time gave him a thousand 
 pounds to enable him to go through with a purchase which 
 he heard he had a mind to." 
 
 No biographer of Shakespeare seems to have adverted 
 to the period when it was likely that the gift was made, m 
 combination with the nature of the purchase Lord South- 
 ampton had heard our great dramatist wished to com- 
 plete, or, it seems to us, they would not have thought 
 the tradition by any means so" improbable as some have 
 held it 
 
 i The author of the present Life of Shakespeare is bound to mak 
 ne exception, which has come particularly within his own know! 
 dg, but of -which he does not feel at liberty to say more.
 
 CXV1 THE LIFE OF 
 
 The disposition to make a worthy return for the dedica 
 tions of " Veuus and Adonis " and " Lucrece " would of 
 course be produced in the miud of Lord Southampton by the 
 publication of those poems ; and we are to recollect that it 
 was precisely at the same date that the Lord Chamberlain's 
 servants entered upon the project of building the Globe 
 Theatre on the Bankside, not very far to the west of the 
 Southwark foot of London Bridge. " Venus and A donis " 
 was published in 1593 ; and it was on the 22ud Dec. in that 
 year that Richard Burbage, the great actor, and the leader 
 of the company to which Shakespeare was attached, signed 
 a bond to a carpenter of the name of Peter Street for the 
 construction of the Globe. It is not too much to allow at 
 least a year for its completion ; and it was during 1594, 
 while the work on the Baukside was in progress, that " Lu- 
 crece " came from the press. Thus we see that the build- 
 ing of the Globe, at the cost of the sharers in the Black- 
 friars theatre, was coincident in point of time with the ap- 
 pearance of the two poems dedicated to the Earl of South- 
 ampton. Is it, then, too much to believe that the young 
 and bountiful nobleman, having heard of this enterprise ' 
 from the peculiar interest he is known to have taken in all 
 matters relating to the stage, and having been incited by 
 warm admiration of " Venus and Adonis " and " Lucrece,'- 
 in the fore-front of which he rejoiced to see his own name 
 presented Shakespeare with 1000/., to enable him to makt 
 good the money he was to produce, as his proportion, for 
 the completion of the Globe ? 
 
 We do not mean to say that our great dramatist stood it 
 need of the money, or that he could not have deposited it 
 as well as the other sharers in the Blackfriars 1 ; but Lord 
 Southampton may not have thought it necessarv to inquire, 
 whether he did or did not want it, nor to consider precisely 
 what it had been customary to give ordinary versifiers, who 
 sought the pay and patronage of the nobility. Although 
 Shakespeare had not yet reached the climax of his excel- 
 lence, Lord Southampton knew him to be the greatest 
 dramatist this country had yet produced ; he knew him also 
 to be the writer of two poems, dedicated to himself, with 
 which nothing else of the kind could bear comparison ; and 
 iu the exercise of his bounty he measured the poet, by his 
 deserts, and " used him after his own honour and dignity," 
 by bestowing upon him a sum worthy of his title and char- 
 
 1 Neither are -we to imagine that Shakespeare would have to con- 
 tribute the whole sum of iOOO/. as his contribution *o the cost of the 
 Globe : probably much less ; but this was a consideration which, w 
 may fe: assured, never entered the mind of a man like Lord South-
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXVll 
 
 acter, ar d which his wealth probably enabled h.m withouj 
 difficulty to afford. We do not believe that there has been 
 any exaggeration in the amount, (although that is more pos- 
 sible, than that the whole statement should have been a fic- 
 tion) and Lord Southampton may thus have intended also 
 to indicate his hearty good -will to the new undertaking of 
 the company, and his determination to support it 1 . 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The opening of the Globe theatre, on the Bankside, in 1595. 
 Union of Shakespeare's associates with the Lord Admiral's 
 players. The theatre at Newington Butts. Projected repair 
 and enlargement of the Blackrriars theatre : opposition by 
 the inhabitants of the precinct. Shakespeare's rank in the 
 company in 1596. Petition from him and seven others to 
 the Privy Council, and its results. Repair of the Blaekt'riars 
 theatre. Shakespeare a resident in Sonthwark in 15U6: 
 proof that he was so from the papers at Duhvich College. 
 
 WE have concluded, as we think that we may do very fairly, 
 that the construction of the new theatre on the Baukside, 
 subsequently known as the Globe, having been commenced 
 soon after the signature of the bond of Burbage to Street, 
 ;>n 22d Dec. 1593, was continued through the year 1594 : 
 \ve apprehend that it would be finished and ready for the 
 .eception of audiences early in the spring of 1595. It was 
 a round wooden building, open to the sky, while the stage 
 was protected from the weather by an overhanging roof of 
 thatch. The number of persons it would contain we have 
 no means of ascertaining, but it was certainly of larger di- 
 mensions than the Rose, the Hope or the Swan, three other 
 edifices of the same kind and used for the same purpose, in 
 the immediate vicinity. The Blackfriars was a private 
 theatre, as it was called, entirely covered in. and of smaller 
 size ; and from thence the company, after the Globe had 
 been completed, was in the habit of removing in the spring, 
 perhaps as soon as there was any indication of the setting 
 in of fine cheerful weather". 
 
 1 After the Globe had been burned down in June, 1613, it -was re- 
 built very much by the contributions of the king and the nobility. 
 Lord Southampton may have intended the WOOL, in part, as a con- 
 tribution to this enterprise, through the hands of an individual whom 
 he had good reason to distinguish from the rest of the company. 
 
 2 We know that thf y did so afterwards, and there is every reason to 
 believe that such was their practice from the beginning. Dr. Kor- 
 ean records, in his Diary in the Ashmolean Museum, that he saw 
 " Macbeth " at the Globe, on the :>Uth April. 1610 ; " Richard 11." OB
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Before the building of the Globe, for the exclusive UB 
 of the theatrical servants of the Lord Chamberlain, there 
 can be little doubt that they did not act all the year round 
 at the Blackfi iai-s : they appear to have performed some- 
 times at the Cm-tain in Shorediteh, and Richard Burbage, 
 at the time of his death, still had shares iu that playhouse 1 . 
 Whether they occupied it in common with any other associa- 
 tion is not so clear ; but we learn from Henslowe's Diary, that 
 in 1594, and perhaps at an earlier date, the company of 
 which Shakespeare was a member had played at a theatre 
 in Newington Butts, where the Lord Admiral's servants 
 also exhibited. At this period of our stage-history the per- 
 formances usually began at three o'clock in the afternoon ; 
 for the citizens transacted their business and dined early, 
 and many of them afterwards walked out into the fields 
 for recreation, often visiting such theatres as were open 
 purposely for their reception. Henslowe's Diary shows that 
 the Lord Chamberlain's and the Lord Admiral's servants 
 had joint possessiou of the Newington theatre from 3d June 
 1594, to the 15th November, 1596; and during that period 
 various pieces were performed, which in their titles resemble 
 plays which unquestionably came from Shakespeare's pen. 
 That none of these were productions by our great dramatist, 
 it is, of course, impossible to affirm ; but the strong proba- 
 bility seems to be, that they were older dramas, of which 
 he subsequently, more or less, availed himself. Among 
 these was a "Hamlet," acted on llth of June, 1594: a 
 "Taming of a Shrew," acted on llth June, 1594; an " An- 
 dronicus," acted on 12th June, 1594 ; a " Venetian Comedy," 
 acted on 12th Aug. 1594 ; a "Caesar and Pompey," acted 
 8th Nov. 1594; a "Second Part of Caesar," acted 26th 
 June, 1595 ; a " Henry V.," acted on 28th Nov. 1595 ; and 
 a " Troy," acted on the 22d June, 1596. To these we might 
 
 the 30th April, 1611, and " The Winter's Tale " on the 15th May, in 
 the same year. See the Introductions to those several plays. 
 1 The same was precisely the case with Pope, the celebrate 
 dian, who died in Feb. 1004. 
 
 p. 165. 
 
 Richard Burbage lived and died (in 1619) in Holy well-street, neai 
 the Curtain theatre, as if his presence were necessary for the superin- 
 Umdence of the concern, although he had been an actor at the Black- 
 friars for many years, and at the Globe ever since its erection.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXJX 
 
 add a " Palamon and Arcite," (acted on 17th Sept 1594) if 
 we suppose Shakespeare to have had any hand in writing 
 The Two 'Noble Kinsmen ;" and an " Antony and Vallea," 
 (acted on the 20th June, 1595) as it is called in the barbarous 
 record, which may possibly have had some connexion with 
 " Antony and Cleopatra." We have DO reason to think that 
 Shakespeare did not aid in these representations, although 
 he was perhaps, too much engaged with the duties of au- 
 thorship, at this date, to take a very busy or prominent 
 part as an actor. 
 
 The fact that the Lord Chamberlain's players acted at 
 Newington until November, 1596, may appear to militate 
 against our notion that the Globe was finished and ready 
 for performances in the spring of 1595 ; and it is very pos- 
 sible that the construction occupied more time than we have 
 imagined. Malone was of opinion that the Globe might have 
 been opened even in 1594 1 ; but we postpone that event 
 until the following year, because we think the time too 
 short, and because, unless it were entirely completed early 
 in 1594, it would not be required, inasmuch as the company 
 for which it was built seem to have acted at the Blac-kfriars 
 in the winter. Our notion is, that, even after the Globe 
 was finished, the Lord Chamberlain's servants now and then 
 performed at Newington in the summer, because audiences, 
 having been accustomed to expect them there, assembled 
 for the purpose, and the players did not think it prudent to 
 relinquish the emolument thus to be obtained. The per- 
 formances at Newington, we presume, did not however in- 
 terfere with the representations at the Globe. If any mem- 
 bers of the company had continued to play at Newington 
 after November 1596, we should, no doubt, have found some 
 trace of it in Henslowe's Diary. 
 
 Another reason for thinking that the Globe was opened 
 in the spring of 1595 is, that very soon afterwards the 
 sharers in that enterprise commenced the repair and en- 
 largement of their theatre in the Blackfriars, which had 
 been in constant use for twenty years. Of this proceeding 
 we shall have occasion to say more presently. 
 
 We may feel assured that the important incident of the 
 opening of a new theatre on the Bankside, larger than any 
 that then stood in that or in other parts of the town, was 
 celebrated by the production of a new plav. Considering 
 bis station and duties in the company, and his popularity ;is 
 a dramatist, we may be Confident also that the new play 
 was written by Shakespeare. In the imperfect state of oui 
 information, it would be vain to speculate which of hia 
 
 1 Incuiry into the Authenticity, &c. p. 87.
 
 /XX - THE LIFE OF 
 
 dramas was brought out on the occasion ; but if the readei 
 will refer to our several Introductions, he will see which of 
 the plays according to such evidence as we are acquainted 
 with, may appear in his view to have the best claim to the 
 distinction. Many years ago we were strongly inclined to 
 think that " Henry V." was the piece : the Globe was round, 
 and the " wooden " is most pointedly mentioned in that 
 drama ; so that at all events we are satisfied that it was 
 acted ir. that theatre : there is also a nationality about the 
 subject and a popularity iu the treatment of it, which 
 would render it peculiarly appropriate ; but on farther re- 
 flection and information, we are unwillingly convinced that 
 " Henry V." was not written until some years afterwards. 
 We frankly own, therefore, that we are not in a condition 
 to offer an opinion upon the question, and we are disposed, 
 where we can, to refrain even from conjecture, when we have 
 no ground on which to rest a speculation. 
 
 Allowing about fifteen mouths for the erection and com- 
 pletion of the Globe, Ave may believe that it was in full 
 operation iu the spring, summer, and autumn of 1595. On 
 the approach of cold weather, the company would of course 
 return to their winter quarters in the Blackfriars, which 
 was enclosed, lighted from within, and comparatively warm. 
 This theatre, as we have stated, at this date had been in 
 constant use for twenty years, and early in 1596 the sharers 
 directed their atteutiou to the extensive repair, enlargement, 
 and, possibly, entire re construction of the building. The 
 evideuce that they entertained such a design is very deci- 
 sive ; and we may perhaps iufer, that the prosperity of 
 their new experiment at the Globe encouniged them to 
 this outlay. On the 9th Jan. 1596 (1595, according to the 
 then mode of calculating the year) Lord Huusdon, who was 
 Lord Chamberlain at the time, but who died about six 
 mouths afterwards, wrote to Sir William More, expressing 
 a wish to take a house of him in the Blackfriars, and adding 
 that he had heard that Sir William More had parted with 
 a portion of his own residence " to some that mean to make 
 a playhouse of it 1 ." 
 
 The truth, no doubt, was, that in consequence of their in- 
 creased popularity, owing, we may readily imagine, in a 
 great degree to the success of the plays Shakespeare had 
 produced, the company which had occupied the Blaekfriari 
 theatre found that their house was too small for their audi- 
 ences, and wished to enlarge it ; but it appears rather sin- 
 gular that Lord Huusdon, the Lord Chamberlain, should 
 
 .Ji 5 ' 6 '' The Lose'ey Manuscripts." by A. J. Kempe, Esq., 9vo 
 ISio, p. 490; a very curioiw and interesting collection of origina
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXX1 
 
 not be at all aware of the intention of the players acting un- 
 der the sanction of his name and office, ana should ouly have 
 heard tli;it some persons " meant to make a playhouse " of 
 part of Sir William More's residence. We have not a copy 
 of the -whole of Lord Hunsdon's letter only an abstract 
 cf it which reads as if the Lord Chamberlain did not even 
 know that there was any theatre at all in the Blackfriars. 
 Two documents in the State Paper Office, and a third pre- 
 served at Dulwich College, enable us to state distinctly 
 what was the object of the actors at the Blackfriars in 1596. 
 The first of these is a representation from certain inhabitants 
 of the precinct in which the playhouse was situated, not 
 ouly against the completion of the work of repair and en- 
 largement, then commenced, but against all farther per- 
 formances in the theatre. 
 
 Of this paper it is not necessary for our purpose to say 
 more ; but the answer to it, on the part of the association 
 of actors, is a very valuable relic, inasmuch as it gives the 
 names of eight players who were the proprietors of the 
 theatre or its appurtenances, that of Shakespeare being 
 fifth in the list. It will not have been forgotten, that in 
 1589 no fewer than sixteen sharers were enumerated, and 
 that then Shakespeare's name was the twelfth ; but it did 
 not by any means? follow, that because there were sixteen 
 sharers in the receipts, they were also proprietors of the 
 building, properties, or wardrobe: in 1596 it is stated that 
 Thomas Pope, (from whose will we have already given an 
 extract) Richard Burbage, John Hemiugs, (properly spelt 
 Hciuiuge) Augustine Phillips, William Shakespeare, Wil- 
 liam Kempe, (who withdrew from the company in 1601) 
 William Slye, and Nicholas Tooley, were " owners" of the 
 theatre as well as sharers in the profits arising out of the 
 performances. The fact, however, seems to be that the sole 
 owner of the edifice in which plays were represented, the 
 proprietor of the freehold, was Richard Burbage, who in- 
 herited it from his father, and transmitted it to his sons ; but 
 as a. body, the parties addressing the privy council (for the 
 * petition " appears to have been sent thither) might in a 
 certain sense call themselves owners of. as well as sharera 
 hi. the Blackfriars theatre. We insert the document in a 
 note, observing merely, that like many others of a similar 
 kind, it is without signatures 1 . 
 
 " To the right honourable the Lords of her Majesties most hou- 
 & liable Privie Councell. 
 
 'The humble petition of Thomas Tope, Richard Burbage, John 
 Hemings. Augustine Phillips. William Shakespeare, William Kemp*, 
 William Slye, Nicholas Tooley, and others, se.rvaunts to the Right 
 Honorable the Lord Chamberlaine to her Majestic'. 
 
 " Sheweth most humbly, that your Petitioners are owners an^ 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Th date of the year when tliis petition of the actors wat 
 presented to the privy council is ascertained from that of 
 the remonstrance of the inhabitants which had rendered it 
 necessary, viz. 1596 ; but by another paper, among the the 
 atrical relics of Alleyn and Henslowe at Dulwich College, 
 we are enabled to show that both the remonstrance and the 
 petition were anterior to May in that year. Henslowe 
 (step-father to Alleyn's wife, and Alleyn's partner) seems 
 always, very prudently, to have kept up a good understand- 
 ing with the officers of the department of the revels ; and 
 ,*n 3rd May, 1596, a person of the name of Veale, servant to 
 Edmond Tylney, master of the revels, wrote to Heuslowe, in- 
 forming him (as of course he must take an interest in the re- 
 sult) that it had been decided by the privy council, that the 
 Lord Chamberlain's servants should be allowed to complete 
 their repairs, but not to enlarge their house in the Blackfriars ; 
 the note of Veale to Henslowe is on a small slip of paper, 
 very clearly written ; and as it is short, we here insert it : 
 
 " Mr. Hinslowe. This is to enfpurme you that my Mr., the 
 Maistcr of the revelles, hath. rec. from the LI. of the couusell 
 
 players of the private house, or theatre, in the precinct and libertie of 
 the Blackfriers, which hath beene for many yeares used and occu- 
 pied for the playing of tragedies, comraedies, histories, enterludes, 
 and playes. That the same, by reason of its having beene so long 
 built, hath fallen into great decay, and that besides the reparation 
 thereof, it hath beene found necessarie to make the same more con- 
 venient for the entertainment of auditories coming thereto. That 
 
 which they have justly and honestly gained by the exercise of their 
 qualitie of stage-players ; but that certaine persons (some of them of 
 honour) inhabitants of the said precinct and libertie of the Black- 
 friers have, as your Petitioners are informed, besought your honour- 
 able Lordshipps not to permitt the said private house any longer to 
 remaine open, but hereafter to be shut up and closed, to the manifest 
 and great injurie of your petitioners, who have no other meanes 
 whereby to maintain their wives and families, but by the exercise 
 of their qualitie as they have heretofore done. Furthermore, thai in 
 xhe summer season your Petitioners are able to playe at their new 
 Vuilt house on the Bankside calde the Globe, but that in the winter 
 they are compelled to come to the Blackfriers; and if your honorable 
 Lordshipps give consent unto that which is prayde against your Pe- 
 titioners, thay will not onely, while the winter endures, loose the 
 meanes whereby they now support them selves and their families, 
 out be unable to practise themselves in anie playes or enterludes. 
 when calde upon to performe for the recreation and solace of her 
 Ma" and her honorable Court, as they have beene heretofore accus- 
 tomed. The humble prayer of your Petitioners therefore is. that 
 your honorable Lordshipps grant permission to finish the reparations 
 and alterations they have begun ; and as your Petitioners have hitherto 
 boen well ordered in their behaviour, and just in their dealings, that 
 your honorable Lordsiiipps will not inhibit them from acting- at theil 
 above nainde private house in the piecinct and libertie of the Black- 
 friers, and your Petitioners as in dut.e most bounden, will ever praf 
 cr the increasing honor and happiness of your honorable L' rdshipr*.'
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXX1U 
 
 order that the L. Cha nberlen's servauntes shall not be dis- 
 tourbfd at the Blacktfryars, according with their petition in 
 that behalt'e, but leave shall be given unto theyrn to make 
 good the decaye of the saiie House, butt not to make the 
 same larger then in former tyine liatb bene. From thofflce 
 of the Kevelles. this 3 of maie, 1596. " EICH. VEALE." 
 
 Thus the whole transaction is made clear : the company, 
 soon after the opening of the Globe, contemplated the repair 
 and enlargement of the Blackfriara theatre : the inhabitants 
 of the precincts objected not only to the repair and enlarge- 
 ment, but to any dramatic representations in that part of 
 the town : the company petitioned to be allowed to carry 
 out their design, as regarded the restoration of the edifice, 
 and the increase of its size ; but the privy council consented 
 only that the building should be repaired. We are to con- 
 clude, therefore, that after the repairs were finished, the 
 theatre would hold no more spectators than formerly ; but 
 that the dilapidations of time were substantially remedied, 
 we are sure from the fact, that the house continued long 
 afterwards to be employed for the purpose for which it had 
 been originally constructed 1 . 
 
 What is of most importance in this proceeding, with re- 
 ference to Shakespeare, is the circumstance upon which we 
 have already remarked; that whereas his name, in 1589, 
 stood twelfth in a list of sixteen sharers, in 1596 it was ad- 
 vanced to the fifth place in an enumeration of eight persons, 
 who termed themselves " owners and players of the private 
 house, or theatre, in the precinct and liberty of the Black- 
 friars." It is not difficult to suppose that the speculation 
 at the Globe had been remarkably successful in its first 
 season, and that the Lord Chamberlain's servants had there- 
 by been induced to expend mouey upon the Blackfriars, in 
 order to render it more commodious, as well as more capa- 
 cious, under the calculation, that the receipts at the one 
 house during the winter would be greater in consequence of 
 their popularity at the other during the summer. 
 
 Where Shakespeare had residec from the time when he 
 first came to London, until the period of which we are now 
 speaking, we have no information but in July, 1596, he 
 was li viug in Southwark, perhaps to be close to the scene of 
 action, and more effectually to superintend the performances 
 at the Globe, which were continued through at least seven 
 months of the year. We know not whether he removed 
 there shortly before the opening of the Globe, or whether 
 from the first it had been his usual place of abode ; but 
 Malone tells us, " From a paper now before me, which for- 
 
 1 The ultimate fate of this playhouse, and of others existing at th 
 ame time, will be found fated in a subsequent part of our memoir
 
 CXX1V THE LIFE OF 
 
 merly belonged to Edward Alleyn, the player, our p* et ap- 
 pears to have lived iu Southwark, near the Bear-garden, lu 
 1596'." He gives us no further insight into the contents of 
 the paper ; but he probably referred to a small slip, bor- 
 rowed, with other relics of a like kind, from Dulwich Col- 
 lege, many of which were returned after his death. Among 
 those returned seems to have been the paper in question, 
 which is valuable only because it proves distinctly, that 
 our great dramatist was an inhabitant of Southwark very 
 soon after the Globe was in operation, although it by no 
 means establishes that he had not been resident there long 
 before. We subjoin it exactly as it stands in the original : 
 the hand-writing is ignoraut,'the spelling peculiar, and it 
 was evidently merely a hasty and imperfect memorandum. 
 
 "Inhabitantes of Sowtherk as have complaned, this of 
 Jully, 1596. 
 
 Mr Markis 
 
 Mr Tuppin 
 
 Mr Laugorth 
 
 Wilsone the pyper 
 
 Mr Barett 
 
 Mr Shuksper 
 
 Phellipes 
 
 Tomson 
 
 Mother Golden the baude 
 
 Naggea 
 
 Fill pott and no more, and soe well ended." 
 
 This is the whole of the fragment, for such it appears to 
 be, and without farther explanation, which we have not 
 been able to find in any other document, in the depository 
 where the above is preserved or elsewhere, it is impossible 
 to understand more, than that Shakespeare and other in- 
 habitants of Southwark had made some complaint in July 
 1596, which, we may guess, was hostile to the wishes of the 
 writer, who congratulated himself that the matter was se 
 well at an end. Some of the parties named, including our 
 great dramatist, continued resident iu Southwark long after- 
 wards, as we shall have occasion iu its proper place to 
 show. The writer seems to have been desirous of speaking 
 derogatorily of all the persons he enumerates, but still he 
 designates some as " Mr. Markis, Mr. Tuppiu, Mr. Langorth, 
 Mr. Barett, and Mr. Shaksper;" but " Phellipes 2 , Tomson 
 
 "Inquiry into the Authenticity," &c. p. 215. He seems to have 
 reserved particulars for his " Life of Shakespeare," which he Jid not 
 !ive to complete, and which was imperfectly finished by Boswell. 
 
 This may
 
 WILLIAM SHAKES1EARE. C.YX^ 
 
 Nagges, and Fillpott," he only mentions by their surnames, 
 while he adds the -words " the pyper " and " the baude " aftei 
 " Wilsone 1 " and " Mother Golden," probably to indicate that 
 any complaint from them ought to have but little weight. All 
 that we certainly collect from the memorandum is what M;i- 
 loue gathered from it, that in July 1596, (Malone only gives 
 the year, and adds " near the Bear-garden," which we' do not 
 find'confirmed by the contents of the paper) hi the middle 
 of what we have considered the second season at the new 
 theatre called the Globe, Shakespeare was an inhabitant of 
 Southwark. That he had removed thither for the sake of 
 convenience, and of being nearer to the spot, is not unlikely, 
 but we have no evidence upon the point : as there is reason 
 to believe that Burbage, the principal actor at the Globe, 
 lived in Holy well Street, Shoreditch, near the Curtain play- 
 house' 2 , such an arrangement, as regards Shakespeare and the 
 Globe, seems the more probable. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Chancery suit in 1597 by John Shakespeare and his wife to 
 recover Asbyes : their bill ; the answer of John Lambert; 
 and the replication of John and Mary Shakespeare. Proba- 
 ble result of the suit. William Shakespeare's annual visit 
 to Stratford. Death of his son Hamuet in 1596. General 
 scarcity in England, and its effects at Stratford. The quan- 
 tity of corn in the hands of William Shakespeare and his 
 neighbours in February, 1598. Ben Jonson's "Every Man 
 in his Humour," and'probable instrumentality of Sliakt- 
 speare in the original production of it on the stage. Hens- 
 lowe's letter respecting the death of Gabriel Spenser. 
 
 WE have already mentioned that in 1578 John Shakespeare 
 and his wife, in order to relieve themselves from pecuniary 
 embarrassment, mortgaged the small estate of the latter 
 called Asbyes, at Wilmecote in the parish of Agton Cant- 
 proved on the 13th May, 1605. Among otl.er bequests tc his friends 
 and : - fellows,' 1 he gave ' a thirty-shillings piece of gold '' to William 
 
 earliest notice we have of him is prior to the death of Tarlton in 
 1588. 
 
 1 It is just possible that by " Wilsone the pype' " the writer meant 
 to point out '-Jack Wilson." the singer of " Sigh no more, ladies," 
 in "Much ado about Nothing," who, might te, and probably wa,. a 
 player upon some wind instrument. See also the ' ; Memoirs ol Ed- 
 ward Alleyn,'' (printed by the Shakespeare Society) p. 153, for a no- 
 tice of " Mr. Wilson, the singer," when he dined on one occatiom 
 with the founder of Dulwich College. 
 
 a Malone's Shakspeare by Boswell. iii. p 182.
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 lowe, to Edmund Lambert, for the sum of 407. A it coi> 
 sisted of nearly sixty acres of land, with a dwelling-house 
 it must have been worth, perhaps, three times the sum ad- 
 vanced, and by the admission of all parties, the mortgagers 
 were again to be put in possession, if t'usy repaid the money 
 borrowed on or before Michaelmas-day, 1580. According to 
 the assertion of John and Mary Shakespeare, they tendered 
 the 40/. on the day appointed, but it was refused, unless 
 other moneys, which they owed to the mortgagee, were re- 
 paid at the same time. Edmund Lambert (perhaps the 
 father of Edward Lambert, whom the eldest sister of Mary 
 Shakespeare had married) died in 1586, in possession of 
 Asbyes, and from him it descended to his eldest son, John 
 Lambert, who continued to withhold it in 1597 from those 
 who claimed to be its rightful owners. 
 
 In order to recover the property, John and Mary Shake- 
 speare filed a bill in chancery, on 24th Nov. 1597, against 
 John Lambert of Barton-on-the-Heath, in which they al- 
 leged the fact of the tender and refusal of the 40/. by Ed- 
 mund Lambert, who, wishing to keep the estate, no doubt 
 coupled with the tender a condition not included in the deed. 
 The advance of other moneys, the repayment of which was 
 required by Edmund Lambert, was not denied by John and 
 Mary Shakespeare, but they contended that thev had done 
 all the law required, to entitle them to the restoration of 
 their estate of Asbyes : in their bill they also eet forth, thai; 
 John Lambert was " of great wealth and ability, and well 
 friended and allied amongst gentlemen and freeholders of 
 the country, in the county of Warwick," while, on the other 
 hand, they were " of small wealth, and very few friends and 
 alliance in the said county." The answer of John Lambert 
 merely denied that the 40/. had been tendered, in conse- 
 quence of which he alleged that his father became " law- 
 tully and absolutely seised of the premises, in his demesne 
 as of fee.'' To this answer John and Mary Shakespeare 
 put in a replication, reiterating the assertion of the tender 
 and refusal of the 40/. on Michaelmas-day, 1580, and pray- 
 ing Lord Keeper Egerton (afterwards Baron Ellesmere) to 
 decree in their favour accordingly. 
 
 If any decree were pronounced, it is singular that no 
 trace of it should have been fweserved either in the records 
 of the Court of Chancery, or among the papers of Lord 
 Ellesmere ; but such is the fact, and the inference is, that 
 the suit was settled by the parties without proceeding to 
 this extremity. We can have little doubt that the bill had 
 been filed with the concurrence, and at the instance, of our 
 great dramatist, who at this date was rapidly acquiring 
 wealth, although his fathe- and mother put forward in their
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXAVU 
 
 bill their own poverty and powerlessness, compared with, 
 the riches and influence of their opponent "William Shake- 
 speare must have been aware, that during the last seven- 
 teen years his father and mother had been deprived of their 
 right to Asbyes : in all probability his money was employed 
 in order to commence and prosecute the suit in Chancery : 
 and unless we suppose them to have stated and re-stated a 
 deliberate falsehood, respecting the tender of the 40/., it is 
 very clear that they had equity on their side. We think, 
 therefore, we may conclude that John Lambert, finding 
 he had no chance of success, relinquished his claim to Asbyes, 
 perhaps on the payment of the 40/. and of the sums which 
 his father had required from John and Mary Shakespeare 
 in 1580, and which in 1597 they did not dispute to have 
 been due. 
 
 Among other matters set forth by John Lambert in his 
 answer is, that the Shakespeares were anxious to regain 
 possession of Asbyes, because the current lease was near 
 its expiration, and they hoped to be able to obtain an im- 
 proved rent. Supposing it to have been restored to their 
 hands, the fact may be that they did not let it again, but 
 cultivated it themselves ; and we have at this period some 
 new documentary evidence to produce, leading to the belief 
 that our poet was a land-owner J0t at all events a land-oc- 
 cupier, to some extent iu the neighbourhood of Stratford- 
 upon-Avon. 
 
 Aubrey informs us, (and there is not only no reason for 
 disbelieving his statement, but every ground for giving it 
 credit) that William Shakespeare was " wont to go to his 
 native country once a year." Without seeking for any evi- 
 dence upon the question, nothing is more natural or proba- 
 ble ; and when, therefore, he had acquired sufficient pro- 
 perty, he might be anxious to settle his family comfortably 
 and independently in Stratford. We must suppose that his 
 father and mother were mainly dependent upon him, not- 
 withstanding the recovery of the small estate of the latter 
 at Wilmecote ; and he may have employed his brother 
 Gilbert, who was two years and a half younger than him- 
 self, and perhaps accustomed to agricultural pursuits, to 
 look after his farming concerns in the country, while he 
 himself was absent superintending his highly profitable, 
 theatrical undertakings in London. In 1595, 1596,and 1597, 
 our poet must have been in the receipt of a considerable 
 and an increasing income : he was part proprietor of the 
 BlacktViars and the Globe theatres, b jth excellent specula- 
 tions ; he was an actor, doubtless earning a good salary, in- 
 dependently of the proceeds of his sliares; and he was the 
 aaost popular and applauded dramatic poet of the day. ID
 
 CXXVlH THE LIFE OF 
 
 the summer he might find, or make, leisure to visit his na 
 tive town, and we may be tolerably sure that he was ther 
 in August, 1596, when he had the misfortune to lose his 
 only son Hamnet, one of the twins bom early in the spring 
 of 1585 : the boy completed his eleventh year in February, 
 1596, so that his death in August following must have been 
 It very severe trial for his parents 1 . 
 
 Stow informs us, that in 1596 the price of provisions in 
 England was so high, that the bushel of wheat was sold for 
 six, seven, and eight shillings 2 : the dearth continued and 
 increased through 1597, and in August of that year the 
 price of the bushel of wheat had risen to thirteen shillings, 
 fell to ten shillings, and rose again, in the words of the old 
 faithful chronicler to " the late greatest price 3 ." Malone 
 found, and priuted, a letter from Abraham Sturley, of Strat- 
 ford-upon-Avon, dated 24th Jan., 1597-8, stating that his 
 " neighbours groaned with the wants they felt through the 
 deamess of corn 4 ," and that malcontents in great numbers 
 had gone to Sir Thorns Lucy and Sir Fulke Greville to 
 complain of the maltsters for engrossing it Connected with 
 this dearth, the Shakespeare Society has been put in pos- 
 session of a document of much value as regards the bio- 
 graphy of our poet, although, at first sight, it may not ap- 
 pear to deserve notice, it is sure iu the eud to attract. It is 
 thus headed : 
 
 " The noate of corne and matte, taken the 4th of February 
 1597, iu the 40th year of the raigne of our most gra- 
 cious Soveraigue Ladie, Queen Elizabeth, &c." 
 
 and in the margin opposite the title are the words " Strat- 
 forde Burroughe, Warwicke," It was evidently prepared 
 in order to ascertain how much corn and malt there really 
 was in the town ; and it is divided into two columns, one 
 showing the " Townsmen's corn," and the other the " Strau- 
 gere' malt 6 ." The names of the Townsmen and Strangers 
 (when known) are all given, with the wards in which they 
 
 The following is the form of the entry of the burial in the regis- 
 l of the church of Stratford : 
 
 "1590. Jlugustn. Hamnet JUius William Shakspere." 
 .Innales, edit. 1015, p. 1279. 3 i bid . p . 1304. 
 
 Malone's Shakspeare. by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 560. 
 
 In the indorsement of the document it is stated, that the Towns- 
 ireirs malt amounted to 449 quarters and two " strike " or bushels, 
 
 s 9 quarters of barley their peas, beans, and vetches to 15 
 quarters, and their oats to 12 quarters. The malt, the property of 
 Strangers, amounted to 248 quarters and 5 strike, together -with 3 
 (Barters of peas. Besides malt, the Townsmen, it is said, were in 
 possesswn ot 43 quarters and a half of " wheat and mill-corn," an<t 
 ?" arters and strike of barley ; but it seems to h^ve bien con- 
 idably mor, even in Chapel-street Ward
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 resided, so that we are enabled by this document, among 
 other things, to prove in what part of Stratford the family 
 of our great poet then dwelt : it was in Chapel-street Ward, 
 and it appears that at the date of the account William 
 Shakespeare had ten quarters of corn in his possession. Aa 
 some may be curious to see who were his immediate neigh- 
 bours, and in what order the names are given, we copy the 
 account, as far as it relates to Chapel-street Ward, exactly 
 as it stands. 
 
 CHAPPLE STREET WARD, 
 
 8 Frauncis Smythe, Jun r ., 3 quarters. 
 5 John Coxe, 5" quarters. 
 171 M r . Thomas Dyxon, 17 quarters. 
 3 M r . Thomas Barbor, 3 quarters. 
 
 5 Mychuell Hare, 5 quarters. 
 
 6 M'. Bifielde, 6 quarters. 
 
 6 Hugh Aynger, 6 quarters. 
 
 6 Thomas Badsey, 6 quarters bareley 1 quarter. 
 1. 2 str. John Eogers, 10 strikes. 
 
 8 W m . Etnmettcs, 8 quarters. 
 
 11 M*. Aspinall, aboute 11 quarters. 
 
 10 W m . Shackespere, 10 quarters. 
 
 7 Jul. Shawe, 7 quarters." 
 
 We shall have occasion hereafter again to refer to this 
 document upon another point, but in the mean time we may 
 remark that the name of John Shakespeare is not found in 
 any part of it. This fact gives additional probability to the 
 belief that the two old people, possibly with some of their 
 children, were living in the house of their son William, for 
 such may be the reason why we do not find John Shake- 
 speare mentioned in the account as the owner of any corn. 
 It may likewise in part explain how it happened that Wil- 
 liam Shakespeare was in possession of so large a quantity : 
 in proportion to the number of his family, in time of scar- 
 city, he would be naturally desirous to be well provided 
 with the main article of subsistence ; or it is very possible 
 that, as a grower of grain, he might keep some in store for 
 Bale to those who were hi want of it. Ten quarters does 
 not seem much more than would be needed for his own 
 consumption ; but it affords some proof of his means and 
 substance at this date, that only two persons in Chapel- 
 street Ward had a larger quantity in their hands. We are 
 led to iufer from this circumstance that our great dramatist 
 may have been a cultivator of laud, and it is not unlikely 
 that the wheat in his granary had been grown on .his mo- 
 ther's estate of Asby es, at Wilmecote, of which we know tjuat 
 no fewer than fifty, out of about sixty, acres were arable 1 . 
 1 Maloue's Shakespeare, by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 25.
 
 3XXX THE LIFE OK 
 
 We must row return to London and to theatrical affair* 
 there, and in the first place advert to a passage in Howe's 
 Life of Shakespeare, relating to the real or supposed com- 
 mencement of the connexion between our great dramatist 
 and Ben Jonson 1 . Rowe tells us that " Shakespeare's ac- 
 quaintance with Ben Jonson began with a remarkable piece 
 of humanity and good nature. Mr. Jonson, who was at 
 that time altogether unknown to the world, had offered one 
 of his plays to the players, in order to have it acted ; and 
 the persons into whose hands it was put, after having turned 
 it carelessly and superciliously over, were just upon return- 
 ing it to him with an ill-natured answer, that it would be 
 of no service to their company, when Shakespeare, luckily, 
 cast his eye upon it, and found something so well in it, as to 
 engage him first to read it through, and afterwards to re- 
 commend Mr. Jonson and his writings to the public." This 
 anecdote is entirely disbelieved by Mr. Gifford, and he rests 
 his incredulity upon the supposition, that Ben Jonson's ear- 
 liest known production, " Every Man in his Humour," waa 
 originally acted in 1597 at a different theatre, and he pro- 
 duces as evidence Henslowe's Diary, which, he states, proves 
 that the comedy came out at the Rose 2 . 
 
 1 For the materials of the following note, which sets right an im- 
 rortant error relating to Ben Jonson's mother, we are indebted to Mr. 
 Peter Cunningham. 
 
 Malone and~Gi!lbrd (Ben Jonson's Works, vol. i. p. 5) both came to 
 ths conclusion that the Mrs. Margaret Jonson. mentioned in the 
 register of St. Martin's in the Fields as having been married, 17th 
 November, 1575, to Mr. Thomas Fowler, was the mother of Ben Jon. 
 son, who then took a second husband. "There cannot be a reasona- 
 ble doubt of it," says Giftbrd ; but the fact is nevertheless certainly 
 otherwise. It appears that Ben Jonson's mother was living after the 
 comedy of " Eastward Ho !" which gave offence to King James, (and 
 which was printed in 1605,) was brought out. (Laing's edit, of 
 " Ben Jonson's Conversations," p. '20.) It is incontestable that the 
 Mrs. Margaret Fowler, who was married in 1575. was dead before 
 1595; for her husband, Mr. Thomas Fowler, was then buried, and in 
 the inscription upon his tomb, in the old church of St. Martin's in 
 the Fields, it was stated that he survived his three wives, Ellen. Mar- 
 garet, and Elizabeth, who were buried in the same grave. The in- 
 scription (which we have seen in Strype's edit, of Clowe's Survey, 
 17*1, b. vi. p. 09) informs us also, that Mr. Thomas Fowler was " born 
 at Wicam, in the county of Lancaster," and that he had been 
 " Comptroller and Paymaster of the Works" to Queen Maiy, and 
 far the first ten years of Queen Elizabeth. The date of his death is 
 not slated in the inscription, but by the register of th hurch it ap- 
 r-ars that he was buried on the :X)th May, 1595. Ti.e Mrs. Margaret 
 Fowler, who died before 1595, could not have been the mother of 
 Bon Jonson. who was living about 1004 ; and if Ben Jonson's mo- 
 ter married a second time, we have yet to ascertain who was he/ 
 *t',.'n t husband. 
 
 3 The precise form in which the entry stands in Henslcwe'* ao- 
 *>unt l<rok is this : 
 
 "*Vaye 1597 11. It at the comodey of Vm'.rs."
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXXXl 
 
 The truth, however, is, /that the play supposed, on the 
 authority of Henslowe, to be Ben Jonson's comedy, is only 
 called bv Henslowe " Humours " or " Umers," as he igno- 
 rautly spells it 1 . It is a mere speculation that this was Ben 
 Jonson's play, for it may have been any other performance, 
 by any other poet, in the title of which the word " Hu- 
 mours " occurred ; and we have the indisputable and une- 
 quivocal testimony of Ben Jonsou himself, in his own au- 
 thorized edition of' his works in 1616, that " Every Man in 
 his Humour " was not acted until 1598 : he was not satisfied 
 with stating on tle title-page, that it was " acted in the year 
 1598 by the then Lord Chamberlain his servants," which 
 might have been considered sufficient ; but in this instance 
 (as in all others in the same volume) he informs us at the 
 end that 1598 was the year in which it was first acted : 
 "This comedy was first acted in the year 1598." Are we 
 prepared to disbelieve Ben Jonsou's positive assertion (a 
 man of the highest and purest notions, as regarded truth 
 and integrity) for the sake of a theory founded upon the 
 bare ' assumption, that Heuslowe by " timers " not only 
 mcaut Beu Jouson's " Every Man in his Humour," but could 
 mean nothing else ? 
 
 Had it been brought out originally by the Lord Admi- 
 ral's players at the Rose, and acted with so much success 
 that it was repeated eleven times, as Henslowe's Diary 
 shows was the case with " Umers," there can be no appa 
 rent reason why Ben Jouson should not have said so ; an * 
 if he had afterwards withdrawn it on some pique, and car- 
 ried it to the Lord Chamberlain's players, we can hardly 
 conceive it possible that a man of Ben Jonson's temper and 
 spirit would not have told us why in some other part of his 
 works. 
 
 Mr. Gifford, passing over without notice the positive state- 
 ment we have ' ' ' ' '"" 
 
 passing over without notice the positive state- 
 i quoted, respecting the first acting of " Every 
 Man in his Humour " by the Lord Chamberlain's servants 
 in 1598, proceeds to argue that Ben Jonson could stand in 
 need of no such assistance, as Shakespeare is said to have 
 afforded him, because he was " as well known, and perhaps 
 Vetter," than Shakespeare himself. Surely, with all defer- 
 ence for Mr. Gifford's undisputed acuteness and general ac- 
 curacy, we may doubt how Ben Jonsou could be btttt-i, or 
 <s?en as well known as Shakespeare, when the latter had 
 been for twelve years connected with the stage as author 
 and actor, and had written, at the lowest calculation, twelve 
 dramas, while the former was only twenty-four years old, 
 tnd had produced no known play but " Every Man in hia 
 
 i Ben Jonson's Works, 8vo. 1816, vol. i. p 46
 
 CXXXli THE LIFE OF 
 
 Humour." It is also to he observed, that Henslowe had nc 
 pecuniaiy transactions with Ben Jonson prior to the month 
 of August, 1598 ; whereas, if " Umers" had been purchased 
 from him, we could scarcely have failed to find some me 
 moraudum of payments, anterior to the production of the 
 comedy on the stage in May, 1597. 
 
 Add to this, that nothing could be more consistent with 
 the amiable and generous character of Shakespeare, than 
 that he should thus have interested himself in favour of a 
 writer who was ten years his junior, and who gave such 
 undoubted proofs of genius as are displayed in " Every Man 
 in liis Humour." Our great dramatist, established in public 
 favour by such comedies as " The Merchant of Venice " and 
 "A Midsummer Night's Dream," by such a tragedy as 
 " Romeo and Juliet," and by such histories as " King John," 
 " Richard II.," and " Richard III.," must have felt himself 
 above all rivalry, and could well afford this act of " hu- 
 manity aud good-nature," as Rowe terms it, (though Mr. 
 Gifford, quoting Rowe's words, accidentally omits the two 
 last,) on behalf of a young, needy, and meritorious author. 
 It is to be recollected also that Rowe, the original narrator 
 of the incident, does not, as in several other cases, give it as 
 if he at all doubted its correctness, but unhesitatingly and 
 distinctly, as if it were a matter well known, and entirely 
 believed, at the time he wrote. 
 
 Another circumstance may be noticed aa an incidental 
 confirmation of Rowe's statement, with which Mr. Gifford 
 could not be acquainted, because the fact has only been re- 
 cently discovered. In 1598 Ben Jonson, being then only 
 twenty-four years old, had a quarrel with Gabriel Spencer, 
 oue of Henslowe's principal actors, in consequence of which 
 they met, fought, and Spencer was killed. Henslowe, writ- 
 ing to Alleyn on the subject on the 26th September, use* 
 these words : " Since you were with me, I have lost one 
 of my company, which hurteth me greatly that is Gabriel, 
 for he is slain in Hoxton Fields by the hands of Benjamin 
 Jonson, bricklayer 1 ." Now, had Ben Jonson been at that 
 date the author of the comedy called " Umers," and had it 
 been hw " Every Man in his Humour," which was acted by 
 tiie Lord Admiral's players eleven times, it is not very 
 Lkely that Henslowe would have been ignorant who Benja- 
 min Jonson was, and have spoken of him, not as one of the 
 dramatists in his pay, and the author of a very successful 
 comedy, but merely as " bricklayer :" he was writing also 
 to his stepdaughter's husband, the leading member of his 
 
 ' See Memoirs of Edward Alleyn," p. 51. The author o; that 
 
 inU 8mCe See " reason to correct himself on this and several other
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXKXlll 
 
 company, to whom he would have been ready to give the 
 fullest information regarding the disastrous affair. We only 
 adduce this additional matter to show the improbability of 
 the assumption, that Ben Jonson had anything to do with 
 the comedy of " Umers," acted by Heusluwe's company in 
 May, 1597"; and the probability of the position that,asBter 
 Jonson himself states, it was originally brought out in 1598 
 by " the then Lord Chamberlain's servants." It may have 
 been, and probably was, acted by them, because Shake- 
 speare had kindly interposed with his associates on behalf 
 of the deserving and unfriended author. 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 Restriction of dramatic performances in and near London in 
 1597. Thomas Nash and his play, " The Isle of Dogs :" 
 imprisonment of Nash, and of some of the players of the 
 Lord Admiral. Favour shown to the companies of the 
 Lord Chamberlain and of the Lord Admiral. Printing of 
 Shakespeare's Plays in 1597. The list of his known dra- 
 mas, published by F. Meres in 1598. Shakespeare author- 
 ized the printing "of none of his plays, and never corrected 
 the press. Carelessness of dramatic authors in this respect. 
 " The Passionate Pilgrim," 1599. Shakespeare's reputation 
 as a dramatist 
 
 Is the summer of 1597 an event occurred which seems to 
 have produced for a time a serious restriction upon dramatic 
 performances. The celebrated Thomas Nash, early in the 
 year, had written a comedy which he called " The Isle of 
 Dogs :" that he had partners in the undertaking there is no 
 doubt ; and he tells us, in his tract called " Lenten Stuff," 
 printed in 1599, that the players, when it was acted by the 
 Lord Admiral's servants in the beginning of August, 1597, 
 had taken most unwarrantable liberties with his piece, by 
 making large additions, for which he ought not to have 
 been responsible. The exact nature of the performance is 
 not known, but it was certainly satirical, no doubt personal 
 and it must have had reference also to some of the polemi- 
 cal and political questions of the day. The representation 
 of it was forbidden by authority, and Nash, with others, 
 was arrested under an order from the privy council, aud 
 sent to the Fleet prison 1 . Some of the offending actors had 
 
 ' The circumstance was thus alluded to by Francis Meres in the 
 next year : "As Actieon was wooried of his owne hounds so is T'jm 
 Nash of his lie of Doys. Dcgges were the death of Euripides ; tut 
 bee not disconsolate, gallant young Juvenall ; Linus the sonne of
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 escaped for a time, and the privy council, not satisfied with 
 what had been already done m the way of punishment 
 wrote from Greenwich on 15th August, 1597, to certain 
 magistrates, requiring them strictly to examine all the par- 
 ties in custody, with a view to the discovery of others not 
 yet apprehended. This important official letter, which has 
 hitherto been unmeutioned, we have inserted in a note from 
 the registers of the privy council of that date ; and by it 
 we learn, not only that Nash was the author of the " sedi- 
 tious and slanderous" comedy, but possibly himself an ac- 
 tor in it, and " the maker of part of the said play," especi- 
 ally pointed at, who was in custody 1 . 
 
 Before the date of this incident the companies of various 
 play-houses in the county of Middlesex, but particularly at 
 the Curtain and Theatre in Shoreditch had attracted atten- 
 tion, and given offence, by the licentious character of their 
 performances ; and the registers of the privy council show 
 that the magistrates had been written to on the 28th July, 
 1597, requiring that no plays should be acted during the 
 
 Apollo died the same death. Yet, God forbid, that so brave a witte 
 should so basely perish : thine are but paper dogges ; neither is thy 
 banishment, like Ovid's, eternally to converse with the barbaroui 
 Getes : therefore, comfort thyselfe, sweete Tom, with Cicero's glori- 
 ous return to Rome, and with the counsel Aeneas gives to his sea- 
 beaten soldiors, lib. i. Aeneid : 
 ' Pluck up thine heart, and drive from thence both feare and care 
 
 away ; 
 
 To thinke on this may pleasure be perhaps another day.' 
 1 Durnto, et temet rebus servato secundis." Palladia Tamia, 1593, 
 
 i a lewa piaie, uiai was piaiea in one 
 ncke side, containing very seditious 
 aused some of the players to be ap- 
 >n, whereof one of them was not only 
 
 1 The minute in the registers of the privy council (pointed out to 
 ns by Mr. Lemon) is this : 
 
 il A letter to Richard Topclyfe, Thomas Fowler, and Ric. Skeving- 
 ton, Esquires, Doctour Fletcher, and Mr. Wilbraham. 
 
 " Upon information given us of a lewd plaie, that was plaied in one 
 of the plaie houses on the Ba ' 
 and sclaunderous matters, wes < 
 prehended and comytted to pryson, 
 
 an actor, but a maker of pane of the said plaie. For as much as yt 
 ys thought meete that the rest of the players or actours in that mat- 
 ter shal be apprehended, to receave soche punyshment as there lewda 
 anil mutynous behavior doth deserve ; these shall be, therefore, to re- 
 quire yow to examine these of the plaiers that are comytted, whcsa 
 names are knowne to you, Mr Topclyfe. what is become of the rest 
 of theire fellowes that either had their partes in the devysinge of that 
 edytious matter, or that were actours or plaiers in the same, what 
 Ci'pies they have given forth of the said plave. and to whorr.e, and 
 jch other pointes as you shall thinke meete to be demaunded of 
 them ; wherein you shall require of them to deale trulie. as they will 
 looke to receave anie favour. Wee praie yow also to peruse soch pa- 
 p*is as were fownde in Nash his lodgings, which Ferrys, a messen- 
 ger of the Chamber, shall delyver unto yow, and to certyfie us th 
 xamy nations yov take. So &c. Greenwich, 15. Aug. 1597." 
 
 I'rcm the Counc.l Register, 
 illiz. No. 13. p. 346.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXXXV 
 
 summer, and directing, in order to put an effectual stop to 
 uch performances, because " lewd matters were handled on 
 stages,'' that the two places above uauied should be " plucked 
 down 1 ." The magistrates were also enjoined to send for 
 the owners of " any other common play-house " within theii 
 jurisdiction, and not only to forbid performances of every 
 description, but " so to deface " all places erected for theatri- 
 cal representations, " as they might not be employed again to 
 such use." This command was given just anterior to the 
 production of Nash's "Jsle of Dogs," which was certainly 
 not calculated to lessen the objections entertained by any 
 persons in authority about the Court 
 
 The Blackfriars, not being, according to the terms of the 
 order of the privy council, " a common play-house," but 
 what was called a private theatre, does not seem to have 
 been included in the general ban ; but as we know that 
 similar directions had been conveyed to the magistrates of 
 the county of Surrey, it is somewhat surprising that they 
 seem to have produced no effect upon the performances at 
 the Globe or the Rose upon the Bankside. " We must attri- 
 bute this circumstance, perhaps, to the exercise of private 
 influence ; and it is quite certain that the necessity of keep- 
 ing some companies in practice, in order that they might 
 be prepared to exhibit, when required, before the Queen, 
 was nuide the first pretext for granting exclusive " licenses " 
 to the actors of the Lord Chamberlain, and of the Lord 
 Admiral We know that the Earls of Southampton and 
 Rutland, about this date and shortly afterwards, were in the 
 frequent habit of visiting the theatres 2 : the Earl of Not- 
 tingham also seems to have taken an unusual interest on 
 various occasions in favour of the company acting under 
 his name, and to the representations of these noblemen we 
 are, perhaps, to attribute the exemption of the Globe and 
 the Rose from the operation of the order " to deface " all 
 buildings adapted to dramatic representations in Middlesex 
 and Surrey, in a manner that would render them unfit for 
 any such purpose in future. We have the authority of the 
 
 l "We find evidence in a satirist of the time, that about this dale 
 the Theatre was abandoned, though not " plucked down." 
 
 ' But see yonder 
 
 One, like the unfrequented Theatre, 
 Walks* in darke silence, and vast solitude." 
 
 Kdw. Uuilpin's "SkialetheiA." tivo. 1598. Sign. D6 
 The theatre, in all probability, was not used for plays afterwards. 
 
 a See Vol. ii. p. 132 of the ' Sidney Papers." where Rowland 
 White tells Sir Robert Sydney, '-.My Lord Southampton and Lord 
 Rutland come not to the court : the one doth but very seldom. They 
 pass away the time in London merely in going to plays every day.' 
 This letter is dated llth October, 1599, and the Queen was then at
 
 CXXXV1 THE LIFE OF 
 
 registers of the privy council, under date of 19th Feb. 1597-8, 
 for stilting that the companies of the Lord Chamberlain 
 and of the Lord Admiral obtained renewed permission " to 
 use and practise stage-plays," in order that they might be 
 duly qualified, if called upon to perform before the Queen. 
 
 This privilege, as regards the players of the Lord Admi- 
 ral, seems the more extraordinary, because that -was the very 
 company which only in the August preceding had given such 
 offence by the representation of Nash's " Isle of Dogs," that 
 its farther performance was forbidden, the author and some 
 of the players were arrested and sent to the Fleet, and 
 vigorous steps taken to secure the persons of other parties 
 who for a time had made their escape. It is very likely 
 that Nash was the scape-goat on the occasion, and that the 
 chief blame was thrown upon him, although, in his tract, 
 before mentioned, he maintains that he was the most inno- 
 cent party of all those who Avere concerned in the transac- 
 tion. It seems evident, that in 1598 there was a strong 
 disposition on the part of some members of the Queen's 
 government to restrict dramatic performances, in and near 
 London, to the servants of the Lord Chamberlain and of the 
 Lord Admiral. 
 
 As far as we can judge, there was good reason for show- 
 ing favour to the association with which Shakespeare was 
 connected, because nothing has reached us to lead to the 
 belief that the Lord Chamberlain's servants had incurred 
 any displeasure : if the Lord Admiral's servants were to be 
 permitted to continue their performances at the Rose, it 
 would have been an act of the grossest injustice to have 
 prevented the Lord Chamberlain's servants from acting at 
 the Globe. Accordingly, we hear of no interruption, at 
 this date, of the performances at either of the theatres in 
 the receipts of which Shakespeare participated. 
 
 To the year 1598 inclusive, only five of his plays had 
 been printed, although lie had then been connected with the 
 stage for about twelve years, viz. "Romeo and Juliet," 
 * Richard II." and " Richard III." in 1597, and " Love's La- 
 bour 's Lost" and " Henry IV." part i.iu 1598 1 ; but, as we 
 loam from indisputable contemporaneous authority, he had 
 written seven others, besides what he had done in" the way 
 of alteration, addition, and adaptation. The earliest enu- 
 meration of Shakespeare's dramas made its appearance hi 
 1598, in a work by Francis Meres entitled " Palladis To- 
 
 1 It is doubtful whether an edition of '* Titus \ndronicus " had not 
 Appeared as early as 1594 ; but no earlier copy than that of 1600, in 
 the library of Lord Francis Kgerton, is known. It is necessary to 
 ear. in mind, that the impression of "Romeo and Juliet" in 1597 
 m only a mangled and mutilated representation of the state ir 
 wh-cn the tragedy came from the hi-nd of its autho'r.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. UXXXVU 
 
 mia, Wits Treasury." In a division >f this small but thick 
 volume (consisting of 666 8vo. pages, besides " The Table,") 
 headed " A comparative discourse of our English Poets, 
 with the Greeke, Latine and Italian Poets," the author in- 
 serts the following paragraph, which we extract precisely 
 as it stands in the original, because it has no where, that wo 
 recollect, been quoted quite correctly. 
 
 " As Plantusand Senecaars accounted the best forComody 
 and Tragedy among the Latines: so Shakespeare among y* 
 English is the most excellent in both kinds for the stage ; for 
 Comedy, witnes his Getleme of Verona, his Errors, his Loue 
 labors "lost, his Loue labours wonne, his Midsummers night 
 dreame, & his Mercliant of Venice : for Tragedy his Richard 
 the 2. Rictiard the 3. Ifenry the 4. King lohn, Titus An. 
 dronicus and his Romeo and ZvKst 1 ." 
 
 The following passages, in the same division of the work ot 
 Meres, contain mention of the name or works of .Shakespeare. 
 
 "As the soule of Euphorbus was thought to hue in Pythagoras, 
 so the sweete wittie soule of Quid liues in mellifluous aud hony- 
 tongued Shakespeare ; witnes his fenim ami Minis, his J.uerecc, his 
 sugred sonnets among his priuate friends &c." fol. 281. 
 
 'As Epius Stolo said, the Muses would speake with Plautus 
 tongue, if they would speak Latin ; so I say the Muses would speak 
 wuh Shakespeare's fine-filed phrase, if they would speak English." 
 fol -2d-2. 
 
 "And as Horace saith of his, T3xegi monumentu aere perennius, 
 Regaliq; situ pyramidum altius ; Quod non imber edax ; NonAquilo 
 impotens possit diruere. aut innumerabilis annorum series et fuga 
 teraporum; so say I severally of Sir Philip Sidneys. Spencers, Dan- 
 iels. Drsytons. Shakespeares. and Warners vrorkes." fol. '28-2. 
 
 " Ai. Pindarus. Anacreon, and Callimachus among the Greekes, and 
 Horact tiid Catullus among the Latines, are the best lyrick poets; 
 so in this faculty the best araog our poets are Spencer (who excelleth 
 in all kinds) Daniel, Drayton, Shakespeare, Bretto. :) fol. -282. 
 
 "As tki<>. tragicke poets flourished in Greece, JSschylus. Euripe- 
 des, Sophocles, Alexander Aetolus. Achieus Erithriieus, Astydamag 
 Atheniesii, Apollodorus Tarsensis, Nicomachus Phrygius, Thespig 
 Atticus, aid Timon Apolloniates; and these among the Latines, 
 Accius, M. Attilius, Pomponius Secundus and Seneca; so these are 
 our best ib,- tragedie ; the Lord Bnckhurst, Doctor Leg of Cambridge, 
 Dr. Ede of Oxford. Maister Edward Ferris, the Authour of the Mtr- 
 r,mr for Jliiifi.itratrg. Marlow, Peele, Watson, Kid. Shakespeare, 
 Drayton, Chapman, Decker, and Benjamin lohnson." fol. 2i3. 
 
 " The best poets for comedy among the Greeks are these : Menan- 
 der. Aristophanes, Eupolis Atheniensis Alexis, Terius, Nicoslratus, 
 Amipsias Atheniensis, Anaxadrides Rhodius. Aristonymus, Archip- 
 pus Atheniesis, and Callias Atheniensis: and among the Latineu. 
 Plautus, Terence, Nzuius, Sext. Turpilius, Licinius Imbrex, and 
 VirgiliusRomanus ; so the best for comedy amongst us bee Edward 
 Earle of Oxforde, Doctor Gager of Oxforde, Maister Rowley, once a 
 rare scholar of learned Pembrooke Hall in Cambridge. Maister Ed- 
 wardeg. one of her Majesties Chappell, eloquent and wittie John 
 Lilly, Lodge, Gascoyne. Greene. Shakespeare. Thomas Nash, Thomas 
 Heywood, Anthony Mundye. our best plotter. Chapman, Porter, Wil 
 ion, Hathway, and Henry Chettle." fol. 2d3. 
 
 "As these are famous among the Greeks for elegie. Melanthu*. 
 Mymnerus Colophonius, Olympius Mysius, Parthenius Nicaus, Phi- 
 TOL. I. 10
 
 CXXXVlii THE LIFE OF 
 
 Thus we sec that twelve comedies, histories, and trage 
 dies (for we have specimens in each department) were 
 known as Shakespeare's in the Autumn of 1598, when the 
 work of Meres came from the press 1 . It is a remarkable 
 circumstance, evincing strikingly the manner in which the 
 various companies of actors of that period were able to 
 keep popular pieces from the press, that until Shakespeare 
 had been a writer for the Lord Chamberlain's servants ten or 
 eleven years not a siugle play by him was published ; and 
 then four of his first printed plays were without his name, 
 as if the bookseller had been ignorant of the fact, or as if 
 he considered that the omission would not affect the sale : one 
 of them, " Romeo and Juliet," was never printed in any early 
 quarto as the work of Shakespeare, as will be seen from 
 our exact reprint of the title-pages of the editions of 1 597 
 1599, and 1609, (see lutroduc. 2 ) The reprints of" Richard 
 II." and " Richard III." in 1598; as before observed, hav 
 Shakespeare's name on the title-pages, and they were issued 
 perhaps, after Meres had distinctly assigned those " histx> 
 ries " to him. 
 
 It is our conviction, after the most minute and patient 
 examination of, we believe, every old impression, that 
 Shakespeare in no instance authorized the publication of hit 
 plays 3 : we do not consider even " Hamlet " an exception 
 although the edition of 1604 was probably intended, by 
 some parties connected with the theatre, to supersede the 
 
 letas Cous, Theogenes Megarensis. and Pigres Halicarnasrcus ; and 
 these among the Latines, Mecrenas, Quid, Tibu.lus, Propcrtius. T. 
 Valgius, Cassius Seuerus, and Clodius Sabinus ; so these are the 
 most passionate among us to be waile and bemoane the perplexities 
 of loue : Henrie Howard Karle of Surrey, sir Thomas Wyat the elder, 
 ir Francis Brian, sir Philip Sidney, sir Walter Rawley, sir Edward 
 Dyer, Spencer, Daniel, Drayton. Shakespeare, Whetstone, Gascoyne, 
 Samuel! Page sometime fellowe of Corpus CAristi Colledge in Ox- 
 ford, Churchyard. Bretton." fol. sJ33. 
 
 ' It was entered for publication on the Stationers' Registers in Sep- 
 tember, 159S. Meres must have written something in verse wti-u 
 has not reached our day, because in 1001 he was addressed by C 
 Fitzgeoflrey, in his ,9Jf unite, as a poet and theologian : he was cer 
 tamly well acquainted with the writings of all the poets of his time, 
 whatever might be their department. Fitzgeoffrey mentions Merei 
 in company with Spenser, Daniel, Drayton, Ben Jonson, Sylvester, 
 Chapman, Marston. &c. 
 
 3 The same remark will apply to " Henry V." first pnnted in 4to, 
 
 1600 and again in 1(>0-J, and a third time in 1608, without the name 
 
 t-hakespeare. However, this "history" never appeared in any 
 
 thing like an authentic shape, such as we may suppose it came from 
 
 bhakespeare's pen, until it was included in the folio of 16:23. 
 
 It will be observed that we confine this opinion to the plavs, 
 because with respect to the" poems, especially -Venus and Adoni's ' 
 *nd L,ucrece,' we feel quite asstrongly convinced that Shakespeare, 
 *eing instrumental in their publication, and more anxious aboul 
 their correctness, did see at least the first editions through the press.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXXX1X 
 
 garbled and fraudulent edition of 1603 : Shakespeare, in 
 our opinion, had nothing to do with the one or with the 
 other. He allowed most mangled and deformed copies of 
 several of his greatest works to be circulated for many 
 years, and did not think it worth his while to expose the 
 fraud, which remained, in several cases, undetected, as far aa 
 the great body of the public was concerned, until the ap- 
 pearance of the folio of 1623. Our great dramatist's indif- 
 ference upon this point seems to have been shared by many, 
 if not by most, of his contemporaries ; and if the quarto 
 impression of any one of his plays be more accurate in 
 typography than another, we feel satisfied that it arose out 
 of the better state of the manuscript, or the greater pains 
 and fidelity of the printer. 
 
 We may here point out a strong instance of the careless 
 ness of dramatic authors of that period respecting the con- 
 dition in which their productions came into the world : others 
 might be adduced without much difficulty, but one will be 
 sufficient Before his "Rape of Lucrece," a drama first 
 printed in 1608, Thomas Hey wood inserted ao address to 
 the reader, informing him (for it was an exception to the 
 general rule) that he had given his consent to the publica- 
 tion ; but those who have examined that impression, and 
 its repetition in 1609, will be aware that it is full of the 
 very grossest blunders, which the commonest corrector of 
 the press, much less the author, if he had seen the sheets, 
 could not have allowed to pass. Nearly all plays of that 
 time were most defectively printed, but Heywood's " Rape 
 of Lucrece," as it originally came from the press with the au- 
 thor's imprimatur, is, we think, the worst specimen of ty- 
 pography that ever met our observation 1 . 
 
 Returning to the important list of twelve plays furnished 
 by Meres, we may add, that although he does not mention 
 them, there can be no doubt that the three parts of " Henry 
 VI." had been repeatedly acted before 1598 : we may pos- 
 sibly infer, that they were not inserted because they were 
 then well known not to be the sole work of Shakespeare, 
 
 i "We cannot wonder at the errors in plays surreptitiously procured 
 and hastily printed, which was the case with many impressions of 
 that day. Upon this point Heywood is an unexceptionable witness^ 
 and he te..s us of one of h.s dramas, 
 
 " tl at some by stenography drew 
 
 The plot, put it in print, scarce one word true." 
 
 Other dramatists make the same complaint ; and there can be no doubt 
 that it was the practice so to defraud authors and actors, and to palm 
 wretchedly disfigured pieces upon the public as genuine and authen- 
 tic works. It was, we are satisfied, in this way that Shakespeare't 
 'Romeo ajid Juliet," "Henry V.," and "Hamlet," first got out into 
 the world.
 
 Cxi THE LIFE OF 
 
 By " Henr/ 1 V." it is most probable that Meres intended 
 both parts of that " history." " Love's Labour 's Won " 
 has been supposed, since the time of Dr. Farmer, to be 
 " All 's Well that ends Well," under a different title : our 
 notion is (see Introduction) that the original name given 
 to the play was " Love's Labour 's Won ;" and that, when 
 it was revived with additions and alterations, in 1605 or 
 1606, it received also a new appellation. 
 
 In connexion with the question regarding the interest 
 taken by Shakespeare in the publication of his works, w<> 
 may notice the impudent fraud practised in the year after 
 the appearance of the list furnished by Meres, In 1599 
 came out a collection of short miscellaneous poems, under 
 the title of " The Passionate Pilgrim :" they were all of them 
 imputed, by W. Jaggard the printer, or by W. Leake the 
 bookseller, to Shakespeare, although some of them were 
 notoriously by other poets. In the Introduction to our 
 reprint of this little work we have stated all the known 
 particulars regarding it; but Shakespeare, as far as ap- 
 pears from, any evidence that has descended to us, 
 took no notice of the trick played upon him : possibly he 
 never heard of it, or if he heard of it, left it to its own 
 detection, not thinking it worth while to interfere 1 . It 
 serves to establish, what certainly could not otherwise be 
 doubted, the popularity of Shakespeare in 1599, and the 
 manner in which a scheming printer and stationer endea- 
 voured to take advantage of that popularity. 
 
 Yet it is singular, if we rely upon several coeval authori- 
 ties, how little our great dramatist was about this period 
 known and admired for his plays. Richard Barafield pub- 
 lished his " Enconiion of Lady Pecunia," in 1598, (the year 
 in which the list of twelve of Shakespeare's plays was 
 printed by Meres) and from a copy of verses entitled 
 "Remembrance of some English Poets," we quote the 
 following notice of Shakespeare : 
 
 " And Shakespeare thou, whose honey-flowing vein, 
 Pleasing the world, ihy praises doth contain. 
 Whose Pnw. and whose Lucrect, sweet ana chaste. 
 Thy name in Fame's immortal book hath plac'd ; 
 Live ever yon, at least in fume live ever : 
 Well may the body die, but fame die never." 
 
 Here Shakespeare's popularity, as "pleasing the world," 
 ta noticed ; but the proofs of it are not derived from the 
 
 > When "The Passionate Pilgrim" was reprinted in 1612, with 
 orae additional pieces by Thomas Heywood, that dramatist pointed 
 ""u-'u 6 ' m P 8ition ' and procured the cancelling of the title-page i 
 which the authorship of tho whole was asgignel to Shakespeare.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXll 
 
 stage, where his dramas were in daily p ?rfurmance before 
 crowded audiences, but from the success of his " Venus and 
 A-donis " and " Lucrece," which had gone through various 
 editions. Precisely to the same effect, but a still stronger 
 instance, we may refer to a play in which both Burbage and 
 Kempe are introduced as characters, the one of whom had 
 obtained such celebrity in the tragic, and the other in the 
 comic parts in Shakespeare's dramas : we allude to " The 
 Return from Parnassus," which was indisputably acted before 
 the death of Queen Elizabeth. In a scene where two young 
 Btudeuts are discussing the merits of particular poets, one of 
 them speaks thus of Shakespeare : 
 
 " Who loves Adonis love or Lucrece rape, 
 His sweeter verse contains heart-robbing life ; 
 Could but a graver subject him content, 
 Without love's foolish, lazy languishmeut." 
 
 Not the most distant allusion is made to any of his 
 dramatic productions, although the poet criticised by the 
 
 Joung students immediately before Shakespeare was Ben 
 onson, who was deckred to be " the wittiest fellow, of a 
 bricklayer, in England," but " a slow inventor." Hence we 
 might be led to imagine that, even down to as late a period 
 as the commencement of the seventeenth century, the repu- 
 tation of Shakespeare depended rather upon his poems than 
 upon his plays ; almost as if productions for the stage were 
 not looked upon, at that date, as part of the recognized 
 literature of the country 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 New Place, or, " the great house," in Stratford, bought by 
 Shakespeare in 1597. Removal of the Lord Admiral's 
 players from the Bankside to the Fortune theatre in Crip- 
 plegate. Rivalry of the Lord Chamberlain's and Lord Ad- 
 minil's company. Order in 1600 confining the acting of 
 plays to the Globe and Fortune : the influence of the two 
 associations occupying those theatres. Disobedience of 
 various companies to the order of 1600. Plays by Shake- 
 speare published in 1600. The " First Part of the Life of 
 Sir Jonn Oldcastle," printed in 1600, falsely imputed to 
 Shakespeare, and cancelling of the title-page. 
 
 IT will have been observed, that in the document we have 
 produced, relating to the quantity of com and malt in Strat- 
 ford, it is stated that William Shakespeare's residence wa 
 ill thnt division of the borough called Chapel-street ward.
 
 Cxlil THE LIFE OK 
 
 This is an important circumstance, because we think it maj 
 be said to settle decisively the disputed question, whether 
 our great dramatist purchased what was known as " tho 
 great house," or " New Place," before, in, or after 1597. It 
 was situated in Chapel-street ward, close to the chapel of 
 the Holy Trinity. We are now certain that he had a house 
 in the ward in February, 1597-8, and that he had ten quar- 
 ters of com there ; and we need not doubt that it was the 
 dwelling which had been built by Sir Hugh Clopton in the 
 reign of Henry VIL : the Cloptons subsequently sold it to a 
 person of the name of Botte',and he to Hercules Underbill, 
 who disposed of it to Shakespeare. "We therefore find him, 
 in the beginning of 1598, occupying one of the best houses, 
 in one of the best parts of Stratford. He who had quitted 
 his native town about twelve years before, poor and com- 
 paratively friendless, was able, by the profits of his own 
 exertions, and the exercise of his own talents, to return to it, 
 and to establish his family in more comfort and opulence 
 than, as far as is known, they had ever before enjoyed.' 
 
 i Botte probably lived in it in 1564, -when he contributed 4s. to the 
 poor who were afflicted with the plague : this was the highest amount 
 subscribed, the bailiff only giving 3s 4rf., and the head alderman 2s. Sd. 
 
 1 That Shakespeare was considered a man who was in a condition 
 to lend a considerable sum, in the autumn of 1593, we have upon the 
 evidence of Richard Quyney, (father to Thomas Quyney, who subse- 
 quently married Shakespeare's youngest daughter Judith) who then 
 applied to him for a loan of 3(M., equal to about 150/. of our present 
 money, and in terms which do not indicate any doubt that our poet 
 would be able to make the advance. This application is contained in 
 a letter which must have been sent by hand, as it unluckily contains 
 
 speare, and it was first printed by Boswell from Malone's papers, vol. 
 ii. p. 585. 
 
 "Loving Contryman,! am bolde of yo. as of a frende, craveing 
 yo<" helpe w"> xxx'", uppon M' Bushell & my securytee,or M' Myt- 
 ith me. M r Rosswell is not come to London as yeate. & I hav 
 
 especiall cawse. Yo shall frende me muche in helpeing me out of 
 all the debeits I owe in London, I thanck god, and muche quiet to my 
 mynde w ch wolde not be indebited. I am now towards the Cowrte, 
 
 in hope yr answer for the dispatche of my Buysenes. Yo" shall 
 nether loose creddytt nor monney by me, the Lorde willinge ; & nowe 
 butt pswade yo ur selfe soe as I hope & yo" shall nott need to feare ; 
 but with all hartie thanckfullness I wyll holde my tyme & content 
 TO"' frend, & yf we Bargaine faither. yo shall be the pale m' 
 yo' selfe. My tyme biiVls me to hasten to an ende, <k soe I comitt 
 thys [to] yo wr care &. hope of yo wr helpe. I feare I shall nott be backe 
 this night from the Cowrte. haste, the Lorde be w" yo" & w"> u 
 all. amen. From the Bell in Carter Lane, the 25 October 1598. 
 "Yo-inallkyndenes. 
 
 li RVC. QlJYNSY. 
 
 "To my Loveing good frend 
 
 4 contryman M' W- 
 
 Shackespe thees." 
 
 The deficiency as regards the direction of the letter, lamented by 
 M&lone. is not of so much importance, because we have proved that
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXlUl 
 
 We consider the point that Shakespeare had become ownei 
 oi New Place in or before 1597 as completely made out, aa, 
 at such a distance of time, and with such imperfect iufonna 
 tion upon nearly all matters connected with his history 
 could be at all expected 1 . 
 
 We apprehend likewise, as we have already remarked 
 (p. Ix), that the confirmation of arms in 1596, obtained as 
 we believe by William Shakespeare, had reference to the 
 permanent and substantial settlement of his family iu 
 Stratford, and to the purchase of a residence there consistent 
 with the altered circumstances of that family altered by 
 its increased wealth and consequence, owing to the success 
 of our great poet both as an actor and a dramatist. 
 
 The removal of the Lord Admiral's players, under 
 Henslowe and Alleyn, from the Rose theatre on the Bank 
 side, to the new house called the Fortune, iu Golding-laue, 
 Cripplegate, soon after the date to which we are now 
 referring, may lead to the opinion that that company did 
 not find itself equal to sustain the rivalship with the Lord 
 Chamberlain's servants, under Shakespeare and Burbage, at 
 the Globe. That theatre was opened, as we have adduced 
 reasons to believe, in the spring of 1595 : the Rose was a 
 considerably older building, and the necessity for repairing 
 it might enter into the calculation, when Henslowe and 
 
 Shakespeare was resident in Southwark in 1596; and he probably 
 was so in 159S, because the reasons which, we have supposed, in- 
 duced him to take up his abode there would still be in operation, in 
 as much force as ever. 
 
 i In the garden of this house it is believed that Shakespeare planted 
 a mulberry tree, about the year 1609 : such is the tradition, and we 
 are disposed to think that it is founded in truth. In KiOil, King 
 James was anxious to introduce the mulberry (which had been im- 
 ported about half a century earlier) into general cultivation, and the 
 records in the State Paper Office show that in that year letters wen; 
 written upon the subject to most of the justices of peace and deputy 
 lieutenants in the kingdom : the plants were sold by the .State at (M 
 the hundred. On the A5th November, 1609, 9J1W. were paid out of the 
 public purse for the planting of mulberry trees '' near the palace of 
 Westminster." The mulberry tree, said to have been planted by 
 Shakespeare, was in existence up to about the year 1755 ; and in the 
 spring of 1742, Garrick. Macklin, and Delane the actor (not Dr. 
 Delany, the friend of Swift, as Mr. Dyce, in his compendious .Memoir. 
 p. hx., states,) were, entertained under it by Sir Hugh Clopton. New 
 Place remained in possession of Shakespeare's successors until the 
 Restoration ; it was then repurchased by the Clopton family : about 
 17.~>:> it was sold by the executor of Sir Hugh Clopton to a clergyman 
 of the name of Gastrell, who, on some offence taken at the authorities 
 of the borough of Stratford on the subject of rating the house, pulled 
 it down, and cut down the mulberry tree. According to a letter in 
 the Annual Register of I7u'0. the wood was bought by a silversmith, 
 who " made many odd things of it for the curious." In our tune wa 
 have seen as many relics, said to have been formed from this one 
 mulberry tree, as could hardly have been furnished by all the mul- 
 berry trees in the county of Warwick.
 
 CxllV THE LIFE OF 
 
 Alleyn thought of trying the experiment in a different part 
 of the town, and on the Middlesex side of the water. Thea- 
 tres being at this date merely wooden structures, and much 
 frequented, they would soon fall into decay, especially in a 
 marshy situation like that of the Bankside : so damp was 
 the soil in the neighbourhood, that the Globe was surrounded 
 by a moat to keep it dry ; and, although we do not find the 
 fact any where stated, it is most likely that the Rose was 
 similarly drained. The Rose was in the first instance, and 
 as fur back as the reign of Edward VL, a house of entertain- 
 ment with that sign, and it was converted into a theatre by 
 Henslowe and a grocer of the name of Cholmley about the 
 year 1584 ; but it seems to have early required considerable 
 reparations, and they might be again necessary prior to 
 1599, when Henslowe and Alleyn resolved to abandon 
 Southwark However, it may be doubted whether they 
 would not have continued where they were, recollecting the 
 convenient proximity of Paris Garden, (where bears, bulls, 
 <fec. were baited, and in which they were also jointly inter- 
 ested) but for the success of the Lord Chamberlain's players 
 at the Globe, which had been in use four or five years 1 
 
 We may be disposed to assign the following lines to about this 
 period, or a little earlier: they relate to some theatrical wager in 
 which Alleyn, of the Lord Admiral's players, was, for a part not 
 named, to be matched against Kempe, of the Lord Chamberlain's 
 servants. By the words " Will's new play," there can be little doubt 
 that some work by Shakespeare was intended ; and we know from 
 Heywood's -'Hierarchic of the Blessed Anpels," 1635. that Shake- 
 speare was constantly familiarly called " Will." The document is 
 preserved at Dulwich, and it was first printed in the " Memoir* of 
 Edwarl Alleyn," p. li 
 
 " Sweet Nedde, nowe wynne an other wager 
 
 For thine old frende. and fellow stager. 
 
 Tarlton himselfe thou doest excell, 
 
 And Eentley beate, and conquer Knell, 
 
 And now shall Kempe orecome as well. 
 
 The moneyes downe. the place the Hope i 
 
 Phillippes shall hide his head and Pope. 
 
 Feare not, the victorie is thine ; 
 
 Thou still as inacheles Ned shall shyne. 
 
 If Roscius Richard foames and fumes, 
 
 The Globe shall have but emptie roomes, 
 
 If thou doest act ; and Willes newe playe 
 
 Shall be rchearst some other daye. 
 
 Consent, then, Nedde ; do us this grace : 
 
 Thou cannot faile in anie case ; 
 
 For in the triall, come what maye. 
 
 All sides shall brave Ned Allin save." 
 
 By "Roscius Richard " the writer of these lines, who was the 
 
 ^"j ,, Alleyn a S ainst Kempe. could have meant nobody but 
 
 Richard Burbape. It will be recollected, that not very long after- 
 
 <ls hempe became a member of the association of which Alleyn 
 
 * the leader, and quitted that to which Shakespeare and Burba-re 
 
 were attached. It is possible tha; this wager, and Kempe's success
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXv 
 
 Henalowe and Alleyn seem to have found, that neither tbdi 
 plays nor their players could stand the competition of their 
 rivals, and they accordingly removed to a vicinity where no 
 play-house had previously existed. 
 
 The Fortune theatre was commenced in Golding Lane, 
 Cripplegate, in the year 1599, and finished in 1600, and 
 thither without delay Henslowe and Alleyn transported 
 their whole dramatic establishment, strengthened in the 
 epring of 1602 by the addition of that great and popular 
 comic performer, William Kempe 1 . The association at the 
 Globe was then left in almost undisputed possession of the 
 Bankside. There were, indeed, occasional, and perhaps not 
 unfrequent, performances at the Rose, (although it had been 
 stipulated with the public authorities that it should be 
 pulled down, if leave were given for the construction of the 
 Fortune) as well as at the Hope and the Swan, but not by 
 the regular associations which had previously occupied 
 them ; and after the Fortune was opened, the speculation 
 there was so profitable, that the Lord Admiral's players 
 had no motive for returning to their old quarters". 
 
 The members of the two companies belonging to the 
 Lord Chamberlain and to the Lord Admiral appear to have 
 possessed so much influence hi the summer of 1600, that 
 (backed perhaps by the puritanical zeal of those who were 
 unfriendly to all theatrical performances) they obtained an 
 order from the privy council, dated 22d June, that no other 
 public pky-houses should be permitted but the Globe in 
 Surrey, and the Fortune in Middlesex Nevertheless, the 
 privy council registers, where this order is inserted, also 
 contain distinct evidence that it was not obeyed, even in 
 May 1601 ; for on the 10th of that month the Lords wrote 
 to certain magistrates of Middlesex requiring them to put a 
 stop to the performance of a play at the Curtain, in which 
 were introduced " some gentlemen of good desert and 
 quality, that are yet alive," but saying nothing about the 
 
 in it, led Alleyn and Henslowe to hold out inducements to him to 
 ioin them in their undertaking at the 1'ortune. Upon this point, 
 however, we have no other evidence, than the mere fact that Kempa 
 went over to the enemy. 
 
 i After his return from Rome, where he was seen in the autumn 
 if 1601. 
 
 " It was at the Fortune that Alleyn seems to have realized so much 
 .noney in the few first years of the undertaking, that he was able in 
 NOT. 1604 to purchase the manor of Kennington for 1005. and in tht 
 next year the manor of Lewisham and Dulwich for 5000. Thes 
 two sums, in money of the present day, would be equal to at leasf 
 -2.3.000 ; but it is to be observed that for Duiwich, Alleyn only paid 
 2000 down, while the remaining sum was left upon mortgage. IB 
 the commencement of the seventeenth century theatrical specu lationi 
 generally seem to have been highly lucrative. See "The Alleyn 
 Papers. ' (printed by the Shakespeare Society,) p xiv.
 
 THR LIFE OF 
 
 cl<-:inir of the house, although it -was open in defiance of the 
 imperative command of the preceding year. We know 
 also upon other testimony, that not only the Curtain, but 
 theatres on the Banksidc, besides the Globe, (where per- 
 formances were allowed) were then in occasional use. It is 
 fair to presume, therefore, that the order of the 22d June, 
 1600, was never strictly enforced, and one of the most 
 remarkable circumstances of the times is, the little atten- 
 tion, as regards theatricals, that appears to have been paid 
 to the absolute authority of the court It seems exactly as 
 if restrictive measures had been adopted in order to satisfy 
 the importunity of particular individuals, but that there was 
 no disposition on the part of persons in authority to carry 
 them into execution. Such was probably the fact ; for a 
 year and a half after the order of the 22d June had been 
 issued it was renewed, but, as far as we can learn, with just 
 as little effect as before. 1 
 
 Besides the second edition of " Romeo and Juliet " in 
 1599, (which was most likely printed from a play-house 
 manuscript, being very different from the mutilated and 
 manufactured copy of 1597) five plays by our great dra- 
 matist found their way to the press in 1600, viz. " Titus An- 
 dronicus," (which as we have before remarked had probably 
 been originally published in 1594) "The Merchant of Ve- 
 nice," " A Midsummer Night's Dream"," " Henry IV." part 
 
 i See "Hist. Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage." Vol. i. p. 318, 
 where the particulars, which are here necessarily briefly and summa- 
 
 rily dismissed, are given in detail. 
 
 a The clothing of Snug the joiner in a "lion's fell " in this play, 
 Aet v. so. 1, seems to have suggested the humorous speech to King 
 
 James at Linlithgow, on 30th June 1617, eight lines of which only 
 are given in Nichols's " Progresses '' of that monarch. Vol. lii. p. :j2ti. 
 The whole address, of twenty-two lines, exists in the State Paper 
 office, where it was discovered by Mr. Lemon. It seems to have been 
 the original MS. which was placed at the time in the hands of the 
 king, and as it is a curiosity, we subjoin it. 
 
 came to the gate of the towne, in the midst of which was a lyon' 
 and in the lyon a man, who delivered this learned speech to hii 
 HUJestie. 
 
 "Most royall sir, heere I doe you beseech, 
 
 Who are a lyon, to hear a lyon's speech ; 
 
 A miracle ; for since the dayes of jEsop, 
 
 Till ours, noe lyon yet his voice did hois-up 
 
 To such a Majestie. Then. King of Men. 
 
 The king of beasts speaks to the? from his denn, 
 
 A lountaine nowe. That lyon, which was ledd 
 
 By Androdus through Rome, had not a head 
 
 More rationall then this, bredd in this nation, 
 
 Whoe in thy presence warbleth this oration. 
 
 For though he heer inclosed bee in plaister, 
 
 When he was free he was this townes school-mast* 
 
 This Well you see, is not that Arethusa,
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Cxlvii 
 
 ii., and " Much Ado about Nothing." Tht last only was r.ot 
 mentioned by Meres in 1598 ; and as to the periods when 
 we may suppose the others to have been written, we must 
 refer the reader to our several Introductions, where we 
 have given the existing information upon the subject. " The 
 Chronicle History of Henry V.' 1 also came out in the same 
 year, but without the name of Shakespeare upon the title- 
 page, and it is, if possible, a more imperfect and garbled 
 representation of the play, as it proceeded from the author's 
 pen, than the " Romeo and Juliet " of 1597. Whether any 
 of the managers of theatres at this date might not some- 
 times be concerned in selling impressions of dramas, we 
 have no sufficient means of deciding ; but we do not believe 
 it, and we are satisfied that dramatic authors in general 
 were content with disposing of their plays to the several 
 companies, and looked for no emolument to be derived 
 from publication 1 . We are not without something like 
 proof that actors now and then sold their parts in plays to 
 booksellers, and thus, by the combination of them and other 
 assistance, editions of popular plays were surreptitiously 
 printed. 
 
 We ought not to pass over without notice a circumstance 
 which happened in 1600, and is connected with the question 
 of the authorized or unauthorized publication of Shake 
 speare's plays. In that year a quarto impression of a play, 
 called " The first part of the true and honourable History 
 of the Life of Sir John Oldcastle, the good Lord Cobham," 
 came out, on the title-page of which the name of William 
 Shakespeare appeared at length. We find by Heuslowe'a 
 Diary that this drama was in fact the authorship of four 
 poets, Anthony Muuday, Michael Drayton, Robert Wilson 
 and Richard Hathway ; and to attribute it to Shakespeare 
 was evidently a mere trick by the bookseller, T[homas] 
 P[avier], in the hope that it would be bought as his work. 
 
 The Nymph of Sicile : Noe, men may carous a 
 Health of the plump Ly<eus, noblest grapes, 
 From these faire conduits, and turne drank iike apes. 
 This second spring I keep, as did that dragon 
 Hesperian apples. And nowe, sir, a plague on 
 This your poore towne, if to 't you bee not welcome ! 
 But whoe can doubt of this, when, loe ! a Well come 
 Is nowe unto the gate ? I would say more, 
 But words now failing, dare not, least I roare. 
 
 The ei^ht lines in Nichols's " Progresses of James I." are from 
 Drummond's Poem, and there can be little doubt that the whola 
 speech was from his pen. 
 
 i It was a charge against Robert Greene, that, driven by the pres- 
 sure of necessity, he had on one occasion raised money by making 
 " a double sale " of his play called " Orlando Furioso," 1594. first to 
 Ihe players and afterwards i.- the press, fcuch may have been th 
 fact, but it was unquestionably an exception to the ordinary rale.
 
 CxlviH THE LIFE OF 
 
 Mai one remarked upon this fraud, but lie was not aware^ 
 whn he wrote, that it had boen detected and coirected at 
 the time, for since his day more than one copy of the " First 
 Part, <fcc. of Sir John Oldcastle " has come to light, upon 
 the title-page of which no name is to be found, the book- 
 seller apparently having been compelled to cancel the leaf 
 containing it. From the indifference Shakespeare seems 
 uniformly to have displayed on matters of the kind, we 
 may, possibly, conclude that the cancel was made at the 
 instance of one of the four poets who were the real authors 
 of the play ; but we have no means of speakir<g decisively 
 upon the point, and the step may have been iii some way 
 connected with the objection taken by living members of the 
 Oldcastle family to the name, which had been aseigned by 
 Shakespeare in the first instance to Falstaff 1 . 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Death of John Shakespeare in 1601. Performance of" Twelfth 
 Night" in February, 1602. Anecdote of Shakespeare and 
 Burbage : Manningham's Diary in the British Museum the 
 authority for it. " Othello," acted by Burbage and others 
 at the Lord Keeper's in August, 1602. Deatli of Elizabeth, 
 and Arrival of James I. at Theobalds. English actors in 
 Scotland in 15S9, and again in 1599, 1600, and 1601 : large 
 rewards to them. The" freedom of Aberdeen conferred in 
 1601 upon Laurence Fletcher, the leader of the English 
 company in Scotland. Probability that Shakespeare never 
 was in Scotland. 
 
 THK father of our great poet died in the autumn of 1601, 
 and he was buried at Stratford-upon-Avon*. He seems to 
 have left no will, and if he possessed any property, in hind 
 or houses, not made over to his family, we know not how it 
 was divided. Of the eight children which his wife, Mary 
 Ardeu, had brought him, the following were then alive, and 
 might be present at the funeral : William, Gilbert, Joau, 
 Riohard, and Edmund. The latter years of John Shake- 
 speare (who, if born in 1530 as Malone supposed, was in 
 his seveuty-fii-st year) were doubtless easy and comfortable, 
 and the prosperity of his eldest son must have placed him 
 beyond the reach of pecuniary difficulties. 
 
 Early in the spring ol 1602, we meet with one of those 
 
 1 See the Introduction to " henry IV." Part I. 
 
 1 On the ,-th September, as we find by the subsequent entry in the 
 
 ' 1001. Stptcmbr. 8. Mr. ./*<* Shakspeare."
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 rare facts which distinctly show how uncertain all conjec- 
 ture must be respecting the date when Shakespeare's dramas 
 were originally written and produced. Malone and Tyr- 
 whitt, in 179U, conjectured that " Twelfth Night" had been 
 written in 1614: in his second edition Malone altered 't to 
 16U7, and Chalmers, weighing the evidence in favour of 
 one date and of the other, thought neither correct, and fixed 
 upon 1613', an opinion in which Dr. Drake fully concurred 2 . 
 The truth is, that we have irrefragable evidence, from au 
 eye-witness, of its existence on 2nd February, 1602, when 
 it was played at the Reader's Feast in the Middle Temple. 
 This eye-witness was a barrister of the name of Manmng- 
 hanii vho left a Diary behind him, which has been pre- 
 served in the British Museum ; but as we have inserted his 
 account of the plot in our introduction to the comedy, (VoL 
 iii. p. 317) no more is required here, than a mere mention 
 of the circumstance. However, in another part of the same 
 manuscript 3 , he gives an anecdote of Shakespeare and Bur- 
 bage, which we quote, without farther remark than that it 
 has been supposed to depend upon the authority of Nicho- 
 las Tooley 4 , but on looking at the original record again, we 
 doubt whether it came from any such source. A " Mr. 
 Towse " is repeatedly introduced as a person from whom 
 Mauuiugham derived information, and that name, though 
 blotted, seems to be placed at the end of the paragraph, 
 certainly without the addition of any Christian name. This 
 circumstance may make some difference as regards the au- 
 thenticity of the story, because we know not who Mr 
 Towse might be, while we are sure that Nichoks Tooley 
 was a fellow-actor in the same company as both the indi- 
 viduals to whom the story relates. At the same time it 
 was, very possibly, a mere invention of the " roguish play- 
 ers," originating, as was often the case, in some older joke, 
 and applied to Shakespeare and Burbage, because their 
 Christian names happened to be William and Richard 5 . 
 
 1 Supplemental Apology, &c. p. 467. 
 a Shakspeare and his Times, vol. ii. p. 
 ' MS. Hurl. No. 
 
 * Hist, of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. i. p. 331. Th 
 Christian name is wanting in the Harl. MS. 
 
 * See "Hist. Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage," vol. i. p. 31. 
 The writer of that work thus introduces the anecdote : " If in th 
 
 ol my in 
 find anyt 
 
 favourable light, as a human being with human infirmities, I may 
 lament it, but I do not therefore feel myself at liberty to conceal and 
 oppress the fact '' The anecdote is this. 
 
 Upon a tyme when Burbage played Rich. 3, there was a citizen 
 farre in liking with him, that before shee went from th 
 
 course of my inquiries, I have been unlucky enough (I may perhaps 
 nay) to find anything which represents our great dramatist in a lesa 
 favourable light, as a human being with human infirmities 
 lament it, but I do not therefore feel myself at liberty to conc 
 oppress the fact '' The anecdote is this. 
 
 Upon a tyme when Burbage played Rich. 3, there was a 
 tfitw so farre in liking with him, that before shee went fr 
 pla', shee appointed him to come that night unto her, by th 
 of Rich. th ;{ Shakespeare, overhearing their conclusion, w 
 
 went
 
 d THE LIFE OF 
 
 Elizabeth, from the commencement of her reign, seems 
 to have extended her personal patronage, as well as hei 
 public countenance, to the drama ; and scarcely a Christmas 
 or a Shrovetide can be pointed out during the forty-five 
 years she occupied the throne, when there were not dra- 
 matic entertainments, either at Whitehall, Greenwich, None- 
 such, Richmond, or Windsor. The latest visit she paid to 
 any of her nobility in the country w:is to the Lord Keeper, 
 Sir Thomas Egerton, at Harefield, only nine or ten months 
 before her death, and it was upon this occasion, in the very 
 beginning of August, 1602, that " Othello 1 " (having been 
 got up for her amusement, and the Lord Chamberlain's 
 players brought down to the Lord Keeper's seat in Hert- 
 fordshire for the purpose) was represented before her. In 
 this case, as in the preceding one respecting " Twelfth 
 Night," all that we positively learn is that such drama was 
 performed, and we are left to infer that it was a new play 
 from other circumstances, as well as from the fact that it 
 was customary on such festivities to exhibit some drama 
 that, as a novelty, was then attracting public attention. 
 Hence we are led to believe, that "Twelfth Night" (not 
 printed until it formed part of the folio of 1623) was writ- 
 ten at the end of 1600, or in the beginning of 1601 ; and 
 that " Othello" (h'rst published in 4to, 1622,) came from the 
 author's pen about a year afterwards. 
 
 In the memorandum ascertaining the performance of 
 " Othello " at Harefield, the company by which it was re- 
 presented is called " Burbages Players," that designation 
 arising out of the fact, that he was looked upon as the 
 leader of the association : he was certainly its most cele- 
 brated actor, and we find from other sources that he waa 
 the representative of " the Hoor of Venice 2 ." Whether 
 
 fore, was entertained, and at his game ere Burbage came. Then, 
 message being brought, that Rich, the :i. was at the dore, Shake- 
 speare caused returne to be made, that William the Conqueror wa 
 before Rich, the 3. Shakespeare's name Willm." 
 
 This story may be a piece of scandal, but there is no doubt that 
 Burbage was the original Richard III. As to the custom of ladies 
 inviting players home to supper, see Middleton's ' Mad World, my 
 Masters," Act v. so. 2. in " Dodsley's Old Plays." last edit. The 
 players, in turn, sometimes invited the ladies, as we find by Field'* 
 
 Amends for Ladies, 1 ' Act iii. sc. 4, in the supplementary volume to 
 '' Dodsley's Old Plays." published in 1-29. 
 
 1 See the ' Introduction " to ' Othello." Also " The Egerton Pa- 
 pers." printed by the Camden Society, Is40. p. 343. 
 
 3 In a former note we have inserted the names of some of the prin- 
 cipal characters, in plays of the lime sustained by Burbage. as they are 
 given in the Epitaph upon his death, in 1019. Our readers may like 
 to see the manner in which these characters are spoken of by the con- 
 temporaneous versifier. The production opens with this couplet :- 
 " Some skilful limner help me, if not so, 
 Some sad trag. slian to express iny wc ;"
 
 WILMAM SHAKESPEARE. fll 
 
 Shakespeare had any and what part in the tragedy, either 
 then or upon other occasions, is not known ; but we do not 
 think any argument, one way or the other, is to be drawn 
 from the fact that the company, when at Harefield, does 
 not seem to have been under his immediate government. 
 Whethei he was or was not one of the " players " in 
 "Othello," in August 1602, there can be little doubt that as 
 an actor, and moreover as one " excellent in his quality," he 
 must have been often seen and applauded by Elizabeth, 
 Chettle informs us after her death, in a passage already 
 quoted, that she had " opened her royal ear to his lays ;" 
 out this was obviously in his capacity of dramatist, and we 
 have no direct evidence to establish that Shakespeare bad 
 ever performed at Court'. 
 
 which certainly does not promise much in the way of excellence , 
 
 but the enumeration of parts is all that is valuable, and it is this : 
 
 " No more young Hamlet, though but scant of breath 
 
 Shall cry, Revenge ! for his dear father's death 
 
 Poor Romeo never more shall tears beget 
 
 For Juliet's love, and cruel Capulet : 
 
 Harry shall not be seen as King or Prince, 
 
 They died with thee, dear Dick, 
 
 Not to revive again. Jeronimo 
 
 Shall cease to mourn his son Horatio. 
 
 They cannot call thee from thy naked bed 
 
 By horrid outcry : and Antonio's dead. 
 
 Edward shall lack a representative ; 
 
 And Crookback, as befits, shall cease to lire. 
 
 Tyrant Macbeth, with unwash'd bloody hand. 
 
 We vainly now may hope to understand. 
 
 Brutus and Marcius henceforth must be dumb, 
 
 For ne'er thy like upon our stage shall come, 
 
 To charm the faculty of ears and eyes, 
 
 Unless we could command the dead to rise. 
 
 Vindex is gone, and what a loss was he ! 
 
 Frankford, Brachiano, and Malevole. 
 
 Heart-broke Philaster, and Amintas too, 
 
 Are lost for ever, with the red-haird Jew, 
 
 Which sought the bankrupt Merchant's pound of Jlek 
 
 By woman-lawyer caught in his own mesh. * * 
 
 And his whole action he would change with ease 
 
 From ancient Lear to youthful Pericles. 
 
 But let me not forget one chiefest part 
 
 Wherein. beyond the rest, he mov'd the heart ; 
 
 The grieved Moor, made jealous by a slave, 
 
 Who sent his wife to fill a timeless grave, 
 
 Then slew himself upon the bloody bed. 
 
 All these, and many more, with him are dead," &o. 
 The MS. from which the above lines are copied seems, at least in''* 
 place, defective, but it might be cured by the addition of the woJ 
 '' and not long since " 
 
 i A ballad was published on the death of Elizabeth, in the com. 
 mencement of which Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and Thomas Greene,'' 
 author of " A Poet's Vision and a Prince's Glorie," 4to, 1603, wert 
 called upon to contribute some verses in honour of the late Queen : 
 "You poets all. brave Shakespeare, Johnson, Greene. 
 
 Bestow your time to write for England's Queene," &o.
 
 llli THE LIFE OF 
 
 James I. reached Theobalds, in his journey from Edin 
 mirgh to London, on the 7th May, 1603. Before he quitted 
 his own capital he had had various opportunities of wit- 
 nessing the performances of English actors; and it is an in- 
 teresting, but at the same time a difficult question, whether 
 Shakespeare had ever appeared before him, or, in othev 
 words, whether our great dramatist had ever visited Scot 
 land I We have certainly no affirmative testimony upon 
 the point, beyond what may be derived from some passages 
 in " Macbeth," descriptive of particular localities, with 
 which passages our readers must be familiar: there is, 
 however, ample room for conjecture; and although, on the 
 whole, we are inclined to think that he was never north of 
 the Tweed, it is indisputable that the company to which he 
 belonged, or a part of it, had performed in Edinburgh and 
 Aberdeen, and doubtless in some intermediate places. We 
 will briefly state the existing proofs of this fact 
 
 The year 1599 has been commonly supposed the earliest 
 date at which an association of English actors was in Scot- 
 land ; but it can be shown beyond contradiction that " her 
 Majesty's players," meaning those of Queen Elizabeth, were 
 in Edinburgh ten years earlier 1 . In 1589, Ashby, the am- 
 bassador extraordinary from England to James VI. of 
 Scotland, thus writes to Lord Burghley, under date of the 
 22d October: 
 
 "My Lord Bothw[ell] begins to shew himself willing and 
 ready to do her Majesty any service, and desires hereafter to 
 be thought of as he shall deserve : he sheweth great kindness 
 to our nation, using her Majesties Players and Cauoniers with 
 all courtesie*." 
 
 In 1589, the date of Ashb/s dispatch, Shakespeare had 
 quitted Stratford about three years, and the question is, 
 what company was intended to be designated as " her Ma- 
 jesty's players." It is an admitted fact, that in 1583 the 
 Queen selected twelve leading performers from the theat- 
 
 Excepting for this notice of " brave Shakespeare," the production 
 U utterly contemptible, and must have been the work of some of the 
 "goblins and underelves" of poetry, who, according to a poem in H. 
 Chettle's "England's Mourning Garment," had put forth upon the 
 fr-casion " rude rhimes. and metres reasonless " 
 
 1 Between September, 1589, and September. 1590, Q,ueen Eliza- 
 beth had sent, as a. present to the young King of Scotland on hi* 
 marriage, a splendid mask, with all the necessary appurtenances, 
 and we find it charged for in the accounts of the department of the 
 revels for that period. See "Hist, of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the 
 Stage," vol. i. p. 270. It is most likely that the actors from London 
 accompanied this gift. 
 
 From MS. Harl. 4647, being copies of despatches from Mr. Ashby 
 to different members of the Council in London. We are indebted U 
 Mr. K. Hill for directing our attention to thin curious notice.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. c 
 
 rical servants of some of her nobility, and they were after- 
 wards called "her Majesty's players;" and we alst now 
 know, that in 1590 the Queen had two companies acting 
 under her name 1 : in the autumn of the preceding year, it ia 
 likely 1 that one of these associations had been sent to the 
 Scottish capital for the amusement of the young king, and 
 the company formed in 1583 may have been divided into 
 two bodies for this express purpose. Sir John Sinclair, in 
 hiB "Statistical Account of Scotland," established that a 
 body of comedians was in Perth in June, 1589 ; and al- 
 though we are without evidence that they were English 
 players, we may fairly enough assume that they were the 
 sanie company spoken of by Ashby, as having been used 
 courteously by Lord Bothwell in the October following. 
 We have no means of ascertaining the names of any of the 
 players, nor indeed, excepting the leaders Laneham and 
 Dutton, can we state who were the members of the Queen's 
 two companies in 1590. Shakespeare might be one of 
 them ; but if he were, he might not belong to that division 
 of the company which was dispatched to Scotland. 
 
 It is not at all improbable that English actors, having 
 found their Way north of the Tweed in 1589, would speedily 
 repeat their visit ; but the next we hear of them is, not until 
 after a long interval, in the autumn of 1599. The public 
 records of Scotland show that in October, 1599, (exactly the 
 same season as that in which, ten years earlier, they are 
 spoken of by Ashby) 43/. 6s. 8d. were delivered to "his 
 Highness' self,' 1 to be given to " the English comedians :" in 
 the next month they were paid 41 /. 12s. at various times. 
 In December they received no less than 333/. 6*. 8d. ; in 
 April, 1600, 10/.; and in December, 1601, the royal bounty 
 amounted to 400/.* 
 
 Thus we see, that English pLiyers were in Scotland from 
 October, 1599, to December, 1601, a period of more than 
 two years ; but still we are without a particle of proof that 
 Shakespeare was one of the association. We cannot, how- 
 ever, entertain a doubt that Laurence Fletcher, (whose 
 name, we shall see presently, stands first in the patent 
 granted by King James on his arrival in London) was the 
 leader of the association which performed in Edinburgh and 
 elsewhere, because it appears from the registers of the town 
 council of Aberdeen, that on the 9th October, 1601, the 
 
 i See Mr P. Cunningham's " Extracts from the Revels' Accounts," 
 (printed for the Shakespeare Society,) p. xxxii. 
 
 3 For these particulars of payments, and some other points con- 
 nected with them, we are indebted to Mr. Laing, of Edinburgh, who 
 has made extensive and valuable collections for a history of the Stage 
 in Scotland. 
 VOL. I.
 
 div THE LIFE OF 
 
 English players received 32 marks as a gratuity, and that 
 on 22d October the freedom of the city was conferred upon 
 Laurence Fletcher, who is especially stvled " comedian to 
 bis Majesty." The company had arrived in Aberdeen, and 
 had been received by the public authorities, under the sane 
 tion of a special letter from James VL; and, although they 
 were in Aict the players of the Queen of England, they 
 might on this account be deemed and treated as the players 
 of the King of Scotland. 
 
 Our chief reason for thinking it unlikely that Shakespeare 
 would have accompanied his fellows to Scotland, at all 
 events between October, 1599, and December, 1601, is that, 
 as the principal writer for the company to which he was 
 attached, he could not well have been spared, and because 
 we have good ground for believing that about that period 
 lie must have been unusually busy in the composition of 
 plays. No fewer than five dramas seem, as far as evidence, 
 positive or conjectural, can be obtained, to belong to the 
 interval between 1598 and 1602 ; and the proof appears to 
 us tolerably conclusive, that " Henry V.," " Twelfth Night," 
 and " Hamlet," were written respectively in 1599, 1600, and 
 1601. Besides, as far as we are able to decide such a point, 
 the company to which our great dramatist belonged con- 
 tinued to perform in London ; for although a detachment 
 under Laurence Fletcher may have been sent to Scotland, 
 the main body of the association called the Lord Chamber- 
 lain's players exhibited at court at the usual seasons in 
 1599, 1600, and 1601 1 . Therefore, if Shakespeare visited 
 Scotland at all, we think it must have been at an earlier 
 period, and there was undoubtedly ample time between the 
 years 1589 and 1599 for him to have done so. Neverthe- 
 less, we have no tidings that any English actors were in any 
 part of Scotknd during those ten years. 
 
 1 The accounts of the revels' department at this period are not so 
 complete as usual, and in Mr. P. Cunningham's book we find no de- 
 tails of any kind between 15S7 and 1004. The interval was a perioi 
 cf the greatest possible interest, as regards the performance of the pro- 
 ductions of Shakespeare, and we earnestly hope that the misUBf 
 icc-iu may yet be recovered.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 t'roclamatipn by James I. against plays on Sunday. Renewal 
 of theatrical performances in London. Patent of May 17th, 
 1603, to Laurence Fletcher, William Shakespeare, and 
 others. Royal patronage of three companies of actors. 
 Shakespeare's additional purchases in Stratford-upon-Avon. 
 Shakespeare in London in the autumn of 1603 : and a can- 
 didate for the office of Master of the Queen's Revels. Cha- 
 racters Shakespeare is known to have performed. Hia 
 retirement from the stage, as an actor, after April 9th, 1604. 
 
 BEFORE he even set foot in London, James I. thought it ne- 
 cessary to put a stop to dramatic performances on Sunday 
 This fact has never been mentioned, because the proclama 
 tiou he issued at Theobalds on 7th May, containing the para- 
 graph for this purpose, has only recently come to light 
 There had been a long pending struggle between the 
 Puritans and the players upon this point, and each party 
 seemed by turns to gain the victory ; for various orders 
 were, from time to tune, issued from" authority, forbidding 
 exhibitions of the kind on the Sabbath, and those orders had 
 been uniformly more or less contravened. We may sup- 
 pose, that strong remonstrances having been made to the 
 King by some of those who attended him from Scotland, a 
 clause with this special object was appended to a proclama- 
 tion directed against monopolies and legal extortions. The 
 mure circumstance of the company in which this paragraph, 
 against dramatic performances on Sunday, is found, seems 
 to prove that it was an after-thought, and that it was in- 
 serted, because his courtiers had urged that James ought 
 not even to enter his new capital, until public steps had 
 been taken to put an end to the profanation 1 . 
 
 The King, having issued this command, arrived at the 
 Charter-house on the same day, and all the theatrical com- 
 panies, which had temporarily suspended their performances, 
 began to act again on the 9th May 2 . Permission to this 
 
 : The paragraph is in these terras, and we quote them because they 
 have not been no'.iced by any historian of our stage. 
 
 "And for that we are informed, that there hath been heretofore 
 great neglect in this kingdome of keeping the Sabbath day : for the 
 better observing of the same and avoyding all impious prophanation. 
 We do straightly charge and commaund that no Beare-bayting, Bul- 
 
 lawful e exerciEs. or pastimes, be frequented, kept, or used at any time 
 hereafter upon the Sabbath day. 
 
 Given at our Court at Theobalds, the 7 day of May, in the 
 
 first yeare of our Reigne." 
 
 3 This fact we have upon the authority of Henslowe's Piary. Sf 
 the Hist. Engl. Dram. 1'oetry and the Stage, vol. i. p. 340.
 
 Clvi THE LIFE OF 
 
 effect was given by James L, and communicated througl 
 the ordinary channel to the players, who soon found reason 
 to rejoice in the accession of the new sovereign; for ten 
 days after he reached London he took the Lord Chamber- 
 lain's players into his pay and patronage, calling them " the 
 King's servants," a title they always" afterwards enjoyed. 
 FoAhis purpose he issued a warrant, under the privy seal, 
 for making out a patent under the great seal 1 , authorizing 
 the nine following actors, and others, to perform in his name, 
 not only at the Globe on the Bankside, but in any part of 
 the kingdom ; viz. Laurence Fletcher, William Shakespeare, 
 Richard Burbage, Augustine Phillippes, John Hemiuge, 
 Henry Condell, William Sly, Robert Armyn, and Richard 
 Cowley. 
 
 It runs verbatim et literatim thus : 
 BY THE Kixr, 
 " Right trusty and welbeloved Counsellor, we greete you well, and 
 
 for the time being you cause our letters to be derected to the keepei 
 of our greate seale of England, commaunding him under our said 
 greate Seale, he cause our letters to be made patents in forme follow- 
 ing. James, by the grace of God, King of England. Scotland. Fraunce, 
 and Irland, defendor of the faith. &c. To all Justices. Maiors. Sheriffs, 
 Constables. Headboroughes. and other our officers and loving subjects 
 greeting. Know ye. that we of our speciall grace, certaine know- 
 ledge, and meere motion have licenced and authorized, and by these 
 presentes doe licence and authorize, these our servants. Lawrence 
 Fletcher. William Shakespeare, Richard Burbage, Augustine Phil- 
 lippes, John Hemmings. Henrie Condell, William Sly, Robert Armyn, 
 Richard Oowlye, and the rest of their associats, freely to use & exer- 
 cise the arte and faculty of playing Comedies. Tragedies. Histories, 
 Enterludes. Moralls. Pastoralls. Stage plajes, and such other like, as 
 that thei have already studied or hereafter shall use or studie, aswell 
 for the recreation of our loving subjects, as for our solace and plea- 
 sure, when we shall thinke good to fee them, during our pleasure. 
 And the said Comedie-s, Tragedies. Histories, Enterludes, Moralls, 
 Pastoralls. Stage plaies, and such like, to shew & exercise publiquely 
 to their best commoditie. when the infection of the plague shall de- 
 crease, as well within theire now usuall howse called the Globe, 
 within our county of Surrey, as also within anie towne halls, or mout 
 halls, or other convenient places within the liberties & freedome of 
 any other citie, universitie. towne. or borough whatsoever within o> r 
 said realmes and dominions. Willing and commaunding you; ai. i 
 every of you, as you tender our pleasure, not only to permit and suffer 
 them heerin, without any your letts. hinderances, or molestations, 
 Juring our said pleasure, but also to be ayding or assisting to them, 
 yf any wrong be to them offered. And to allowe them such former 
 courtesies, as hathe bene given to men of their place and qualitie : 
 and also what further favour you shall shew to these our servants for 
 our sake, we shall take kindly at your hands. And these our letters 
 shall be your sufficient warrant and discharge in this behalfe. Given 
 under our Signet at our mannor of Greenewiche, the seaventeenth 
 Jay of May in the first yere of our raigne of England, France, and 
 Ireland, & of Scotland the six & thirtieth. Ex pf r Lake " 
 
 The patent under the great seal, made out in consequence of thii 
 ws/>ant, boars datu two days afterwards.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. vU 
 
 "We miss from this list the names of Thomus Pope, Wil- 
 liam Kempe, and Nicholas Tooley, who had belonged to the 
 company in 1596 ; ami instead of them we have Laurence 
 Fletcher, Henry Coudoll, and Robert Armyn, with the ad- 
 dition of Richard Cowk-y. Pope had been an actor in 1589, 
 and perhaps in May, 1603, was an old man, for he died in 
 the February following. Kempe had joined the Lord Ad- 
 miral's players soon after the opening of the Fortune, on hia 
 return from the Continent, for we find him in Henslowe's 
 pay in 1602. Nicholas Tooley had also perhaps withdrawn 
 from the association at this date, or his name would hardly 
 have been omitted in the patent, as an established actor, 
 and a man of some property and influence ; but he, as well 
 as Kempe, not loug subsequently rejoined the association 
 with which they had been so long connected. 
 
 We may assume, perhaps, in the absence of any direct 
 testimony, that Laurence Fletcher did not acquire his prom- 
 inence in the company by any remarkable excellence as an 
 actor. He had been in Scotland, and had performed with 
 his associates before James in 1599, 1600, and 1601, and in 
 the latter year he had been registered as " his Majesty's 
 Comedian" at Aberdeen. He might, therefore, have been a 
 favourite with the King, and being also a considerable sharer 
 in the association, he perhaps owed his place in the patent 
 of May, 1603, to that circumstance 1 . The name of Shake- 
 
 1 Nothing seems to be known of the birth or origin of Laurence 
 Fletcher, (who died in September, 1608,) but we may suspect that he 
 was an elder brother of John Fletcher, the dramatist. Bishop Fletcher, 
 the father, died on 15 June, 15'JU, having made his will in October, 
 1594, before he was translated ii m Worcester to London. This doc- 
 Mr. P. Cunningham informs us, that he had no tewer than nine 
 children, although he only mentions his sons Nathaniel and John by 
 name. He died poor, and among the Lansdowne MSS. is one. enti- 
 tled u Reasons to move her Majesty to some commiseration towards 
 the orphans of the late Bishop of London, Dr. Fletcher:" this is 
 printed in Birch's " Memoirs." He incurred the lasting displeasure 
 of Queen Elizabeth by marrying, for his second wife, Lady Baker 
 
 believe general report, and a satirical poem of the time, handed down 
 only in manuscript, which begins thus : 
 
 '"The pride of prelacy, which now long since 
 
 Was banish'd with the Pope, is sayd of late 
 To have arriv'd at Bristowe, and from thence 
 
 By Worcester into London brought his state. 
 It afterwards goes on thus : 
 
 " The Romaine Tarquin, in his folly blind. 
 
 Of faire chaste Lucrece did a Lais make ; 
 But owr proud Tarquin beares a braver mind, 
 
 And of a Lais doth a Lucrece make." 
 
 We cannot venture to quote the coarse epithets liberally ixrtn-r *' 
 apon Lady Baker, but the poem ends with these lins -
 
 Clviii THE LIFE OF 
 
 speare comes next., and as author, i-ctor, and sharer, w* 
 cannot be surprisec. at the situation be occupies. His pro- 
 gress upward, in connexion with the profession, had been 
 gradual and uniform : in 1589 he was twelfth in a company 
 of sixteen members: in 1596 he was fifth in a company of 
 eight members ; and in 1603 he was second in a company 
 of nine members. 
 
 The degree of encouragement and favour extended to ac- 
 tors by James I. in the very commencement of his reign is 
 remarkable. Not only did he take the Lord Chamberlain's 
 players unto his own service, but the Queen adopted the 
 company which had acted under the name of the Earl of 
 Worcester, of which the celebrated dramatist, Thomas Hey- 
 wood, was then one ; and the Prince of Wales that of the 
 Lord Admiral, at the head of which was Edward Alleyn, 
 the founder of Dulwich College. These three royal asso- 
 ciations, as they may be termed, were independent of others 
 under the patronage of individual noblemen 1 . 
 
 The policy of this course at such a time is evident, and 
 James I. seems to have been impressed with the truth of 
 the passage in " Hamlet," (brought out, as we apprehend, 
 very shortly before he came to the throne) where it is said 
 of these " abstracts and brief chronicles of the time," that 
 it is " better to have a bad epitaph, than their ill report while 
 you live." James made himself sure of their good report ; 
 and an epigram, attributed to Shakespeare, has descended 
 to us, which doubtless was intended in some sort as a grate- 
 ful return for the royal countenance bestowed upon the 
 stage, and upon those who were connected with it We 
 
 " But yet, if any will the reason find, 
 
 Why he that look'd as lofty as a steeple 
 
 Should be so base as for to come behind, 
 And take the leavings of the commoii people. 
 
 'T is playne ; for in processions, you know, 
 
 The priest must after all the people goe." 
 
 We ought to have mentioned that the poem is headed " Bishop 
 Fletcher and my Lady Baker." The Bishop had buried his first 
 wife, Elizabeth, at Chelsea Church in Uecember, 1592. Nathaniel 
 Fletcher, mentioned above as included with his brother John in hi 
 father's will, is spoken of on a preceding page as " servant '\to Mrs. 
 While; but who Mrs. White might be, or what was the precise 
 nature of ' Nat. Fletcher's" servitude, we have no information. 
 _ However, an Act of Parliament was very soon passed (1 Jac. I. c. 
 ')) to expose strolling actors, although protected by the authority of 
 a peer to the penalt.es of 39 Eliz. c. 4. It seems to have been found 
 that the evil had increased to an excess which required this degree 
 correction ; and ,<ir Edward Coke in his Charge to the Grand Jury 
 at Norwich in 1007, (when at was prir ted) observes, '-The abuse of 
 stage-players, wherewith I find the country much troubled, may 
 easily be reformed, they having no commission to play in any place 
 without !*ave ; and therefore by your willingness if they be not en 
 stained you may soon be rid of them '' "
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. clX 
 
 sopy it from a coeval manuscript in our possession, which 
 aeems to have belonged to a curious accumulator of mat- 
 ters of the kind, aud which also contains an unknown pro- 
 duction by Dekker, as well as various other pieces by dra 
 raatists and poets of the time. The lines are entitled, 
 
 " SHAKESPEARE ON THE KING. 
 
 " Crowns have their compass, length of days their date, 
 Triumphs their tomb, felicity her fate : 
 Of nought but earth can earth make us partaker, 
 But knowledge makes a king most like his Maker." 
 We have seen these lines in more than one other old 
 manuscript, and as they were constantly attributed to 
 Shakespeare, and in the form in which we have given them 
 above, are in no respect unworthy of his pen, we have little 
 doubt of their authenticity i . 
 
 Having established his family in " the great house " called 
 "New Place " in his native town in 1597, by the purchase 
 of it from Hercules Underbill, Shakespeare seems to have 
 contemplated considerable additions to his property there. 
 In May, 1602, he kid out 320 upon 107 acres of land, 
 which he bought of William and John Combe 2 , and attached 
 i Boswell appears to have had a manuscript copy of this epigram, 
 out the general position in the last line was made to have a particu- 
 lar application by the change of "a"' to the. See Shakspeare by 
 
 Boswell, vol. ii. p. 481. There were other variations for the worse in 
 Boswell's copy, but that which we have noticed completely altered 
 the character of the production, and reduced it from a great general 
 truth to a mere piece of personal flattery But knowledge makes 
 the king most like his Maker.' 1 
 
 2 Much has been said in all the Lives of our poet, from the time 
 of Aubrey (who first gives the story) to our own, respecting a satirical 
 epitaph upon a person of the name of John a Combe, supposed to 
 have been made extempore by Shakespeare : Aubrey words it thus : 
 "Ten in the hundred the devil allows, 
 
 But Combe will have twelve, he swears and he vows. 
 
 If any one ask. Who lies in ihis tomb ? 
 
 Ho ! quoth the devil, 'tis my John a Combe." 
 
 Rowe changes the terms a little, but the point is the same, and in 
 Brathwaite's "Remains," llilS, we have another version of the lines, 
 where they are given as having been written by that author " upon 
 one John Combe, of Stratford-upon-Avon, a notable usurer." We 
 are by no means satisfied that they were originally penned by Brath 
 
 n Maroccus Extaticus." a tract printed as early as 1595. it is very 
 evident ihat the connexion between the Devil and John a Combe, or 
 John of Comber (as he is there called) was much older : " So hee had 
 had his rent at the daie, che devill and John of Comber should not 
 
 have fetcht Kate L. to Bridewell." There is no ground f>r supposing 
 i any of the Combes, 
 
 it Shakespeare was ever on bad terms with 
 
 and in his will he expressly left his sword to Mr Thomas Combe. 
 :n a MS. of that time, now before us, we find the following given 
 .nan epitaph upon Sii William Stone : 
 
 "Heer ten in the hundred lies dead and ingraved : 
 
 But a hundred to ten his soul is not saved." 
 And the couplet is printed in no very different form in " The Mow
 
 da THE LIFE OF 
 
 it tj his dwelling. The original indenture and its counter 
 part are in existence, bearing date 1st May, 1602, but t* 
 neither of them is the signature of the poet affixed ; and it 
 seems that he being absent, his brother Gilbert was his im- 
 mediate agent in the transaction, and to Gilbert Shakespeare 
 the property was delivered to the use of William Shake- 
 speare. In the autumn of the same year he became the 
 owner of a copyhold tenement (called a cotaffium in the 
 instrument) in Walker's Street, alias Dead Lane, Stratford, 
 surrendered to him by Walter Getley 1 . In November of 
 the next year he gave Hercules Underbill 60 for a mes 
 suage, bam, granary, garden, and orchard close to or in Strat- 
 ford ; but in the original fine, preserved hi the Chapter House, 
 Westminster, the precise situation is not mentioned. lu 
 1603, therefore, Shakespeare's property, in or near Strat- 
 ford-upon-Avon, besides what he might have bought of, or 
 inherited from, his father, consisted of New Place, with 107 
 acres of land attached to it, a tenement hi Walker's Street, 
 and the additional messuage, which he had recently pur- 
 chased from Underbill 
 
 Whether our great dramatist was in London at the period 
 when the new kiug ascended the throne, we have no means 
 of knowing, but that he was so in the following autumn we 
 have positive proof ; for in a letter written by Mrs. Alleyn, 
 (the wife of Edward Alleyn, the actor) to her husband, 
 then in the country, dated 20th October, 1603, she tells him 
 that she had seen " Mr. Shakespeare of the Globe " in 
 Southwark'. At this date, according to the same authority, 
 most of the companies of players who had left London for 
 the provinces, on account of the prevalence of the plague, 
 and the consequent cessation of dramatic performances, had 
 returned to the metropolis ; and it is not at all unlikely that 
 Shakespeare was one of those who had returned, having 
 taken the opportunity of visiting his family at Stratford- 
 upou- Avon. 
 
 Under Elizabeth the Children of the Chapel (originally 
 the choir-boys of the royal establishment) had become an 
 acknowledged company of players, and these, besides her 
 association of adult performers. Queen Anne took under 
 her immediate patronage, with the style of the Children of 
 her Majesty's Revels, requiring that the pieces they pro 
 posed to represent should first be submitted to, and" have 
 the approval of, the celebrated poet Samuel Daniel The 
 
 > A coeval copy of the court-roll is in the hands of tlm Shakespeare 
 Society . Malone had seen it. and put his initials upon it. Mo Icubt 
 .t was his intention to have used it in his unfinished Life of Shake- 
 ipeare. 
 
 ' &f.e the "Memoirs of Edward Alleyn/' printed for the Shake- 
 .pew. Society, p. 63.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. cx 
 
 instrument of their appointment bears date 30th January, 
 16034; and from a letter from Daniel to his patron, Sil 
 Thomas Egerton, preserved among his papers, we may per- 
 haps conclude that Shakespeare, as well as Michael Dray- 
 ton, had been candidates for the post of master of the 
 Queen's revels : he says in it, " I cannot but know, that I 
 am lease deserving than some that sued by other of the uo- 
 bility unto her Majestic foi this roome ;" and, after intro- 
 ducing the name of " his good friend,' 1 Draytou, he adds the 
 following, which, we apprehend, refers with sufficient dis- 
 tinctness to Shakespeare : " It seemeth to myne humble 
 judgement that one who is the authour of playes, uow daylie 
 presented on the public stages of London, and the possessor 
 of no small gaiues, and moreover him selfe an actor in the 
 Kiuges compauie of comedians, could not with reason pi<e 
 tend to be Master of the Queene's Majesties Revells, for ae 
 much as he wold sometimes be asked to approve and allow 
 of his own writings." 
 
 This objection would have applied with equal force to 
 Draytou, had we not every reason to believe that before 
 this date he had ceased to be a dramatic author. He liad 
 been a writer for Henslowe and Alleyn's tompauy during 
 several years, first at the Rose, and afterwards at "the For- 
 tune ; but he seems to have relinquished that species of 
 composition about a year prior to the demise of Elizabeth, 
 the last piece in which he was concerned, of which we have 
 any intelligence, being noticed by Henslowe under date of 
 May, 1502 : this play was called " The Harpies," and he waa 
 assisted in it by Dekker, Middleton, Webster, and Muuday. 
 
 It is highly probable that Shakespeare was a suitor for 
 this office, in contemplation of a speedy retirement as an 
 actor. We have already spoken of the presumed excel- 
 lence of his personations on the stage, and to the tradition 
 that he was the original player of the part of the Ghost in 
 " Hamlet." Another character he is said to have sustained 
 is Adam, in " As you like it;" and his brother Gilbert, (who 
 in 1602 had received, on behalf William Shakespeare, the 
 107 acres of land purchased from William and John Combe) 
 who probably survived the Restoration, is supposed to have 
 been the author ctf this tradition 1 . He had acted also iu 
 Ben Jouson's " Every Man in his Humour," in 1 598, after 
 (as we believe) introducing it to the company ; and he is 
 supposed to nave written part of, as well as known to have 
 performed in, the same author's " Sejanus," in 1603 s . This is 
 
 1 See the Introduction to " As you like it." 
 
 Fiom lines preceding it in the 4to, 1605. ire kno-v that it wu 
 brought out at the Globe, and Ben Jonson admits that it WLS il) I*. 
 .eived by the au-l.ence.
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the last we bear of him upon the stage, but that ho continued 
 a member of the company until Ap:-il 9, 1604, we havo 
 the evidence of a document preserved at Dulwich College, 
 where the names of the King's players are enumerated in 
 the following order : Burbage, Shakespeare, Fletcher, 
 Phillips, Condell, Hemiuge, Armyn, Sly, Cowley, Ostler, 
 and Day. If Shakespeare had not then actually ceased to 
 perform, we need not hesitate in deciding that he quitted 
 that department of the profession very shortly afterwards. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Immediate consequences of Shakespeare's retirement. Of- 
 fences given by the company to the court, arid to private 
 individuals. " Gowry's Conspiracy:" "Birpn's Conspi- 
 d " Tragedy." Suspension of theatrical perform- 
 urchase of a lease of the tithes of Stratford, &c., 
 espeare. "Hamlet" printed in 1603 and 1604. 
 VIII." " Macbeth." Supposed autograph letter 
 ames to Shakespeare. Susanna Shakespeare and 
 
 ry' 
 
 racy " and " Tragedy." Suspension of theatrical perform- 
 ances. Purchase of a lease of the tithes of Stratford, &c., 
 by Shakespeare. "Hamlet" printed in 1603 and 1604. 
 " Henry V 
 of King J 
 
 John Hull married in 1607. Deatli of Edmund Shake- 
 speare in the same year. Death of Mary Shakespeare in 
 1608. Shakespeare's great popularity : rated to the poor 
 of Southwark. 
 
 No sooner had our great dramatist ceased to take part in 
 the public performances of the King's players, than the 
 company appears to have thrown off the restraint by which 
 it had been usually controlled ever since its formation, and 
 to have produced plays which were objectionable to the 
 court, as well as offensive to private persons. Shakespeare, 
 from his abilities, station, and experience, must have pos- 
 sessed great influence with the body at large, and due de- 
 ference, we may readily believe, was shown to his know- 
 ledge and judgment in the selection and acceptance of 
 plays sent in for approbation by authors of the time. The 
 contrast between the conduct of the association immediately 
 before, and immediately after his retirement, would lead us 
 to conclude, not only that he was a man of prudence and 
 discretion, but that the exercise of these qualities had :n 
 many instances kept his fellows from incurring the displea- 
 sure of persons in power, and from exciting the animosity 
 of particular individuals. We suppose Shakespeare to have 
 ceased to act in the summer of 1604, and in the winter of 
 
 that very year we find the King's players giving offence to 
 "some great counsellors" by performing a play upon the 
 lubject of Gowry's conspiracy. Tlu's fact we have upon
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 the evidence of one of Sir R. Winwood's correspondents, 
 John Chamberlaine, who, in a letter dated 18th December, 
 1604, uses these expressions: "The tragedy of Gowry, 
 with all action and actors, hath been twice represented by 
 the King's players, with exceeding concourse of all sorts of 
 people ; but whether the matter or manner be not well 
 handled, or that it be thought unfit that princes should be 
 pl.ivi-d on the stage in their lifetime, I hear that some great 
 counsellors are much displeased with it, and so, it is thought, 
 it shall be forbidden." Whether it was so forbidden we do 
 not hear upon the same or any other authority, but no such 
 drama has come down to us. 
 
 lu the next year (at what particular part of it is not 
 stated) Sir Leonard Haliday, then Lord Mayor of London, 
 backed no doubt by liis brethren of the corporation, made 
 a complaint against the same company, " that Kempe, (who 
 at this date had rejoined the association) Armyu, and others, 
 players at the Blackfriars, have again not forborne to bring 
 upon their stage one or more of the worshipful aldermen 
 of the city of London, to their great scandal and the lessen- 
 ing of their authority ;" and the interposition of the privy 
 council to prevent the abuse was therefore solicited. What 
 was done m consequence, if .anything were done, does not 
 appear in any extant document. 
 
 In the spring of the next year a still graver charge was 
 brought against the body of actors of whom Shakespeare, 
 until very recently, had been one ; and it originated in no 
 less a person than the French ambassador. George Chap- 
 man 1 had written two plays upon the history and execution 
 
 i We may here notice two productions by this great and various 
 author, one of which is mentioned by Ant. Wood (Ath. Oxon. edit. 
 Bliss, vol. ii. p. 575), and the other by Warton (Hist. Engl. Poetr. 
 
 to meet with them. They are both in existence. Tl/e first is a de- 
 fence of his "Andromeda Liberata." 1614, which he wrote in cele- 
 bration of the marriage of the Earl of Somerset and the Countess of 
 Essex, which Chapman tells us had been " most maliciously misin- 
 terpreted :' : it is called ' A free and otfenceless Justification " of his 
 poern, and it was printed in 1014. It is chiefly in prose, but at 
 the end is a dialogue in rhyme, between Pheme and Theodines, the 
 last being meant for Chapman : Wood only supposes that Chapman 
 wrote it, but if he could have read it he would have entertained no 
 doubt. It appears that Somerset himself had conceived that 1S An- 
 dromeda Liberata " was a covert attack upon him, and from this no 
 tion Chapman was anxious to relieve himself. The poetical dialogue 
 is thus opened by Pheme, and sufficiently explains tne object of tin 
 writer. 
 
 " Ho. you ! Theodines ! you must not dreame 
 Y'are thus dismist in peace : seas too extreame 
 
 Nay, in your haven you shipwra^e : v'are unil"""
 
 Clxir THE LIFE OF 
 
 of the Duke of Biron, containing, in the shape in which they 
 were originally produced on the stage, such matter that M 
 Beaumont, the representative of the King of Franci- ii; 
 London, thought it necessary to remonstrate against the re 
 petition, and the performance of it was prohibited : a soon, 
 however, as the court had quitted London, the King's play- 
 ers persisted in acciug it ; in consequence of which three 
 of the players were arrested, (their names are not givtn) 
 but the author made his escape. These two dramas were 
 printed in 1608, and again in 1625 ; and looking through 
 then., we are at a loss to discover anything, beyond the his- 
 torical incidents, which could have given offence ; but the 
 truth certainly is, that all the objectionable portions were 
 omitted in the press : there can be no doubt, on the author- 
 ity of the despatch from the French ambassador to his 
 court, that one of the dramas originally contained a scene 
 in which the Queen of France and Mademoiselle Verueuil 
 were introduced, the former, after having abused her, giving 
 the latter a box on the ear. 
 
 Tin's information was conveyed to Paris under the date 
 of the 5th April, 1606 ; and the French ambassador, appa 
 reutly in order to make his court acquainted with the law- 
 less character of dramatic performances at that date in 
 England, adds a very singular paragraph, proving that the 
 King's players, only a few days before they had brought the 
 Queen of France upon the stage, had not hesitated to iutro- 
 duce upon the same boards their own reigning sovereign in 
 a most unseemly manner, making him swear violently, and 
 beat a gentleman for interfering with his known propensity 
 for the chase. This course indicates a most extraordinary 
 degree of boldness on the part of the players ; but, never- 
 theless, they were not prohibited from acting, until M. 
 Beauminit had directed the attention of the public authori- 
 
 Your Perseus is displeas'd, and sleighteth now 
 Your work as idle, and as servile yow. 
 The peoples god-voice hath exclaim'd away 
 Your mistie clouds ; and he sees, cleare as day, 
 Y'ave made him scandal'd for another? wrong. 
 Wishing unpublisht your unpopular song.' ? 
 
 Thf other production, of which our knowledge has also hitherto 
 been derived from the stationers' registers, is called ' : Petrarch'* 
 Seven 1'enitentiall Psalms, paraphrastically translated." with other 
 poems of a miscellaneous kind at the end : it was printed in small 
 dvo, in Kil-J, dedicated to Sir Edward Phillips, Master of the Rolls, 
 where Chapman speaks of his yet unfinished translation of Homer, 
 rh;3h, he ^dds. the Prince of Wales had commanded him to com- 
 fhe editor of the present work has a copy of Chapman's 
 Memorable Masque " on the marriage of the Palsgrave and Princew 
 Elizabeth, corrected 3 y Chapman in his own hand ; but the error* 
 e tew, and not very important. It shows the patient accuracy ol 
 tae acc-nplUli<>d vri.vc.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. ClXY 
 
 ties t< the iusult offered to the Queen of France : then, an 
 order was issued putting a stop to the acting of all plays 
 in London ; but, according to the same authority, the com- 
 panies had clubbed their money, and, attacking James I. on 
 his weak side, had offered a large sum to be allowed to 
 continue their performances. The French ambassador him- 
 self apprehended that the appeal to the King's pecuniary 
 wants would be effectual, and that permission, under certain 
 restrictions, would not long be withheld 1 . 
 
 Whatever emoluments Shakespeare had derived from the 
 Blackfriars or the Globe theatres, as an actor merely, we 
 may be tolerably certain he relinquished when he ceased 
 to perform. He would thus be able to devote more of his 
 time to dramatic composition, and, as he continued a sharer 
 in the two undertakings, perhaps his income on the whole 
 was not much lessened. Certain it is, that in 1605 he was 
 iu possession of a considerable sum, which he was anxious 
 to invest advantageously in property in or near the place 
 of his birth. Whatever may have been the circumstances 
 under which he quitted Stratford, he always seems to have 
 contemplated a permanent return thither, and kept his eyes 
 constantly turned in the direction of his birth-place. As 
 long before as January, 1598, he had been advised " to deal 
 in the matter of tithes" of Stratford" ; but perhaps at that 
 
 i We derive these very curious and novel particulars from M. Von 
 Raumer'x " History of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries." 
 translated by Lord Francis Egerton, vol. ii. p. -21'J. The terms are 
 worth quoting. 
 
 "April 5, 1608. I caused certain players to be forbid from acting 
 the History of the Duke of Biron : when, however, they saw that 
 the whole court had left town, they persisted in acting it ; nay. they 
 brought upon the stage the Queen of France and .Mademoiselle Ver- 
 nuuil. The former, having first accosted the latter with very hard 
 
 airested; but the principal person, the author, escaped. 
 
 ' One or two days before, they had brought forward their own 
 King and all his favorites in a very strange fashion : they made him 
 because he had been robbed of a bird, and beat a 
 
 gentleman because he had called off the hounds from the scent. 
 They rej resent him as drunk at least once a-day, &c. 
 
 " He has upon this made order, that no play shall be henceforth 
 
 offered 100,000 hvres. Perhaps the permission will be again granted, 
 bi t upon condition that they represent no recent history, nor speak 
 of the present time " 
 
 * In a letter from a resident in Stratford of the name of Abraham 
 Sturley. It was originally published by Boswell (vol. ii. p. 506) at 
 length, but the only part which relates to. Shakespeare runs thus : 
 we have not thought it necessary to preserve the uncouth abbrevia- 
 tions of the original. 
 
 seemeth by him that ?ur countriman, Mr. Shakespeare, is willing U
 
 c lxvi THE LIFE OF 
 
 date, having recently purchased New Place, he was not m 
 sufficient funds for the purpose, or possibly the party in 
 possession of the lease of the tithes, though not unwilling 
 to dispose of it, required more than it was deemed worth 
 At all events, nothing was done outhe subject for more than 
 six years; but on the 24th July, 1605,' we fiud William 
 Shakespeare, who is described as "of Stratford-upon-Avon, 
 gentleman," executing an indenture for the purchase of the 
 uuexpired term of a long lease of the great tithes of " corn, 
 grain, blade, and hay," and of the small tithes of " wool, 
 lamb, and other small and privy tithes, herbage, oblations," 
 feo, in Stratford, uld Stratford, Bishopton, and Welcombe, 
 in the county of Warwick. The vendor was Raphe Hu- 
 band, of Ippesley, Esquire ; and from the draft of the deed, 
 now before us 1 , we learn that the original lease, dated as far 
 back as 1589, was " for four score and twelve years ;" so 
 that in 1605 it had still twenty -six years to run, and for 
 this our great dramatist agreed to pay 440/ : by the receipt, 
 contained in the same deed, it appeal's that he paid the 
 whole of the money before it was executed by the parties. 
 He might very fitly be described as of Stmtford-upon 
 Avon, because he had there uot only a substantial, settled 
 residence for his family, but he was the owner of consider- 
 able property, both in laud and houses, iu the town and 
 neighbourhood ; and he had been before so described iu 
 1602, when lie bought the 107 acres of William and John 
 Combe, which he annexed to his dwelling of New Place. 
 
 A spurious edition of " Hamlet " having been published 
 in 1603 a , a more authentic copy came out in the next year, 
 containing much that had been omitted, and more that had 
 been grossly disfigured and misrepresented. We do not 
 believe that Shakespeare, individually, had anything to do 
 with this second and more correct impression, and we doubt 
 much whether it was authorized by the company, which 
 seems at all times to have done its utmost to prevent the 
 
 disburse some money upon some od yardeland or other at Shottery, 
 or near about us : he thinketh it a very fin patterne to move him to 
 deale in the matter of our tithes. By the instructions you can give 
 him theareof. and by the frendes he can make therefore, we thinks it 
 s. faire marke for him to shoote at. and not unpossible to hitt. It ob- 
 tained would advance him in de'ede, and would do us much good." 
 The terms of this letter prove that Shakespeare's townsmen were of 
 opinion that he was desirous of advancing himself among the in- 
 habitants of Stratford. 
 
 1 It is about tr be printed entire by the Shakespeare Society, to the 
 council of whii t it has been handed over by the owner for th 
 purpose. 
 
 a The only copy of this impression is in the library of his Grace 
 the Duke ol Devonshire, and we have employed it to a certain extent 
 IB settling and explaining the text of the tragedy. See the Intro- 
 duction to " Hamlet."
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 appearance of plays in print, lest toji certain extent the 
 public curiosity should thereby be satisfied. 
 
 The point is, of course, liable to dispute, but we hav% 
 little doubt that "Henry VIII." was represented very soon 
 after the accession of James L, to whom and to whose family 
 it contains a highly complimentary allusion ; and " Mac- 
 beth," having been written in 1605, we suppose to have 
 been produced at the Globe in the spring of 1606. Al- 
 though it related to Scottish annals, it was not like the 
 play of Gowry's Conspiracy " (mentioned by Chamberlaiue 
 at the close of 16u3), founded, to use Von Raumer's words, 
 upon " recent history ;'" and instead of running the slightest 
 risk of giving offence, many of the sentiments and allusions 
 it contained, especially that to the " two-fold balls and treble 
 sceptres," in Act iv. scene 1, must have been highly accept- 
 able to the King. It has been supposed, upon the authority 
 of Sheffield Duke of Buckingham, that King James with 
 his own hand wrote a letter to Shakespeare in return for 
 the compliment paid to him in " Macbeth :" the Duke of 
 Buckingham is said to have had Davenant's evidence for 
 this anecdote, which was first told in print in the advertise- 
 ment to Lintot's edition of -Shakespeare's Poems in 1710 1 . 
 Rowe says nothing of it in his " Life," either in 1709 or 1714, 
 so that, at all events, he did not adopt it; and it seems very 
 improbable that James I. should have so far condescended, 
 and very probable that the writer of Liutot's advertisement 
 should not have been very scrupulous. We may conjec- 
 ture, that a privy seal under the sign manual, (then the usual 
 form of proceeding) granting to the King's players some 
 extraordinary reward on the occasion, has been misrepre- 
 sented as a p"rivate letter from the King to the dramatist. 
 
 Malone speculated that " Macbeth " had been played be- 
 fore King James and the King of Denmark, (who arrived 
 iii England on 6th July, 1606) but we have not a particle 
 of testimony to establish that a tragedy relating to the as- 
 sassination of a monarch by an ambitious vassal was ever 
 represented at court : we should be surprised to discover 
 tiny proof of the kind, because such incidents seem usually 
 to have been carefully avoided. 
 
 i That the story came through the Duke of Buckingham, from Da- 
 venant, seems to have been a. conjectural addition byOldys: the 
 words in L'ntpt's advertisement are these: "That most learned 
 Prince, and great patron of learning, King James the First, was 
 . pleased with his own hand to write an amicable letter to Mr. Shake- 
 speare ; which letter, though now lost, remained long in the hands 
 of Sir William Davenant, as a credible person now living can tes- 
 tify." Dr. Farmer was the first to give currency to the notion, that 
 the compliment to the Stuart family in " Macbeth " was the occasion 
 if the letter
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 The eldest daughter of William and Anne Shakespeare^ 
 Susanna, having; been bora in May, 1583, was rather more 
 than twenty-four years old when she was married, on 6tt 
 June, 1607, to Mr. John Hall, of Stratford, who is styled 
 " gentleman " in the register 1 , but he WHS a protY-s.snr of 
 medicine, and subsequently practised as a physician. There 
 appears to have been no reason on aay side for opposing 
 the match, and we may conjecture that the ceremony was 
 performed in the presence of our great dramatist, during 
 one of his summer excursions to his native -town. About six 
 mouths afterwards he lost his brother Edmund 3 , and his 
 mother in the autumn of the succeeding year. 
 
 There is no doubt that Edmund Shakespeare, who was 
 not twenty -eight at the time of his death, had embraced the 
 profession of a player, having perhaps followed the fortunes 
 of his brother William, and attached himself to the same 
 company. We, however, never meet with his name in any 
 list of the associations of the time, nor is he mentioned as an 
 actor among the characters of any old play with which we 
 are acquainted. We may presume, therefore, that he attain- 
 ed no eminence ; perhaps his principal employment might 
 be under his brother in the management of his theatrical 
 concerns, while he only took inferior parts when the assistance 
 of a larger number of performers than usual was necessary. 
 
 Mary Shakespeare survived her sou Edmund about eight 
 mouths, and was buried at Stratford on the 9th Sept 1608 3 . 
 There are few points of his life which can be stated with 
 more confidence than that our great dramatist attended the 
 funeral of his mother : filial piety and duty would of course 
 impel him to visit Stratford on the occasion, and in proof 
 that he did so, we may mention that on the 16th of the 
 next mouth he stood godfather there to a boy of the name 
 of William Walker. Shakespeare's mother had probably 
 resided at New Place, the house of her sou ; from whence, 
 we may presume also, the body of her husband had been 
 carried to the grave seven years before. If she were of 
 full age when she was married to John Shakespeare in 
 1557, she was about 72 years old at the time of her decease. 
 
 The reputation of our poet as a dramatist seems at this 
 period to have been at its height His ' King Lear " was 
 
 1 The terms are these : 
 
 " 1607. Junii 5. John Hall gentlema & Susanna Sh.xspers 
 He was buried at St. Saviour's, South-wark, in the imirediat* 
 Ticinity of the <i .obe theatre ; the registration being in the following' 
 lorm. specifying, rather unusually, the occupation of the deceased, 
 
 " 1G07, Dec. 31. Edmund Shakespeare, a player." 
 The folio-wing is a copy of the register. 
 
 "1608, Septemb. 9, Mayry Shaxspere, Wydowe."
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. "1X1X 
 
 printed three times for the same bookseller in 1608 ; and in 
 order perhaps to increase its sale, (as well as to securo tha 
 purchaser against the old " King Leir," a play upon the 
 same story, being given to him instead) the name of " M. 
 William Shake-speare" was placed very conspicuously, and 
 most unusually, at the top of the title-page. The same ob- 
 servation will in part apply to " Pericles," which came out 
 in 1609, with the name of the author rendered particularly 
 obvious, although in the ordinary place. "Troilus and 
 Cressida," which was published in the same year, also has 
 the name of the author very distinctly legible, but in a some- 
 what smaller tvpe. In both the latter cases, it would Like- 
 wise seem, that there were plays by older or rival drama- 
 tists upon the same incidents. The most noticeable proof 
 of the advantage which a bookseller conceived he should 
 derive from the announcement that the work he published 
 was by our poet, is afforded by the title-page of the collec- 
 tion of hi dispersed sonnets, which was ushered into the 
 world as " Shakespeare's Sonnets," hi very large capitals, as 
 if that mere fact would be held a sufficient recommendation. 
 In a former part of our memoir (p. Ixx.) we have alluded 
 to the circumstance, that in 1609 Shakespeare was rated to 
 the poor of the Liberty of the Clink in a sum which might 
 possibly indicate that he was the occupant of a commodious 
 dwelling-house in Southwark. The fact that our great 
 dramatist paid six-pence a week to the poor there, (as high 
 a sum as anybody in that immediate vicinity was assessed 
 at) is stated in the aecount of the Life of Edward Alleyn, 
 printed by the Shakespeare Society, (p. 90) and there it is 
 too hastily inferred that he was rated at this sum upon a 
 dwelliug-bouse occupied by himself. This is very possibly 
 the fact ; but, on the other hand, the truth may be, that he 
 paid the rate not for any habitation, good or bad, large or 
 small, but in respect of his theatrical property in the Globe, 
 which was situated in the same district 1 . The parish reg- 
 
 1 The account (preserved at Dulwich College) does not state that 
 the parties enumerated (consisting of 57 persons) were rated to the 
 poor for dwelling-houses, but merely that they were rated and as- 
 sessed to a weekly payment towards the relief of the poor, some for 
 dwelling-houses, and others perhaps in respect to different kin Is of 
 property : it is thus entitled : 
 
 " A breif noat taken out of the poores booke, contayning the names 
 
 of all thenhabitantes of this Liberty, which are rated and assessed tc 
 
 a weekely paiment towardes the relief of the poore. As it standes 
 
 now encreased. this 6th day of Aprill, 16(K). Delivered up to Phillip 
 
 Henslowe. Esquior, churchwarden, by Francis Carter, one of th 
 
 jvreseers of the same Liberty." It commences with these names : 
 
 Phillip Henslowe, esquior, assessed it weekely . . vji 
 
 Ed. Alleyn, assessec at weekely . . . . vj d 
 
 The Ladye Buckley weekly . .... iiij" 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 C1XX THE LIFE OF 
 
 ister of St Saviour's establishes, that in 1601 the church 
 wardens had been instructed by the vestry " to talk with 
 ihe players " respecting the payment of tithes and contribu- 
 tions to the maintenance of the poor ; and it is not very un- 
 likely that some arrangement was made under which the 
 sharers in the Globe, and Shakespeare as one of thern, wouW 
 be assessed. As a confirmatory circumstance we may add, 
 that when Henslowe and Alleyn were about to build the 
 Fortune play-house, in 1599-1600, the inhabitants of the 
 Lordship of ^Finsbury. in the parish of Cripplegate, peti- 
 tioned the privy council in favour of the undertaking, one 
 of their reasons being, that " the erectors were contented to 
 give a very liberal portion of money weekly towards the 
 relief of the poor." Perhaps the parties interested in the 
 Globe were contented to come to similar terms, and the 
 parish to accept the money weekly from the various indi- 
 viduals. Heuslowe, Alleyn, Lowin, Town, Juby, &c., who 
 were either sharers, or actors and sharers, in that or other 
 theatres in the same neighbourhood, contributed in different 
 proportions for the same purpose, the largest amount being 
 six-pence per week, which was paid by Shakespeare, Heus- 
 lowe, and Alleyn 1 . 
 
 The ordinary inhabitants included in the same list, doubt- 
 
 The account is in three divisions; and in the first, besides the above, 
 we find the names of 
 Mr. Langworthe 
 Mr. Benfield . 
 Mr. Griffin 
 
 Mr. Toppin . . fid 
 
 Mr. Louens [i. e. Lowin] ijd 
 
 Francis Carter . ijd 
 
 Gilbert Catherens . ijd 
 
 and twenty-one others. The next division includes a list of nineteen 
 names, and at the head of it we find, 
 
 Mr. Shakespeare vj d 
 
 Mr. Edw. Collins . . vj<i 
 
 John Burret vjd 
 
 Sa all the rest pay a rate of either 2Jd or 1|<1 including the following 
 actors: 
 
 Mr. Tonne ... . ij ob 
 
 Mr. Jubye . . - 5 ob! 
 
 Ki chard Hunt . . jd ob. 
 
 Simon Bird ." . . . Jd ob. 
 
 The third division consists of seven persons who only paid one penny 
 wr week, and among them we perceive the name of no individual 
 who, accoidinj to other evidence, appears to have been in any way 
 ciowned with theatres: Malone (see his ''Inquiry," p. 215,) had 
 wen this document, lut he mis-states that it belongs to the year 160S, 
 
 John Northbrooke. in his Treatise against Plays. Players, &c., 
 (Shakespeare Society's reprint, p. 120.) informs us that in 1577 reopl* 
 contributed weekly to the support of the poor ''according to tkm 
 ability, some a penny, some-two-pence, ancther four-pence, ai.d iJi 
 Ksst commonly giveth but six-pence."
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 less, paid for their dwellings, according to theii several 
 rents, and such may have been the case with Shakespeare, 
 all we contend for is, that we ought not to conclude at once, 
 that Shakespeare was the tenant of a house in the Libert) 
 of the Clink, merely from the circumstance that lie was 
 rated to the poor. It is not unlikely that he was the occu- 
 pier of a substantial dwelling-house iu the immediate neigh- 
 bourhood of the Globe, where his presence and assistance 
 would often be required ; and the amount of his income at 
 this period would warrant such an expenditure, although we 
 have no reason for thinking that such a house would be 
 needed for his wife and family, because the existing evi- 
 dence is opposed to the notion "that they ever resided with 
 him in London. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Attempt of the Lord Mayor and aldermen in 1608 to expel the 
 King's players from the Black friars, and its failure. Nego- 
 tiation by the corporation to purchase the theatre and its 
 appurtenances : interest and property of Shakespeare and 
 other sharers. The income of Richard Burbage at his 
 death. Diary of the Rev. J. Ward. Vicar of Stratford, and 
 his statement regarding Shakespeare's expenditure. Copy 
 of a letter from Lord Southampton on behalf of Shakespeare 
 and Burbage. Probable decision of Lord Chancellor Klies- 
 mere in favour of the company at the Black friars theatre. 
 
 WE have referred to the probable amount of the income of 
 our great dramatist in 1609, and within the last ten years a 
 document has been discovered, which enables us to form 
 some judgment, though not perhaps an accurate estimate, 
 of the sum he annually derived from the private theatre iu 
 the Blackfriars. 
 
 From the outset of the undertaking, the Lord Mayor and 
 aldermen of London had been hostile to the establishment 
 of players within this precinct, so near to the boundaries, 
 l>wt beyond the jurisdiction of the corporation; and, as we 
 Lave already shown, they had made several fruitless efforts 
 to dislodge them. The attempt was renewed in 1 608, when 
 fvir Henry Montagu, the Attorney General of the day, gave 
 n opinion iu favour of the claim of the citizens to exercise 
 their municipal powers within the precinct of the late dis- 
 iolved monastery of the Blackfriars. The question seems 
 in some shape to have been brought before Baron Elles- 
 mere, then Lord Chancellor of England, who required from 
 the Lord Mayor and his brethren proofs that they had ex- 
 M-oised any authority in the disputed liberty. The distin- 
 guished lawyers of the day retained by the city were iuime-
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 diately employed iu searching for records applicable to tb 
 point at issue; but as far as we can judge, no such pi-oofs, 
 as were thought necessary by the highest legal authority 
 of the time, and applicable to any recent period, were fortb 
 inning. Lord Ellesmere, therefore, we may conclude, waa 
 opposed to the claim of the city. 
 
 Failing iu this endeavour to expel the King's players from 
 their hold by force of law, the corporation appears to have 
 taken a milder course, and negotiated with the players for 
 the purchase of the Blackfriars theatre, with all its proper- 
 ties and appurtenances. To this negotiation we are proba- 
 bly indebted for a paper, which shows with great exactness 
 and particularity the amount of interest then claimed by 
 each sharer, those sharers being Richard Burbage, Laurence 
 Fletcher 1 , William Shakespeare, John Heminge, Henry 
 Coudell, Joseph Taylor, and John Lowin, with four other 
 persons not named, each the owner of half a share. 
 
 We have inserted the document entire in a note 2 , and 
 hence we find that Richard Burbage was the owner of the 
 freehold or fee, (which he no doubt inherited from his 
 father) as well as the owner of four shares, the value of all 
 which, taken together, he rated at 1933^. 6s. 8d. Laurence 
 Fletcher (if it be he, for the Christian name is written 
 
 ' These transactions most probably occurred before September, 
 HHW, because Laurence Fletcher died in that month. However, it ii 
 not quite certain that the " Laz. Fletcher." mentioned in the docu- 
 ment, was Laurence Fletcher : we know of no person named Lazarus 
 Fletcher, though he may have been the personal representative of 
 Laurence Fletcher. 
 
 2 Jt is thus headed 
 "For avoiding of the Playhouse in the Precinct of the Blacke Friers. 
 
 . s. d. 
 
 Imp. Richard Burbidge oweth the Fee, and is alsoe a 
 sharer therein. His interest he rateth at the grosse 
 surame of 100CK. for the Fee. and for his foure shares 
 
 in thesumme of <J33/. 6s. Sd 1933 6 8 
 
 Item. Laz. Fletcher oweth three shares, which he rateth 
 at TOO/., that is, at seven yeares purchase for each 
 share, or 3U. 6s. Sd., one yeare with another . . 700 
 Itim. W. Shakespeare asketh for the wardrobe and 
 properties of the same playhouse 500/., and for his 
 4 shares, the same as his fellowes, Burbidge and 
 
 Fletcher ; viz. 933/. 6s. Hit 1433 6 9 
 
 Item Heminge and Condell eche 2 shares . . . 933 6 8 
 Item. Joseph Taylor 1 share and an halfe . . . 350 
 Item. Lowing also one share and an halfe . . . 350 '. 
 Item. Foure more playeres with one halfe share to eche 
 of them . 466 13 4 
 
 Summa totalis . 6166 13 4 
 
 Moreover, the hired men of the Companie demaund some recompenc* 
 .or their great losse. and the Widowes and Orphanes of Players, w/.o 
 w paide by the Sharers at divers rates and proportions, so as .n l). 
 hole it will cost the Lo Mayor and the Citizens at leas.'. ~OCKM
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 :t Laz,") was pr >prietor of three shares, for which he claimed 
 700/. Shakespeare was proprietor of the wardrobe and 
 properties of the theatre, estimated at 500?., as well as of 
 four shares, valued, like those of Burbage and Fletcher, at 
 33/. 6s. 8d. each, or 933/. 6s. 8d.. at seven years' purchase 
 his whole demand was 1433/. 6s. 8d., or 500 J. less than that 
 of Burbage, in as much as the fee was considered worth 
 loon/., while Shakespeare's wardrobe and properties were 
 valued at 500/. According to the same calculation, Hem- 
 iuge and Condell each required 466. 13s. 4d. for their two 
 shares, and Taylor 850/. for his share and a half, while the 
 four unnamed half-sharers put in their claim to be compen- 
 sated at the same rate. 466/. 13s. 4d. This mode of esti- 
 mating the Blackfriars theatre made the value of it 6166/. 
 13*. 4d., and to this sum was to be added remuneration to 
 the hired men of the company, who were not sharers, aa 
 well as to the widows and orphans of deceased actors : the 
 purchase money of the whole property was thus raised to 
 at least 7000/. 
 
 Each share, out of the twenty into which the receipts of 
 the theatre were divided, yielded, as was alleged, an annual 
 profit of 33/. 6s. 8d. ; and Shakespeare, owning four of these 
 ehares. his annual income, from them only, was 133/. 6s. 8d. : 
 he was besides proprietor of the wardrobe and properties, 
 stated to be worth 500/. : these, we may conclude, he lent 
 to the company for a certain consideration, and, reckoning 
 wear and tear, ten per cent, seems a very low rate of pay- 
 ment; we will take it, however, at that sum, which would 
 add 50J. a year to the 133^. 6s. 8d. already mentioned, making 
 together 183/. 6s. 8<f., besides what our great dramatist must 
 have gained by the profits of his pen, upon which we have 
 no data for forming any thing like an accurate estimate. 
 Without including any thing on. this account, and supposing 
 only that the Globe was as profitable for a summer theatre 
 as the Blackfriars was for a winter theatre, it is evident 
 that Shakespeare's income could hardly have been less than 
 366/. 13s. 4d. Taking every known source of emolument 
 into view, we consider 400^. a year the very lowest amount 
 at which his income can be reckoned in 1608. 
 
 The document upon which this calculation is founded ia 
 preserved among the papers of Lord Ellesmere, but a re- 
 markable incidental confirmation of it has still more recently 
 been brought to light in the State-paper office. Sir Dudley 
 Carlton was ambassador at the Hague in 1619, and John 
 Charnberlaine, writing to him on 19th of March in that 
 year, and mentioning the death of Queen Anne, states that 
 " the funeral is put off to the 29th of the next month, to the 
 great hinderanee of our players, which are forbidden to play
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ao long as her body is above ground: one speciall mat 
 among them, Burbage, is lately dead, and hath left, they 
 say, better than SQOl. land." 1 
 
 Burbage was interred at St. Leonard's, Shoreditch, on 
 16th March, 1619, three days anterior to the date of Cham- 
 berlaine's letter 2 , having made his nuncupative -will four 
 days before his burial : in it he said nothing about the 
 amount of his property, but merely left his wife Winifred 
 his sole executrix. There can be no doubt, however, that 
 the corregpoudent of Sir Dudley Carlton was correct in hia 
 information, and that Burbage died worth " better than " 
 300/. a year in land, besides his " goods and chattels :" SOOl. 
 a year at that date was about 1500/. of our present money, 
 and we have every reason to suppose that Shakespeare was 
 quite in as good, if not in better circumstances. Until the 
 letter of Chamberlaine was found, we had not the slightest 
 knowledge of the amount of property Burbage had accu- 
 mulated, he having been during his whole life merely an 
 actor, and not combining in his own person the profits of a 
 most successful dramatic author with those of a performer. 
 Nevertheless, it must not be forgotten, that although Shake- 
 speare continued a large sharer with the leading member 
 of the company in 1608, he had retired from the stage about 
 four years before ; and having ceased to act, but still re- 
 taining his shares in the profits of the theatres with which 
 he was connected, it is impossible to say what arrangement 
 he may have made with the rest of the company for the 
 regular contribution of dramas, iu lieu perhaps of his own 
 personal exertions. 
 
 In a work published a few years ago, containing extracts 
 from the Diary of the Rev. John Ward, who was vicar of 
 Stratford-upon-Avon, and whose memoranda extend from 
 1648 to 1679', it is stated that Shakespeare "in his elder 
 days lived at Stratford, and supplied the stage with two 
 plays every year, and for it had an allowance so large, that 
 
 by Mr. Lemon, who has been as indefatigable in his researches ai 
 >eral in the communication of the results of them. 
 * I '', P assa e e above 1 uot d renders Middleton's epigram on the 
 ath of Burbage (Works by Dyce, vol. v. p. 503) quite clear: 
 
 'This new and valuable piece of information was pointed out to 
 a by Mr. Lemon, who has been as indefatigable in his researches ai 
 liberal in the communication of the results of ther" 
 
 * The pa 
 death of Bu 
 
 Write but of four eclipses ; five appear. 
 
 Death interposing Burbage, and their staying, 
 
 Hath made a visible eclipse of playing." 
 
 It has been conjectured that "their staying" referred to a temporary 
 UBpension of plays in consequence of the death of Burbage ; but th 
 Anne*' 1 * P rohibition of *" until after the funeral of Queen 
 c. Arranged by Charles Se rern.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
 
 he spent at the rate of 1000/. a year, as I have beard." W 
 or ly adduce this passage to show \vhut the opinion was as 
 tt Shakespeare's circumstances shortly after the Restora- 
 tion'. Wo take it for granted that theeum of lOQQl. (equal 
 to nearly 5000/. now) is a considerable exaggeration, but it 
 may warrant the belief tbat Shakespeare lived in good style 
 and port, late in life, in his native town. It is very possible, 
 too, though we think not probable, that after he retired to 
 Stratford he continued to write, but it is utterly incredible 
 that subsequent to his retirement he " supplied the stage 
 with two plays every year." He might not be able at once 
 to relinquish his old and confirmed habits of composition; 
 but such other evidence as we possess is opposed to Ward's 
 statement, to which he himself appends the cautionary 
 words, " as I have heard." Of course he could have known 
 nothing but by hearsay forty -six years after our poet's de- 
 cease. He might, however, easily have known inhabitants 
 of Stratford who well recollected Shakespeare, and, consid- 
 ering the opportunities he possessed, it strikes us as very 
 singular that he collected so little information. 
 
 We have already adverted to the bounty of the Earl of 
 Southampton to Shakespeare, which we have supposed to 
 have been consequent upon the dedication of " Venus and 
 Adonis," and " Lucrece," to that nobleman, and coincident 
 in point of date with the building of the Globe Theatre. 
 Another document has been handed down to us among the 
 
 pers of Lord Ellesmere, which proves the strong interest 
 Southampton still took, about fifteen years afterwards, 
 in Shakespeare's affairs, and in the prosperity of the com- 
 pany to which he was attached : it has distinct reference 
 also to the pending and unequal struggle between the cor- 
 poration of London and the players at the Blackfriars, of 
 which we have already spoken. It is the copy of a letter 
 subscribed H. S. (the initials of the Earl) to some nobleman 
 in favour of our great dramatist, and of the chief performer 
 in many of his plays, Richard Burbage ; and recollecting 
 what Lord Southampton had before done for Shakespeare, 
 and the manner in which from the first he had patronized 
 our stage and drama, it seems to us the most natural thing 
 in the world for him to write a letter personally on behalf 
 of parties who had so many public and private claims. We 
 may conclude that the original was not addressed to Lord 
 Ellesmere, or it would have been found in the depository 
 of his papers, and not merely a transcript of it; but a copy 
 of it may have been furnished to the Lord Chancellor, in 
 order to give him some information respecting the charac- 
 
 1 Mr. Ward was anointed to the vicarage oi Stratfo d-upon-Avoa 
 n 1602 
 
 pa 
 Lo
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 tere of the parties upon whose cause he was called upou t 
 decide. Lord Ellesmere stood high in the confidence of hia 
 sovereign : he had many important public duties to discharge 
 besides those belonging to his great office ; and notwith- 
 standing he had shown himself at all times a liberal patron 
 of lettei-s, and had had many works of value dedicated to 
 him, we may readily imagine, that although he must have 
 heard of Shakespeare and Burbage, he was in some degree 
 of ignorance as to their individual deserts, which this com- 
 munication was intended to remove. That it was not sent 
 to him by Lord Southampton, who probably was acquainted 
 with him, may afford a proof of the delicacy of the Earl's 
 mind, who would not seem directly to interpose while a 
 question of the sort was pending before a judge, (though 
 possibly not in his judicial capacity) the history of whose 
 life establishes that where the exercise of his high functions 
 was involved he was equally deaf to public and to private 
 influence. 
 
 We have introduced an exact copy of the document in a 
 note 1 , and it will be observed that it is without date ; but 
 
 i The copy was made upon half a sheet of paper, and -without ad- 
 dress : it runs as follows : 
 
 "My verie honored Lord. The manie good offices I haue receiued 
 at your Lordship's hands, which ought to make me backward in asking 
 
 kinde. Your Lordship will be warned howe hereafter you graunt 
 anie sute, seeing it draweth on more and greater demaunds. This 
 which now presseth is to request your Lordship, in all you can, to be 
 good to the poore players ot the Black Fryers, who call them selves by 
 authoritie ;he servaunts of his Majestie, and aske for the protection 
 of their most gracious Maister and Sovereigne in this the tyme of their 
 treble. They are threatened by the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of 
 London, never f.iendly to their calling, with the distruction of their 
 meanes of livelihood, by the pulling downe of their plaiehouse, which 
 is a priuate theatre, and hath nouer giuen occasion of anger by anie 
 disorders. These bearers are two of the chiefe of the cotnpanie ; one 
 of them by name Richard Burbidge, who humblie sueth for your 
 Lordship's kinde helpe, for that he is a man famous as our English 
 Roscius, one who fitteth the action to the word, and the word to the 
 iction most admirably. By the exercise of his aualitve, industry, 
 and good behaviour, he hath be come possessed of the Blacke Fryers 
 playhouse, which hath bene imployed for playes sithence it wa 
 builded by his Father, now nere 50 yores agone. The other is a man 
 no whin lesse deserving favor, and my especiall friende, till of late 
 an actor of good account in the companie, now a sharer in the same, 
 and writer of some of our best English playes, which, as your Lord- 
 ihip knoweth, were most singularly liked of Queue Ehzab'eth. when 
 the companie was called uppon to perforrne before her Maiestie ut 
 Court at Christmas and Shrovetide His most gracious Maiestie King 
 James alsoe. sence his coming to the crowne, hath extended his royal 
 favour to the companie in divers waies and at sundrie tymes. This 
 othor hath to name William Shakespeare, and they are both of one 
 CTJntie, and indeede allmostof one towne : both are right famous in 
 v.'-.r qnalityes. though it longeth not of your Lo. grauitie and wise- 
 Uutte to resort vnto the placet where they are wont to delight th
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 the subject of it shows beyond dispute that it belongs to this 
 period, while the lord mayor and aldermen were endeavour- 
 ing to expel the players from a situation where they had 
 been uninterruptedly "established for more than thirty years. 
 There can be no doubt that the object the players had iu 
 view was attained, because we know that the lord mayor 
 and his brethren were not allowed, until many jears after- 
 wards, to exercise any authority within the "precinct and 
 liberty of the Blackfriars, and that the King's servants con- 
 tinued to occupy the theatre long after the death of Shake- 
 
 speare. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 "Warrant to Daborne, Shakespeare, Field, and Kirkham, for 
 the Children of the Queen's Revels, in Jan. 1610. Popu- 
 larity of juvenile companies of actors. Stay of Daborne's 
 warrant, and the reasons for it. Plays intended to be acted 
 by the Children of the Queen's Kevels. Shakespeare's 
 dramas between 1609 and 1612. His retirement to Stratford, 
 and disposal of his property in the BlacktYiars and Globe 
 theatres. AlleynV purchases in Black friare in 1612. Shake- 
 speare's purchase of a house in Blackfriara from Henrv 
 Walker in 1613, and the possible cau>e of it explained". 
 Shakespeare described as oL'Stratt'ord-upon-Avon. 
 
 THERE is reason for believing that the important question 
 of jurisdiction had been decided iu favour of the King's 
 players before January, 1609-10. because we have an in- 
 strument of that date authorizing a juvenile companv to 
 exhibit at Blackfriars. as well as the association which "had 
 been in possession of the theatre ever since its original con- 
 struction. One circumstance connected with this document, 
 to which we shall presently advert, may however appear 
 to cast a doubt upon the point, whether it had yet been 
 finally determined that the corporation of London was by 
 law excluded from the precinct of the Blackfriars. 
 
 It is a fact, of which it may be said we have conclusive 
 proof, that almost from the first, if not from the first, the 
 Blackfriars theatre had been in the joint possession of the 
 
 publiqne eare Their trust and sute nowe is not to bee molested in 
 their way of life, whereby they maintaine them selves and their 
 jrives and families, (being both married and of good reputation) a* 
 well as the widows and prphanes of some of their dead fellows. 
 
 " Your Lo most bounden at com. 
 " Copia vera." " H. S." 
 
 Lord Southampton was clearly mistaken when he stated that the 
 B'.ackfriars theatre had ben built nearly fifty years : in 100; it had 
 teen built about thirty-tJjree years.
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Lord Chamberlain's servants and of a juvenile company 
 called the Children of the Chapel : they were also known as 
 " her Majesty's Children," aud " the Children of the Black- 
 friars ;" aud it is uot to be supposed that they employed 
 the theatre on alternate days with their older competitors. 
 but that, when the Lord Chamberlain's servants acted else- 
 where in the summer, the Children of the Chapel com- 
 menced their performances at the Blackfriars. 1 After the 
 opening of the Globe in 1595, we may presume that the 
 Lord Chamberlain's servants usually left the Blackfriars 
 theatre to be occupied by the Children of the Chapel during 
 the seven months from April to October. 
 
 The success of the juvenile companies in the commence- 
 ment of the reign of James I, and even at the latter end 
 of that of Elizabeth, was great ; and we find Shakespeare 
 alluding to it in vei y pointed terms in a well-known passage 
 in " Hamlet," which we suppose to have been written in the 
 winter of 1601, or in the spring of 1602. They seem to 
 liave gone on increasing in popularity, aud very soon after 
 James L ascended the throne, Queen Anne took a company, 
 called " the Children of the Queen's Revels," under her 
 immediate patronage. There is no reason to doubt that 
 they continued to perform at Blaekfriars, and in the very 
 commencement of the year 1610 we find that Shakespeare 
 either was, or intended'to be, connected with them. At this 
 period he probably contemplated an early retirement from 
 the metropolis, and might wish to avail himself, for a short 
 period, of this new opportunity of profitable employment. 
 Robert Daborne, the author of two dramas that have been 
 printed, and of several others that have been lost," seems to 
 have been a man of good family, and of some interest at court ; 
 
 i See Hist. Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. iii. p. 275, where 
 such is conjectured to have, been the arrangement. 
 
 * " The Christian turned Turk." 161-2. and " The Poor Man's Com- 
 fort," 1655. In " The Alleyn Papers,"' (printed by the Shakespeare 
 Society,) may be seen much correspondence between Daborne and 
 
 enslowe respecting plays he was then writing for the Fortune the- 
 
 . 
 
 Lord Willoughby had sent for him, and it is most likely that Da- 
 borne went to Ireland under this nobleman's patronage. It is certain 
 that, having been regularly educated, he went into the Church, and 
 had a living at or near Waterford, where, in 1613, he preached a 
 sermon which is extant. While writing for Henslowe he was in 
 great poverty, having sold most of the property he had with his wife. 
 We have no information as to the precise time of his death, but hia 
 Poor Man's Comfort 1 ' was certainly a posthumous production : he 
 had sold it to one of the companies of the day before he took holy 
 orders, and. like various other plays, after long remaining in manu- 
 cript, it was published. His lost plays, some of which he wrote in 
 conjunction with other dramatists, appear from " The AUeyn Papers M 
 to have been 1. Machiavel and the Devil ; 2. The Arraignment of 
 Lon Ion ; 3. The Bellman of London ; 4. The Owl : 5. The She Saint { 
 others the ti'"s of which are not given.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 and in January 1609-10, he was able to procure a royal 
 grant, authorizing him and others to provide and educate a 
 number of young actors, to be called " the Children of the 
 Queen's Revels." As we have observed, this was not a new 
 association, because it had existed under that appellation, and 
 under those of " the Children of the Chapel " and " the Chil- 
 dren of the Blackfriars," from near the beginning of the reign 
 of Elizabeth. Daborue, in 1609-10, was placed at the head 
 of it, and not, perhaps, having sufficient means or funds of his 
 own, he had, as was not unusual, partners in the undertak- 
 ing: those partners were William Shakespeare, Nathaniel 
 Field, (the celebrated actor, and very clever author) and 
 Edward Kirkham, who had previously enjoyed a privilege 
 of the same kind 1 . A memorandum of the warrant to 
 " Daborue and others," not there named, is inserted in the 
 ' Entry Book of Patents and Warrants for Patents," kept 
 by a person of the name of Tuthill, who was employed by 
 Lord Kllesmere for the purpose, aud which book is pre- 
 served among the papers handed down by his lordship to 
 his successors. In the same depository we also find a draft 
 of the warrant itself, under which Daborne and his partners, 
 therein named, viz. Shakespeare, Field, and Kirkham, were 
 to proceed 2 ; and it is a circumstance deserving notice, that 
 
 1 He was one of the masters of the Children of the Queen's Revels 
 in 1(503-4. See Hist, of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. i. 
 p. 35-2. 
 
 2 It runs thus : 
 
 " Right trusty and weloeloved, &c., James, kc. To all Mayors, 
 Sheriffs, Justices of the Peace, & c. Whereas the Queene, our dearest 
 wife, hath for her pleasure and recreation appointed her servaunts 
 Robert Daiborne. &c. to provide and bring upp a. convenient nomber 
 of children, who shall be called the Children of her Majesties Revells, 
 knowe ye that we have appointed and authorized, and by these pre- 
 sents doe appoint and authorize the said Robert Daiborne, William 
 Shakespeare, Nathaniel Field, and Edward Kirkham, from time to 
 
 them to instruct and exercise in the quality of playing Tragedies, 
 Comedies, &c., by the name of the Children of the Revells to the 
 Q-ueene, within the Blackfryers, in our Citie of London, or els where 
 
 venient nomber of children, by the name of the Children of the 
 Revells to the Queene, and them to exercise in the quahtie of play- 
 ing according to her royal pleasure. Provided alwaies. that no playes. 
 &c. shall be by them presented, but such playes. &c. as have received 
 the approbation and allowance of our Maister of the Revells for th 
 tyme being. And these our Ires, shall be your sufficient warrant in 
 this behalfe. In \\-itnesse whereof, &c., 4 die Janij. 100!). 
 " Proud Povertie. Engl. Tragedie. 
 
 Widow's Mite. False Friends. 
 
 A_ntonio. Hate and Love. 
 
 Triumph of Truth. K. Edw. 2. 
 
 Touchstone. Mirror of Lii 
 
 Griiell. 
 rf-aved."
 
 C1XXX THE LIFE OF 
 
 "the Children of the Queen's Revels" were thereby 
 licensed not only to act " tragedies, comedies," etc. in the 
 Blackfriare theatre, but " elsewhere within the realm of 
 Holland ;" so that even pLices where the city authorities 
 had indisputably a right to exercise jurisdiction were not 
 exempted 
 
 It will be recollected that this had been a point in dis- 
 pute in 1574, and that the words "as well within our city 
 of London " were on this account excluded from the patent 
 granted by Elizabeth to the players of Lord Leicester, 
 though found hi the privy seal dated three days earlier. 1 
 For the same reason, probably, they are not contained in 
 the patent of James I. to Fletcher, Shakespeare, and others, 
 in 1603. We may be satisfied that the warrant of 1609-10 
 to Daborne and his partners was not carried into effect, and 
 possibly on that account : although it may have been decided 
 at this dale that the lord mayor and aldermen had no power 
 forcibly to exclude the actors from the Blackfriars, it may 
 Lave been held inexpedient to go the length of authorizing 
 a young company to act within the very boundaries of the 
 city. So far the corporation may have prevailed, and this 
 may be the cause why we never hear of any steps having 
 been taken under the wan-ant of 1609-10. The word 
 " stayed " is added at the conclusion of the draft, as if some 
 good ground had been discovered for delaying, if not for 
 entirely withholding it Perhaps even the question of juris- 
 diction had not been completely settled, and it may have 
 been thought useless to concede a privilege which, after all, 
 by the operation of the law in favour of the claim of the 
 city, might turn out to be of no value, because it could not 
 be acted upon. Certain it is, that the new scheme seems 
 to have been entirely abandoned; and whatever Shake- 
 speare may have intended when he became connected with 
 it, he continued, as long as he remained in London, and as 
 far as any evidence enables us to judge, to write only for 
 the company of the King's players, who persevered in their 
 performances at the Blackfriars in the winter, and at the 
 Globe in the summer. 
 
 It will be seen that to the draft in favour of " Daborne 
 and others," as directors of the performances of the Children 
 of the Queen's Revels, a list is appended, apparently of 
 dramatic performances in representing which the juvenile 
 company was to be employed. Some of these may be con- 
 sidered, known and established performances, such as " An- 
 touio." which perhaps was intended for the " Antonio and 
 Mellida"of Marston, printed in 1602; "Grisell," for the 
 " Patient Grisell " of Dekkcr, Chettle, and Haughton, printed 
 S HUt. Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage, vol. i p 212.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
 
 in 1C03; and " K. Edw. 2.," for Marlowe's "Edward II," 
 printed in 1598. Of others we have DO information from 
 any quarter, and only two remind us at all of Shakespeare: 
 " Kinsmen," may mean " The two Xoble Kinsmen," in writ- 
 ing which, some suppose our great dramatist to hare been 
 concerned ; and " Taming of S," is possibly to be taken for 
 " The Tamiug of the Shrew," or for the older play, with 
 nearly the same title, upon which it was founded. 
 
 " Troilus and Cressida " and " Pericles " were printed in 
 1 609, and to our mind there seems but little doubt that they 
 had been written and prepared for the stage only a short 
 time before they came from the press. With the single 
 exception of "Othello," which came out in 4to in 16'2'2, no 
 other new drama by Shakespeare appeared in a printed 
 form between 1609 and the date of the publication of the 
 folio iu 1623'. We need not here discuss what plays, first 
 found in that volume, were penned by our great dramatist 
 after 1609, because we have separately considered the 
 claims of each in our preliminary Introductions. " Timon 
 of Athens," " Coriolauus," " Antony and Cleopatra," " Cym- 
 beline," " The Winter's Tale," and " The Tempest," seem to 
 belong to a late period of our poet's theatrical career, and 
 some of them were doubtless written between 1609 and the 
 period, whatever that period might be, when he entirely 
 relinquished dramatic composition. 
 
 Between January 1609-10, when Shakespeare was one 
 of the parties to whom the warrant for the Children of the 
 Queen's Revels was conceded, and the year 1612, when, it 
 has been reasonably supposed that he quitted London to 
 take up his permanent residence at Stratford, we are in 
 possession of no facts connected with his personal history". 
 It would seem both natural and prudent that, before he 
 withdrew from the metropolis, he should dispose of his 
 theatrical property, which must necessarily be of fluctuating 
 and uncertain value, depending much upon the presence 
 and activity of the owner for its profitable management. 
 In his will (unlike some of his contemporaries who expired 
 iu London) he says nothing of any such property, and we 
 
 1 One copy of the folio is known with the date of 1622 upon the 
 title-page. The volume was entered at Stationers' Hall on the bth 
 Nov. Kiii, as if it had not been published until late in that year, 
 unless we suppose the entry made by Blount and .laggard some time 
 ifter publication, in order to secure their right to the plays first 
 printed there, which they thought might be invaded. 
 
 2 We ought, perhaps to except a writ issued by the borough court 
 'TI June 1UIO, at the suit of Shakespeare, for the recovery of a small 
 'Jin. A similar occurrence had taken place in 1604, when our poet 
 sought to recover I/ 15*. Od. from a person of the name of Rogers, fat 
 corn sold to him. These facts are ascertained from the existing 
 records of Stratford
 
 THE LIFE OB 
 
 are left to infer that he did not die in possession of it 
 having disposed of it before he finally retired to Stratford 
 
 It is to be recollected also that the species of interest he 
 had in the Blackfriars theatre, independently of his shares 
 in the receipts, was peculiarly perishable : it consisted of the 
 wardrobe and properties, which in 1608, when the city 
 authorities contemplated the purchase of the whole estab- 
 lishment, were valued at 500/. ; and we may feel assured 
 that he would sell them to the company which had had the 
 constant use of them, and doubtless had paid an annual 
 consideration to the owner. The fee, or freehold, of the 
 house and ground was in the hands of Richard Burbage, 
 and from him it descended to his two sons : that was a per- 
 manent and substantial possession, very different in its 
 character and durability from the dresses and machinery 
 which belonged to Shakespeare. The mere circumstance 
 of the nature of Shakespeare's property in the Blackfriars 
 seems to authorize the conclusion, that he sold it before he 
 retired to the place of his birth, where he meant to spend 
 the rest of his days with his family, in the tranquil enjoy- 
 ment of the independence he had secured by the exertions 
 of five and twenty years. Supposing him to have begun 
 his theatrical career at the end of 1586, as we have ima- 
 gined, the quarter of a century would be completed by the 
 close of 1612, and for aught we know, that might be the 
 period Shakespeare had in his mind fixed upon for the ter- 
 mination of his toils and anxieties. 
 
 It has been ascertained that Edward Allevn, the actor- 
 founder of the college of " God's Gift " at JDulwich, pur- 
 chased property in the Blackfriars in April 1612', and al- 
 though it may possibly have been theatrical, there seems 
 sufficient reason to believe that it was not, but that it con- 
 sisted of certain leasehold houses, for which according to 
 his own account-book, he paid a quarterly rent of 40. The 
 brief memorandum upon this point, preserved at Dulwich, 
 certainly relates to any thing rather than to the species of 
 interest which Shakespeare indisputably had in the ward- 
 robe and properties of the Blackfriars theatre": the terms 
 
 > See tht ' Memoirs of Edward Alleyn," p. 105, where a. conjecture 
 M hastily hazarded that it might be Shakespeare's interest in the 
 Blackfriars theatre. Upon this question we agree with Mr. Knight 
 in " bhakspere, a Biography," prefixed to his pictorial edition of the 
 Toet's works. 
 
 * It is in the following form, upon a small damp-injured piece of 
 paper, and obviously a mere memorandum. 
 
 "April 101 .2, 
 
 " Money paid ',y me E. A. for the Blackfryers . 160U 
 More for the Blackfryers . ... l'>6" 
 
 More again for the Leasse 310 n 
 
 The writinges for the same and other small charges 3" 6" 8* 
 If this paper had any r lation at all to the theatre in the Blackfr.oxs, 
 it is very evident that Shakespeare could neither srant nor sell a
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 A-leyn uses would apply only to tenements or ground, and 
 as Burbage valued his freehold of the theatre at 1000/., we 
 need not hesitate in deciding that the lease Alleyu pur- 
 chased for 599/. 6s. 8d. was not a lease of the play-house. 
 We shall see presently that Shakespeare himself, though 
 under some peculiar circumstances, became the owner of a 
 dwelling-house in the Blackfriars, unconnected with the 
 theatre, very soon after he had taken up his abode at Strat- 
 ford, and Alleyn probably had made a similar, but a larger 
 investment in the same neighbourhood in 1612. Whatever, 
 in fact, became of Shakespeare's interest in the Blackfriars 
 theatre, both as a sharer and as the owner of the wardrobe 
 and properties, we need not hesitate in concluding that, in 
 the then prosperous state of theatrical affairs in the metro- 
 polis, he was easily able to procure a purchaser. 
 
 He must also have had a considerable stake in the Globe, 
 but whether he was also the owner of the same species of 
 property there, as at the Blackfriars, we can only speculate. 
 We should think it highly probable that, as far as the mere 
 wardrobe was concerned, the same dresses were made to 
 serve for both theatres, and that when the summer season 
 commenced on the Bankside, the necessary apparel waa 
 conveyed across the water from the Blackfriars, and re- 
 mained there until the company returned to their winter 
 quarters. There is no hint in any existing document what 
 became of our great dramatist's interest in the Globe ; but 
 here again we need not doubt, from the profit that had 
 always attended the undertaking, that he could have had no 
 difficulty in finding parties to take it off his hands. Burbage 
 we know was rich, for he died in 1619 1 worth 300/. a year 
 
 lease ; and it is quite clear that Burbage did not, because he remained 
 in possession of the playhouse at the time of his death : his sons en- 
 joyed it afterwards : and Alleyn continued to pay 4(W. a quarter for 
 tire property he held until his decease in 1(526. 
 
 1 We have already inserted an extract from an epitaph upon Bur- 
 bage, in which the writer enumerates many of the characters he sus- 
 tained. The following lines in Sloane MS. No. 17S(i, (pointed out 
 to us by Mr. Bruce) are just worth preserving on account of the emi- 
 nence of the man to whom they relate. 
 
 'An Epitaph on Mr. RICHARD BUHBAGE, the Player. 
 " This life's a pla.y, scean'd out by nature's art, 
 
 Where every man has his allotted parte. 
 
 This man hath now, as many men can tell, 
 
 Ended his part, and he hath acted well. 
 
 Th play now ended, thinke his grave to bee 
 
 The retiring house of his sad tragedie ; 
 
 Where to give his fame this be not afraid : 
 
 Here lies the best Tragedian ever play'd." 
 
 From hence we might infer, against other authorities, that wh.i.1 
 was called the " tiring room " in theatres, was so called because th<! 
 actors ret/rid to it. and not nttireil in it. It most likely answered 
 both purposes, but we sometimes find it called " the attiring room " 
 by authors of the time.
 
 ClxXXlV THE LIFE OF 
 
 in land, besides his personal property, and he and othera 
 would have been glad to add to their capital, so advantage- 
 ously employed, by purchasing Shakespeare's interest. 
 
 It is possible, as we have said, that Shakespeare conti 
 oued to employ his pen for the stage after his Retirement 
 to Stiatfora, and the buyers of his shares might even make 
 it a condition that he should do so for a time ; but we much 
 doubt whether, with his long experience of the necessity of 
 personal superintendence, he would have continued a share- 
 holder in any concern of the kind over which he had no 
 control. During the whole of his life in connexion with the 
 stage, even after he quitted it as an actor, he seems to have 
 been obliged to reside in London, apart from his family, for 
 the purpose of watching over his interests in the two thea- 
 tres to which he belonged : had he been merely an author, 
 after he ceased to be an actor, he might have composed his 
 dramas as well at Stratford as in London, visiting the me- 
 tropolis only while a new play was in rehearsal and pre- 
 paration ; but such was clearly not the case, and we may 
 be confident that when he retired to a place so distant 
 from the scene of his triumphs, he did not allow his mind 
 to be encumbered by the continuance of professional 
 anxieties. 
 
 It may seem difficult to reconcile with this consideration 
 the undoubted fact, that in the spring of 1613 Shakespeare 
 purchased a house, and a small piece of ground attached to 
 it, not far from the Blackfriars theatre, in which we believe 
 him to have disposed of his concern in the preceding year. 
 The documents relating to this transaction have come down 
 to us, and the indenture assigning the property from Henry 
 Walker, " citizen of London and minstrel of London," to 
 William Shakespeare, "of Stratford-upon-Avon, in the 
 county of Warwick, gentleman," bears date 10th March, 
 1612-13': the consideration money was 140/.; the house 
 was situated " \v ithin the precinct, circuit, and compass of 
 the late Blackfriars," and we are farther informed that it 
 stood " right against his Majesty's Wardrobe." It appears 
 to have been merely a dwelling-house with a small yard, 
 and not in any way connected with the theatre, which was 
 
 i It was solJ by auction by Messrs. Evans, of Pall Mall, in 1841, 
 fn 165W. 15. The autograph of our poet was appended to it, in tha 
 usual manner. In the next year the instrument was again brought 
 to the hammer of the same parties, when it produced nearly the sum 
 for which it had been sold in 1841. The autograph of Shakespeare. 
 on the fly-leaf of Fiorio's translation of Montaigne's Essays, folio. 
 H><U, (which we feel satisfied is genuine) had been previously sold 
 by auction for 10U/., and it is now deposited in the British Museum. 
 We have a copy of the same book, but it has only upon the title- 
 page the comparatively worthless signature of the reigning
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 at some dist<once from the royal -wardrobe, although John 
 Heminge, the actor, was, with Shakespeare, a party to the 
 deed, as woll as William Johnson, vintner, and John Jack- 
 son, gentleman. 
 
 Shakespeare may have made this purchase as an accom- 
 modation in some way to his " friend and fellow" Hemiuge, 
 and the two other persons named; and it is to be re- 
 marked that, on the day after the date of the conveyance, 
 Shakespeare mortgaged the house to Henry Walker, the 
 vendor, for 60/., having paid down only 80/. on the 10th 
 March. It is very possible that our poet advanced the 80/. 
 to Heminge, Johnson, and Jackson, expecting that they 
 would repay him. and furnish the remaining 60/. before the 
 29th September, 1613, the time stipulated in the mortgage 
 deed ; but as they did not do so, but left it to him, the 
 house of course continued the property of Shakespeare, and 
 after his death it was necessarily surrendered to the uses 
 of his will by Hemiuge, Johnson, and Jackson 1 . 
 
 Such may have been the nature of the transaction ; and 
 if it were, it will account for the apparent (and, we have no 
 doubt, only apparent) want of means on the part of Shake- 
 8pear to pay down the whole of the purchase-money in the 
 first instance : he only agreed to lend 80/, leaving the par- 
 tie* whom he assisted to provide the rest, and by repaying 
 him what he had advanced (if they had done so) to entitle 
 themselves to the house in question. 
 
 Shakespeare must have been in London when he put his 
 signature to the conveyance ; but we are to recollect, that 
 the circumstance of his being described in it as " of Strat- 
 ford-upon-Avon" is by no means decisive of the fact, that 
 his usual place of abode in the spiing of 1613 was his 
 native town : he had a similar description in the deeds by 
 which he purchased 107 acres of land from John and Wil- 
 liam Combe in 1602, and a lease of a moiety of the tithes 
 from Ruphe Huband in 1605, although it is indisputable 
 that at those periods he was generally resident in London. 
 From these facts it seems likely that our great dramatist 
 preferred to be called " of Stratford-upon-Avon," contem- 
 plating, as he probably did through the whole of his thea- 
 trical life, a return thither as soon as his circumstances 
 would enable him to do so with comfort and independence. 
 We are thoroughly convinced, however, that, anterior to 
 March, 1613, Shakespeare had taken up his permanent re- 
 sidence with his family at Stratford. 
 
 1 By his -will he left this house, occupied by a person of the nam 
 f John Rotinson, to his daughter Susar.na. 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 THE LIFE OV 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Members of tl.e Shakespeare family at Stratford in 1612. 
 Joan Shakespeare and William Hart: their marriage and 
 family. William Shakespeare's chancery suit respecting 
 the tithes of Stratford ; and the income he derived from 
 the lease. The Globe burnt in 1613 : its reconstruction. 
 Destructive fire at Stratford in 1614. Shakespeare's visit 
 to London afterwards. Proposed inclosnre of Welcomle 
 fields. Allusion to Shakespeare in the historical poem of 
 " The Ghost of Kichard the Third," published in 1614. 
 
 THE immediate members of the Shakespeare family re- 
 sident at this date in Stratford -were comparatively few. 
 Richard Shakespeare had died at the age of forty 1 , only 
 about a month before William Shakespeare signed the 
 deed for the purchase of the house in Blackfriars. Since 
 the death of Edmund, Richard had been our poet's youngest 
 brother, but regarding his way of life at Stratford we have 
 uo information. Gilbert Shakespeare, born two years and 
 a half after William, was also probably at this time an in- 
 habitant of the borough, or its immediate neighbourhood, 
 and perhaps married, for in the register, under date of 3rd 
 February, 1611-12, we read an account of the burial of 
 " Gilbertus Shakspeare, adolescents? who might be his son. 
 Joan Shakespeare, who was five years younger than her 
 brother William, had been married at about the age of 
 thirty to William Hart, a hatter, in Stratford; but as the 
 ceremony was not performed in that parish, it does not ap- 
 pear in the register. Their first child, William, was bap- 
 tized on 28th August, 1600, and they had afterwards chil- 
 dren of the names of Mary, Thomas, and Michael, born re- 
 spectively in 1603", 1605, and 1608 3 . Our poet's eldest 
 daughter, Susanna, who, as we have elsewhere stated, was 
 married to Mr. John, afterwards Dr. Hall, in June, 1607, 
 produced a daughter who was baptized Elizabeth on 21st 
 
 1 The register of Stratford merely contains the following among 
 Uie deaths in the parish : 
 
 " 1612. Feb. 4 Rich. Shakspeare." 
 
 1 It appears by the register that Mary Hart died in 1607. When 
 Ehakesneare made his will, a blank was left for the name of his ne- 
 phew Thomas Hart, as if he had not recollected it ; but perhaps it 
 was merely the omission of the scrivener. The Harts Hved in a 
 house belonging to Shakespeare. 
 
 3 It has been generally stated that Charles Hart, the celebrated 
 actor after the Restoration, was the grand-nephew of Shakespeare, 
 son to the eldest son of Shakespeare's sister Joan, but we are without 
 positive evidence upon the point. In 16*2 a person of the name of 
 Hart kept a house of entertainment close to the Fortune theatre, and 
 he may have been the son of Shakespeare's sister Joan, wid th 
 father of Charles Hart the actor, who di.d about 1679.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. clxXXVU 
 
 February, 1607-8 ; so that Shakespeare was a grandfather 
 before he had reached his forty -fifth year ; but Mrs. Hall 
 had no farther increase of family. 
 
 By whom New Place, otherwise called " the great 
 house," was inhabited at this period, we can only conjecture. 
 That Shakespeare's wife and his youngest daughter Judith 
 (who completed her twenty-eighth year in February, 1612,) 
 resided in it, we cannot doubt ; but as it would be much 
 more than they would require, even after they were per- 
 manently joined by our great dramatist on his retirement 
 from London, we may perhaps conclude that Mr. and Mrs 
 Hall were joint occupiers of it, and aided in keeping up 
 the vivacity of the family circle. Shakespeare himself 
 only completed his forty-eighth year in April, 1612, and 
 every tradition and circumstance of his life tends to estab- 
 lish not only the gentleness and kindness, but the habitual 
 cheerfulness of his disposition. 
 
 Nevertheless, although we suppose him to have sepa- 
 rated himself from the labours and anxieties attendant 
 upon his theatrical concerns, he was not without his an- 
 noyances, though of a different kind. We refer to a chan- 
 cery suit in which he seems to have been involved by the 
 purchase, in 1605, of the remaining term of a lease of part of 
 the tithes of Stratford. It appears that a rent of 27 /. 1 3s. 4< 
 had been reserved, which was to be paid by certain lessees 
 under peril of forfeiture, but that some of the parties, disre- 
 garding the consequences, had refused to contribute their pro- 
 portions ; and Richard Lane, of Awston, Esquire, Thomas 
 Greene, of Stratford-upon-Avon, Esquire, and William 
 Shakespeare, " of Stratford-upon-Avon, gentleman," were 
 under the necessity of filing a bill before Lord Ellesmere, to 
 compel all the persons deriving estates under the dissolved 
 college of Stratford to pay their shares. What was the 
 issue of the suit is not any where stated ; and the only im- 
 portant point in the draft of the bill, in the hands of the 
 Shakespeare Society, is, that our great dramatist therein 
 stated the value of his "moiety" of the tithes to be GO^.per 
 annum. 
 
 In the summer of 1613 a calamity happened which we 
 do not believe affected our author's immediate interests, on 
 account of the strong probability that he had taken care to 
 divest himself of all theatrical property before he finally 
 took up his residence in his birth-place. The Globe, which 
 had been in use for about eighteen years, was burned down 
 on 29th June, 1613, in consequence of the thatch, with 
 which it was partially cover d, catching fire from the dis-
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 charge of some theatrical artillery 1 . It is doubtful what 
 play was then in a course of representation : Sir Henry 
 Wotton gives it the title of " All is True," and calls it "a 
 new play ;" while Howes, in his continuation of Stowe's 
 Annales, distinctly states that it was " Henry the Eighth 4 ." 
 It is very possible that both may be right, and that Shake- 
 speare's historical drama was that night revived under a 
 new name, and therefore mistakenly called " a new play" 
 by Sir Henry Wotton, although it had been nearly ten 
 years on the stage. The Globe was rebuilt in the next 
 year, as we are told on what may be considered good autho- 
 rity, at the cost of King James and of many noblemen and 
 gentlemen, who seem to have contributed sums of money 
 for the purpose. If James I. lent any pecuniary aid on the 
 occasion, it affords another out of many proofs of his dis- 
 position to encourage the drama, and to assist the players 
 who acted under the royal name 3 . Although Shakespeare 
 
 i John Taylor, the water-poet, was a spectator of the calamity, 
 (perhaps in his own wherry) and thus celebrated it in an epigram, 
 which he printed in 1614 in his " Nipping and Snipping of Abuses," 
 
 "Aspiring Phaeton, with pride inspirde, 
 Misguiding Phoebus carre, the worlde he firde ; 
 But Ovid did with fiction serve his turne, 
 And I in action saw the Globe to burne/' 
 
 See "Hist of Engl. Dram. Poetry and the Stage," vol. i. p 
 386, and vol. iii. p. 296. 
 
 l. iii. p. 
 
 3 This fact, with several other new and curious particulars resp 
 ing the fate of the Blackfriars theatre, the Whitefriars (called 
 Salisbury Court) theatre, the Phoenix, the Fortune, and the Hope 
 
 espect 
 ed the 
 Hope 
 
 (which was also at times used for bear-baiting) is contained in some 
 manuscript notes to a copy of Stowe's Jlnnales, by Howes, folio, 1(531, 
 in the possession of Mr. Pickering : they appear to have been made 
 
 Slobe is there erroneously fixed in 1612. When, too, it is said that 
 the Hope was built in 1610, the meaning must be that it was then 
 reconstructed, so as to be adapted to both purposes, stage-plays and 
 bear-baiting. The memoranda are thus headed: ''A note of such 
 passages as have beene omitted, and as I have seene, since the print- 
 ing of Stowe's Survey of London in 4to, 1618, and this Chronicle at 
 large. 1631." 
 
 " PLAY HOUSES. The Globe play house, on the Bank side in 
 Bouthwarke. was burnt downe to the ground in the yeare 1612. And 
 new built up againe in the yeare 1613, at the great charge of King 
 James, and many noble men. and others. And now pulled downe to 
 the ground by Sir Mathew Brand on Munday, the 15 of April, 1644, 
 to make tenements in the rome of it- 
 
 " The Black Friers play house, in Black Friers London, which had 
 
 , ers onon, 
 
 stood many yeares, was pulled down to the ground on Munday, the 
 and tenements built in the roome. 
 
 soo many yeares, was 
 
 6 day of August. 1655, an . 
 
 Ihe play house in Salisbury Court, in Fleete streete, was pulled 
 down by a company of souldiers, set on by the Sectaries of these sad 
 times, on Saturday, the 24th day of March, 1049. 
 
 "The Phenix : in Druery Lane, was pulled down also this dy 
 Wmg baturday the 24th of March, 1649, by the same souldien.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 might not be in any way pecuniarily affected by the event, 
 we may be sure that he would not le backward in using 
 his influence, and perhaps in rendering assistance by a gift 
 of money, for the reconstruction of a playhouse in which he 
 had often acted, from which he had derived so much profit, 
 and in the continuance of the performances at which so 
 many of his friends and fellows were deeply interested. 
 
 He must himself have had an escape from a similar dis- 
 aster at Stratford in the very next year. Fires had broken 
 out in the borough in 1594 and lf>95, which had destroyed 
 many of the houses, then built of vood, or of materials not 
 calculated to resist combustion ; but that which occurred on 
 the 9th July, 1614, seems to have done more damage than 
 both its predecessors. At the instance of various gentlemen 
 in the neighbourhood, including Sir Fulk Greville, Sir Rich- 
 ard Veruey, and Sir Thomas Lucy, King James issued a 
 proclamation, or brief, dated llth May, 1615, in favour of 
 the inhabitants of Stratford, authorizing the collection of 
 donations in the different churches of the kingdom for the 
 restoration of the town ; and alleging that within two hours 
 the fire had consumed " fifty-four dwelling-houses, many of 
 them being very fair houses, besides barns, stables, and 
 other houses of office, together also with great store of corn, 
 hay, straw, wood, and timber." The amount of loss is stated, 
 on the same authority, to be " eight thousand pounds and 
 upwards 1 ." What was the issue of this charitable appeal 
 to the whole kingdom, we know not 
 
 It is very certain that the dwelling of our great drama- 
 tist, called New Place, escaped the conflagration, and his 
 property, as far as we can judge, seems to have been situ- 
 ated in a part of the town which fortunately did not suffer 
 from the ravages of the fire. 
 
 The name of Shakespeare is not found among those of 
 
 " The Fortune play house, between White Crosse streete and Gold- 
 ing Lane, was burned down to the ground in the year 1618. And 
 built againe, with bncke worke on the outside, in the year 1622 ; and 
 now pulld downe on the inside by these souldiers, this 1649. 
 
 "Tie Hope, on the Banke side in Southwarke. commonly called 
 are Garden : a play house for stage playes on Mundays, Wed- 
 es, Fridayes. and Saterdayes ; and for the baiting of the beares 
 on Tuesdays and Thursdayes the stage being made to take np and 
 down when they please. It was built in the year 1610; and now 
 pulle downe to make tenements by Thomas Walker, a peticoate 
 maker in Cannon Streete, on Tuesday the 2o day of March, 1656. 
 Seven of Mr. Godtries beares, by the command of Thomas Piide, then 
 hie Sherefe of Surry, were shot to death on Saturday, the 9 day of 
 February, 1655, by a company of souldiers." 
 
 i We take these particulars from a copy of the document " printed 
 by Thomas Purfoot," who then had a patent for all proclamations, 
 
 tsual. It is in the possession of the Shakespeare Society. 
 
 the B
 
 CXC THE LIFE OF 
 
 inhabitants whose certificate was stated to be the immediate 
 ground ibr issuing the royal brief l , but it is not at all un- 
 likely that he was instrumental in obtaining it. We are 
 sure that he was in London in November following the fire 2 .. 
 and possibly was taking some steps in favour of his fellow- 
 townsmen. However, his principal business seems to have 
 related to the projected inclosure of certain common lauds 
 in the neighbourhood of Stratford in which he had an in- 
 terest Some inquiries as to the rights of various parties 
 were instituted in September, 1614, as we gather from a 
 document yet preserve 1, and which is now before us. The 
 individuals whose claims are set out are, " Mr. Shakespeare," 
 Thomas Parker, Mr. Lane, Sir Francis Smith, Mace, Arthur 
 Cawdrey, and " Mr. Wright, vicar of Bishopton." All that 
 it is necessary to quote is the following, which refers to 
 Shakespeare, and which, like the rest, is placed under the 
 head of " Auncient Freeholders in the fields of Old Strat- 
 ford and Welcome." 
 
 " Mr. Shakspeare, 4 yard land 3 : noe common, nor ground 
 beyond Gospel! biwhe : noe ground in Sandfield, nor none in 
 Slow Hill field beyond Bishoptou, nor none in the enclosures 
 beyond Bishoptou." 
 
 The date of this paper is 5th September, 1614, and, aa 
 we have said, we may presume that it was chiefly upon this 
 business that Shakespeare came to London on the 16th No- 
 vember. It should appear that Thomas Greene, of Strat- 
 ford, was officially opposing the inclosure on the part of the 
 corporation ; and it is probable that Shakespeare's wishes 
 were accordant with those of the majority of the inhabi- 
 tants : however this might be, (and it is liable to dispute 
 which party Shakespeare favoured) the members of the mu- 
 nicipal body of the borough were nearly unanimous, and, as 
 far as we can learn from the imperfect particulars remain- 
 ing upon this subject, they wished our poet to use his influence 
 to resist the project, which seems to have been supported 
 by Mr. Arthur Mainwaring, then resident in the family of 
 Lord Ellesmere as auditor of his domestic expenditure. 
 
 1 The name of his friend William Combe is found among the ic es- 
 quires" enumerated in the body of the instrument. 
 . 1 his fact appears in a letter, written by Thomas Greene, ou 17th 
 November, 1014, in which he tells some person in Stratford that he 
 dr bf" l 868 '' h ' S COU8in Snakes peare," who had reached town the 
 
 3 Malone inlorms us. without mentioning his authority, that " in 
 co"ntai e nedo ' d Stratford > where our P oet ,', s estate Ia 7> a V ard land 
 indifferent places: he derives the term from the Sixon^gyrd^and, 
 PIT*Y,M terra. Shakspeare, by Boswell, vol. ii. p. 25. Acccrding 
 to the same autho ity, a yard land in Wilmeoote consisted of more
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXC' 
 
 It is very likely that Shakespeare saw Maiuwaring ; and, 
 as it was only five or six years since his name had been es- 
 pecially brought under the notice of the Lord Chancellor 
 iu relation to the claim of the city authorities to jurisdiction 
 in the Blackfriars, it is not impossible that Shakespeare 
 may have had an interview with Lord Ellesmere, who 
 seems at all times to have been of a very accessible and 
 kindly disposition. Greene was in London on the 17th No- 
 vember, and sent to Stratford a short account, of his pro- 
 ceedings on the question of the inclosure, in which he men- 
 tioned that he had seen Shakespeare and Mr. Hall (proba- 
 bly meaning Shakespeare's son-in-law) on the preceding 
 day, who told him that they thought nothing would be 
 done 1 . Greene returned to Stratford soon afterwards, and 
 having left our poet in London, at the instance of the cor- 
 poration, he subsequently wrote two letters, one to Shake- 
 speare, and the other to Maiuwariug, (the latter only has 
 been preserved) setting forth in strong terms the injury the 
 inclosure would do to Stratford, and the heavy loss the in- 
 habitants had not long before sustained from the fire. A 
 petition was also prepared and presented to the privy 
 council, and we may gather that the opposition was effect- 
 ual, because nothing was done in the business : the common 
 fields of Welcombe, which it had been intended to inclose, 
 remained opeu for pasture as before. 
 
 How soon after the matter relating to the inclosure had 
 been settled Shakespeare returned to Stratford, how long 
 he remained there, or whether he ever came to London 
 again, we are without information. He was very possibly 
 in the metropolis at the time when a narrative poem, 
 founded in part upon his historical play of " Richard III.," 
 was published, and which until now has escaped observa- 
 tion, although it contains the clearest allusion, not indeed by 
 name, to our author and to his tragedy. It is called '' The 
 Ghost of Richard the Third," and it bears date in 1614; 
 
 1 The memorandum of the contents of his letter (to which we have 
 already referred on p Ixii.) is in these terms, avoiding abbreviations : > 
 
 ' Jovis, 17 No. My cosen Shakespeare comyng yesterday. I went 
 to see him. how he did. He told me that they assured him they ment 
 to inclose no further than to Gospel bush, and so upp straight (leaving 
 out part of the Dyngles to the field) to the gate in Clopton hedg, and 
 take in Salisburys peece ; and that they mean in Aprill to survey the 
 land, and then to gyve satisfaction, and not before : and he and Mr 
 Hall say they think there will be nothyng done at all." 
 
 In what way. or in what degree, Shakespeare and Greene were re- 
 lated, so that the latter should call the former his "cousin," must 
 
 parish register of Stratford shows that " Thomas Greene, alias Shake- 
 peare," was buried on 6th March, 1589-90. Whether Thoraai 
 Sreene, the solicitor, was any relation to Thomas Greene, the actor,
 
 CXCU THE LIFE OK 
 
 but the writer, C. B., only gives his initialsi. We know ol 
 no poet of that day to whom they would apply, excepting 
 Charles Best, who has several pieces in Davison's " Poetical 
 Rliapsody," 1602, but he has left nothing behind him to in- 
 dicate that he would be capable of a work of such power 
 and variety. It is divided into three portions, the " Cha- 
 racter," the " Legend," and the " Tragedy " of Richard III. ; 
 and the second part opens with the following stanzas, which 
 show the high estimate the writer had formed of the genius 
 of Shakespeare : they are extremely interesting as a con- 
 temporaneous tribute. Richard, narrating his own history, 
 thus speaks : 
 
 " To him that impt my fame with Clio's quill, 
 Whose magick rais'd me from Oblivion's deii. 
 That writ my storie on the Muses hill, 
 And with my actions dignified his pen ; 
 He that from Helicon sends many a rill, 
 Whose nectared veines are drunke by thirstie men ; 
 Crown'd be his stile with fame, his head with bayes, 
 And none detract, but gratulate his praise. 
 
 " Yet if his sccenes have not engrost all grace, 
 The much t'um'd action could extend on stage ; 
 If Time or Memory have left a place 
 For me to fill, t'enforme this ignorant age, 
 To that intent I shew my horrid face, 
 Imprest with feare and characters of rage : 
 Nor wits nor chronicles could ere containe 
 The hell-deepe reaches of my soundlesse braine 2 ." 
 
 i And these not on the title-page, but at the end of the prefatory 
 matter : the whole title runs thus : 
 
 "The Ghost of Richard the Third. Expressing himselfe in these 
 three Parts. 1. His Character. 2 His Legend. 3. His Tragedie. 
 Containing more of him than hath been heretofore shewed, either in 
 Chronicles, Playes, or Poems. Lauren /Jesidite prabetur nulla. 
 Printed by G. Eld : forL Lisle : and are to be sold in Paules Church- 
 yard, at the si^ne of the Tygers head. 1614 ;> 4to. 
 
 It is about to be reprinted by the Shakespeare Society, and on every 
 account it well merits the distinction. 
 
 * We may suspect, in the last line but one, that the word " wits" 
 has been misprinted for acts. The stanza which follows the above 
 refers to another play, founded on a distinct portion of the same hii- 
 tory, and relating especially to Jane Shore : 
 
 "And what a peece of justice did I shew 
 On mistresse Shore, when (with a fained hate 
 To unchast life) 1 forced her to goe 
 Barefoote on pennance, with dejected state. 
 But now her fame by a vile play doth grow. 
 Whose fate the women do commisserate," &c. 
 
 The allusion may here be to Hey wood's historical drama of " Ed- 
 ward IV." (reprinted by the Shakespeare Society), in which Shore'* 
 wife is introduced ; or it may be to a different drama upon the event* 
 of her life, which, it is known on various authorities, had been 
 wought upon the stage.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPKARE. CXC111 
 
 The above is the last extant panegyric upon SLake 
 gpeare during his lifetime, and it exceed^, in point of fervour 
 and zeal, if not injudicious criticism, any that had gone be- 
 fore it ; for Richard tells the reader, that the writer of the 
 scenes in which he had figured on the stage had imped 
 his fame with the quill of the historic muse, and that, by 
 the magic of verse, he who had written so much and so 
 fint.-ly, iiad raised him from oblivion. That C. B. was an 
 author of distinction, and well known to some of the greatest 
 poets of the day, we have upon their own evidence, from 
 the terms they use in their commendatory poems, sub- 
 scribed by no less names than those of Ben Jonson 1 , George 
 Chapman, William Browne, Robert Daborne, and George 
 Wither. The author professes to follow no particular 
 original, whether in prose or verse, narrative or dramatic, 
 in " chronicles, plays, or poems," but to adopt the incidents 
 as they had been handed down on various authorities. As 
 we have stated, his work is one of great excellence, but it 
 would be going too much out of our way to enter here into 
 any farther examination of it. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Shakespeare's return to Stratford. Marriage of his daughter 
 Judith to Thomas Quiney in February, 1616. Shake- 
 speare's will prepared in January, but' dated Marcli, 1616. 
 His last illness: attended by Dr. Hall, his son-in-law. 
 Uncertainty as to the nature of Shakespeare's fatal malady. 
 His birth-day and death-day the same. Entry of his bur ml 
 in the register at Stratford. His will, and circumstances to 
 prove that it was prepared two mouths before it was execut- 
 ed. His bequest to his wife, and provision for her by dower. 
 
 THE autumn seems to have been a very usual time for 
 publishing new books, and Shakespeare having been in 
 London in the middle of November, 1614, as we have re- 
 marked, he was perhaps there when " The Ghost of Rich- 
 ard the Third'' came out, and, like Ben Jouson, Chapman, 
 and others, might be acquainted with the author. He pro- 
 bably returned home before the winter, and passed the 
 
 ' It appears from Henslowe's Diary, that in June, 1602, Ben .Ton- 
 son was himself writing a historical 'play, called " Richard Crook- 
 back," for the Lord Admiral's players at the Fortune. We have no 
 evidence that it was ever completed or represented. Ben Jonson'i 
 testimony in favour of the poem of C. B. is compressed into a i8\t
 
 CXCiv THE LIFE OF 
 
 rest of his days in tranquil retirement, and in the enjoyment 
 of the society of his friends, whether residing in the country, 
 or occasionally visiting him from the metropolis. " The 
 latter part of his life," says Howe, "was spent, as all men 
 of good sense -will wish theirs mav be, in ease, retirement, 
 and the society of his friends ;' ; and he adds what cannot be 
 doubted, that "his pleasurable wit and good-nature en- 
 gaged him in the acquaintance, and entitled him to the 
 friendship of the gentlemen of the neighbourhood." He 
 must have been of a lively and companionable disposition ; 
 and his long residence in London, amid the bustling and 
 varied scenes connected with his public life, independently 
 of his natural powers of conversation, could not fail to ren- 
 der his society most agreeable and desirable. We can 
 readily believe that when any of his old associates of the 
 stage, whether authors or actors, came to Stratford, they 
 found a hearty welcome and free entertainment at his 
 house : and that he would be the last man, in his pros- 
 perity, to treat with slight or indifference those with whom, 
 in the earlier part of his career, he had been on terms of 
 familiar intercourse. It could not be in Shakespeare's na- 
 ture to disregard the claims of ancient friendship, especially 
 if it approached him in a garb of comparative poverty. 
 
 One of the very latest acts of his life was bestowing the 
 hand of his daughter Judith upon Thomas Quiney, a vintner 
 and wine-merchant of Stratford, the son of Richard Quiney. 
 She must have been four years older than her husband, 
 having, as already stated, been born on 2nd February, 1585, 
 while he was not bom until 26th February, 1589 : he was 
 consequently twenty -seven years old, and she thirty-one, at 
 the time of their marriage in February, 1616 1 ; and Shake- 
 speare thus became father-in-law to the son of the friend 
 who, eighteen years before, had borrowed of him 30/., and 
 who had died on 31st May, 1602, while he was bailiff of 
 Stratford. A s there was a difference of four years in the 
 ages of Judith Shakespeare and her husband, we ought 
 perhaps to receive that fact as some testimony, that our 
 great dramatist did not see sufficient evil in such dispropor- 
 tion to induce him to oppose the union. 
 
 1 The registration in the books of Stratford church is this : 
 
 " 1615-16 Feabruary 10. Tho Queeny tow Judith Shakspere." ' 
 
 The fruits of this marriage were three sons ; viz. Shakespeare, 
 
 baptized 23rd November. 1616. and buried May 8th. 1617: Richard 
 
 baptized 9th February, 1617-18. and buried 26th February, 1638-9. 
 
 and Thomas, baptized 23rd January. 161<l-20. and buried 28th 
 
 January, 1(88-9. Judith Quiney, their mother, did not die until 
 
 after the Restoration, and was buried 9th February, 1661-2. The 
 
 ord registers contain no entry of the burial of Thomas Q,uiney, 
 
 her husband, and it is very possible, therefore, that he died and WM 
 
 boned it London.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXOV 
 
 His will had been prepared as long before its actual date 
 as 25th January, 161516, and this fuet is apparent on the 
 face of it : it originally began " Vicexi.tno qninto die 
 January," (not February, as Malone erroneously read it) 
 but the word January was subsequently struck through 
 with a pen, and Martij substituted by interlineation. Pos- 
 sibly it was not thought necessary to alter viceximo quittfo, 
 or the 25th March might be the very day the will was exe- 
 cuted : if it were, the signatures of the testator, upon each 
 of the three sheets of paper of which the will consists, bear 
 evidence (from the want of firmness in the writing) that he 
 was at that time suffering under sickness. It opens, it is 
 true, by stating that he was "in perfect health and me- 
 mory," and such was doubtless the case when the instru- 
 ment was prepared in January, but the execution of it 
 might be deferred until he was attacked by serious indis- 
 position, and then the date of the month only might be 
 altered, leaving the assertion as to health and memory as 
 it had originally stood. What was the nature of Shake- 
 speare's fatal illness we have no satisfactory means of 
 knowing 1 , but it was probably not of long duration ; and if 
 when he subscribed his will he had really been in health, 
 we are persuaded that at the age of only fifty-two he would 
 have signed his name with greater steadiness and distinct- 
 ness. All three signatures are more or less infirm and ille- 
 gible, especially the two first, but he seems to have made 
 an effort to write his best when he affixed both his names 
 at length at the end, " By me William Shakspeare." 
 
 We hardly need entertain a doubt that he was attended 
 in his last illness by his son-in-law, Dr. Hall, who had then 
 been married to Susanna Shakespeare more than eight years : 
 we have expressed our opinion that Dr. and Mrs. Hall lived 
 in the same house with our poet, and it is to be recollected 
 that in his will he leaves New Place to his daughter Susan- 
 na. Hall must have been a man of considerable science for 
 
 1 The Rev. John Ward's Diary, to which we have before referred, 
 contains the following undated paragraph : 
 
 " Shakespeare, Drayton, and Ben Jonson, had a merie meeting, 
 and. itt seems, drank too hard, for Shakespear died of a fevour there 
 contracted." 
 
 What credit may be due to this statement, preceded as it is by the 
 Words ' it seems.'' implying a doubt on the subject in the writer's 
 mind, we must leave the reader to determine. That Shakespeare 
 was of sober, though of companionable habits, we are thoroughly 
 convinced : he could not have written seven-and-thirty plays (not 
 reckoning alterations and additions now lost) in five-and-twenty 
 years had he been otherwise ; and we are sure also, that if Drayton 
 S.nd Ben Jonson visited him at Stratford, he would give them a fre 
 .nd hearty welcome. We have no reason to think that Drayton 
 was at all given to intoxication, although it is certain that Ben Joo-
 
 CXCVl THE LIFE OF 
 
 the time at which he practised, and he has left benind hin. 
 proofs of his knowledge and skill in a number of cast* 
 which had come under his own eye, and which he described 
 in Latin : these were afterwards translated from his manu- 
 script, and published in 1657 by Jonas Cooke, with the title 
 of " Select Observations on English Bodies'," but the case 
 of Dr. Hall's father-in-law is not found there, because, un- 
 fortunately the " observations" only begin in 1617. One of 
 the earliest of them shows that an epidemic, called the " new 
 fever," then prevailed in Stratford and " invaded many." 
 Possibly Shakespeare was one of these ; though, had such 
 been the fact, it is not unlikely that, when speaking of " the 
 Lady Beaufou" who suffered under it on July 1st, 1617, Dr. 
 Hall would have referred back to the earlier instance of his 
 father-in-lawa. He does advert to a tertian ague of which, 
 at a period not mentioned, he had cured Michael Drayton, 
 (" an excellent poet," as Hall terms him) when he was, per- 
 haps, on a visit to Shakespeare. However, Drayton, as for- 
 merly remarked, was a native of Warwickshire, and Dr. 
 Hall may have been called in to attend him elsewhere. 
 
 We are left, therefore, in utter uncertainty as to the im- 
 mediate cause of the death of Shakespeare at an age when 
 he would be in full possession of his faculties, and when in 
 the ordinary course of nature he might have lived many 
 years in the enjoyment of the society of his family and 
 friends, in that grateful and easy retirement, which had been 
 earned by his genius and industry, and to obtain which had 
 apparently been the main object of many years of toil, 
 anxiety, and deprivation. 
 
 Whatever doubt may prevail as to the day of the birth 
 of Shakespeare, none can well exist as to the day of his 
 death. The inscription on his monument in Stratford church 
 tells us, 
 
 "Obiit Anno Domini 1616. 
 jEtalis 53. die 28 Apr." 
 
 1 For a copy of this curious and interesting work, we gladly expresi 
 our obligations to Mr. William Fricker, of Hyde, near Manchester. 
 
 He several times speaks of sicknesses in his own family, and of the 
 nanner in which he had removed them : a case of his own. in which 
 
 Shakespeare in 1G07. "Mrs. Hall, of Stratford, my wife.'Ms more 
 than once introduced in the course of the volume, as well as " Elis- 
 abeth Hall, my only daughter." Mrs. Susanna Hall died in 164S, 
 wed 66. and was buried at Stratford. Elizabeth Hall, her daughter 
 by Dr. Hall, (baptized on the '21st Feb. 1GU7--.) and grand-daughtef 
 to our poet, was married on the -i>d April. IB-JO, to Mr. Thomas Nash, 
 (who died in lt>47) and on 5th June, 1G49. to Mr. John Bernard, of 
 Abingdon, who was knitted after the Restoration. Lady Bernard 
 d childless in Ili79. and was buried, not at Stratford with her own 
 Umily, but at Abinpdon with that of her second husband. She vra* 
 the lMto r the lineal descendants of William Shakespeare.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXCVU 
 
 A* d it is remarkable that he was born and died on the sam 
 day of the same month, supposing him, as we have every 
 reason to believe, to have first seen the light on the 23d 
 April, 1564. It was most usual about that period to men- 
 tion the day of death in inscriptions upon tomb-stones, tab- 
 lets, and monuments ; and such was the case with other 
 members of the Shakespeare family. We are thus informed 
 that his wife, Anne Shakespeare, " departed this life the 6th 
 day of Augu. 1623 1 :" Dr. Hall " deceased Nove. 25. A" 
 1635' :" Thomas Nash, who married Hall's daughter, " died 
 April 4, A. 1647" :" Susanna Hall " deceased the llth of 
 July, A. 1649 4 ." Therefore, although the Latb inscription 
 
 i The inscription, upon a brass plate, let into a stone, is in these 
 terms : We have to thank Mr. Bruce for the use of his copies of them, 
 with which we have compared our own. 
 
 " Heere lyeth interred the Body of Anne, Wife of William Shake- 
 speare, who departed this life the 6th day of Augu. 1623. being of 
 the age of 67 yeares. 
 
 Ubera, tu mater, tu lac, vitamq ; dedisti, 
 
 VEB mihi : pro tanto munere saxa dabo. 
 Quam mallem amoveat lapidem bonus angel' ore' 
 
 Exeat ut Christi corpus imago tua. 
 Sed nil vota valent, venias cito Christe resurget 
 Clausa licet tumulo mater, et astra petit." 
 
 * The following is the inscription commemorating him. 
 "Heere lyeth the Body of lohn Hall, Gent: Hee marr : Susanna 
 
 ye daughter' and coheire of Will : Shakespeare, Gent. Hee deceased 
 Nove. 25. A. 1635, aged 60. 
 
 Hallius hie situs est, medica celeberrimus arte, 
 
 Expectans regni gaudia laeta Dei. 
 Dignus erat meritis, qui Nestora vinceret annis, 
 
 In terris omnes, sed rapit sequa dies. 
 Ne tumulo quid desit, adest ndissima conjux, 
 
 Et vitae comitem nunc quoq ; mortis habet." 
 3 His inscription, in several places difficult to be deciphered, a 
 
 " Heere resteth ye Body of Thomas Nashe, Esq. He mar. Eliza- 
 beth the daug. and heire of John Halle, Gent. He died Aprill 4. 
 A, 1647, Aged 53. 
 
 Fata manent omnes hunc non virtute carentem, 
 
 Ut neque divitiis abstulit atra dies ; 
 Abstulit, at referet lux ultima : siste, viator, 
 Si p'eritura paras per male parta peris." 
 
 * The inscription to her runs thus : 
 
 "Heere lyeth v* body of Susanna. Wife to Tohn Hall, Gent: y. 
 daughter of William Shakespeare, Gent. Shee deceased y llth of 
 July. A. 1649. aged 06." 
 
 Diigdale has handed do^n the following verses upon her, which 
 were originally engraved on the stone, but are not now to be found, 
 half of it having been cut away to make room for an inscription tt 
 RicV.arc Watts, who died in 1707. 
 
 Witty above her sexe, but that's not all ; 
 
 Wise' to salvation was good Mistress Hall. 
 
 Something of Shakespeare was in that, but thii 
 
 Wholy of him with whom she's now in blisse.
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 on the monument of our great dramatist a ay, from ite form 
 and punctuation, appear not so decisive as those we have 
 quoted in English, mere is in fact no ground for disputing 
 that he died on 23d April, 1616. It is quite certain from 
 the register of Stratford that he was interred on the 25th 
 April, and the record of that event is placed among the 
 burials in the following manner : 
 
 " 1616. April 25, Will' Shakspere, Gent." 
 
 Whether from the frequent prevalence of infectious dis- 
 orders, or from any other cause, the custom of keeping the 
 bodies of relatives unburied, for a week or more after death, 
 seems comparatively of modern origin ; and we may illus- 
 trate this point also bv reference to facts regarding some of 
 the members of the "Shakespeare family. Anne Shake- 
 speare was buried two days after she died, viz. on the 8th 
 Aug., 1623 1 : Dr. Hall and Thomas Nash were buried on the 
 day after they died 2 ; and although it is true that there was 
 an interval of five days between the death and burial of 
 Mrs. Hall, in 1649, it is very possible that her corpse was 
 conveyed from some distance, to be interred among her re 
 lations at Stratford 3 . Nothing would be easier than to ac- 
 cumulate instances to prove that in the time of Shakespeare., 
 as well as before and afterwards, the custom was to bury 
 persons very shortly subsequent to their decease. In the 
 case of our poet, concluding that he expired on the 23d 
 April, there was, as in the instance of his wife, an interval 
 of two days before his interment 
 
 Into the particular provisions of his will we need not en- 
 ter at all at large, because we have printed it at the end of 
 the present memoir from the original, as it was filed in the 
 Prerogative Court 4 , probate having been granted on the 22d 
 
 Then, passenger, hast ne're a teare 
 
 To weepe with her that wept for all ? 
 That -wept, yet set her selfe to cheere 
 
 Them up with comforts cordiall. 
 Her love shall live, her meicy spread, 
 When thou hast ne're a teare to shed." 
 Th register informs us that she was buried on the 16th July, 1C49. 
 
 The folio-wing is copied from the register . 
 
 " 1623, August 8. Mrs. Shakspeare." 
 Their registrations of burial are in these terms : 
 
 " 1635. Nov. 26. Johannes Hall, medicus peritissimus." 
 "1647. AprillS. Thomas Nash, Gent." 
 1 The register contains as follows : 
 
 "1649. July 16. Mrs. Susanna Hall, widow." 
 
 We are indebted to Sir F. Madden, Keeper of the MSS. in the 
 British Museum, for the use of a most exact collation of Shakespeare* 
 will ; in addition to which we have seveial times gone over every 
 .ne and word of it. We have printed it as nearly as possible as it 
 appears in the original.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXC1X 
 
 June following the date of it. His daughter Judith is there 
 only called by her Christian name, although she had been 
 married to Thomas Quiney considerably more than a mouth 
 anterior to the actual date of the will, and although his eld- 
 est daughter Susanna is mentioned by her husband's patro- 
 nymic. It seems evident, from the tenor of the whole in- 
 strument, that when it was prepared Judith was not mar- 
 ried 1 , although her speedy union with Thomas Quiuey was 
 contemplated : the attorney or scrivener, who drew it, had 
 first written " son and daughter," (meaning Judith and her 
 intended husband) but erased the words " son and" after- 
 wards, as the parties were not yet married, and were not 
 " son and daughter" to the testator. It is true that Thomas 
 Quiney would not have been Shakespeare's son, only his 
 son-in-law ; but the degrees of consanguinity were not at 
 that time strictly marked and attended to, and in the same 
 will Elizabeth Hall is called the testator's " niece," when 
 she was, in fact, his granddaughter. 
 
 The bequest whicli has attracted most attention is an in- 
 terlineation in the following words, " Itm A gyve unto my 
 wief my second best bed with the furniture." Upon this 
 passage has been founded, by Malone and others, a charge 
 against Shakespeare, that he only remembered his wife as 
 an afterthought, aud then merely gave her "an old bed." 
 As to the hist part of the accusatiou, it may be answered, 
 that the " second best bed" was probably that in which the 
 husband and wife had slept, when he was in Stratford ear- 
 lier in life, and every night since his retirement from the 
 metropolis : the best bed was doubtless reserved for visitors : 
 if, therefore, he were to leave his wife any express legacy 
 of the kind, it was most natural and considerate that he 
 should give her that piece of furniture, which for many years 
 they had jointly occupied. With regard to the second part 
 of the charge, our great dramatist has of late years been re- 
 lieved from the stigma, thus attempted to be thrown upon 
 him, by the mere remark, that Shakespeare's property be- 
 ing principally freehold, the widow by the ordinary opera- 
 tion of the law of England would be entitled to, what is le- 
 gally known by the term, dower.* It is extraordinary that 
 
 1 Another trifling circumstance leading to the conclusion that the 
 will was prepared in January, though not executed until JNlarch. is 
 that Shakespeare's sister is called Jone Hart, and not Jone Hart, widow. 
 Her husband had died a few days before Shakespeare, and he was 
 buried on 17 April, 1010. as "Will Hart, hatter.' f She was buried 
 on 4 Nov. 1646. Both entries are contained in the parish registers of 
 Stratford. 
 
 8 This vindication of Shakespeare's memory from the supposed ne- 
 glect o' his wife we owe to Mr. Knight, in his " Pictorial Shak- 
 pere." See the Postscript to ' Twelfth .Night." When ths expla
 
 CO THE LIFE OF 
 
 this explanation should never have occurre i to Malone. who 
 was educated to the legal profession ; but that many others 
 should have followed him in his unjust imputation is not 
 remarkable, recollecting how prone most of Shakespeare's 
 biographers have been to repeat errors, rather than take the 
 trouble to inquire for themselves, to sift out truth, and to 
 balance probabilities. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 Monument to Shakespeare at Stratford-upon-Avon erected 
 before 1623; probably under the superintendence of Dr. 
 Hall, and Shakespeare's daughter busanna. Difference 
 between the bust on the monument and the portrait on the 
 title-page of the folio of 1623. Ben Jonson's testimony in 
 favour of the likeness of the latter. Shakespeare's personal 
 appearance. His social and convivial qualities. " Wit- 
 combats" mentioned by Fuller in his " Worthies." Epi- 
 taphs upon Sir Thomas Stanley and Elias James. Con- 
 clusion. Hallam's character of Shakespeare. 
 
 A MONUMENT to Shakespeare was erected anterior to the 
 publication of the folio edition of his " Comedies, Histories, 
 and Tragedies " in 1623, because it is thus distinctly men- 
 tioned by Leonard Digges, in the earliest copy of commen- 
 datory verses prefixed to that volume, which he states shall 
 outlive the poet's tomb : 
 
 " when that stone is rent, 
 
 And time dissolves thy Stratford Monument, 
 Here we alive shall view thee still." 
 
 This is the most ancient notice of it ; but how long before 
 1623 it had been placed in the church of Stratford-upon- 
 Avon, we have no means of deciding. It represents the 
 poet sitting under an arch, with a cushion before him, a pen 
 in his right hand, and his left resting upon a sheet of paper: 
 it has been the opinion of the best judges that it was cut by 
 nn English sculptor, (perhaps Thomas Stanton) and we may 
 conclude, without much hesitation, that the artist was em- 
 ployed by Dr. Hall and his wife, and that the resemblance 
 was as faithful as a bust, not modelled from the life, but 
 probably, under living instructions, from some picture or 
 cast, could be expected to be. Shakespeare is there con- 
 siderably fuller in the face, than in the engraving on the 
 
 nation is once given, it seems so easy, that we wonder it was nevei 
 before mentioned ; but like many discoveries of different kinds, it it 
 not less simple than important, and it is just that Mr. Knight should 
 have fullcredU for it.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CCi 
 
 title-page of the folio of 1623, which must have been made 
 from a different original. It seems not unlikely that after 
 he separated himself from the business and anxiety of a 
 professional life, and withdrew to the permanent inhaling 
 of his native air, he became more robust, and the half- 
 length upon his monument conveys the notion of a cheerful, 
 good-tempered, and somewhat jovial man. The expression, 
 we apprehend, is less intellectual than it must have been in 
 reality, and the forehead, though lofty and expansive, is not 
 strongly marked with thought : on the whole, it has rather 
 a look of gaiety and good humour than of thought and re- 
 flection, and the lips are full, and apparently in the act of 
 giving utterance to some amiable pleasantry. 
 
 On a tablet below the bust are placed the following 
 inscriptions, which we give literally : 
 
 " Ivdicio Pylivm, genio Socratetn, arte Maronem, 
 
 Terra tegit, popvlvs mteret, Olympvs habet. 
 Stay. Passenger, why goest thov by so fust '( 
 Head, if thov canst, whom enviovs Death hath plast 
 Within this monvment: Shakspeare; with whome 
 Quick natvre dide : whose name doth deck y* Tombe 
 Far more then cost ; sieth all y 1 he hath writt 
 Leaves living art bvt page to serve his witt 
 Obiit ano Do'. 1616. 
 ^Etatis. 53. die 23 Ap r ." 
 
 On a flat grave stone in front of the monument, and not 
 far from the wall against which it is fixed, we read these 
 lines ; and Southwell's correspondent (whose letter was 
 printed in 1838, from the original manuscript dated 1693) 
 informs us, speaking of course from tradition, that they 
 were written by Shakespeare himself: 
 
 " Good frend, for lesvs sake forbeare 
 To digg the dvst encloaaed heare : 
 Blest be y man y' spares thes stones, 
 And cvrst be he y 1 moves my bones." 
 The half-length on the title-page of the folio of 1623, 
 engraved by Martin Droeshout, has certainly an expression 
 of greater gravity than the bust on Shakespeare's monu- 
 ment ; and, making some allowances, we can conceive the 
 original of that resemblance more capable of producing the 
 mighty works Shakespeare has left behind him, than the 
 original of the bust : at all events, the first rather looks like 
 the author of " Lear " and " Macbeth," and the last like the 
 author of " Much Ado about Nothing" and " The Merry 
 Wives of Windsor:" the one may be said to represent 
 Shakespeare d iriug his later years at Stratford, happy in 
 the intercourse of his family and friends, and the cheerful 
 companion of his neighbours and townsmen ; and the other, 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 COii THE LIFE OF 
 
 Shakespeare in London, revolving the great works h. had 
 written or projected, and with his mind somewhat burdened 
 by the cares of his professional life. The last, therefore, 
 is obviously the likeness which ought to accompany his 
 plavs, and which his " friends and fellows," Hemiuge and 
 Condell, preferred to the head upon the " Stratford Monu- 
 ment," of the erection of which they must have been aware. 
 There is one point in which both the engraving and the 
 bust in a degree concur, we mean in the length of the 
 upper lip, although the peculiarity seems exaggerated in the 
 bust. We have no such testimony in favour of the truth 
 of the resemblance of the bust 1 as the engraving, opposite 
 to which are the following lines, subscribed with the initials 
 of Ben Jonson, and doubtless from his pen. Let the reader 
 bear in mind that Ben Jonson was not a man who could be 
 hired to commend, and that, taking it for granted he was 
 sincere in his praise, he had the most unquestionable means 
 of forming a judgment upon the subject of the likeness be- 
 tween the living man and the dead representation^ We 
 onson's testimonial exactly as it stands in the 
 
 give Ben Jo 
 
 folio of 1623 for it afterwards went through various literal 
 
 changes. 
 
 "To THE KEADEB. 
 
 " This Figure, that thou here seest put, 
 It was for gentle Shakespeare cut; 
 Wherein the Grauer had a strife 
 With Nature, to out-doo the life : 
 O, could lie but haue drawne his wit 
 As well in brasse, as he hath hit 
 His face ; the Print would then surpasse 
 All, that was euer writ in brasse. 
 But, since he cannot, Reader, looke 
 Not on his Picture, but his Booke. 
 B. I.' 
 
 1 It was originally, like many other monuments of the time, and 
 some in Stratford church, coloured after the life, and so it continued 
 until Malone, in his mistaken zeal for classical taste and severity, 
 and forgetting the practice of the period at which the work was pro- 
 duced, had it painted one uniform stone-colour. He thus exposed 
 himself to much not unmerited ridicule. It was afterwards found 
 impossible to restore the original colours. 
 
 a Besides, we may suppose that Jonson would be careful how ha 
 applauded the likeness, when there must have been so many persons 
 living, who could have contradicted him, had the praise not been 
 deserved. Jonson does not speak of the painter, but of the " graver, !i 
 who we are inclined to think did full justice to the picture placed in 
 his hands Droeshout was a man of considerable eminence in his 
 branch of art, and has left behind him undoubted proofs of his skill 
 ^jome of them so much superior to the head of Shakespeare in th 
 totio of 1623. as to lead to the conviction, that the picture from whicb 
 he worked was a very coarse specimen oi art.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CCUI 
 
 With this evidence before us, we have not Hesitated in 
 having an exact copy of Droeshout's engraving executed 
 for the present edition of the Works of Shakespeare. It is, 
 we believe, the first time it has ever been selected for the 
 purpose since the appearance of the folio of 1623; and, 
 although it may not be recommended by the appearance 
 of so high a style of art as some other imputed resem- 
 blances, there is certainly not one which has such un- 
 doubted claims to our notice on the grounds of fidelity and 
 authenticity. 
 
 The fact that Droeshout was required to employ his skill 
 upon a bad picture may tend to confirm our reliance upon 
 the likeness : had there been so many pictures of Shake- 
 speare as some have contended, but as we are far from 
 believing, Hemiuge and Condell, when they were seeking 
 for an appropriate ornament for the title-page of their folio, 
 would hardly have chosen one which was an unskilful paint- 
 ing, if it had not been a striking resemblance. If only half 
 the pictures said, within the last century, to represent 
 Shakespeare, were in fact from the life, the poet must have 
 possessed a vast stock of patience, if not a larger share of 
 vanity, when he devoted so much time to sitting to the 
 artists of the day ; and the player-editors could have found 
 no difficulty iu procuring a picture, which had better pre- 
 tensions to their approval To us, therefore, the very de- 
 fects of the engraving, which accompanies the folio of 1623, 
 are a recommendation, since they serve to show that it waa 
 both genuine and faithful. 
 
 Aubrey is the only authority, beyond the inferences that 
 may be drawn from the portraits, for the personal appear- 
 ance of Shakespeare ; and he sums up our great poet's phy- 
 sical and moral endowments in two lines ; " He was a 
 handsome well-shaped man, very good company, and of a 
 very ready, and pleasant, and smooth wit." We have every 
 reason to suppose that this is a correct description of his 
 personal appearance, but we are unable to add to it from 
 any other source, unless indeed we were to rely upon a few 
 in the " Sonnets." Upon this authority 
 
 it has been supposed by some that he was lame, and cer- 
 tainly the 37th and 89th Sonnets, without allowing for a 
 figurative mode of expression, might be taken to import as 
 much. If we were to consider the words literally, we 
 Bhould imagine that some accident had befallen him, which 
 rendered it impossible that he should continue on the stage, 
 and hence we could easily account for his early retirement 
 from it. We know that such was the case with one of his 
 most famous predecessors, Christopher Marlowe 1 , but we 
 1 See the extract from a ballad on Marlowe (p. Ixxxix.). Tms cir-
 
 OOIV THE LIFE OF 
 
 have no sufficient reason for believing it was the fact as re- 
 gards Shakespeare: he is evidently speaking metaphori 
 cally in both places, where " lame " and " lameness " 
 occur. 
 
 His social qualities, his good temper, hilarity, vivacity, 
 and what Aubrey calls his " very ready, and pleasant, and 
 smooth wit," (in our author's own words, " pleasant without 
 scurrility, witty without affectation,") cannot be doubted, 
 since, besides what may be gathered from his works, wo 
 have it from various quarters ; and although nothing very 
 good of this kind may have descended to us, we have suffi- 
 cient to show that he must have been a most welcome 
 visitor in all companies. The epithet " gentle " has been 
 frequently applied to him, twice by Ben Jonson, (in his 
 lines before the engraving, and in his laudatory verses pre- 
 fixed to the plays in the folio of 1623) and if it be not to be 
 understood precisely in its modem acceptation, we may be 
 sure that one distinguishing feature in his character was gen- 
 eral kindliness : he may have been " sharp and sententious," 
 but never needlessly bitter or ill-natured : his wit had no 
 malice for an ingredient Fuller speaks of the " wit-combats " 
 between Shakespeare and Ben Jonson at the convivial 
 meetings at the Mermaid club, established by Sir Walter 
 Raleigh 1 ; and he adds, " which two I behold like a Spanish 
 great galleon and an English man-gf-war : Master Jonson, 
 like the former, was built far higher in learning ; -solid, but 
 slow in his performances : Shakespeare, with the English 
 man-of-war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn 
 with all tides, tack about, and take advantage of all winds 
 by the quickness of his wit and invention 5 ." The simile is 
 well chosen, and it came from a writer who seldom said 
 
 cumstance, had he known it, would materially have aided the mo- 
 dern sceptick, who argued that Shakespeare and Marlowe were one 
 and the same. 
 
 1 Gifford (Ben Jonson's Works, vol. I. p. Ixv.) fixes the date of the 
 Mtablishment of this club, at the Mermaid in Friday Street, about 
 1603, and he adds that " here for many years Ben Jonson repaired 
 with Shakespeare, Beaumont, Fletcher, Selden, Cotton, Carew, Mar- 
 tin, Donne, and many others, whose names, even at this distant 
 period, call up a mingled feeling of reverence and respect." Of what 
 passed at these many assemblies Beaumont thus speaks, addressing 
 Ben Jonson : 
 
 "What things have we seen 
 
 Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been 
 So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, 
 As if that every one from whom they came 
 Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest.'- 
 
 The Mitre, in Fleet Street, seems to have been another tavern whew 
 ihe wits and poets of the day hilariously assembled. 
 Worthies. Part iii. p. 126, folio edit.
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CCV 
 
 anything ill'. Connected with Ben Jonsou's solidity and 
 slowness is a witticism between him and Shakespeare, said 
 to have passed at a tavern. One of the Ashmolean manu- 
 scripts (No. 38) contains the following : 
 
 " Mr. Ben Johnson and Mr. Win. Shakespeare being 
 ruerrie at a tavern, Mr. Jouson begins this for his epitaph, 
 Here lies Ben Jonson 
 Who was once one : 
 
 he gives it to Mr. Shakespeare to make up, who presently 
 writt 
 
 That, while he liv'd, was a slow thing, 
 And now, being dead, is wo-thmg." 
 
 It is certainly not of much value, but there is a great 
 difference between the estimate of an extempore joke 
 at the moment of delivery, and the opinion we may 
 form of it long afterwards, when it has been ,put upon 
 paper, and transmitted to posterity under such names 
 as those of Shakespeai-e and Jonson. The same ex- 
 cuse, if required, may be made for two other pieces of 
 unpretending pleasantry between the same parties, which 
 we subjoin in a note, because they relate to such men, 
 and have been handed down to us upon something like 
 authority^. 
 
 1 Fuller has another simile, on the same page, respecting Shake- 
 
 one is not made, but born a poet. Indeed his learning was very little, 
 so that as Cornish diamonds are not polished by any lapidary, but are 
 pointed and smooth even as they are taken out of the earth, so nature 
 itself was all the art which was used upon him." Of course Fuller 
 is here only referring to Shakespeare's classical acquirements: his 
 11 learning" of a different kind, perhaps, exceeded that of all the 
 
 2 " Shakespeare was god-father to one of Ben Jonson's children, 
 and after the christening, being in a deepe study, Jonson came to 
 cheere him up, and askt him why he was so melancholy? 'No, 
 faith, Ben, (sayes he) not I ; but I have been considering a great 
 while what should be the fittest gift for me to bestow upon my god- 
 child, and 1 have resolv'd at last.' 'I pr'ythee what?' says he. 
 4 I 'faith, Ben, I'll e'en give him a douzen of Latten spoones, and 
 thou shall translate them.' " 
 
 Of course the joke depends upon the pun between Latin, and the 
 mixed metal called lat.ten. The above is from a MS. of Sir R. 
 L'Estrange, who quotes the authority of Dr. Donne. It is inserted in 
 Mr. Thoms's amusing volume, printed for the Camden Society, 
 under the title of "Anecdotes and Traditions." p. 2. The next] 
 from a MS. called " Poetical Characteristics," formerly in the Har- 
 leian Collection : 
 
 li Verses by Ben Jonson and Shakespeare, occasioned by the motto 
 the Globe theatre Totus mundus ngit liistrimiem. 
 
 " Jonson. If but stage-actors all the world displays, 
 
 Where shall we find spectators of their plays T 
 Shakespeare. Little, or much of what we see, we dc ; 
 We are both actors and spectators too."
 
 CCV1 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Of a different character is a production prejerved by 
 Dugdale, at the end of his Visitation of Salop, in the 
 Heralds' College : it is an epitaph inscribed upon the tomb 
 of Sir Thomas Stanley, in Tongue church ; and Dugdale, 
 whose testimony is unimpeachable, distinctly states that 
 " the following verses were made by William Shakespeare, 
 the late famous tragedian." 
 
 " Written upon the east end of the tomb. 
 
 " Ask who lies here, but do not weep ; 
 He is not dead, he doth but sleep. 
 This stony register is for his bones ; 
 His fame is more perpetual than these stones : 
 And his own goodness, with himself being gone, 
 Shall live when earthly monument is none. 
 
 " Written on the west end thereof. 
 "Not monumental stone preserves our fame, 
 Nor sky-aspiring pyramids our namo. 
 The memory of him for whom this stands 
 Shall out-live marble and defiicers' hands. 
 When all to time's consumption shall be given, 
 Stanley, for whom this stands, shall stand in heaven." 
 
 With Malone and others, -who have quoted them, we 
 feel satisfied of the authenticity of these verses, though we 
 may not perhaps think, as he did, that the last line bears 
 euch " strong marks of the hand of Shakespeare 1 ." The 
 coincidence between the line 
 
 " Nor sky-aspiring pyramids our name," 
 
 and the passage in Milton's Epitaph upon Shakespeare, 
 prefixed to the folio of 1632, 
 
 " Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid 
 Under a star-ypointing pyramid," 
 
 seems, as far as we recollect, to have escaped notice. 
 
 We have thus brought into a consecutive narrative (with 
 as little interruption of its thread as, under the circum- 
 stances, and with such disjointed materials, seemed to us 
 
 1 The following reaches us in a more questionable shape : it in 
 from a. MS. of the time of Charles I., preserved in the Bodleian Li- 
 brary, -which contains also poems by Herrick and others. 
 
 "AN EPITAPH. 
 
 "When God was pleas'd, the world unwilling yet, 
 Elias James to nature paid his debt, 
 And here reposeth. As he lived he died, 
 The saying in him strongly verified. 
 Such life, such death : then, the known truth to tell, 
 He liv'd a godly life, and died as well. 
 
 \Vm. Shakespeare."
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CCV11 
 
 jx>ssihle) the particulars respecting the life of the " myriad- 
 minded Shakespeare'," with which our predecessor were 
 acquainted, or which, from various sources, we have been 
 able, during a long series of years, to collect. Yet, after all. 
 comparing what we really know of our great dramatist 
 with what we might possibly have known, we cannot but be 
 aware how little has been accomplished. "Of William 
 Shakespeare," says one of our greatest living authors of 
 our greatest dead one, "whom, through the mouths of 
 those whom he has inspired to body forth the modifications 
 of his immense mind, we seem to know better than any 
 human writer, it may be truly said that we scarcely know 
 anything. We see him, so far as we do see him, not in 
 himself, but in a reflex image from the objectivity in which 
 he is manifested : he is Falstaff, and Mercutio, and Mal- 
 volio, and Jaques, and Portia, and Imogen, and Lear, and 
 Othello ; but to us he is scarcely a determined person, a sub- 
 stantial reality of past time, the man Shakespeare 2 ." We 
 cannot flatter ourselves that we have done much to bring the 
 reader better acquainted with " the man Shakespeare," 
 but if we have done anything we shall be content; and, in- 
 stead of attempting any character of our own, we will subjoin 
 one, in the words of the distinguished writer we have above 
 quoted 3 , as brief in its form as it is comprehensive in its mat- 
 ter : " The name of Shakespeare is the greatest in our 
 literature, it is the greatest in all literature. No man ever 
 came near to him in the creative powers of the mind ; no 
 man had ever such streugth at onee, and such variety of 
 imagination." 
 
 If the details of his life be imperfect, the history of hia 
 mind is complete ; and we leave the reader to turn from the 
 contemplation of " the man Shakespeare" to the study of 
 THE POET SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 i Coleridge's Table Talk, vol. ii. p. 301. Mr. Hallam in his " In- 
 troduction to the Literature of Europe," vol. iii. p. b9. edit. 1843, 
 iomewhat less literally translates the Greek epithet, pvptovovf, 
 u thousand-souled." 
 
 Hallam's ll Introduction to the Literature of Europe," vol. ii. p. 175 
 
 * Ibid. vol. iii. p. 89
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S WILL. 
 
 Vicesima Quinto Die Martij* Anno Regni Domin! 
 nostri Jacobi nunc Rex Anglie <tc. Decimo quarto 
 & Scotie xlix Annoq; Domini 1616. 
 
 T. W m J Shackspeare 
 
 In the name of god Amen I William Shackspeare 
 of Stratford vpon Avon in the countie of warr gent iu per- 
 fect health <fe memorie god be praysed doe make <t Ordayne 
 this my last will & testament in manner <fe forme followeing 
 That ys to saye First I Comend my Soule into the handes 
 of god my Creator hoping & assuredlie beleeving through 
 thonelie meiites of Jesus Christe my Saviour to be made 
 partaker of lyfe everlastinge And my bodye to the Earth 
 whereof yt ys made Item I Gyve & bequeath vnto my 
 Daughter 8 Judyth One hundred tfc Fyftie poundes of law- 
 full English money to be paied vnto her in manner <fe forme 
 followeing That ys to saye One hundred pounds in discharge 
 of her marriage porcion* within one yeare after my deceas 
 with consideracion after the Rate of twoe Shilliuges in the 
 pound for soe long tyme as the same shalbe vnpaied vnto 
 her after my deceas & the Fyftie poundes Residewe thereof 
 vpon her Surrendring of* or gyving of such sufficient Secu- 
 ntie as the overseers of this my Will shall like of to Sur- 
 render or graunte All her estate & Right that shall disceud 
 or come vnto her after my deceas or that shee 8 nowe hath 
 of in or to one Copiehold tenemente with thappurtenancea 
 lyeing <fe being in Stratford vpon Avon aforesaied in the 
 saied countie of warr being parcell or holden of the man- 
 nour of Rowiugton vuto my Daughter Susanna Hall <fe her 
 heires foi ever Item I Gyve & bequeath vnto my saied 
 Daughter Judith One hundred and Fyftie Pouudes more if 
 ehee or Anie issue of her bodie be Lyvinge att thend of 
 
 1 The following is from an exact transcript of the original Will 
 deposited in the Prerogative office, London, the only difference being 
 that we have not thought it necessary to give the legal contractions 
 of the scrivener : in all other respects, even to the misemployment 
 of capital letters, and the omission of points our copy is most faithful. 
 
 * The word ' Martij" is interlined above ' Januaii:, :: which ii 
 ttruck through with the pen. Malone (Shaksp. by Boswell, vol. i. 
 p. 601.) states that the word struck through is February, but this it 
 & mistake. 
 
 ' Before " Daughter" sonne and was originally -written but struck 
 
 rough with the pen. 
 
 4 The words "in discharge of her marrii 
 
 The word -'of 'is interlined. 
 
 The words " that shee" are interlined. 
 
 through with the pen 
 The words "in discharge of her marriage porcion 1 ' are interlined.
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S WILL. ccix 
 
 three yeares next ensueing the Daie of the Date (if this my 
 Will during which tyme my executours to paie her consid 
 eracion from my deceas according to the Rate aforesaied 
 And if she dye within the saied terme without issue of her 
 bodye then my will ys & I Doe gyve & bequeath One Hun- 
 dred Poundes thereof to my Neece Elizabeth Hall & the 
 Fiftie Pouudes to be sett fourth by my executours during the 
 lief of my Sister Johane Harte & the vse and proffitt there- 
 of Comiuge shalbe payed to my saied Sister lone & after 
 her deceas the saied I 1 ' shall Remaiue Amongst the children 
 of my saied Sister Equallie to be Devided Amongst them 
 But if my saied Daughter Judith be lyviug att theud of the 
 saied three Yeares or anie ys,sue of her bodye then my will 
 ys & soe I Devise & bequeath the saied Hundred and Fyftie 
 Pouudes to be sett out by my executours & overseers' for the 
 best benefitt of her & her issue & the stock* not to be 3 paied 
 vnto her soe long as she shalbe marryed & Covert Baron 4 
 but my will ys that she shall have the cousideracion yearlie 
 paied vnto her during her lief & after her deceas the saied 
 stock and consideracion to bee paied to her children if she 
 have Anie <fc if not to her executours or assigues she lyviug 
 the saied terme after my deceas Provided that if such hus- 
 hond as she shall att thend of the saied three yeares be mar- 
 ryed vnto or attaiue after doe sufficientlie Assure vnto her 
 <fe thissue of her bodie landes Answereable to the porcion 
 by this my will gy ven vuto her & to be adiudged soe by my 
 executours & overseers then my will ys that the saied Cl" 
 shalbe paied to such husbond as shall make such assurance 
 to his owue vse Item I gyve & bequeath vnto my saied sis- 
 ter lone xx 1 ' & all my wearing Apparrell to be paied & de- 
 liuered within one yeare after my Deceas And I doe will 
 & devise vnto her the house 5 with thappurteuances in Strat- 
 ford wherein she dwelleth for her natural lief vuder the 
 yearlie Rent of xii d Item I gyve <fe bequeath 6 vuto her 
 three souns William Harte Hart & Michaell Harte 
 
 Fyve Poundes A peece to be paied within one Yeare after 
 my deceas 7 her Item I gyve & bequeath unto the saied 
 
 The words " by my executours and overseers" are interlined. 
 
 * The words ' the stock" are interlined. 
 3 The words t: to be" are interlined. 
 
 * After " Baron" the words " by my executours & oversf ers' 1 are 
 'ised with the pen. 
 
 * The words " the house" are interlined. 
 
 The first, sheet ends with the word " bequeath," and the testator's 
 ugnature is in the margin opposite. 
 
 ' After "deceas" follow these words, struck through with the pen, 
 ' to be sett out for her within one yeare after my deceas by my execu- 
 tours with thadvise and direccions of my overseers for her best profitt 
 rntill her mariage and then the same with the increase thereof to be 
 paied vnto :" the erasure ought also to have included the word " he ," 
 which follows "vnto."
 
 OCX SHAKESPEARE S WILL. 
 
 Elizabeth Hall 1 All my Plate (except my brod silver <fe gilt 
 bole") that I now have att the Date of this my will Item I 
 gyve & bequeath vnto the Poore of Stratford aforesaied term 
 poundes to Mr Thomas Combe my Sword to Thomas Rus- 
 sell Esquier Fyve poundes <fe to Frauncis Collins of the Bo- 
 rough of warr in the couutie of warr gentleman thirteene 
 poundes Sixe shilliuges fe Eight pence to be paied within 
 one Yeare after my Deceas Item I gyve & bequeath to 
 Hamlett Sadler 3 xxvi" viij d to buy him A Ringe to William 
 Raynoldes gent xxvj 8 viij' 1 to buy him a Riuge 4 to my godson 
 William Walker xx 5 in gold to Anthonye Nashe gent xxvj 
 viij d & to Mr John Nashe xxvj 9 viij'"" & to my Fellowes John 
 Hemynges Ricliard Burbage <fc Henry Cundell xxvj 8 viij d 
 Apeece to buy them Ringes 6 Item I Gyve will bequeath <fe 
 devise vnto my Daughter Susanna Hall for better enabling 
 of her to performe this my will & towardes the performans 
 thereof All that Capitall messuage or teuemente with thap- 
 purtenances in Stratford aforesaid 8 Called the new place 
 wherein I nowe Dwell <fc two Messuages or tenementes with 
 thappurtenances scituat lyeiug <fc being in Henlev streete 
 within the borough of Stratford aforesaied And all my 
 barnes stables Orchardes gardens landes tenementes <fc here- 
 ditamentes whatsoeuer scituat lyeing & being or to be had 
 Receyved perceyved or taken within the towues Hamletes 
 Villages Fieldes <fe groundes of Stratford vpon Avon Old- 
 stratford Bushopton & Welcombe or in auie of them in the 
 Baid countie of warr And alsoe All that messuage or tene- 
 meute with thappurteuances wherein One John Robinson 
 dwelleth scituat lyeiug & being in the blackfriers in London 
 nere the Wardrobe <fe all other my landes tenemeutes A 
 hereditameutes whatsoeuer To have & to hold All <fe singu- 
 ler the eaied premisses with their appurtenances vnto the 
 saied Susanna Hall for & during the terme of her naturall 
 lief & after her deceas to the first sonne of her bodie law- 
 fullie yssueing & to the heires Males of the bodie of the saied 
 first Sonne lawfullie yssueing <fe for defalt of such issue to 
 
 The words "the saied Elizabeth Hall" are interlined above her, 
 Which is struck through with the pen. 
 
 " This parenthesis is an interlineation. 
 
 s "Hamlet Sadler" is an interlineation above Mr. Richard Tyler 
 tktUrr, which is erased. 
 
 The words ' to William Raynoldes gentleman xxvj' vijj* to buy 
 him A Ringe" are interlined. 
 
 After " xxvj- viij*" in gold was originally written, but erased 
 with the pen. 
 
 The words ' ; & to my Fellowes John Hemynges Richard Bur- 
 ttage and Henry Cundell xxvj' viij<i to buy them Ringes" are inter- 
 
 'Th words " for better enabling of her to performe this my will 
 c towardes the perf:>nnans thereof are interlined.' 
 
 I he words " in Stratfori aforesaid" are interlined.
 
 SHAKESPEARE S WILL. OCX? 
 
 the second Sonne of her bodie lawfullie isst ;inge & to the 
 heires males of the bodie of the saied Second Sonne lawful- 
 lie yssueinge and for defaltof such heires to the third Sonne 
 of the bodie of the saied Susanna Lawfullie yssueing & of 
 the heires males of the bodie of the saied third sonne law- 
 fullie yssueing And for defalt of such issue the same soe to 
 be & Remaiue to the Fourth 1 Fyfth sixte & Seaveuth sonnes 
 of her bodie lawfullie issueing one after Another it to the 
 h sires* Males of the bodies of the saied Fourth fifth Sixte 
 and Seaveuth sonnes lawfullie yssueing in such manner as 
 yt ys before Lymitted to be tfc'Remaine to the firet second 
 <t third Sonns of her bodie & to their heires Males And for 
 defalt of such issue the saied premisses to be (fe Remaiue to 
 my sayed Neece Hall & the heires Males of her bodie law- 
 fullie yssueing & for defalt of such issue to my Daughter 
 Judith & the heires Males of her body lawfullie issueinge 
 And for defalt of such issue to the Right heires of 
 me the saied William Shackspeare for ever Item I gyve 
 vnto my wief my second best bed with the furniture 3 Item 
 I gyve & bequeath to my saied Daughter Judith my broad 
 silver gilt bole All the rest of my goodes Chattel Leases 
 plate Jewels & household stuffe whatsoeuer after my Dettes 
 and Legasies paied <fe my funerall expences discharged I 
 gyve devise and bequeath to my Sonne in Lawe John Hall 
 gent & my Daughter Susanna his wief whom I ordaine & 
 make executours of this my Last will and testament And I 
 doe intreat it Appoint the saied 4 Thomas Russell Esquier <fe 
 Frauncis Collins gent to be overseers hereof And doe Re- 
 voke All former wills & publishethis to be my last will and 
 testament In Witness whereof I have herevnto put my 
 hand 5 the Daie <fe Yeare first aboue written. 
 
 " By me William Shakspeare. 
 Witnes to the publishing 
 
 hereof Fra : Collyns Probatum cora Magr. Willim 
 
 Julyus Shawe Byrde Dcore Comiss. &c. xx" 10 die 
 
 John Robinson mensis Junij Anno Dni 1616 
 
 Hamnet Sadler Juram' Johanuis Hall vnius 
 
 Robert Whattcott ex etc Cui <tc De bene Ac Jurat 
 
 Resvat ptate Ac. Susanne Hall 
 alt ex ic cu venit <tc petitur 
 (Inv 1 ex') 
 
 1 After " Fourth" the word sonne was first written, but erased with 
 the pen. 
 
 i The second sheet ends with the word "heires," and the signa- 
 ture of the testator is at the bottom of it 
 
 s The words ' Item I gyve vnto my wief my second best bed with 
 the furniture" are interlined. 
 
 * The words ' the saied" are interlined. 
 
 s The word ' hand" is interlined above fcalr, v nich is erased with 
 the pen.
 
 THE TEMPEST.
 
 " The Tempest " was first printed in tie folio edition of 
 B Mr. William Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, and Trage- 
 dies," bearing date in 1623, where it stands first, and occu 
 pies nineteen pages, viz. from p 1, to p. 19 inclusive. 1 
 fills the same place in the foiios of 1682, 1664, and 1685.
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 A MATERIAL fact, in reference to the date of the first pro- 
 duction of " The Tempest," has only been recently ascer- 
 tained : we allude to the notice of the performance of it, before 
 King James, on Nov. 1st, 1611, i which is contained in the 
 " Extracts from the Accounts of the Kevels at Court," edited 
 by Mr. P. Cunningham for the Shakespeare Society, p. 211 : 
 the memorandum is in the following form : 
 
 " Hallomas nyght was presented att Whithall before the 
 
 Kinges Majestic a play called the Tempest." 
 In the margin is inserted the additional circumstance, that 
 the performance was " by the King's Players ;" and there can 
 be no reasonable doubt that it was Shakespeare's drama, 
 which had been written for that company. When it had beeii 
 so written, is still a point of difficulty; but the probability, 
 we think, is that it was selected by the Master of the Kevels, 
 for Representation at Court in 1611, on account of its novelty 
 and popularity on the public stage. Eleven other dramas, 
 as appears by the same document, were exhibited between 
 Oct. 31, 1611, and the same day in the next year; and it is 
 remarkable that ten of these (as far as we possess any infor- 
 mation respecting them) were comparatively new plays, and 
 with regard to the eleventh, it was not more than three years 
 old. 2 We may, perhaps, be warranted in inferring:, therefore, 
 that " The Tempest" was also not then an old play. 
 
 It seems to us, likewise, that the internal evidence, derived 
 from style and language, clearly indicates that it was a late 
 production, and that it belongs to about the same period of 
 our great dramatist's literary history as his " Winter's Talc," 
 which was also chosen for a Court-play, and represented at 
 Whitehall only four days after " The Tempest" had been ex- 
 hibited. In point of construction, it must be admitted at once 
 
 1 The earliest date hitherto discovered for the performance of 
 "The Tempest "was the beginning of the year 1613," which Ma- 
 lone established from Vertue's MSS. : it was then acted by il the 
 Kind's Company, before Prince Charles, the Princess Elizabeth, 
 and the Prince Palatine," but where is not stated. 
 
 * See note 2 to the Introduction to " The Winter's Tale." The par- 
 ticular play to which we refer is entitled in the Revels' Account 
 "Lucrecia." which may have been either T. Heywood's " Rape oi 
 Lucrece," first printed in 1608, or a different tragedy on the same 
 incidents.
 
 iv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 that there is the most obvious dissimilarity, inasmuch as 
 "The Winter's Tale" is a piece in which the unities are ut- 
 terly disregarded, while in "The Tempest" they are strictly 
 observed. It is only in the involved and parenthetical cha- 
 racter of some of the speeches, and in psychological resem- 
 blances, that we would institute a comparison between "The 
 Tempest" and the "Winter's Tale," and would infer from 
 thence that they belong to about the same period. 
 
 Without here adverting to the real or supposed origin of 
 the story, or to temporary incidents which may have sug 
 gested any part of the plot, we may remark that there is one 
 piece of external evidence which strongly tends to confirm 
 the opinion that "The Tempest" was composed not very 
 long before Ben Jonson wrote one of his comedies: we allude 
 to his " Bartholomew Fair," and to a passage in " the Induc- 
 tion," frequently mentioned, and which we concur in think- 
 in? was intended as a hit not only at " The Tempest," but at 
 "The Winter's Tale." Ben Jonson's "Bartholomew Fair," 
 was acted in 1614, and written perhaps in the preceding year,* 
 during the popularity of Shakespeare's two plays : and there 
 we find the following words, which we reprint, tor the first 
 time, exactly as they stand in the original edition, where 
 Italic type seems to have been used to make the allusions 
 more diistinct and obvious: "If there bee never a Servant- 
 moMter'i 1 the Fayre, who can helpe it, he saves; nor a nest 
 of Antiques? Hee is loth to make Nature atr-aid in his Playes, 
 like those that beget Tdles, Tempests, and such like Drolle- 
 ries." The words "servant-monster," "antiques," "Talcs," 
 " Tempests," and " drolleries," which last Shakespeare him- 
 self employs in " The Tempest," (Act iii. sc. 3.) seetu so ap- 
 plicable, that they can hardly relate to any thing else. 
 
 It may be urged, however, that what was represented at 
 Court in 1611 was only a revival of an older play, acted before 
 1596, and such may have been the case : we do not. however, 
 think it probable, for several reasons. One of these is an 
 apparently trifling circumstance, pointed out by Farmer; viz. 
 that in "'The Merchant of Venice," written before 1598, the 
 name of Stephano is invariably pronounced with the accent 
 on the second syllable, while iu ' The Tempest," the proper 
 pronunciation is as constantly required by the verse. It 
 seems certain, therefore, that Shakespeare found his error in 
 the interval, and he may have learnt it from Ben Jonson's 
 " Every Man in his Humour," in which Shakespeare per- 
 formed, and in the original list of characters to which, in the 
 edition of 1601, the names not only of Stephano, but of Pros- 
 pero occur. 
 
 Another circumstance shows, we think almost decisively, 
 that "The Tempest" was not written until after 1603j when 
 the translation of Montaigne's Essays, by Florio, made its first 
 
 * See " Alleyn Papers." printed by the Shakespeare Society, p. 67. 
 where Daborne, under date of Nov. 13th, 1013, speaks of " Jonson'a 
 play ' as then about to be performed. Possibly it was deterred for 
 B abort time, as the title-page stales that it was acted in 1014. H 
 ay have been written in 1012. for performance in 1613
 
 INTRODUCTION. V 
 
 appearance in print. In Act II. sc. 1, is a passage so closely 
 copied from Florio's version, as to leave no doubt of identity.* 
 If it be said that these lines may have been an insertion sub- 
 sequent to the original production of the play, we answer, 
 that the passage is not such as could have been introduced, 
 like some others, to answer a temporary or complimentary 
 purpose, and that it is given as a necessary and continuous 
 portion of the dialogue. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Hunter, in his very ingenious and elaborate 
 " Disquisition on the Tempest," has referred to this and to 
 other points, with a view of proving that every body has 
 hitherto been mistaken, and that this play instead of being 
 one of his latest, was one of Shakespeare's earliest works. 
 With regard to the point derived from Montaigne's Essays 
 by Florio, 1603, he has contended, that if the particular essay 
 were not separately printed before, (of which we have not the 
 slightest hint) Shakespeare may have seen the translation in 
 manuscript; but unless he so saw it in print or manuscript 
 as early as 1595, nothing is established in favour of Mr. Hun- 
 ter's argument ; and surely when other circumstances show 
 that " The Tempest" was not written till 1610, 5 we need not 
 hesitate long in deciding that our great dramatist went to no 
 manuscript authority, but took the passage almost verbatim, 
 as he found it in the complete edition. In the same way 
 Mr. Hunter has argued, that " The Tempest" was not omitted 
 by Meres in his list in 1598, but that it is found there under 
 its second title, of "Love's Labours Won;" but this is little 
 better than a gratuitous assumption, even supposing we were 
 to admit that " All's well that ends Well " is not the play in- 
 tended by Meres. 6 Our notion is, that "All 's well that ends 
 Well" was originally called "Love's Labours Won," and 
 that it was revived, with some other changes, tinder a new 
 name in 1605 or 1606. 
 
 Neither can we agree with Mr. Hunter in thinking that he 
 has established, that nothing was suggested to Shakespeare' 
 
 4 Malone (Shaksp. by Boswell. vol. xv. p. 78.) quotes this impor- 
 tant passage from Florio's translation of Montaigne with a singular 
 degree of incorrectness : with many minor Variations he substitutes 
 partitions for " dividonces," and omits the words " no manuring of 
 lands " altogether. This is a case in which verbal, and even literal, 
 accuracy is important. 
 
 In the Introduction to " The Winter's Tale," we have assigned 
 a reason, founded upon a pnss.ige.in R. Greene's " Pandosto." for 
 be ievi-ig that "The Tempest" was anterior in composition to that 
 play 
 
 B Mr Hi-ntei contends that in " The Tempest " " love's labours" 
 are " won ;'' but such is the case with every play in which the issue 
 is successful passion, after difficulties and disappointments : in 
 ' ; The Tempest" they are fewer than in most other plays, since 
 from first to last the love of Ferdinand and Miranda is prosperous. 
 At all events ' : The Tempest " was played at Court under that title 
 in Hill and 1613. Mr. Hunter also endeavours to establish that 
 Ben Jonson alluded to " The Tempest ;> in 1596. in the Prologue to 
 " Every Man in his Humour;" but while we admit the acuteness, 
 wi- cannot by any means allow the conclusivencss. of Mr. Hunter's 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 VI INTRODUCTION, 
 
 by the storm, in July 1609, which dispersed tl e fleet undei 
 Sir George Somers and Sir Thomas Gates, of which an ac- 
 count was published by a person of the name of Jourdan in 
 the following year. This point was, to our mind, satisfacto- 
 rily made out by Malone, and the mention of " the still-vex'd 
 Bcrmoothea" by Shakespeare seems directly to connect the 
 drama with Jourdan's " Discovery of the Bermudas, other- 
 wise called the Isle of Devils," printed in 1610. We are told 
 :.t the end of the play, in the folio of 1623, that the scene ia 
 laid "in an uninhabited island," and Mr. Hunter has con- 
 tended that this island was Lampedusa, which unquestionably 
 lies in the track which the ships in "The Tempest" would 
 take. Our objection to this theory is two-fold : first, we can- 
 not persuade ourselves, that Shakespeare had any particular 
 island in his mind; and secondly, if he had meant to lay his 
 scene in Lampedusa, he could hardly have failed to introduce 
 its name in some part of his performance : in consequence of 
 the deficiency of scenery, &c., it was the constant custom 
 with our early dramatists to mention distinctly, and often 
 more than once ? where the action was supposed to take place. 
 As a minor point, we may add, that we know of no extant 
 English authority to which he could have gone for informa- 
 tion, and wo do not suppose that he consulted the Turco 
 (rrcecics of Crusius, the only older authority quoted by Mr. 
 Hunter. 
 
 No novel, in prose or verse, to which Shakespeare resorted 
 for the incidents of " The Tempest " has yet been discovered ; 
 and although Collins, late in his brief career, mentioned to 
 T. Warton that he had seen such a tale, it has never come to 
 light, and we apprehend that he must have been mistaken. 
 We have turned over the pages of, we believe, every Italian 
 novelist, anterior to the age of Shakespeare, in hopes of find- 
 ing some story containing traces of the incidents of "The 
 Tempest," but without success. The ballad entitled " The 
 Inchanted Island," printed in "Farther Particulars regarding 
 Shakespeare and his Works," is a more modern production 
 than the play, from which it varies in the names, as well as in 
 some points of the story, as if for the purpose of concealing 
 its connection with a production which was popular on the 
 stage. Our opinion decidedly is, that it was founded upon 
 'The Tempest," and not upon any ancient narrative to which 
 Shakespeare also might have been indebted. It may be re- 
 marked, that here also no locality is given to the island : on 
 the contrary, we are told, if it ever had any existence but in 
 the imagination of the poet, that it had disappeared : 
 
 "From that dale forth the Isle has beene 
 By wandering sailors never seene 
 
 Some say 'tis buryed deepe 
 Beneath the sea, wh'k-h breakes and rores 
 Atwve its savage rocky shores, 
 
 Nor ere is knowne to sleepe." 
 
 Mr. Thorns has pointed out some resemblances in the inci- 
 dent* of an early German play, entitled Die Schone Sidea, and 
 "The Tempest:" his theory is, that a drama upon a similar
 
 INTRODUCTION. VE 
 
 story was at an early date performed in Germany, and that 
 if it were not taken from Shakespeare's play, it was perhaps 
 derived from the same unknown source. Mr. Thorns is 
 preparing a translation of it for the Shakespeare Society, and 
 we shall then be better able to form an opinion, as to the real 
 or supposed connection between the two. 
 
 When Coleridge tells us (Lit. Rein. ii. p. 94.) that " ' The 
 Tempest' is a specimen of the purely romantic Drama," he 
 of course refers to the nature of the plot and personages: in 
 one sense of the words, it is not a " romantic drama," inas- 
 much as there are few plays, ancient or modern, in which the 
 unities are more exactly observed : the whole of the events 
 occupy only a few hours. At the same time it is perfectly 
 true, as the same enlightened and fanciful commentator adds, 
 "It is a-species of drama, which owes no allegiance to time 
 or space, and in which, therefore, errors of chronology and 
 geography no mortal sins in any species are venial faults, 
 and count for nothing: it addresses itself entirely to the 
 imaginative faculty." This opinion was delivered in 1818; 
 and three years earlier Coleridge had spoken of "The Tem- 
 pest," as certainly one of Shakespeare's latest works, judg- 
 ing from the language only : Schlegel was of the same opinion, 
 without, however, assigning any distinct reason, and insti- 
 tuted a comparison between " The Tempest " and " Midsum- 
 mer Night's Dream," adding, "The preponderance of thought 
 in ' The Tempest,' exhibited in its profound and original cha- 
 racterisation, strikes us at once ; but we must also admire the 
 deep sense of the art (tiefsinnige Kunst) which is apparent in 
 the structure of the whole, in the wise economy of its means, 
 and in the skill with which the scaffolding is raised to sustain 
 the marvellous aerial structure." Ueber Dram. Kunst vd 
 LUt. Vol. iii. p. 123. edit. 1817.
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 ALONSO, King of Naples. 
 
 SEBASTIAN, his Brother. 
 
 PROSPERO, the right Duke of Milan. 
 
 ANTONIO, his Brother, the usurping Duke of 
 
 Milan. 
 
 FERDINAND, Son to the King of Naples. 
 GONZALO, an honest old Counsellor. 
 ADRIAN, ) T , 
 FRANCISCO, } Lord8 ' 
 
 CALIBAN, a savage and deformed Slave. 
 TRINCULO, a Jester. 
 STEPHANO, a drunken Butler. 
 Master of a Ship, Boatswain, Mariners. 
 MIRANDA, Daughter to Prospero. 
 ARIEL, an airy Spirit. 
 IRIS, 
 CERES, 
 
 JUNO, } Spirits. 
 Nymphs, 
 Reapers, 
 
 Other Spirits attending on Prospero. 
 
 SCENE, a Ship at Sea; 1 afterwards an uninhabited 
 Island. 
 
 > Forme: editions : the sea with a ship.
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. On a Ship at Sea. 
 
 A tempestuous noise of Thunder and Lightning heard. 1 
 
 Enter a Ship-master and a Boatswain, as on ship-board, 
 
 shaking off wet* 
 
 Master. Boatswain ! 
 
 'Boats. Here, master : what cheer? 
 
 Mast. Good. Speak to the mariners : fall to 't yarely,* 
 or we run ourselves aground : bestir, bestir. [Exit . 
 Enter Mariners. 
 
 Boats. Heigh, my hearts ! cheerly, cheerly, my 
 hearts ! yare, yare. Take in the topsail ; tend to the 
 master's whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if 
 room enough ! 
 
 Enter ALONZO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, FERDINAND, GON- 
 ZALO, and Others, from the Cabin.* 
 
 Jf/on. Good boatswain, have a 5 care. Where's the 
 master ? Play the men. 
 
 Boats. I pray now, keep below. 
 
 Ant. Where is the master, boatswain ? 
 
 Boats. Do you not hear him ? You mar our labour. 
 Keep your cabins : you do assist the storm. 
 
 Gon. Nay, good, be patient. 
 
 Boats. When the sea is. Hence ! What care these 
 roarers for the name of king ? To cabin : silence ! 
 trouble us not. 
 
 Gon. Good ; yet remember whom thou hast aboard. 
 
 Boats. None that I more love than myself. You 
 are a counsellor : if you can command these elements 
 to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will 
 not hand a rope more ; use your authority : if you 
 cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make 
 yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the 
 
 ' heard : not in f. e. * as on ship-board, etc. : not in f. e. s Nim 
 bly. from the cabin : not in f. e. * a : not in f. e.
 
 10 1 ire . TEMPEST. ACT I. 
 
 hour- if it. so.hap. . .Cheerly, good hearts ! Out of our 
 vny I .<:>. ' .-*{ : [ Exit - 
 
 Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow : me- 
 thinks, he hath no drowning mark upon him ; his com- 
 plexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good fate, to 
 his hanging : make the rope of his destiny our cable, 
 for our own doth little advantage. If he be not born 
 to be hanged, our case is miserable. [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Boatswain, 
 
 Boats. Down with the top-mast : yare ; lower, lower. 
 Bring her to try with main-course. [A cry within.] 
 A plague upon this howling ! they are louder than the 
 weather, or our office. 
 
 Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO. 
 Yet again ! what do you here ? Shall we give o'er, and 
 drown ? Have you a mind to sink ? 
 
 Seb. A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, 
 incharitable dog ! 
 
 Boats. Work you, then. 
 
 Ant . Hang, cur. hang ! you whoreson, insolent noise- 
 maker, we are less afraid to be drowned than thou art. 
 
 Gon. I '11 warrant him for drowning ; though the 
 ship were no stronger than a nutshell, and as leaky as 
 an unstanched wench. 
 
 Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold. Set her two courses : 
 off to sea again ; lay her off. 
 
 Enter Mariners, wet. 
 
 Mar. All lost ! to prayers, to prayers ! all lost ! [Ex. 
 
 Boats. What ! must our mouths be cold ? [them. 
 
 Gon. The king and prince at prayers ! let us assist 
 For our case is as theirs. 
 
 Seb. I am out of patience. 
 
 Ant . We are merely 1 cheated of our lives by drunk- 
 
 ards. 
 This wide-chapp'd rascal, would, thou might'st lie 
 
 drowning, 
 The washing of ten tides ! 
 
 Gon. He'll be hanged yet, 
 
 Though every drop of water swear against it, 
 And gape at wid'st to glut him. [A confused noise 
 
 within.] Mercy on us ! 
 We split, we split Farewell, my wife and children ! 
 
 1 Absolutely.
 
 THE TEMPEST. 11 
 
 Farewell, brother ! We split, we split, we split ! 
 Ant. Let 's all sink with the king. [Exit. 
 
 Seb. Let 's take leave of him. [Exit. 
 
 Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea 
 
 for an acre of barren ground long heath, brown furze. 
 
 any thing. The wills above be done ! but I would 
 
 fain die a dry death. [Exit 
 
 SCENE II. The Island: before the cell of PROSPERO 
 Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA. 
 
 Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you have 
 Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. 
 The sky. it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, 
 But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's heat, 1 
 Dashes the fire out. ! I have suffer'd 
 With those that I saw suffer : a brave vessel, 
 Who had no doubt some noble creatures 2 in her, 
 Dash'd all to pieces. ! the cry did knock 
 Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd. 
 Had I been any god of power, I would 
 Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er 
 It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and 
 The fraughting souls within her. 
 
 Pro. Be collected: 
 
 No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart, 
 There's no harm done. 
 
 Mira. 0, woe the day ! 
 
 Pro. No harm. 
 
 I have done nothing but in care of thee, 
 (Of thee, my dear one ! thee, my daughter !) who 
 Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing 
 Of whence I am ; nor that I am more better 
 Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, 
 And thy no greater father. 
 
 Mira. More to know 
 
 Did never meddle with my thoughts. 
 
 Pro. 'Tis time 
 
 I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, 
 And pluck my magic garment from me. So : 
 
 [Lays down his robe. 
 
 Lie there my art. Wipe thou thine eyes ; have comfort 
 The direful spectacle of the wreck, w r hich touch'd 
 
 > cheek : in f. e. ' creature : in f. e. mantle : in f. e.
 
 12 THE TEMPEST. ACT I. 
 
 The very virtue of compassion in thee, 
 
 I have with such prevision 1 in mine art 
 
 So safely order'd, that there is no soul 
 
 No. not so much perdition as an hair, 
 
 Betid to any creature in the vessel 
 
 Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sil 
 
 down; 
 For thou must now know farther. 
 
 Mir a. You have often 
 
 Begun to tell me what I am ; but stopp'd, 
 And left me to a bootless inquisition, 
 Concluding, " Stay, not yet." 
 
 Pro. The hour's now come, 
 
 The very minute bids thee ope thine ear ; 
 Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember 
 A time before we came unto this cell ? [Sits down.* 
 I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not 
 Out three years old. 
 
 Mira. Certainly, sir, I can. 
 
 Pro. By what ? by any other house, or person ? 
 Of any thing the image tell me, that 
 Hath kept with thy remembrance. 
 
 Mira. 'Tis far off; 
 
 And rather like a dream, than an assurance 
 That my remembrance warrants. Had I not 
 Four or five women once, that tended me ? 
 
 Pro. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how isitj 
 That this lives in thy mind ? What seest thou else 
 In the dark backward and abysm of time ? 
 If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here, 
 How thou cam'st here, thou may'st. 
 
 Mira. But that I do not. 
 
 Pro. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since 
 Thy father was the duke of Milan, and 
 A prince of power. 
 
 Mira. Sir, are not you my father ? 
 
 Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and 
 She said thou wast my daughter ; and thy father 
 Was duke of Milan, thou 3 his only heir 
 And princess, no worse issued. 
 
 Mira. 0, the heavens ! 
 
 What foul play had we, that we came from thence ? 
 Or blessed was't, we did? 
 
 provision : in f. e. Not in f. e 3 and : j n f. 8 .
 
 RC. II. THE TEMPEST. 13 
 
 Pro. Both, both, my girl : 
 
 By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence ; 
 But blessedly holp hither. 
 
 Mira. ! my heart bleeds 
 
 To think o' the teen 1 that I have tnrn'd you to, 
 Which is from my remembrance. Please you, farther 
 
 Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio, 
 I pray thee, mark me, that a brother should 
 Be so perfidious ! he whom, next thyself, 
 Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put 
 The manage of my state ; as, at that time, 
 Through all the signiories it was the first, 
 (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 secret studies. Thy false uncle- 
 Dost thou attend me ? 
 
 Mira. Sir, most heedfully. 
 
 Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits, 
 How to deny them, whom t' advance, and whom 
 To trash 3 for over-topping, new created 
 The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd them,, 
 Or else new form'd them ; having both the key 
 Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state 
 To what tune pleas'd his ear ; that now he was 
 The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, 
 And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not. 
 
 Mira. good sir ! I do. 
 
 Pro. I pray thee, mark me. 
 
 1 thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated 
 To closeness, and the bettering of my mind 
 With that, which but by being so retired 
 O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother 
 A wak'd an evil nature : and my trust, 
 Like a good parent, did beget of him 
 A falsehood, in its contrary as great 
 As my trust was ; which had, indeed, no limit, 
 A confidence sans bound. He being thus loaded,* 
 Not only with what my revenue yielded, 
 But what my power might else exact, like one, 
 
 i Trouble, a A hunting term, signifying to beat back e 
 Uthello, II., 1. 3 lorded: inf. e.
 
 14 THE TEMPEST. ACT tl. 
 
 Who having to untruth. 1 by telling of it, 
 
 Made such a sinner of his memory, 
 
 To credit his own lie, he did believe 
 
 He was indeed the duke ; out o' the substitution, 
 
 And executing th' outward face of royalty, 
 
 With all prerogative : hence his ambition 
 
 Growing Dost thou hear ? 
 
 Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. 
 
 Pro. To have no screen between this part he play'd, 
 And him he play'd it for, he needs will be 
 Absolute Milan. Me, poor man ! my library 
 Was dukedom large enough : of temporal royalties 
 He thinks me now incapable ; confederates 
 (So dry he was for sway) with the king of Naples, 
 To give him annual tribute, do him homage, 
 Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend 
 The dukedom, yet unbow'd, (alas, poor Milan !) 
 To most ignoble stooping. 
 
 Mira. the heavens ! 
 
 Pro. Mark his condition, and th' event; then tell me, 
 If this might be a brother. 
 
 Mira. I should sin 
 
 To think but nobly of my grandmother ; 
 Good wombs have borne bad sons. 
 
 Pro. Now the condition 
 
 This king of Naples, being an enemy 
 To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit ; 
 Which was, that he in lieu o' the premises, 
 Of homage, and I know not how much tribute, 
 Should presently extirpate me and mine 
 Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan, 
 With all the honours, on my brother : whereon, 
 A treacherous army levied, one midnight, 
 Fated to the practise, 2 did Antonio open 
 The gates of Milan ; and, i' the dead of darkness, 
 The ministers for the purpose hurried thence 
 Me, and thy crying self. 
 
 Mira. Alack, for pity ! 
 
 I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then, 
 Will cry it o'er again : it is a hint, 
 That wrings mine eyes to 't. 
 
 Pro. Hear a little farther, 
 
 And then I'll bring thee to the present business 
 unl i truth : in f e * purpose : in f . e.
 
 BC. II. THE TEMPEST. 15 
 
 Which now 's upon 's ; without the which this story 
 Were most impertinent. 
 
 Mira. Wherefore did they not 
 
 That hour destroy us ? 
 
 Pro. Well demanded, wench : 
 
 My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not, 
 So dear the love my people bore me, nor set 
 A mark so bloody on the business ; but 
 Wfth colours fairer painted their foul ends. 
 In few, they hurried us aboard a bark, 
 Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared 
 A rotten carcass of a boat, 1 not rigg'd, 
 Nor tackle, sail, nor mast ; the very rats 
 Instinctively had quit it : there they hoist us, 
 To cry to the sea that roar'd to us ; to sigh 
 To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again, 
 Did us but loving wrong. 
 
 Mira. Alack ! what trouble 
 
 Was I then to you ! 
 
 Pro. ! a cherubim 
 
 Thou wast, that did preserve me. Thou didst smile, 
 Infused with a fortitude from heaven, 
 When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt, 
 Under rny burden groan'd j which rais'd in me 
 An undergoing stomach, to bear up 
 Against what should ensue. 
 
 Mira. How came we ashore? 
 
 Pro. 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 gentleueM, 
 Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me, 
 From my own library, with volumes that 
 I prize above my dukedom. 
 
 Mira. Would I might 
 
 But ever see that man ! 
 
 Pro. Now I arise : [Puts on his robe again* 
 
 Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. 
 Here in this island we arriv'd ; and here 
 Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit 
 
 butt : in f. e. have : in f. e. 3 This direction is not in f. e
 
 ]6 THE TEMPEST. ACT I. 
 
 Than other princes' can, that have more time 
 For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. 
 
 Mira. Heavens thank you for't ! And now, 1 pray 
 
 you, sir, 
 
 For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason 
 For raising this sea-storm? 
 
 Pro. Know thus far forth. 
 
 By accident most strange, bountiful fortune, 
 Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies 
 Brought to this shore ; and by my prescience 
 I find my zenith doth depend upon 
 A most auspicious star, whose influence 
 If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes 
 Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions. 
 Thou art inclined to sleep ; 'tis a good dulness, 
 And give it way : I know thou canst not choose. 
 
 [MIRANDA sleeps. 
 
 Come away, servant, come ! I am ready now. 
 Approach, my Ariel : come ! 
 
 Enter ARIEL. 
 
 Ari. All hail, great master ; grave sir, hail. I come 
 To answer thy best pleasure ; be 't to fly, 
 To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride 
 On the curl'd clouds : to thy strong bidding task 
 Ariel, and all his quality. 
 
 Pro. Hast thou, spirit, 
 
 Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee ? 
 
 Ari. To every article. 
 
 I boarded the king's ship ; now oft the beak, 
 Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, 
 I flam'd amazement : sometimes, 1 'd divide, 
 And burn in many places ; on the topmast, 
 The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, 
 Then meet, and join. Jove's lightnings, the precursors 
 0' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary 
 And sight-outrunning were not : the fire, and cracks 
 Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune 
 Seem to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble, 
 Yea, his dread trident shake. 
 
 Pro. My brave spirit ! 
 
 Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil 
 Would not infect his reason? 
 
 Ari. Not a soul 
 
 1 princess: in f. e.
 
 6C. II. THE TEMPEST. 17 
 
 But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd 
 
 Some tricks of desperation. All, but mariners, 
 
 Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel. 
 
 Then all a-fire -with me : the king's son, Ferdinand, 
 
 With hair up-staring (then like reeds, not hair) 
 
 Was the first man that leap'd; cried, " Hell is empty 
 
 And all the devils are here." 
 
 Pro. Why, that's my sprrit ! 
 
 But was not this nigh shore? 
 
 Ari. Close by, my master. 
 
 Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe ? 
 
 Ari. Not a hair perish'd ; 
 
 .On their sustaining garments not a blemish,- 
 But fresher than before : and. as thou bad'st me, 
 In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle. 
 The king's son have I landed by himself, 
 Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs 
 In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, 
 His arms in this sad knot. 
 
 Pro. Of the king's ship 
 
 The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd, 
 And all the rest o' the fleet? 
 , Ari. Safely in harbour 
 
 Is the king's ship : in the deep nook, where once 
 Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew 
 From the still-vex' d Berrnoothes. there she's hid : 
 The mariners all under hatches stow'd ; 
 Whom, with a charm joined to their sufler'd labour, 
 I have left asleep : and for the rest o ; the fleet 
 Which I dispers'd, they all have met again, 
 And all 1 upon the Mediterranean float, 2 
 Bound sadly home for Naples, 
 Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd, 
 And his great person perish. 
 
 Pro. Ariel, thy charge 
 
 Exactly is perform'd ; but there's more work. 
 What is the time o' the day? 
 
 Ari. Past the mid season. 
 
 Pro. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and no\v 
 Must by us both be spent most preciously. 
 
 Ari. Is there more toil ? Since thou dost give me pains 
 Let me r '/member thce what thou hast promis'd, 
 Which is not yet perform'd me. 
 
 1 are : in f. e. 2 flote : in f, e.
 
 18 THE TEMPEST. ACT I, 
 
 p ro< How now ! moody ? 
 
 What is 't thou canst demand? 
 
 Ari. My liberty. 
 
 Pro. Before the time be out ? no more. 
 
 Ari. I prithee 
 
 Remember, I have done thee worthy service ; 
 Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, serv'd 
 Without or grudge, or grumblings. Thou didst promise 
 To bate me a full year. 
 
 Pro. Dost thou forget 
 
 From what a torment I did free thee ? 
 
 Ari. No. 
 
 Pro. ThOu dost ; and think' st it much, to tread the ooze 
 Of the salt deep, 
 
 To run upon the sharp wind of the north, 
 To do me business in the veins o' th' earth, 
 When it is bak'd with frost. 
 
 Ari. I do not, sir. 
 
 Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing ! Hast thou forgot 
 The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age and envy, 
 Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her? 
 
 Ari. No, sir. 
 
 Pro. Thou hast. Where was she born? 
 
 speak ; tell me. 
 
 Ari. Sir, in Argier. 
 
 Pro. ! was she so ? I must, 
 Once in a month, recount what thou hast been, 
 Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch, Sycorax, 
 For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible 
 To enter human hearing, from Argier, 
 Thou know'st, was banish'd : for one thing she did, 
 They would not take her life. Is not this true ? 
 
 Ari. Ay, sir. 
 
 Pro. This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with 
 
 child, 
 
 And here was left by the sailors : thou, my slave 
 As thou report' st thyself, wast then her servant. 1 
 And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate 
 To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, 
 Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee, 
 By help of her more potent ministers, 
 And in her most unmitigable rage, 
 Into a cloven pine ; within which rift 
 Imprison'd, thou didst painfully remain
 
 SC. II. THE TEMPEST. 19 
 
 A. dozen years ; within which space she died, 
 
 And left thee there, where them didst vent thy groans 
 
 As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island 
 
 (Save for a 1 son that she did litter here. 
 
 A freckled whelp, hag-born) not honour'd with 
 
 A human shape. 
 
 An. Yes; Caliban, her son. 
 
 Pro. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban, 
 Whom now T keep in service. Thou best know'st 
 What torment I did find thee in : thy groans 
 Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts 
 Of ever-angry bears. It was a torment 
 To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax 
 Could not again undo : It was mine art, 
 When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape 
 The pine, and let thee out. 
 
 Ari. I thank thee, master. 
 
 Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak, 
 And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till 
 Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. 
 
 Ari. Pardon, master . 
 
 I will be correspondent to command, 
 And do my spriting gently. 
 
 Pro. Do so, and after two days 
 
 I will discharge thee. 
 
 Ari. That's my noble master ! 
 
 What shall I do? say what? what shall I do ? 
 
 Pro. Go, make thyself a like nymph 2 o' the sea : be 
 
 subject 
 
 To no sight but thine and mine ; invisible 
 To every eyeball, else. Go, take this shape, 
 And hither come in 't ; go ; hence, with diligence. 
 
 [Exit ARIEL. 
 
 A wake, dear heart, awake ! thou hast slept well ; 
 A wake ! 
 
 Mira. The strangeness of your story put [Waking.* 
 Heaviness in me. 
 
 Pro. Shake it off. Come on : 
 
 We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never 
 Yields us kind answer. 
 
 Mira. 'Tis a villain, sir, 
 
 1 do not love to look on. 
 
 Pro But, as 'tis, 
 
 1 the : in f o. 2 like a : in f. e. Not in f
 
 20 THE TEMPEST. ACT L 
 
 We cannot miss him : he does make oar fire, 
 Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices 
 That profit us. What ho ! slave ! Caliban ! 
 Thou earth, thou ! speak. 
 
 Col. [Within] There's wood enough within. 
 
 Pro. Come forth, I say ; there's other business for thee 
 Come, thou tortoise ! when ? 
 
 Re-enter ARIEL, like a water-nymph. 
 Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel, 
 Hark in thine ear. 
 
 Ari. My lord, it shall be done. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself 
 Upon thy wicked dam, come forth ! 
 . Enter CALIBAN. 
 
 Cat. As wicked dew, as e'er my mother brush' d 
 With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, 
 Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye, 
 And blister you all o'er ! 
 
 Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps, 
 Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up ; urchins 
 Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, 
 All exercise on thee : thou shalt be pinch' d 
 As thick as honey-combs,' each pinch more stinging 
 Than bees that made ; em. 
 
 Cal. I must eat my dinner. 
 
 This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, 
 Which thou tak'st from me. When thou cam'st here first, 
 Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st much of me ; would'st 
 
 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 lov'd thee, 
 And show'd thee all the qualities o' th' isle, 
 The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and fertile 
 Cursed be I that did so ! All the charms 
 Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you ; 
 For I am all the subjects that you have, 
 Which first was mine own king : and here you sty me 
 In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me 
 The rest o' th' island. 
 
 Pro. Thou most lying slave, 
 
 Whom f-tripcs may move, not kindness, I have us'd thee 
 Filth as thou art, with human care ; and lodg'cl thee 
 1 honoy-conib : in f. e
 
 SO. II. THE TEMPEST. 21 
 
 In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate 
 The honour of my child. 
 
 Cal. O ho ! ho ! would it had bcfen done ! 
 Thou didst prevent me ; I had peopled else 
 This isle with Calibans. 
 
 Pro. 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 
 One thing or other : when thou didst not, savage, 
 Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like 
 A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes 
 With words that made them known : but thy vile race, 
 Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures 
 Could not abide to be with : therefore wast thou 
 Deservedly confin'd into this rock, 
 Who hadst deserv'd more than a prison. 
 
 Cal. You taught me language ; and my profit on't 
 Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you, 
 For learning me your language ! 
 
 Pro. Hag-seed, hence ! 
 
 Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thou'rt best, 
 To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice ? 
 If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly 
 What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps; 
 Fill all thy bones with aches ; make thee roar, 
 That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 
 
 Cal. No, pray thee ! 
 
 I must obey his art is of such power, [ Aside. 
 
 It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 
 And make a vassal of him. 
 
 Pro. So, slave; hence! [Exit CALIBAN. 
 
 Re-enter ARIEL, invisible, playing and singing ; FERDI- 
 NAND following. 1 
 ARIEL'S Song. 
 Come unto these yellmo sands, 
 
 And then take hands : 
 Cwrt'sied when you have, and kissed 
 
 The ivild waves whist, 
 Foot itfeatly here and there;* 
 
 i f. e. have "him." * The old copies read : " Foot it featly hert 
 and there, and sweet sprites bear the burden." The MS. annotator 
 of the folio of 1632, anticipated later critics in altering the passage 
 as it stands in the text 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 22 THK TEMPEST. ACT I. 
 
 And, sweet sprites, the. burden bear. 
 
 Hark, hark ! 
 Burden. Bow, wow. [Dispersed ly. 
 
 The watch dogs bark : 
 Burden. Bow. wow. 
 
 Hark, hark ! I hear 
 The strain of strutting chanticlere 
 Cry, cock-a-doodle-doo. [earth?-- 
 
 Fer. Where should this music be ? i' th' air, or th' 
 It sounds no more ; and sure, it waits upon 
 Some god o' th' island. Sitting on a bank, 
 Weeping again the king my father's wreck, 
 This music crept by me upon the waters, 
 Allaying both their fury, and my passion. 
 With its sweet air : thence I have follow'd it, 
 Or it hath drawn me rather : but 'tis gone. 
 No, it begins again. 
 
 ARIEL sings. 
 
 Full fathom five thy father lies ; 
 Of his bones are coral made j 
 Those are pearls that were his eyes : 
 
 Nothing of him that doth fade, 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into something rich and strange. 
 Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 
 
 J Burden: ding-dong 
 ing- 
 
 Hark ! now I hear them, ding-dong, bell. 
 Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd father. 
 This is no mortal business, nor no sound 
 That the earth owes 1 I hear it now above me. 
 
 [Music above* 
 
 Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance 
 And say, what thou seest yond'. 
 
 Mm. What is 't ? a spirit ? 
 
 Lord, how it looks about ! Believe me, sir, 
 It carries a brave form : but 'tis a spirit. 
 
 Pro. No. wench : it eats, and sleeps, and hath such 
 
 senses 
 
 As we have ; such. This gallant,, which thou seest, 
 Was in the wreck ; and but he's something stain'd 
 With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou might'st call him 
 A goodly person. He hath lost his fellows, 
 And strays about to find 'em. 
 
 i Owns. Not in f. e
 
 SC. II. THE T1CMPEST. 3d 
 
 Mira. I might call him 
 
 A thing divine, for nothing natural 
 I ever saw so noble. 
 
 Pro. It goes on, I see, {Aside. 
 
 As my soul prompts it: Spirit, fine spirit ! I'll free thee 
 Within two days for this. 
 
 Fer. Most sure, the goddess [Seeing her.- 
 
 On whom these airs attend ! Vouchsafe, my prayer 
 May know if you remain upon this island, [Kneels. 
 And that you will some good instruction give, 
 How I may bear me here : my prime request, 
 Which I do last pronounce, is, you wonder ! 
 If you be maid, or no ? 
 
 Mira. No wonder, sir ; 
 
 But, certainly a maid. 
 
 Fer. My language ! heavens ! Rises* 
 
 I am the best of them that speak this speech, 
 Were I but where 'tis spoken. 
 
 Pro. How! the best? 
 
 What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee ? 
 
 Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders 
 To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me, 
 And that he does I weep ; myself am Naples ; 
 Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld 
 The king, my father, wre jk'd. 
 
 Mira. Alack, for mercy ! 
 
 Fer. Yes. faith, and all his lords; the duke of Milan, 
 And his brave son, being twain. 
 
 Pro. The duke of Milan. 
 
 And his more braver daughter, could control thee, 
 If now 'twere fit to do't. [Jswfe.] At the first sight 
 They have chang'd eyes : -delicate Ariel, 
 I'll set thee free for this ! [To him.] A word, good sir 
 I fear, you have done yourself some wrong : a word. 
 
 Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently? This 
 Is the third man that e'er I saw ; the first 
 That e'er I sigh'd for. Pity move my father 
 To be inclin'd my way ! 
 
 Fer. ! if a virgin, 
 
 And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you 
 The queen of Naples. 
 
 Pro. Soft, sir : one word more. 
 
 iNotinf.e. Not in f. e. ' Not in f. e.
 
 24 THE TEMPEST. ACT I. 
 
 [Aside.] They are both in either's powen : but this 
 
 swift business 
 
 I must uneasy make, lest too light winning 
 Make the prize light. [To him.] One word more: 1 
 
 charge thee, 
 
 That thou attend me, Thou dost here usurp 
 The name thou ow'st not ; and hast put thyself 
 Upon this island as a spy, to win it 
 From me, the lord on't. 
 
 Fer. No. as I am a man, 
 
 Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple : 
 It the ill spirit have so fair a house, , 
 Good things will strive to dwell with 't. 
 
 Pro. Follow me. [To FERD. 
 
 Speak not you for him ; he's a traitor. Come. 
 I'll manacle thy neck and feet together ; 
 Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be 
 The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and husks 
 Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow. 
 
 Fer. No; 
 
 I will resist such entertainment, till 
 Mine enemy has more power. 
 
 [He draws, and is charmed from moving. 
 
 Mira. 0, dear father ! 
 
 Make not too rash a trial of him, for 
 He's gentle, and not fearful. 
 
 Pro. What ! I say : 
 
 My foot my tutor ? Put thy sword up, traitor ; 
 Whomak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy conscience 
 Is so possess'd with guilt : Come from thy ward, 
 For I can here disarm thee with this stick, 
 And make thy weapon drop. 
 
 Mira. Beseech you, father ! 
 
 Pro. Hence ! hang not on my garments. 
 
 Mira. Sir, have pity 
 
 1 11 be his surety. 
 
 Pr:- Silence ! one word more 
 
 Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What ! 
 An advocate for an impostor? hush! 
 Thou think'st there are no more such shapes as he, 
 Having seen but him and Caliban : foolish wench ! 
 To the most of men this is a Caliban, 
 And they to him are angels. 
 
 Mira My affections
 
 SC. I. THE TEMPEST. 25 
 
 Are then most humble : I have no ambition 
 To see a goodlier man. 
 
 Pro. Come on; obey: [To FKRD. 
 
 Thy nerves are in their infancy again, 
 And have no vigour in them. 
 
 For. So they are : 
 
 My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. 
 My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, 
 The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats, 
 To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, 
 Might I but through my prison once a day 
 Behold this maid : all corners else o' th' earth 
 Let liberty make use of; space enough 
 Have I in such a prison. 
 
 Pro. It works. Come on. 
 
 Thou hast done well, fine Ariel ! Follow me. 
 
 [To FERD. and MIR. 
 Hark, what thou else shalt do me. [To ARIEL. 
 
 Mira. Be of comfort. 
 
 My father's of a better nature, sir, 
 Than he appears by speech : this is unwonted, 
 Which now came from him. 
 
 Pro. Thou shalt be as free 
 
 As mountain winds : but then, exactly do 
 All points of my command. 
 
 Ari. To the syllable. 
 
 Pro. Come, follow. Speak not for him. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT IT. 
 
 SCENE I. Another part of the Island. 
 Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, 
 
 ADRIAN, FRANCISCO and Others. 
 Gon. Beseech you. sir, be merry : you have cause 
 (So have we all) of joy, for our escape 
 (s much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe 
 Is common : every day. some sailor's wife, 
 The master 1 of some merchant, and the merchant, 
 Have just our theme of woe ; but for the miracle, 
 I mean our preservation, few in millions 
 Can speak like us : then, wisely, good sir, weigh 
 Our sorrow with our comfort. 
 
 1 masters : in f. e.
 
 26 THE TEMPEST. ACT H 
 
 Aim. Pr'ythee, peace. 
 
 Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. 
 
 Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. 
 
 Seb. Look he's winding up the watch of his wit 
 >y and by it will strike. 
 
 Gon. Sir, 
 
 Seb. One: tell. 
 
 Gon. When every grief is entertain'd. that's ofler'd, 
 Comes to the entertainer 
 
 Seb. A dollar. 
 
 Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken 
 truer than you purposed. 
 
 Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you 
 should. 
 
 Gon. Therefore, my lord, 
 
 Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue ! 
 
 Alan. I pr'ythee, spare. 
 
 Gon. Well, I have done. But yet 
 
 Seb. He will be talking. 
 
 Ant. Which, or 1 he or Adrian, for a good wager, 
 first begins to crow? 
 
 Seb. The old cock. 
 
 Ant. The cockrel. 
 
 Seb. Done. The wager? 
 
 Ant. A 1 auditor. 
 
 Seb. A match. 
 
 Adr. Though this island seem to be desert, 
 
 Seb. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Ant. So, you're paid. 
 
 Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible, 
 
 Seb. Yet 
 
 Adr. Yet 
 
 Ant. He could not miss it. 
 
 Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate 
 temperance. 
 
 Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench. 
 
 Seb. Ay, and a subtle, as he most learnedly delivered. 
 
 Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. 
 
 Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones. 
 
 Ant. Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen. 
 
 Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life. 
 
 Ant. True; save means to live. 
 
 Seb. Of that therj's none, or little. 
 
 > of them : in f. e Knight s edition reads, " of them."
 
 8C. I. THE TEMPEST. Z I 
 
 Gon. How lush 1 and lusty the grass looks ! how green ' 
 
 Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny. 
 
 Seb. With an e^e 2 of green in J t. 
 
 Ant. He misses not much. 
 
 Seb. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. 
 
 Gon. But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost 
 beyond credit 
 
 Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are. 
 
 Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, 
 drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their fresh- 
 ness, and glosses ; being rather new dyed, than stain'd 
 with salt water. 
 
 Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it 
 not say, he lies ? 
 
 Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. 
 
 Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as 
 when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of 
 the king's fair daughter Claribel to the king of Tunis. 
 , Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper ell 
 in our return. 
 
 Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such a 
 paragon to their queen. 
 
 Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. 
 
 Ant. Widow ? a pox o' that ! How came that widow 
 in? Widow Dido! 
 
 Seb. What if he had said, widower ^Eneas too? good 
 lord, how you take it ! 
 
 Adr. Widow Dido, said you ! you make me study of 
 that : she was of Carthage, not of Tunis. 
 
 Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. 
 
 Adr. Carthage? 
 
 Gon. I assure you, Carthage. 
 
 Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp. 
 
 Seb. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too. 
 
 Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy next ? 
 
 Seb. I think he will carry this island home in MB 
 pocket, and give it his son for an apple. 
 
 Ant. And sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring 
 forth more islands. 
 
 Gon. Ay? 
 
 Ant. Wliy, in good time. 
 
 Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seem 
 now as fresh, as when we were at Tunis at the mar- 
 
 Jvicy. 2 Slight shade of color.
 
 28 THE TEMPEST. ACT II. 
 
 riage of your daughter, who is now queen. 
 
 Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. 
 
 Seb. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. 
 
 Ant. ! widow Dido ; ay, widow Dido. 
 
 Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day 
 I wore it? I maan, in a sort. 
 
 Ant. That sort was well fish'd for. 
 
 Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage ? 
 
 Alon. You cram these words into mine ears, against 
 The stomach of my sense. Would I had never 
 Married my daughter there ! for, coming thence, 
 My son is lost ; and, in my rate, she too, 
 Who is so far from Italy remov'd, 
 I ne'er again shall see her. thou. mine h'eir 
 Of Naples and of Milan ! what strange fish 
 Hath made his meal on thee ? 
 
 Fran. Sir, he may live. 
 
 I saw him beat the surges under him, 
 And ride upon their backs : he trod the water, 
 Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted 
 The surge most swoln that met him : his bold head 
 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd 
 Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke 
 To the shore, that o'er his wave- worn basis bow'd, 
 As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt, 
 He came alive to land. 
 
 Aim. No, no ; he's gone. 
 
 Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss 
 That would not bless our Europe with your daughter, 
 But rather lose her to an African ; 
 Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye, 
 Who hath cause to wet the grief on ; t. 
 
 Alon. Pr'ythoe, peace. 
 
 Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise 
 By all of us : and the fair soul herself 
 Weigh'd between lothness and obedience, as 1 
 Which end o' the beam should" bow. We have Jost 
 
 your son. 
 
 If ear, for ever : Milan and Naples have 
 More widows in them, of this business' making, 
 Than we bring men to comfort them : the fault ' 
 Vour own. 
 
 Alon So is the dearest of the loss. 
 
 'at: inf. e. * She'd : inf.e.
 
 THE TEMPEST. 29 
 
 Gem. My lord Sebastian, 
 
 The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, 
 And time to speak it in : you rub the sore, 
 When you should bring the plaster. 
 
 Seb. Very well. 
 
 Ant. And most chirurgeonly. 
 
 Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, 
 When j ou are cloudy. 
 
 Seb. ' Foul weather? 
 
 Ant. Very foul. 
 
 Gon, Had I plantation of this isle, my lord, 
 
 Ant. He'd sow 't with neddle-seed. 
 
 Seb. Or docks, or mallows 
 
 Gon. And were the king on't, what would I do? 
 
 Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine. 
 
 Gon. P the commonwealth I would by contraries 
 Execute all things, for no kind of traffic 
 Would I admit ;' no name of magistrate ; 
 .Letters should not be known ; riches, poverty, 
 And use of service, none ; contract, succession, 
 Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none ; 
 No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil : 
 No occupation, all men idle, all ; 
 And women, too, but innocent and pure. 
 No sovereignty : 
 
 Seb. Yet he would be king on't. 
 
 Ant. The latter end of this commonwealth forgets 
 the beginning. 
 
 Gon. All things in common nature should produce, 
 Without sweat or endeavour : treason, felony, 
 Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, 
 Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth, 
 Of its own kind, all foisson, 2 all abundance, 
 To feed my innocent people. 
 
 Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects ? 
 
 Ant. None, man ; all idle ; whores, and knaves. 
 
 Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir, 
 
 1 It is a nation, would I answer Plato, that hath no kinde of tralfike, 
 no knowledge of Letters, no intelligence of numbers, no name of 
 magistrate, nor of politike superioritie ; no use of service, of riches, 
 r of povertie j no contracts, no successions, no dividences, no oc- 
 cupation but idle ; no respect, of kinred, but common, no apparel 
 but natural!, no manuring of lands, no use of wine, come, or mettle. 
 The very that import lying, falshood, treason, dissimulations, covet- 
 ousnns, envie, detraction, and pardon, were never heard of amongs' 
 them. Montaigne. Florio's translation, 1603. Plenty.
 
 30 THE TEMPEST. ACT H. 
 
 To excel the golden age. 
 
 Seb. 'Save his majesty ! 
 
 Ant . Long live Gonzalo ! 
 
 Gon. And, do you mark me, sir ? 
 
 Alon. Pr'ythee, no more : thou dost talk nothing to 
 me. 
 
 Gon. I do well believe your highness ; and did it tc 
 minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such 
 sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use to 
 laugh at nothing. 
 
 Ant. ; Twas you we laugh'd at. 
 
 Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am nothing 
 to you: so you may continue, and laugh at nothing 
 still. 
 
 Ant. What a blow was there given ! 
 
 Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long. 
 
 Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle : you would 
 lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue 
 in it five weeks without changing. 
 
 Enter ARIEL above, 1 invisible, playing solemn music, 
 
 Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. 
 
 Ant. Nay. good my lord, be not angry. 
 
 Gon. No, I warrant you ; I will not adventure my 
 discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for 
 I am very heavy? 
 
 Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. 
 
 [All sleep but ALON. SEB. and ANT. 
 
 Alon. What ! all so soon asleep ? I wish mine eyes 
 Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts : I find, 
 They are inclined to do so. 
 
 Seb. Please you, sir, 
 
 Do not omit the heavy offer of it : 
 It seldom visits sorrow ; when it dotk ; 
 It is a comforter. 
 
 Ant. We two, my lord, 
 
 Will guarf your person while you take your rest, 
 And watch your safety. 
 
 Alon. Thank you. Wondrous heavy. [ALOIS, sleeps 
 
 Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them f 
 
 Ant . It is the quality of the climate. 
 
 Seb. Why 
 
 Doth it not, then, our eye-lids sink ? I find not 
 Myself disposed to sleep. 
 
 1 Not in f e. Exit ARIBL : in f. e '
 
 8C. I. THE TEMPEST. 31 
 
 Ant. Nor I : my spirits are nimble 
 
 They fell together all, as by consent; 
 They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might. 
 Worthy Sebastian ? O ! what might ? No more : 
 And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face, 
 What thou should'st be. Th' occasion speaks thee, and 
 My strong imagination sees a crown 
 Dropping upon thy head 
 
 Seb. What! art thou waking ? 
 
 Ant . Do you not hear me speak ? 
 
 Seb. I do ; and, surely 
 
 It is a sleepy language, and thou speak'st 
 Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say? 
 This is a strange repose, to be asleep 
 With eyes wide open ; standing, speaking, moving, 
 And yet so fast asleep. 
 
 Ant. Noble Sebastian, 
 
 Thou let'st thy fortune sleep die rather ; wink'st 
 Whiles thou art waking. 
 
 Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly 
 
 There's meaning in thy snores. 
 
 Ant. I am more serious than my custom : you 
 Must be so too, if heed me which to do, 
 Trebles thee o'er. 
 
 Seb. Well ; I am standing water. 
 
 Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. 
 
 Seb. Do so: to ebb 
 
 Hereditary sloth instructs me. 
 
 Ant. ' 1 
 
 If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish, 
 Whiles thus you mock it ! how, in stripping it, 
 You more invest it ! Ebbing men, indeed, 
 Most often do so near the bottom run 
 By their own fear, or sloth. 
 
 Seb. . Pr'ythee, say on. 
 
 The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim 
 A matter from thee ; and a birth, indeed, 
 Which throes thee much to yield. 
 
 Ant. Thus, sir, 
 
 Although this lord of weak remembrance, this 
 (Who shall be of as little memory, 
 When he is earth'd) hath here almost persuaded 
 (For he's a spirit of persuasion, only 
 Professes to persuade) the king, his son 's alive,
 
 32 THE TEMPEST. ACT 1JL 
 
 'Tis as impossible that he 's undrown'd, 
 AB he that sleeps here, swims. 
 
 Seb. I have no hope 
 That he 's undrown'd. 
 
 Ant . ! out of that no hope, 
 
 What great hope have you ! no hope, that way, in 
 Another way so high a hope, that even 
 Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, 
 But doubts discovery there. Will you gran' , with me 
 That Ferdinand is drown' d ? 
 
 Seb. He 's gone. 
 
 Ant. Then, tell me ; 
 
 Who 's the next heir of Naples? 
 
 Seb. Claribel. 
 
 Ant. She that is queen of Tunis she that dwells 
 Ten leagues beyond man's life ; she that from Naples 
 Can have no note, unless the sun were post, 
 (The man i' the moon 's too slow) till new-born chins 
 Be rough and razorable : she, for 1 whom 
 We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again ; 
 And by that destiny to perform an act 
 Whereof what 's past is prologue, what 's a to come, 
 In yours and my discharge. 
 
 Seb. What stuff is this ! How say you ? 
 
 'Tis true, my brother's daughter 's queen of Tunis; 
 So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions 
 There is some space. 
 
 Ant. A space whose every cubit 
 
 Seems to cry out, " How shall that Claribel 
 Measure us back to Naples?" Keep in Tunis, 
 And let Sebastian wake ! Say, this were death 
 That now hath seized them ; why. they were no worse 
 Than now they are. There be, that can rule Naples 
 As well as he that sleeps ; lords that can prate 
 As amply, and unnecessarily, 
 As this Gonzalo ; I myself could make 
 A. cliough of as deep chat. O, that you bore 
 The mind that I do ! what a sleep were this 
 For your advancement ! Do you understand me ? 
 
 Seb. Methinks, I do. 
 
 dnt. And how does your content 
 
 Tender your own good fortune? 
 
 Seb- I remember, 
 
 1 from : in f. e. " what : in f. e.
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 33 
 
 You did supplant your brother Prospero. 
 
 Ant. True : 
 
 And look how well my garments sit upon me ; 
 Much feater than before. My brother's servants 
 Were then my fellows, now they are my men. 
 
 Seb. But, for your conscience 
 
 Ant . Ay. sir : where lies that ? if it were a kybe, 
 'T would put me to my slipper ; but I feel not 
 This deity in my bosom : twenty consciences, 
 That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they, 
 And melt, ere they molest ! Here lies your brother, 
 No better than the earth he lies upon, 
 If he were that which now he 's like, that 's dead, 
 Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it, 
 Can lay to bed for ever ; whiles you, doing thus, 
 To the perpetual wink for aye might put 
 'This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who 
 Should not upbraid our course : for all the rest, 
 They ''11 take suggestion as a cat laps milk ; 
 They '11 tell the clock to any business that 
 We say befits the hour. 
 
 Seb. Thy case, dear friend, 
 
 Shall be my precedent : as thou got'st Milan, 
 I '11 come by Naples. Draw thy sword : one stroke 
 Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay'st, 
 And I, the king, shall love thee. 
 
 Ant . Draw together : 
 
 And when I rear my hand, do you the like, 
 To fall it on Gonzalo. 
 
 Seb. O ! but one word. [They converse apart. 
 
 Music. ARIEL descends invisible. 1 
 
 Ari. My master through his art foresees the dangei 
 That you, his friend, are in ; and sends me forth 
 (For else his project dies) to keep them living. 
 
 [Sings in GONZALO'S ear 
 While you here do snoring lie } 
 Open-eyed conspiracy 
 
 His time doth take. 
 If of life you keep a care. 
 Shake off slumber, and beware : 
 Awake ! Awake ! 
 
 Ant. Then, let us both be sudden. 
 
 Music. Re-enter ARIEL, invisii le : in f..e.
 
 34 THE TEMPEST. ACT T J. 
 
 Gon. Now, good angels, preserve the king ! 
 
 [They wake. 
 
 Alon. Why, how now, ho ! awake ! Why are vou 
 
 drawn? 
 Wherefore thus 1 ghastly looking ? 
 
 Gon. What 's the matv r? 
 
 Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose, 
 Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing, 
 Like bulls, or rather lions : did it not wake you ? 
 It struck mine ear most terribly. 
 
 Alon. I heard nothing. 
 
 Ant. ! 't was a din to fright a monster's ear, 
 To make an earthquake : sure, it was the roar 
 Of a whole herd of lions. 
 
 Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo? 
 
 Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming, 
 And that a strange one too, which did awake me. 
 I shak'd you, sir, and cry'd : as mine eyes open'd, 
 I saw their weapons drawn. There was a noise, 
 That's verity :* 'tis best we stand upon our guard, 
 Or that we quit this place. Let 's draw our weapons. 
 
 Alon. Lead off this ground, and let 's make farther 
 
 search 
 For my poor son. 
 
 Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts, 
 For he is, sure, i' the island. 
 
 Alon. Lead away. [Exeunt. 
 
 Ari. Prospero, my lord, shall know what I have done : 
 So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. \Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. Another part of the Island. 
 Enter CALIBAN, with a burden of wood. 
 
 A noise of thunder heard. 
 Col. All the infections that the sun sucks up 
 From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him 
 By inch-meal a disease ! His spirits hear me, 
 And yet I needs must curse ; but they '11 not 3 pinch, 
 Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i' the *nire, 
 Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark 
 Out of my way, unless he bid 'em ; but 
 For every trifle are they set upon me : 
 Sometime like apes, that moe and chatter at me, 
 
 'this : in f. e. a Collier's ed.. 1844, reads, " verily "most of the 
 other editions, " verity," as in the text. * nor : in f. e
 
 SC. II. THE TEMPEST. 35 
 
 And after, "bite me : then like hedge-hogs, which 
 Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount 
 Their pricks at my foot-fall : sometime am I 
 All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues 
 Do hiss me into madness. Lo, now ! lo ! 
 
 Enter TRINCULO. 
 
 Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me 
 lor bringing wood in slowly: I'll fall flat; 
 Perchance, he will not mind me. 
 
 Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub to bear off any 
 weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it 
 sing i' the wind : yoiid' same black cloud, yond' huge 
 one, looks like a foul bombard 1 that would 'shed hi* 
 liquor. If it should thunder, as it did before, I kno-w 
 not where to hide my head : yond' same cloud canno* 
 choose but fall by pailfuls. What have we here? 
 [Seeing Caliban.*] a man or a fish? Dead or alive! 
 A fish : he smells like a fish ; a very ancient and fish 
 like smell; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor- John 
 A strange fish ! Were I in England now, (as once ) 
 was) and had but this fish painted, not a holiday 
 fool there but would give a piece of silver : therr 
 would this monster make a man : any strange beast 
 there makes a man. When they will not give a doit 
 to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see 
 a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man ! and his fins like 
 arms ! Warm, o' my troth ! I do now let loose my 
 opinion, hold it no longer; this is no fish, but an 
 islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunder-bolt. 
 [Thund.er.] Alas ! the storm is come again : my best 
 way is to creep under his gaberdine ; there is no other 
 shelter hereabout : misery acquaints a man with strange 
 bedfellows. I will here shroud, till the drench 3 of the 
 Btorm be past. 
 
 Enter STEPHANO, singing ; a bottle in his hand. 
 
 Ste. I shall no more to sea, to sea, 
 
 Here shall I die a-shore. 
 
 This is a v sry scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral. 
 Well, here's my comfort. [Drinks 
 
 The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, 
 The gunner, and his mate, 
 
 Lov j d Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, 
 
 i The name ot a large vessel to contain drink, as well as of a pec 
 f artillery. " Not in f. e. 3 dregs : in f. e.
 
 30 THE TEMPEST. ACT H. 
 
 But none of us car 'd for Kate , 
 For she had a tongue with a tang, 
 Would cry to a sailor, Go, hang : 
 
 She lov'd not the savour of tar, nor of pitch, 
 
 Yet a tailor might scratch her u'herc-e'er she did itch 
 
 Then, to sea, boys, and let her go hang. 
 This is a scurvy tune too ; but here's my comfort. [Drinks. 
 
 Cal. Do not torment me : ! 
 
 Ste. What's the matter? Have we devils here? 
 Do you put tricks upon us with savages, and men of 
 Inde? Ha! I have not 'scap'd drowning, to be afeard 
 now of your four legs ; for it hath been said, as proper 
 a man as ever went on four legs cannot make him give 
 ground, and it shall be said so again, while Stephano 
 breathes at nostrils. 
 
 Cal. The spirit torments me : ! 
 
 Ste. This is some monster of the isle, with four legs, 
 who hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil 
 should he learn our language? I will give him some 
 relief, if it be but for that : if I can recover him, and keep 
 him tame, and get. to Naples with him, he 's a present 
 for any emperor that ever trod on neat's-leather. 
 
 Cal. Do not torment me, pr'ythee: I'll bring my 
 wood home faster. 
 
 Ste. He 's in his fit now, and does not talk after the 
 wisest. He shall taste of my bottle : if he have never 
 drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit. It 
 I can recover him, and keep him tame. I will not take 
 too much for him : he shall pay for him that hath him, 
 and that soundly. 
 
 Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt 
 anon, I know it by thy trembling : now Prosper works 
 upon thee. 
 
 Ste. Come on your ways : open your mouth ; here is 
 that which will give language to you, cat. Open your 
 mouth : this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, 
 and that soundly : you cannot tell who 's your friend ; 
 open your chaps again. [CALIBAN drinks. 1 
 
 Trin. I should know that voice. It should be but 
 he is drowned, and these are devils. 0, defend me ! 
 
 Ste. Four legs, and two voices ! a most delicate 
 monster. His forward voice, now, is to speak well of 
 his friend ; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches, 
 Not in f. e.
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 37 
 
 and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will re- 
 cover him, I will help his ague. Come, Amen ! I 
 will pour some in thy other mouth. 
 
 Tiin. Stephano ! 
 
 See. Doth thy other mouth call me ? Mercy ! 
 mercy ! This is a devil, and no monster : I will leave 
 him ; I have no long spoon. 
 
 Trin. Stephano ! if thou beest Stephano, touch me, 
 and speak to me, for I am Trinculo : be not afeard, 
 thy good friend Trinculo. 
 
 Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth. I'll pull 
 thee by the lesser legs : if any be Trinculo's legs, these 
 are they. Thou art very Trinculo, indeed ! How 
 cam'st thou to be the siege 1 of this moon-calf ? Can he 
 vent Trinculos? 
 
 Trin. I took him to be killed with a thunder-stroke. 
 But art thou not drowned, Stephano ? I hope now, 
 thou art not drowned. Is the storm overblown? I 
 hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaberdine for fear 
 of the storm. And art thou living, Stephano ? O 
 Stephano ! two Neapolitans 'scaped? 
 
 Ste. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about : my stomach is 
 not constant. 
 
 Cal. These be fine things, an if they be not sprites. 
 That 's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor : 
 I will kneel to him. 
 
 Ste. How didst thou 'scape ? How cam'st thou 
 hither ? swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st hither. 
 I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors heaved 
 over-board, by this bottle ! which I made of the bark 
 of a tree, with mine own hands, since I was cast 
 a-shore. 
 
 Cal. 1 '11 swear, upon that bottle, to be thy true 
 subject, for the liquor is not earthly. [Kneels* 
 
 Ste. Here : swear, then, how thou escap'dst. 
 
 Trin. Swam a-shore, man. like a duck. I can swim 
 like a duck, I '11' be sworn. 
 
 Ste. Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim 
 like a duck, thou art made like a goose. 
 
 Trin. Stephano ! hast anymore of this? 
 
 Ste. The whole butt, man : my cellar is in a rock by 
 the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now, moon 
 calf ! how does thine ague ? 
 
 i seat. Not in f. e.
 
 38 THE TEMPEST. ACT II. 
 
 Cal. Hast thou not dropped from heaven ? 
 
 Ste. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee : I was the 
 man in the moon, when time was. 
 
 Cal. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee : my 
 mistress showed me thee, and thy dog, and thy bush. 
 
 Ste. Come, swear to that ; kiss the book : I will fur- 
 nish it anon with new contents. Swear. 
 
 Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow mon- 
 ster : I afeard of him ? a very weak monster. The 
 man i' the moon ! a most poor credulous monster. 
 Well drawn, monster, in good sooth. 
 
 Cal. I '11 show thee every fertile inch o' the island ; 
 and I will kiss thy foot. I pr'ythee, be my god. 
 
 Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken 
 monster : when his god 's asleep, he '11 rob his bottle. 
 
 Cal. I '11 kiss thy foot : T '11 swear myself thy subject. 
 
 Ste. Come on, then ; down and swear. 
 
 [CALIBAN lies down. 1 
 
 Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy- 
 headed monster. A most scurvy monster : I could find 
 in my heart to beat him, 
 
 Ste. Come, kiss. 
 
 Trin. But that the poor monster 's in drink. An 
 abominable monster ! 
 
 Cal. I '11 show thee the best springs ; T '11 pluck thee 
 
 berries ; 
 
 I '11 fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. 
 A plague upon the tyrant that I serve ! 
 I '11 bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, 
 Thou wondrous man. 
 
 Trin. A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder 
 of a poor drunkard ! 
 
 Cal. I pr'ythee, let me bring thee where crabs grow ; 
 And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts; 
 Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how 
 To snare the nimble marmozet : I '11 bring thee 
 To clustering filberds, and sometimes I '11 get thee 
 Young scamels from the rock : Wilt thou go with me ? 
 
 Ste. I pr'ythee now, lead the way, without any more 
 talking. Trinculo, the king and all our company else 
 oeing drowned, we' will inherit here. Here; bear my 
 Dottle. Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill him by and by 
 again.
 
 BC. I. THE TEMPEST. oU 
 
 Cal. Farewell, master; farewell, farewell. 
 
 [Sings drunkenly, 
 
 Trin . A howling monster ; a drunken monster. 
 Cal. No more dams Til make for fish; 
 Nor fetch in firing 
 At requiring, 
 
 Nor scrape trencher, 1 nor wash dish; 
 'Ban 'Ban, Ca Caliban, 
 Has a new master Get a new man. 
 Freedom, hey-day ! hey-day, freedom ! freedom ! hey- 
 day, freedom ! 
 Ste. braVe monster ! lead the way. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. Before PROSPERO'S Cell. 
 Enter FERDINAND, bearing a log. 
 
 Fer. There be some sports are painful, and their 
 
 labour 
 
 Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness 
 Are nobly undergone ; and most poor matters 
 Point to rich ends. This my mean task 
 Would be as heavy to me, as odious ; but 
 The mistress which I serve quickens what 's dead, 
 And makes my labours pleasures : ! she is 
 Ten times more gentle than her father 's crabbed ; 
 And he 's composed of harshness. I must remove 
 Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, 
 Upon a sore injunction : my sweet mistress 
 Weeps when she sees me work ; and says, such baseness 
 Had never like executor. I forget : 
 But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours; 
 Most busy, blest 2 when I do it. 
 
 Enter MIRANDA ; and PROSPERO behind. 3 
 
 Mira. Alas ! now, pray you, 
 
 Work not so hard : 1 would, the lightning had 
 Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin' d to pile. 
 Pray, set it down, and rest you : when this burns, 
 'T will weep for having wearied you. My .father 
 Is hard at study ; pray now rest yourself : 
 He 's safe for these three hours. 
 
 1 trenchering : in f. e. 5 least : in f. e. * at a distance : in f. e.
 
 40 THE TEMPEST. ACT in. 
 
 jFer. O, most dear mistress ! 
 
 The sun will set, before I shall discharge 
 What I must strive to do. 
 
 Mira. If you'll sit down, 
 
 I '11 bear your logs the while. Pray, give me that : 
 I '11 carry it to the pile. 
 
 Per. No, precious creature : 
 
 I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, 
 Than you should such dishonour undergo, 
 While I sit lazy by. 
 
 Mira. It would become me 
 
 As well as it does you ; and I should do it 
 With much more ease, for my good will is to it, 
 And yours it is against. 
 
 Pro. Poor worm ! thou art infected ; 
 
 This visitation shows it. [Aside. 1 
 
 Mira. You look wearily. 
 
 Fer. No, noble mistress ; 't is fresh morning with me, 
 When you are by at night. I do beseech you, 
 Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers, 
 What is your name ? 
 
 Mira. Miranda. O my father ! 
 
 I have broke your hest to say so. [To herself. 
 
 Fer. Admir'd Miranda ! 
 
 Indeed, the top of admiration ; worth 
 What 's dearest to the world ! Full many a lady 
 I have ey'd with best regard ; and many a time 
 The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage 
 Brought my too diligent ear : for several virtues 
 Have I lik'd several women ; never any 
 With so full soul, but some defect in her 
 Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd, 
 And put it to the foil : but you. O you ! 
 So perfect, and so peerless, are created 
 Of every creature's best. 
 
 Mira. I do not know 
 
 One of my sex ; no woman's face remember, 
 Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I seen 
 More that I may call men, than you, good friend, 
 And my dear father. How features are abroad, 
 I am skill-less of ; but, by my modesty, 
 (The jewel in my dower) I would not wish 
 Any companion in the world but you ; 
 * Not inf. e. Not in f. e.
 
 SO. I. THE TEMPtriT. 41 
 
 Nor can imagination form a shape, 
 Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle 
 Something too wildly, and my father's precepts 
 I tin-rein do forget. 
 
 Per. I am, in my condition, 
 
 A prince, Miranda ; 1 do think, a king ; 
 (I would, not so !) and would no more endure 
 This wooden slavery, than to suffer 
 The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak : 
 The very instant that I saw you, did 
 My heart fly to your service ; there resides, 
 To make rne slave to it ; and for your sake, 
 Am I tltis patient log-man. 
 
 Mira. Do you love me ? 
 
 Fer. heaven ! earth ! bear witness to this sound. 
 And crown what I profess with kind event, 
 If I speak true ; if hollowly, invert 
 What best is boded me to mischief ! I, 
 Beyond all limit of aught 1 else i' the world, 
 Do love, prize, honour you. 
 
 Mira. I am a fool, 
 
 To weep at what I am glad of. 
 
 Pro. Fair encounter 
 
 Of two most rare affections ! Heavens rain grace 
 On that which breeds between them ! [ Aside* 
 
 Fer. Wherefore weep you? 
 
 Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer 
 What T desire to give ; and much less take, 
 What I shall die to want. But this is trifling ; 
 And all the more it seeks to hide itself, 
 The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning, 
 And prompt me, plain and holy innocence! 
 I am your wife, if you will marry me ; 
 If not, I '11 die your maid : to be your fellow 
 You may deny me ; but I 'II be your servant, 
 Whether you will or no. 
 
 Fer. My mistress, dearest, 
 
 And I thus humble ever. [Kneels.* 
 
 Mira. My husband then? 
 
 Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing [Rises.* 
 
 As bondage e'er of freedom : here 's my hand. 
 
 Mira. And mine, with my heart in 't : and now 
 farewell, 
 
 > what else : in f. e. ' * Not in f. e.
 
 42 THE TEMPEST. ACT III. 
 
 Till half an hour hence. 
 
 Fer. A thousand thousand ! [Exeunt FER. and Mm 
 Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be, 
 Who are surpris'd with all : but my rejoicing 
 At nothing can be more. I '11 to my book ; 
 For yet, ere supper time, must I perform 
 Much business appertaining. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. Another part of the Island. 
 
 Enter STEPHANO and TRINCULO ; CALIBAN following 
 
 with a bottle. 
 
 Ste. Tell not me : when the butt is out, we will 
 drink water; not a drop before : therefore bear up, and 
 board 'em. Servant-monster, drink to me. 
 
 Trin. Servant-monster? the folly of this island! 
 They say, there 's but five upon this isle : we are three 
 of them ; if the other two be brained like us, the state 
 totters. 
 
 Ste. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee : thy 
 eyes are almost set in thy head. 
 
 Trin. Where should they be set else? he were a 
 brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail. 
 
 Ste. My man-monster hath drowned his tongue in 
 sack : for my part, the sea cannot drown me : I swam, 
 ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty leagues, 
 off and on, by this light. Thou shalt be my lieutenant, 
 monster, or my standard. 
 
 Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list; he 's no standard. 
 
 Ste. We '11 not run, monsieur monster. 
 
 Trin. Nor go neither ; but you'll lie, like dogs, and 
 yet say nothing neither. 
 
 Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest 
 a good moon-calf. 
 
 Cal. How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe. 
 I '11 not serve him, he is not valiant. 
 
 Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant monster : I am in 
 sase to justle a constable. Why, thon debauched fish 
 thou, was there ever man a coward, that hath drunk 
 BO much sack as I to-day ? Wilt thou tell a monstrous 
 lie, being but half a fish, and half a monster ? 
 
 Cal. Lo, how he mocks me ! wilt thou let him, my 
 *rd? 
 
 Trin. Lord, quoth he ! that a monster should be 
 fcuch a natural f
 
 8C. H. THE TEMPEST. 43 
 
 Co.*. Lo lo. again ! bite him to death. I pr'ythee. 
 
 Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head : if 
 you prove a mutineer, the next tree The poor mon- 
 ster 's my subject, and he shall not. suffer indignity. 
 
 Cc.1. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleaa'd 
 to hearken once again to the suit I made to thee ? 
 
 Ste. Marry will I : kneel and repeat it : I will stand, 
 and so shall Trinculo. [CALIBAN kneels. 1 
 
 Enter ARIEL, invisible. 
 
 Col. As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant; 
 a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the 
 island. 
 
 Ari. Thou liest. 
 
 Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou ; 
 
 I would, my valiant master would destroy thee : 
 I do not lie. 
 
 Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in his 
 tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of your 
 teeth. 
 
 Trin. Why. I said nothing. [ceed. 
 
 Ste. Mum then, and no more. [To CALIBAN.] Pro- 
 
 Cal. I say by sorcery he got this isle ; 
 From me he got it : if thy greatness will, 
 Revenge it on him for, I know, thou dar'st ; 
 But this thing dare not. 
 
 Ste. That 's most certain. 
 
 Cal. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I '11 serve thee. 
 
 Ste. How, now, shall this be compassed ? Canst 
 thou bring me to the party ? 
 
 Cal. Yea, yea, my lord : I '11 yield him thee asleep, 
 Where thou may'st knock a nail into his head. 
 
 Ari. Thou liest j thou canst not. 
 
 Cal. What a pied 2 ninny 's this ! Thou scurvy patch ! 
 I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows, 
 And take his bottle from him : when that 's gone, 
 He shall drink nought but brine ; for I'll not show him 
 Where the quick freshes are. 
 
 Ste. Trinculo, run into no farther danger : interrupt 
 the monster one word farther, and, by this hand, I '11 
 turn my mercy out of doors, and make a stock-fish of 
 thee. 
 
 1 Not in f e. 2 Dressed in motley, this expression and " patch" 
 were epithets often applied to fools. Trinculo, as " a jester," would 
 he t) as attired.
 
 44 THE TEMPEST. ACT m. 
 
 Trin. Why, what did I ? I did nothing I '11 go 
 farther off. 
 
 Ste. Didst thou not say, he lied ? 
 
 Ari. Thou liest. 
 
 Ste. Do I so ? take thou that. [Strikes htm.] As 
 you like this, give me the lie another time. 
 
 Trin. I did not give the lie. Out o 1 your wits, and 
 hearing too ? A pox o' your bottle ! this can sack, and 
 drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and the 
 
 devil take your fingers ! 
 Cal. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Ha, ha, ha 
 
 Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Pr'ythee stand 
 farther off. 
 
 Cal. Beat him enough : after a little time, 
 I'll beat him too. 
 
 Ste. Stand farther. Come, proceed. 
 
 Cal. Why, as I told thee. 't is a custom with him 
 I' the afternoon to sleep : then thou may'st brain him, 
 Having first seiz'd his books : or with a log 
 Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, 
 Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember, 
 First to possess his books ; for without them 
 He 's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not 
 One spirit to command : they all do hate him, 
 As rooted ly as I. Burn but his books ; 
 He has brave utensils, (for so he calls them) 
 Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal : 
 And that most deeply to consider is 
 The beauty of his daughter ; he himself 
 Calls her a nonpareil : I never saw a woman, 
 But only Sycorax my dam, and she; 
 But she as far surpasseth Sycorax, 
 As great'st does least. 
 
 Ste. Is it so brave a lass ? 
 
 Cal. Ay, lord ; she will become thy bed, I warrant, 
 And bring thee forth brave brood. 
 
 Ste. Monster. I will kill this man : his daughter and 
 I will be king and queen ; (save our graces !) and 
 Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys. Dost thou 
 like the plot, Trinculo ? 
 
 Trin. Excellent. 
 
 Ste. Give me thy hand : I am sorry I beat thee ; but, 
 while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head. 
 
 Cal Within this half hour will he be asleep ;
 
 SC. II. THE TEMPEST. 45 
 
 Wilt thou destroy him then "r 
 
 Ste. Ay, on mine honour. 
 
 Ari. This will I tell my master. 
 
 Cal. Thou mak'st me merry : I am full of pleasure 
 Let us be jocund : will you troll the catch 
 You taught me but while-ere ? 
 
 Ste. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any 
 
 reason. Come on. Trinculo, let us sing. [S^ngs. 
 
 Flout 'em, and scout 'em ; and scout 'em, and 
 
 flout 'em ; 
 Thought is free. 
 
 Cal. That 's not the tune. 
 
 [ARIEL plays a tune on a Tabor and Pipe. 
 
 Ste. What is this same ? 
 
 Trin. This is the tune of our catch, played by the 
 picture of No-body. 
 
 Ste. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy like- 
 ness : if thou beest a devil, take 't as thou list. 
 
 Trin. 0, forgive me my sins ! 
 
 Ste. He that dies, pays all debts : I defy thee. 
 Mercy upon us ! 
 
 Cal. Art thou afeard ? 
 
 Ste. No, monster, not I. 
 
 Cal. Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises, 
 Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt 
 
 not. ' 
 
 Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments 
 Will hum about mine ears ; and sometimes 1 voices, 
 That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep, 
 Will make me sleep again : and then, in dreaming, 
 The clouds, methought, would open, and show riches 
 Ready to drop upon me, that when I wak'd 
 I cry'd to dream again. 
 
 Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where 
 I shall have my music for nothing. 
 
 Cal. When Prospero is destroyed. 
 
 Ste. That shall be by and by : I remember the story. 
 
 Trin. The sound is going away : let 's follow it, and 
 after do our work. 
 
 Ste. Lead, monster ; we '11 follow. I would, I could 
 fee this taborer : he lays it on. 
 
 Trin. Wilt come ? I '11 follow, Stephano. [Exeunt
 
 46 THE TEMPEST. ACT IK. 
 
 SCENE III. Another part of the Island. 
 
 Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, 
 
 ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and Others. 
 
 Gon. By'r la'kin. 1 I can go no farther, sir ; 
 My old bones ake : here's a maze trod, indeed, 
 Through forth-rights, and meanders! by your patience 
 I needs must rest me. 
 
 Alon. Old lord, I cannot blame thee, 
 
 Who am myself attach'd with weariness, 
 To the dulling of my spirits : sit down, and rest. 
 Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it 
 No longer for my flatterer : he is drown'd, 
 Whom thus we stray to find : and the sea mocks 
 Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go. 
 
 Ant. I am right glad that he ; s so out of hope. 
 
 [Aside to SEBASTIAN. 
 
 Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose 
 That you resolv'd to effect. 
 
 Seb. The next advantage 
 
 Will we take thoroughly. 
 
 Ant. Let it be to-night ; 
 
 For now they are oppress'd with travel, they 
 Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance, 
 As when they are fresh. 
 
 Seb. I say, to-night : no more. 
 
 [Solemn and strange mimic ; and PROSPERO above, invis- 
 ible. Enter several strange Shapes, bringing in a 
 
 banquet : they dance about it with gentle actions of 
 
 salutations; and, inviting the King, tyc. to eat, they 
 
 depart.] 
 
 Alon. What harmony is thrs? my good friends, hark ! 
 
 Gon. Marvellous sweet music ! 
 
 Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens ! What wer 
 these ? 
 
 Seb. A living drollery. Now I will believe 
 That there are unicorns ; that in Arabia 
 There is one tree, the phoenix' throne j one pho3nix 
 At this hour reigning there. 
 
 Ant. I'll believe both ; 
 
 And what does else want credit, come to me 
 And I '11 be sworn 't is true : travellers ne'er did lie, 
 Though fools at home condemn them. 
 
 ' BV our h^y-kin.
 
 EC. III. THE TEMPEST. 47 
 
 Gon. If in Naples 
 
 I should report ihis now. would they believe me ? 
 If I should say, I saw such islanders, 
 (For, certes, these are people of the island) 
 Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note, 
 Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of 
 Our human generation you shall find 
 Many, nay. almost any. 
 
 Pro. [Aside.] Honest lord, 
 
 Thou hast said well : for some of you there present, 
 Are worse than devils. 
 
 Aim. I cannot too much muse, [ing 
 
 Such shapes, such gestures, 1 and such sounds, 2 express- 
 (Although they want the use of tongue) a kind 
 Of excellent dumb discourse. 
 
 Pro. [Aside] Praise in departing. 
 
 Fran. They vanish'd strangely. 
 
 Seb. No matter, since 
 
 They have left their viands behind, for we have sto- 
 machs. 
 Will 't please you taste of what is here ? 
 
 Aim. Not I. 
 
 Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were 
 
 boys, 
 
 Who would believe that there were mountaineers 
 Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at 
 
 them 
 
 Wallets of flesh ? or that there were such men, 
 Whose heads stood in their breasts ? which now, we find, 
 Each putter-out of five for one 3 will bring us 
 Good warrant of. 
 
 Alon. I will stand to, and feed, 
 
 Although my last : no matter, since I feel 
 The best is past. Brother, my lord the duke, 
 Stand to, and do as we. 
 Thunder and lightning. Enter ARIEL, like a harpy, 
 
 claps his wings upon the table, and. with a quaint 
 
 device, the banquet vanishes. 
 
 Ari. You are three men of sin, whom destiny 
 (That hath to instrument this lower world, 
 And what is in ; t) the never-surfeited sea 
 
 gesture : in f. e. 2 sound : in f. e. 3 A custom of old traveller! 
 to put out a sum of money at interest, at the outset of a journey 
 for which they received at the rate of five to one, if they returned
 
 48 THE TEMPEST. ACT III. 
 
 Hath caused to belch up, and on this island 
 Where man doth not inhabit; you 'mongst men 
 Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad : 
 And even with such like valour men hang and drown 
 Their proper selves. You fools ! I and my fellows 
 Are ministers of fate : the elements, 
 
 [ALON., SEB., fyc., draw their Swo f is.' 
 Of whom your swords are temper'd. may as well 
 Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs 
 Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish 
 One dowle 3 that 's in my plume : my fellow-ministers 
 Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt, 
 Your swords are now too massy for your strengths, 
 And will not be uplifted. But, remember, 
 (For that 's my business to you) that you three 
 From Milan did supplant good Prospero; 
 Expos'd unto the sea (which hath requit it) 
 Him, and his innocent child : for which foul deed 
 The powers, delaying not forgetting, have 
 Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, 
 Against your peace. Thee, of thy son, Alonso, 
 They have bereft ; and do pronounce by me, 
 Lingering perdition (worse than any death 
 Can be at once) shall step by step attend 
 You, and your ways ; whose wraths to guard you from 
 (Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls 
 Upon your heads) is nothing, but heart's sorrow, 
 And a clear life ensuing. 
 He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft, music, enter the 
 
 Shapes again, and dance with mocks and mowes, and 
 
 carry out the table. 
 
 Pro. [ Above.*] Bravely the figure of this harpy i>st 
 
 thou 
 
 Perform'd, my Ariel ; a grace it had, devouring. 
 Of my instruction hast thou nothing 'bated, 
 In what thou hadst to say : so, with good life 
 And observation strange, my meaner ministers 
 Their several kinds have done. My high charms v o/k, 
 And these, mine enemies, are all knit up 
 In their distractions : they now are in my power ; 
 And in these fits I leave them, while I visit 
 
 ' f. e. insert here this direction : Seeing ALON., SKB., $Y., drnv 
 tkr-.r Swords. ' Omitted in f. e. A ftather or particle of rf*,w 
 Atide : in I", e.
 
 SC. I. THE TKMTEST. 49 
 
 Young Fe 'din and, (whom they suppose is drown'd) 
 And his and my lov'd darling. [Exit PROSPERO. 
 
 Gon. P the name of something holy, sir, why stand you 
 In this strange stare? 
 
 Alon. 0, it is monstrous ! monstrous ! 
 
 Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it ; 
 The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder, 
 That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd 
 The name of Prosper : it did base my trespass. 
 Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded ; and 
 I ; 11 seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded. 
 And with him there lie mudded. [Exit. 
 
 Seb. But one fiend at a time, 
 
 I '11 fight their legions o'er. 
 
 Ant. I '11 be thy second. [Exeunt SEB. and ANT. 
 
 Gon. All three of them are desperate : their great guilt. 
 Like poison given to work a great time after, 
 Now 'gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you, 
 That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly, 
 And hinder them from what this ecstasy 
 May now provoke them to. 
 
 Adr. Follow, I pray you. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. Before PROSPERO'S Cell. 
 Enter PROSPERO, FERDINAND, and MIRANDA. 
 
 Pro. If I have too austerely pumsh'd you, 
 Your compensation makes amends ; for I 
 Have given you here a thread 1 of mine own life, 
 Or that for which I live : whom once again 
 I tender to thy hand. All thy vexations 
 Were but my trials of thy love, and thou 
 Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven, 
 I ratify this my rich gift ! Ferdinand ! 
 Do not smile at me that I boast her off, 
 For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, 
 And make it halt behind her. 
 
 Fcr. , I do believe it, 
 
 Against an oracle. 
 
 Pro. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition 
 1 third : in f. e*
 
 50 THE TEMPEST. ACT IV, 
 
 Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter: but 
 If thou dost break her virgin knot before 
 All sanctimonious ceremonies may, 
 With full and holy rite, be minister'd, 
 No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall 
 To make this contract grow ; but barren hate, 
 Sour-eyed disdain, and discord, shall bestrew 
 The union of your bed with weeds so loathly, 
 That you shall hate it both : therefore, take heed, 
 As Hymen's lamps shall light you. 
 
 Fer. As I hope 
 
 For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, 
 With such love as 't is now, the murkiest den, 
 The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion 
 Our worser genius can. shall never melt 
 Mine honour into lust, to take away 
 The edge of that day's celebration, 
 When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd, 
 Or night kept chain'd below. 
 
 Pro. Fairly spoke. 
 
 Sit then and talk with her ; she is thine own. 
 What, Ariel ! my industrious servant Ariel ! 
 Enter ARIEL. 
 
 Ari. What would my potent master ? here I am. 
 
 Pro. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service 
 Did worthily perform, and I must use you 
 In such another trick. Go, bring the rabble, 
 O'er whom I give thee power, here, to this place: 
 Incite them to quick motion ; for I must 
 Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple 
 Some vanity of mine art : it is my promise, 
 And they expect it from me. 
 
 Ari. Presently ? 
 
 Pro. Ay. with a twink. 
 
 Ari. Before you can say, " Come," and " go," 
 And breathe twice; and cry, "so so;" 
 Each one, tripping on his toe, 
 Will be here with mop and mow. 
 Do you love me, master? no? 
 
 Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach, 
 Till thou dost hear me call. 
 
 Ari. Well I conceive. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. Look, thou be true. Do not give dalliance 
 Too much the rein . the strongest oaths are straw
 
 8C. I. THE TEMPEST. 51 
 
 To the fire i' the blood. Be more abstemious, 
 Or else, good night, your vow. 
 
 Per. I warrant you, sir ; 
 
 The white-cold virgin snow upon my heart 
 Abates the ardour of my liver. 
 
 Pro. Well. 
 
 Now come, my Ariel .' bring a corollary, 1 
 Rather than want a spirit : appear, and pertly. 8 
 No tongue, all eyes: be silent. [Soft music, 
 
 A Masque. Enter IRIS. 
 
 Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas 
 Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas; 
 Thy tv.rfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, 
 And fldt meads thatch'd with stover, 3 them to keep ; 
 Thy banks with pioned* and tilled 5 brims, 
 Which spongy April at thy hest betrims, 
 To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and thy brown* 
 
 groves, 
 
 Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, 
 Being lass-lorn ; thy pole-clipt vineyard ; 
 And thy sea-marge, steril, and rocky-hard, 
 Where thou thyself dost air; the queen o' the sky, 
 Whose watery arch and messenger am I, 
 Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign grace, 
 Here on this grass-plot, in this very place, 
 
 [Juno descends slowly. 1 
 
 To come and sport. Her peacocks fly amain : 
 Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. 
 Enter CERES. 
 
 Cer. Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er 
 Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter ; 
 Who with thy saffron wings upon my flowers 
 Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers; 
 And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown 
 My bosky acres, and my unshrubb'd down, 
 Rich scarf to my proud earth ; why hath thy queen 
 Sumrnon'd me hither, to this short-graz'd green ? 
 
 Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate, 
 And some donation freely to estate 
 On the bless'd lovers. 
 
 Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow, 
 
 l Surplusage. * pertly quickly, skilfully. 3 Coarse grass, used 
 sometimes for covering Linn-buildings. 4 pion to dig twilled : 
 inf. e. 6 broom : in f. e. 'This direction is omitted in most modern 
 sditions ; " slowly" is added in the MS., 1632.
 
 52 THE TEMPEST. ACT IV 
 
 If Venus, or her son, as thou dost know, 
 Do now attend the queen ? since they did plot 
 The means that dusky Dis my daughter got, 
 Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company 
 T have forsworn. 
 
 Iris. Of her society 
 
 Be not afraid : I met her deity 
 Cutting the clouds towards Paphos, and her sou 
 Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done 
 Some wanton charm upon this man and maid, 
 Whose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid 
 Till Hymen's torch be lighted; but in vain: 
 Mars' hot minion is return' d again ; 
 Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, 
 Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows, 
 And be a boy right out. 
 
 Cer. Highest queen of state, 
 
 Great Juno comes : I know her by her gait. 
 
 Enter JUNO. 
 
 Jun. How does my bounteous sister ? Go with me, 
 To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, 
 And honour d in their issue. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Juno. Honour, riches, marriage, blessing, 
 Long continuance, and increasing, 
 Hourly joys be still upon you ! 
 Juno sings her blessings on you. 1 
 Earth" 1 s increase, foison plenty, 
 Barns, and garners never empty ; 
 Vines, with clustering bunches growing ; 
 Plants, with goodly burden bowing ; 
 Rain* come to you, at the farthest, 
 In the very end of harvest ! 
 Scarcity and want shall shun you ; 
 Ceres' blessing so is on you. 
 Per. This is a most majestic vision, and 
 Harmonious charmingly. May I be bold 
 To think these spirits ? 
 
 Pro. Spirits, which by mine art 
 
 1 have from their oonfines call'd to enact 
 My present fancies 
 Per. Let me live here ever : 
 
 1 In f. e. the remainder ot' the song is given to Ceres. Spring
 
 THE TEMI'EST. 
 
 53 
 
 So rare a wonder'd father, and a wife, 1 
 Makes this place Paradise. 
 
 [JUNO and CERES whisper, and send IRIS on employment. 
 Pro. Sweet now, silence ! 
 Juno and Ceres whisper seriously; 
 There's something else to do. Hush, and be mute, 
 Or else our spell is marr ; d. 
 
 Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the -winding 
 
 brooks, 
 
 With your sedge 2 crowns, and ever harmless looks, 
 Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land 
 Answer your summons : Juno does command. 
 Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate 
 A contract of true love : be not too late. 
 
 Enter certain Nymphs. 
 
 You sun-burn'd sicklemen, of August weary, 
 Come hither from the furrow, and be merry. 
 Make holy-day : your rye-straw hats put on, 
 And these fresh nymphs encounter every one 
 In country footing. 
 
 Enter certain Reapers, properly habited : they join with 
 the Nymphs in a graceful dance ; towards the end where- 
 of PROS, starts suddenly, and speaks ; after which, to a 
 strange, hollow, and confused noise, they heavily vanish. 
 Pro. [Asid^.] I had forgot that foul conspiracy 
 Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates, 
 Against my life ; the minute of their plot 
 Is almost come. [To the Spirits.] Well done. 
 
 Avoid ; no more. 
 
 Fer. This is strange : your father 's in some passion 
 That works him strongly. 
 
 Mira. Never till this day, 
 
 Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. 
 Pro. You do look, my sonj in a mov'd sort, 
 As if you were dismay'd : be cheerful, sir. 
 Our revels now are ended. These our actors, 
 As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
 Are melted into air, into thin air: 
 And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
 The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, 
 And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
 
 1 wise : in f. e. 2 sedg'd : in f. e. 
 VOL. i. 18
 
 54 THE TEMPEST. ACT IV. 
 
 Leave not a rack 1 behind. We are such stuff 
 
 As dreams are made on, and our little Hie 
 
 Is rounded with a sleep. Sir. I am vex'd : 
 
 Bear with my weakness ; my old brain is troubled : 
 
 Be not disturb'd with my infirmity. 
 
 If you be pleas'd retire into my cell, 
 
 And there repose : a turn or two I '11 walk, 
 
 To still my beating mind. 
 
 Fer. Mira. We wish your peace. [Exeunt. 
 
 Pro. Come with a thought ! I thank thee. Ariel, 
 come ! 
 
 Enter ARIEL. 
 
 Art. Thy thoughts I cleave to. What 's thy pleasure ? 
 
 Pro. Spirit, 
 
 We must prepare to meet with Caliban. 
 
 Ari. Ay, my commander : when I presented Ceres, 
 I thought to have told thee of it ; but I fear'd 
 Lest I might anger thee. 
 
 Pro. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets ? 
 
 Ari. I told you. sir, they were red-hot with drinking : 
 So full of valour, that they smote the air 
 For breathing in their faces ; beat the ground 
 For kissing of their feet, yet always bending 
 Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor, 
 At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears, 
 Advanc'd their eye-lids, lifted up their noses, 
 As they smelt music : so I charm'd their ears, 
 That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'd, through 
 Tooth' d briers, sharp furzes, pricking gorse, and thorns, 
 Which enter'd their frail skins : at last I left them 
 F the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell, 
 There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake 
 O'erstunk their feet. 
 
 Pro. This was well done, my bird, 
 
 Thy shape invisible retain thou still : 
 The trumpery in my house, go, bring it hither, 
 For stale' to catch these thieves. 
 
 Ari. I go, I go. [Exit 
 
 Pro. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature 
 Nurture never can stick ; on whom my pains, 
 Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost ; 
 And as with age his body uglier grows, 
 So his mind cankers. I will plague them all, 
 
 1 A vapor, from reek. * shins : in f e. .4 decoy.
 
 EC. 1. THE TEMPEST. 55 
 
 Re-enter ARIEL, loadcn with glistering apparel, fyc. 
 Kven to roaring. Come, hang them on this line. 
 
 ARIEL hangs them on the line, and with PROSPERO 
 remains unseen. 1 
 
 Enter CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO, all wet. 
 
 Cal. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may 
 
 not 
 Hear a foot fall : we now are near his cell. 
 
 Ste. Monster, your fairy, which, you say, is a harm- 
 less fairy, has done little better than played the Jack* 
 with us. 
 
 Trin. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss, at which 
 my nose is in great indignation. 
 
 Ste. So is mine. Do you hear, monster ? If I should 
 take a displeasure against you ; look you, 
 
 Trin. Thou wert but a lost monster. 
 
 Cal. Good my lord, give me thy favour still. 
 Be patient, for the prize I '11 bring thee to 
 Shall hood- wink this mischance : therefore, speak softly; 
 All 's hush'd as midnight yet. 
 
 Trin. Ay. but to lose our bottles in the pool, 
 
 Ste. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in 
 that, monster, but an infinite loss. 
 
 Trin. That 's more to me than my wetting : yet this 
 is your harmless fairy, monster. 
 
 Ste. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er ears 
 for my labour. 
 
 Cal. Pr'ythee, my king, be quiet. Seest thou here ? 
 This is the mouth o' the cell : no noise, and enter : 
 Do that good mischief, which may make this island 
 Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, 
 For aye thy foot-licker. 
 
 Ste. Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody 
 thoughts. 
 
 Trin. king Stephano ! peer ! worthy Ste- 
 phano ! look, what a wardrobe here is for thee ! 
 
 [Seeing the apparel* 
 
 Cal. Let it alone, thou fool : it is but trash. 
 
 Trin. O, ho, monster ! we know what belongs lo a 
 frippery. 4 king Stephano ! 
 
 Ste. Put oil' that gown, Trinculo: by this hand, 1 : 11 
 have that gown. 
 
 1 f. e. ha ve only th direction, PROSI-ERO and ARIEL remain 
 Jack o' lantern. => Not in f. e. * An old c/o' shop.
 
 56 THE TEMPEST. ACT IV 
 
 Trin. Thy grace shall have it. 
 
 Cal. The dropsy drown this fool ! what do you mean, 
 To doat thus on such luggage? Let 't alone, 
 And do the murder first : if he awake, 
 From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches ; 
 Make us strange stuff. 
 
 Ste. Be you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is not 
 this my jerkin? Now is the jerkin under the line: 
 now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and prove 
 a bald jerkin. 
 
 Trin. Do, do : we steal by line and leve), and 't like 
 your grace. 
 
 Ste. I thank thee for that jest ; here 7 s a garment 
 for 't : wit shall not go unrewarded, while 1 am king of 
 this country. " Steal by line and level," is an excel- 
 lent pass of pate ; there 's another garment for 't. 
 
 Trin. Monster, come ; put some lime upon your 
 fingers, and away with the rest. 
 
 Cal. I will have none on 't : we shall lose our time, 
 And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes 
 With foreheads villainous low. 
 
 Ste. Monster, lay-to your fingers : help to bear this 
 away where my hogshead of wine is. or I '11 turn you 
 out of my kingdom. Go to ; carry this. 
 
 Trin. And this. 
 
 Ste. Ay, and this. 
 [A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in 
 
 shape of hounds, and hunt them about ; PROSPERO 
 
 ana ARIEL setting them on.] 
 
 Pro. Hey, Mountain, hey ! 
 
 Ari. Silver ! there it goes, Silver ! 
 
 Pro. Fury, Fury ! there, Tyrant, there ! hark, hark ! 
 [CAL., STE., and TRIN. are driven out. 
 Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joints 
 With dry convulsions ; shorten up their sinews 
 With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them. 
 Than pard, or cat o' mountain. [Cries and roaring. 
 
 Ari. Hark ! they roar. 
 
 Pro. Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour 
 Lie at my mercy all mine enemies : 
 Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou 
 Shalt have the air at freedom : for a little, 
 Follow, and do me service. [Exeunt 
 
 Not in f. e.
 
 SO. 1. THE TEMPEST. 57 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. Before the Cell of PROSPERO. 
 Enter PROSPERO in his magic robes ; and ARIEL. 
 
 Pro. Now does my project gather to a head : 
 My charms crack not, my spirits obey, and time 
 Goes upright with his carriage. How 's the day ? 
 
 Ari. On the sixth hour ; at which time, my lord, 
 You said our work should cease. 
 
 Pro. I did say so, 
 
 When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit, 
 How fares the king and 's followers ? 
 
 Ari. Confin'd together 
 
 In the same fashion as you gave in charge; 
 Just as you left them : all prisoners, sir, 
 In the line'-grove which weather-fends your cell; 
 They cannot budge till your release. The king, 
 His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted, 
 And the remainder mourning over them, 
 Brim-full of sorrow, and dismay ; but chiefly 
 Him that you term'd, sir, the good old lord, Gonzalo : 
 His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops 
 From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works 
 
 them, 
 
 That if you now beheld them, your affections 
 Would become tender. 
 
 Pro. Dost thou think so, spirit ? 
 
 Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human. 
 
 Pro. And mine shall. 
 
 Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling 
 Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, 
 One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, 
 Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art? 
 Tho' with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick) 
 Yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury 
 Do I take part. The rarer action is 
 In virtue, than in vengeance : they being penitent, 
 The sole drift of my purpose doth extend 
 Not a frown farther. Go ; release them, Ariel. 
 My charms I '11 break, their senses I '11 restore, 
 And they shall be themselves. 
 
 Ari. I'll fetch them, sir. [Exit, 
 
 i The old word for lime.
 
 58 THE 1EMPEST. ACT V. 
 
 Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and 
 
 groves; 
 
 And ye, that on the sands with printless foot 
 Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him, 
 When he comes back ; you demy-puppets, that 
 By moonshine do the green-sward 1 ringlets make, 
 Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime 
 Is to make midnight mushrooms ; that rejoice 
 To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid 
 (Weak masters though ye be) I have be-dimm'd 
 The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, 
 And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault 
 Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder 
 Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak 
 With his own bolt : the strong-bas'd promontory 
 Have I made shake; and by the spurs pluck'd up 
 The pine and cedar : graves, at my command, 
 Have waked their sleepers ; oped, and let them forth 
 By my so potent art. But this rough magic 
 I here abjure; and, when I have requir'd 
 Some heavenly music, (which even now I do) 
 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 '11 drown my book. [Solemn music. 
 
 Re-enter ARIEL : after him ALONSO, with a frantic 
 gesture, attended by GONZALO; SEBASTIAN and AN- 
 TONIO in like manner, attended by ADRIAN and 
 FRANCISCO : they all enter the circle which PROSPERO 
 had made, and there stand charmed; which PROSPERO 
 observing, speaks. 
 
 A solemn air, and the best comforter 
 To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains. 
 Now useless, boil'd within thy skull ! There stand, 
 For you are spell-stopp'd. 
 Noble* Gonzalo. honourable man, 
 Mine eyes, even sociable to the flow 3 of thine, 
 Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace; 
 And as the morning steals upon the night, 
 Melting the darkness, so their rising senses 
 Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 
 Their clearer reason. good Gonzalo ! 
 
 1 green-sour : in f. e. ' Holy it f. e. ' show : in f.
 
 SC. T. THE TEMPEST. 59 
 
 My true preserver, and a loyal servant 1 
 To him thou follow'st, I will pay thy graces 
 Home, both in word and deed. Most cruelly 
 Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter : 
 Thy brother was a furtherer in the act ; 
 Thou 'rt pinch' d for 't now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood, 
 You brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, 
 Expell'd remorse and nature ; who, with Sebastian, 
 (Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong) 
 Would here have kill'd your king; I do forgive thee, 
 Unnatural though thou art. Their understanding 
 Begins to swell, and the approaching tide 
 Will shortly fill the reasonable shores, 
 That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them, 
 That yet looks on me, e'er 2 would know me. Ariel, 
 Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell ; [Exit ARIEL. 
 I will dis-case me, and myself present, 
 As I was sometime Milan. Quickly, spirit; 
 Thou shalt ere long be free. 
 
 ARIEL re-enters singing, and helps to attire PROSPERO. 
 Ari. Where the bee sucks, there suck I; 
 In a cowslip's bell I lie : 
 There I couch. When owls do cry, 
 On the bat' shack I do fly, 
 After summer, merrily: 
 Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 
 Pro. Why, that 's my dainty Ariel ! I shall miss thee ; 
 But yet thou shalt have freedom : so, so, so. 
 To the king's ship, invisible as thou art : 
 There shalt thou find the mariners asleep 
 Under the hatches ; the master, and the boatswain, 
 Being awake, enforce them to this place, 
 And presently, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Ari. I drink the air before me, and return 
 Or e'er your pulse twice beat. [Exit ARIEL. 
 
 Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement 
 Inhabit here : some heavenly power guide us 
 Out of this fearful country ! 
 
 Pro. [Attired as Duke.*] Behold, sir king, 
 The wronged duke of Milan, Prospero. 
 For more assurance that a living prince 
 Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body ; 
 1 sil : in f. e. or : in f. e. Not in f. e.
 
 60 THE TEMPEST. ACT V 
 
 And to thee, and thy company, I bid 
 A hearty welcome. 
 
 Alon. Whe'r thou beest he, or no, 
 
 Or some enchanted devil 1 to abuse me, 
 As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse 
 Beats as of flesh and blood ; and, since I saw thee, 
 Th' affliction of my mind amends, with which. 
 I fear, a madness held me. This must crave 
 (An if this be at all) a most strange story. 
 Thy dukedom I resign ; and do entreat 
 Thou pardon me thy wrongs. But how should Prosperc 
 Be living, and be here ? 
 
 Pro. First, noble friend, 
 
 Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot 
 Be measur'd, or confin'd. 
 
 Gon. Whether this be, 
 
 Or be not, I '11 not swear. 
 
 Pro. ' You do yet taste 
 
 Some subtleties o' the isle, that will not let you 
 Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all. 
 But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, 
 
 [Aside to SEE. and ANT 
 
 I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you, 
 And justify you traitors : at this time 
 I will tell no tales. 
 
 Seb. [Aside.] The devil speaks in him. 
 
 Pro. No. 
 
 For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother 
 Would even infect my mouth. I do forgive 
 Thy rankest faults 5 ; all of them ; and require 
 My dukedom of thee, which, perforce, I know 
 Thou must restore. 
 
 Alon. If thou beest Prospero, 
 
 Give us particulars of thy preservation : 
 How thou hast met us here, who three hours since 
 Were wreck'd upon this shore ; where I have lost, 
 (How sharp the point of this remembrance is !) 
 My dear son Ferdinand. 
 
 Pro. I am woe for 't, sir. 
 
 Alon. Irreparable is the loss, and patience 
 Says it is past her cure. 
 
 Pro. I rather think, 
 
 You have not sought her help of whose soft grace,
 
 SO. I. THE TEMPEST. 61 
 
 For th 3 like loss I have her sovereign aid, 
 And rest myself content. 
 
 Alon. You the like loss ? 
 
 Pro. As great to me, as late ; and, supportable 
 To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker 
 Than you may call to comfort you, for I 
 Have lost my daughter. 
 
 Alon. A daughter ? 
 
 () heavens ! that they were living both in Naples, 
 The king and queen there ! that they were, I wish 
 Myself were muddcd in that oozy bed 
 Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughtc r ? 
 
 Pro. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords 
 At this encounter do so much admire, 
 That they devour their reason, and scarce think 
 Their eyes do offices of truth, their words 
 Are natural breath ; but, howsoe'er you have 
 Been justled from your senses, know for certain, 
 That I am Prospero, and that very duke 
 Which was thrust forth of Milan ; who most strangely 
 Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was landed, 
 To be the lord on 't. No more yet of this ; 
 For 't is a chronicle of day by day, 
 Not a relation for a breakfast, nor 
 Befitting this first meeting. 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. 
 
 PROSPERO draws a curtain, 1 and discovers FERDINAND 
 and MIRANDA playing at chess. 
 
 Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false. 
 
 Fer. No, my dearest love, 
 
 1 would not for the world. 
 
 Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should 
 
 wrangle, 
 And I would call it fair play. 
 
 A Ion. If this prove 
 
 A vision of the island, one dear son 
 Shall I twice lose. 
 
 Seb. A most high miracle ! 
 
 1 The entrance of the celt opens, and : in f. e.
 
 62 THE TEMPEST. ACT V 
 
 Fer. Though the seas threaten they are merciful : 
 I have curs'd them -without cause. [Kneels to ALON 
 
 Aim. Now, all the blessings 
 
 Of a glad father compass thee about ! 
 Arise, and say how thou cam'st here. 
 
 Mira. 0, wonder ! 
 
 How many goodly creatures are there here ! 
 How beauteous mankind is ! 0, brave new world. 
 That has such people in't ! 
 
 Pro. 'T is new to thee. 
 
 Aim,. What is this maid, with whom thou wast at 
 
 play? 
 
 Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours : 
 Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us, 
 And brought us thus together ? 
 
 Fer. Sir, she is mortal ; 
 
 But, by immortal providence, she 's mine : 
 I chose her, when I could not ask my father 
 For his advice, nor thought I had one. She 
 Is daughter to this famous duke of Milan, 
 Of whom so often I have heard renown, 
 But never saw before ; of whom I have 
 Received a second life, and second father 
 This lady makes him to me. 
 
 Alon. I am hers. 
 
 But ! how oddly will it sound, that I 
 Must ask my child forgiveness. 
 
 Pro. There, sir, stop : 
 
 Let us not burden our remembrances 
 With a heaviness that 's gone. 
 
 Gon. I have inly wept, 
 
 Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods. 
 And on this couple drop a blessed crown, 
 For it is you that have chalk' d forth the way, 
 Which brought us hither ! 
 
 Alon. I say. Amen, Gonzalo. 
 
 Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue 
 Should become kings of Naples ? ! rejoice 
 Beyond a common joy, and set it down 
 With gold on lasting pillars. In one voyage 
 Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis ; 
 And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife, 
 Where he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom, 
 tn a poor isle ; and all of us, ourselves,
 
 60. I. THE TEMPEST. 63 
 
 When no man was his own. 
 
 Alan. Give me your hands : [To FER. .md Mm. 
 Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart, 
 That doth not wish you joy ! 
 
 Gon. Be it so : Amen. 
 
 Re-enter ARIEL, with the Master and Boatswain 
 amazedly following. 
 
 look, sir ! look, sir ! here are more of us. 
 
 1 prophesied, if a gallows were on land, 
 
 This fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy, 
 That swear' st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore? 
 Hast thou no mouth by land ? What is the news? 
 
 Boats. The best news is, that we have safely found 
 Our king, and company : the next, our ship, 
 Which but three glasses since we gave out split, 
 Is tight, and yare, and bravely rigg'd, as when 
 We first put out to sea. 
 
 Ari. Sir, all this service [Aside. 
 
 Have I done since I went. 
 
 Pro. My tricksy spirit ! [Aside. 
 
 AJon. These are not natural events ; they strengthen 
 From strange to stranger. Say, how came you hither? 
 
 Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, 
 I 'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, 
 And (how we know not) all clapp'd under hatches, 
 Where, but even now. with strange and several noises 
 Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains. 
 And more diversity of sounds, all horrible, 
 We were awak'd ; straightway, at liberty : 
 Where weT in all her trim, freshly beheld 
 Our royal, good, and gallant ship ; our master 
 Capering to eye her : on a trice, so please you, 
 Even in a dream, were we divided from them, 
 And were'brought moping hither. 
 
 Ari. Was 't well done ? ) 
 
 Pro. Bravely, my diligence ! Thou shalt \ Aside. 
 be free. ) 
 
 Alon. This is as strange a maze as e ; er men trod; 
 And there is in this business more than nature 
 Was ever conduct of : some oracle 
 Must rectify our knowledge. 
 
 Pro. Sir. my liege, 
 
 Do not infest your mind with beating on 
 The strangeness of this business : at pick'd leisure,
 
 64 THE TEMPEST. ACT V. 
 
 Which shall be shortly, single I '11 resolve you 
 (Which to you shall seem probable) of every 
 These happcn'd accidents ; till when, be cheerful. 
 And think of each thing well. Come hither, spirit : 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Set Caliban and his companions free; 
 Untie the spell. [Ex. ARIEL.] How fares my gracioui 
 
 r? 
 
 sir.' 
 
 There are yet missing of your company 
 Some few odd lads, that you remember not. 
 Re-enter ARIEL, driving in CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and 
 TRINCULO, in their stolen apparel. 
 
 Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man 
 take care for himself, for all is but fortune. Coragio ! 
 bully-monster, coragio ! 
 
 Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in my 
 head, here 's a goodly sight. 
 
 Cal. Setebos ! these be brave spirits, indeed. 
 How fine my master is ! I am afraid 
 He will chastise me. 
 
 Seb. Ha, ha ! 
 
 What things are these, my lord Antonio ? 
 Will money buy them ? 
 
 Ant. Very like : one of them 
 
 Is a plain fish, and. no doubt, marketable. 
 
 Pro. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords 
 Then say. if they be true. This mis-shapen knave, 
 His mother was a witch ; and one so strong 
 That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, 
 And deal in her command with all 1 her power. 
 These three have robb'd me ; and this demi-devil 
 (For he 's a bastard one) had plotted with them 
 To take my life : two of these fellows you 
 Must know, and own ; this thing of darkness I 
 Acknowledge mine. 
 
 Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death. 
 
 Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler ? 
 
 Scb. He is drunk now : where had he wine ? 
 
 Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe : where should 
 
 they 
 
 Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em? 
 How cam'st thou in this pickle ? 
 
 Trin. I have been in such a pickle, s ; \ce 1 saw you 
 
 without : in f. e.
 
 SC. I. THE TEMPEST. 65 
 
 last, that, I fear me, will never out of my bones : I shall 
 not fear fly-blowing. 
 
 Seb. Why. how now, Stephano ! 
 
 Ste. O ! touch me not : I am not Stephano, but a 
 cramp. 
 
 Pro. You 'd be king of the isle, sirrah ? 
 
 Sie. I should have been a sore one then. 
 
 Alon. This is as strange a thing as e ; er I look'd on. 
 [Pointing to CALIBAN. 
 
 Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners. 
 As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell ; 
 Take with you your companions : as you look 
 To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. 
 
 Cal. Ay, that I will ; and I '11 be wise hereafter, 
 And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass 
 Was I. to take this drunkard for a god, 
 And worship this dull fool ? 
 
 Pro. Go to ; away ! 
 
 Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you 
 found it. 
 
 Seb. Or stole it, rather. [Ex. CAL.. STE., andTnvx. 
 
 Pro. Sir, I invite your highness, and your train, 
 To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest 
 For this one night ; which, part of it, I '11 waste 
 With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make it 
 Go quick away ; the story of my life, 
 And the particular accidents gone by, 
 Since I came to this isle : and in the morn, 
 1 '11 bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, 
 Where I have hope to see the nuptial 
 Of these our dear-beloved solemniz'd ; 
 And thence retire me to my Milan, where 
 Every third thought shall be my grave. 
 
 Alon. I long 
 
 To hear the story of your life, which must 
 Pake the ear strangely. 
 
 Pro. I '11 deliver all ; 
 
 And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, 
 And sail, so expeditious, that shall catch 
 Your royal fleet far off. My Ariel ; chick. 
 That is thy charge : then, to the elements ; 
 Be free, and fare thou well ! Please you draM 
 near. 1 
 
 1 f. e. Exeunt.
 
 66 THE TEMPEST. ACT V 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 SPOKEN BY PROSPERO. 
 
 Now my charms are all o'erthrown, 
 And what strength I have 's mine own; 
 Which is most faint : now, 't is true, 
 I must be here confln'd by you, 
 Or sent to Naples. Let me not, 
 Since I have my dukedom got, 
 And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell 
 In this bare island, by your spell ; 
 But release me from my bands, 
 With the help of your good hands. 
 Gentle breath of yours my sails 
 Must fill, or else my project fails, 
 Which was to please. Now I want 
 Spirits to enforce, art to enchant j 
 And my ending is despair, 
 Unless I be reliev'd by prayer ; 
 Which pierces so, that it assaults 
 Mercy itself, and frees all faults. 
 
 As you from crimes would pardon'd be, 
 Let your indulgence set me free. 
 
 [Exeunt Omnet.
 
 THE 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
 
 "The Two Gentlemen of Verona" was first printed in the 
 folio of 1628, where it occupies nineteen pages, viz. from p. 
 20 to p. 88, inclusive, in the division of " Comedies." It n 
 there divided into Acts and Scenes. It also stands second 
 in the later folios.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THE only ascertained fact with which we are acquainted, in 
 Deference to "The Two Gentlemen of Verona," is, that it la 
 included in the list of Shakespeare's Plays which Francis 
 Meres furnished in his PaUadis Tamia, 1598. It cornea first 
 in that enumeration, and although this is a very slight cir- 
 cumstance, it may afford some confirmation to the opinion, 
 founded upon internal evidence of plot, style, and diameters, 
 that it was one of the earliest, if not the very earliest of Shake- 
 speare's original dramatic compositions, if is the second play 
 in the folio of 1623, where it first appeared, but that is no 
 criterion of the period at which it was originally written. 
 
 It would, we think, be idle to attempt to fix upon any par- 
 ticular year : it is unquestionably the work of a young and 
 unpractised dramatist, and the conclusion is especially inar- 
 tificial and abrupt. It may have been written by our great 
 dramatist very soon after he joined a theatrical company ; and 
 at all events we do not think it likely that it was composed 
 subsequently to 1591. We should be inclined to place it, as 
 indeed it stands in the work of Meres, immediately before 
 " Love's Labour 's Lost." Meres calls it the " Gentlemen of 
 Verona." Malone, judging from two passages in the comedy, 
 first argued that it was produced in 1595, but he afterwards 
 adopted 1591 as the more probable date. The quotations to 
 which he refers, in truth, prove nothing, either as regards 
 1595 or 1591. 
 
 If " The Two Gentlemen of Verona " were not the offspring 
 merely of the author's invention, we have yet to discover the 
 source of its plot. Points of resemblance have been dwelt 
 upon in connection with Sir Philip Sidney's " Arcadia," 1590, 
 and the " Diana " of Montemayor, which was not translated 
 into English by B. Yonge until 1598; but the incidents, com- 
 mon to the drama and to these two works, are only such as 
 might be found in other romances, or would present them- 
 selves spontaneously to the mind of a young poet: the one is 
 the command of banditti by Valentine ; ana the other the 
 assumption of male attire by Julia, for a purpose nearly simi- 
 lar to that of Viola in "Twelfth Night." Extracts from the 
 "Arcadia" and the "Diana" are to be found in "Shake- 
 speare's Library," vol. ii. The notion of some critics, that 
 " The Two Gentlemen of Verona" contains few or no marks 
 of Shakespeare's hand, is a strong proof of their incompetence 
 to form a judgment. 
 
 VOL. i. 19
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 Du~s OF MILAN, Father to Silvia. 
 
 ANTONIO, Father to Proteus. 
 THURIO, a foolish rival to Valentine. 
 EGLAMOUR, agent of 1 Silvia in her escape. 
 SPEED, a clownish Servant to Valentine. 
 LAUNCE, the like to Proteus. 
 PANTHINO, Servant to Antonio. 
 Host, where Julia lodges. 
 Outlaws with Valentine. 
 
 JULIA, beloved of Proteus. 
 Srz,viA, beloved of Valentine. 
 LUCETTA, Waiting- woman to Julia. 
 
 Servants, Musicians. 
 
 SCENE : sometimes in Verona ; sometimes in Milan 
 and on the frontiers of Mantua. 
 
 for : in f. .
 
 THE 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. An open place in Verona. 
 Enter VALENTINE and PROTEUS. 
 
 Vol. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus : 
 Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits. 
 Wer 't not, affection chains thy tender days 
 To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, 
 I rather would entreat thy company 
 To see the wonders of the world abroad, 
 Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home, 
 Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. 
 But since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein, 
 Even as I would, when I to love begin. 
 
 Pro. Wilt thou begone? Sweet Valentine, aA..;u. 
 Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest 
 Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel : 
 Wish me partaker in thy happiness, 
 When thou dost meet good hap ; and in thy danger, 
 If ever danger do environ thee, 
 Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, 
 For I will be thy bead's-man, 1 Valentine. 
 
 Vol. And on a love-book pray for my success. 
 
 Pro. Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee. 
 
 Vol. That 's on some shallow story of deep love, 
 How young Leander cross 1 d the Hellespont. 
 
 Pro. That 's a deep story of a deeper love, 
 For he was more than over shoes in love. 
 
 Val. 'T is true ; but* you are over boots in love, 
 And yet you never swam the Hellespont. 
 
 1 One who prays for another: the word is derived from the 
 dropping of a bead in a rosary, at each prayer recited. for : 
 in f. e.
 
 72 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT I. 
 
 Pro. Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots. 1 
 
 Vol. No, I will not, for it boots thee not. 
 
 Pro. What? 
 
 Vol. To be in love where scorn is bought with groans ; 
 Coy looks, with heart-sore sighs ; one fading moment'B 
 
 mirth, 
 
 With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights : 
 If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain ; 
 If lost, why then a grievous labour won : 
 However, but a folly bought with wit, 
 Or else a wit by folly vanquished. 
 
 Pro. So, by your circumstance you call me fool 
 
 Vol. So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove 
 
 Pro. 'T is love you cavil at : I am not love. 
 
 Vol. Love is your master, for he masters you ; 
 And he that is so yoked by a fool, 
 Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise. 
 
 Pro. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud 
 The eating canker dwells, so eating love 
 Inhabits in the finest wits of all. 
 
 Vol. And writers say, as the most forward bud 
 Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, 
 Even so by love the young and tender wit 
 Is turn'd to folly; blasting in the bud, 
 Losing his verdure even in the prime, 
 And all the fair effects of future hopes. 
 But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee, 
 That art a votary to fond desire? 
 Once more adieu. My father at the road 
 Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. 
 
 Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine. 
 
 Vol. Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take our leave. 
 To Milan let me hear from thee by letters, 
 Of thy success in love, and what news else 
 Betideth here in absence of thy friend. 
 And I likewise will visit thee with mine. 
 
 Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan. 
 
 Val. As much to you at home ; and so, farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love : 
 He leaves his friends to dignify them more; 
 
 ' Supposed by Knight 10 refer to the instrument of torture, the 
 boot, by which the sufferer's \c K was crushed by wedees driven be- 
 Iwee.n it and the boot in which it was placed Collier sayg it it 
 proverbial expression, signifying " don't fciake a laughing-Block
 
 SC. I. TflE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 73 
 
 I leave myself, my friends, and all for love. 
 Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd me; 
 Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, 
 War with good counsel, set the world at nought, 
 Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought. 
 Enter SPEED. 
 
 Speed. Sir Proteus, save you. Saw you my master ? 
 
 Pro. But now he parted hence to embark for Milan. 
 
 Speed. Twenty to one, then, he is shipp'd already, 
 And I have play'd the sheep in losing him. 
 
 Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray, 
 An if the shepherd be awhile away. 
 
 Speed. You conclude, that my master is a shepherd, 
 then, and I a sheep? 
 
 Pro. I do. 
 
 Speed. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether 
 I wake or sleep. 
 
 Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. 
 
 Speed. This proves me still a sheep. 
 
 Pro. True, and thy master a shepherd. 
 
 r. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. 
 It shall go hard, but I '11 prove it by another. 
 
 Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the 
 sheep the shepherd; but I seek my master, and my 
 master seeks not me : therefore, I am no sheep. 
 
 Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, the 
 shepherd for food follows not the sheep; thou for 
 wages followest thy master, thy master for wages 
 follows not thee : therefore, thou art a sheep. 
 
 Speed. Such another proof will make me cry " baa." 
 
 Pro. But, dost thou hear ? gav'st thou my letter to 
 Julia? 
 
 Speed. Ay, sir : I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to 
 her, a laced mutton 1 ; and she, a laced mutton, gave 
 me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour. 
 
 Pro. Here ; s too small a pasture for such store of 
 muttons. 
 
 Speed. If the ground be overcharg'd, you were best 
 stick her. 
 
 Pro. Nay, in that you are a stray, 't were best pound 
 you. 
 
 1 Most commentators make thia mean, a dressed-up courtesan. 
 Knight suggests that, (lace being used in its primitive meaning of 
 any thing that catches or secures) it means caught sheep.
 
 74 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT L 
 
 Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me 
 for carrying your letter. 
 
 Pro. You mistake : I mean the pound, the pinfold. 
 
 Speed. From a pound to a pin ? fold it over and over, 
 'T is threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover. 
 
 Pro. But what said she? did she nod? 
 
 Speed I. [SPEED nods. 
 
 Pro. Nod, I? why that 's noddy. 1 
 
 Speed. You mistook, sir : I say she did nod, and you 
 ask me, if she did nod ? and I say I. 
 
 Pro. And that set together, is noddy. 
 
 Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set t 
 together, take it for your pains. 
 
 Pro. No, no ; you shall have it for bearing the letter. 
 
 Speed. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you. 
 
 Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me? 
 
 Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly; having 
 nothing but the word noddy for my pains. 
 
 Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. 
 
 Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. 
 
 Pro. Come, come; open the matter in brief: what 
 said she? 
 
 Speed. Open your purse, that the money, and the 
 matter, may be both at once delivered. 
 
 Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said 
 she? [Giving him money* 
 
 Speed. Truly, sir, I think you '11 hardly win her. 
 
 Pro. Why ? Couldst thou perceive so much from her? 
 
 Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her 
 
 better 3 ; 
 
 No, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter ; 
 And being so hard to me that brought to her* your mind, 
 I fear she '11 prove as hard to you in telling you her 4 mind. 
 Give her no token but stones, for she 's as hard as steel.* 
 
 Pro. What! said she nothing? 
 
 Speed. No, not so much as " Take this for thy 
 pains." To testify your bounty, I thank you, you 
 have testern'd 7 me; in requital whereof, henceforth 
 carry your letters yourself. And so, sir, I '11 commend 
 you to my master. [Exit. 9 
 
 Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck, 
 
 i The old*name for the knatt or fool of a pack of cards. 3 Not in 
 f. e. * to her : not in f. e. telling your mind : in f. e. 6 This 
 peech is printed as prose in f. e. 'A testern is a sixpenct 
 Not in f. e.
 
 8C. II. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 75 
 
 Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, 
 Being destin'd to a drier death on shore. 
 I must go send some better messenger : 
 I fear my Julia would not deign my lines, 
 Receiving them from such a worthless post. [Exit. 1 
 
 SCENE II. The Same. Julia's Garden. 
 Enter JULIA and LUCETTA. 
 
 Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, 
 Wouldst thou, then, counsel me to fall in love ? 
 
 Luc. Ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfulljr 
 
 Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen, 
 That every day with parle encounter me, 
 In thy opinion which is worthiest love ? 
 
 Luc. Please you, repeat their names, I '11 show my 
 
 mind, 
 According to my shallow simple skill. 
 
 Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour? 
 
 Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine j 
 But. were I you, he never should be mine. 
 
 Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercutio ?* 
 
 Luc. Well, of his wealth : but of himself, so, so. 
 
 Jul. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus ? 
 
 Luc. Lord, lord ! to see what folly reigns in us ! 
 
 Jul. How now ? what means this passion at his name ? 
 
 Luc. Pardon, dear madam : 't is a passing shame, 
 That I, unworthy body as I am, 
 Should censure thus a loving 3 gentleman. 
 
 Jul. Why not o^ Proteus, as of all the rest? 
 
 Luc. Then thus, of many good I think him best. 
 
 Jul. Your reason ? 
 
 Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason : 
 [ think him so, because I think him so. 
 
 Jul. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him? 
 
 Luc. Ay. if you thought your love not cast away. 
 
 Jul. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never mov'd me. 
 
 Luc. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. 
 
 Jul. His little speaking shows his love but small. 
 
 Luc. Fire that J s closest kept burns most of all. 
 
 Jul. They do not love, that do not show their love. 
 
 Luc. ! they love least, that let men know their lova 
 
 Jul. I would I knew his mind. 
 
 Luc. Peruse this paper, madam. 
 
 Exeunt : in f. e. 2 Mercatio : in f. e on lovely : in f. e.
 
 76 THK TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT I, 
 
 Jul. " To Julia." Say, from whom. [Gives a letter? 
 
 Luc. That the contents will show. 
 
 Jul. Say. say, who gave it thee ? 
 
 Luc. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, frorc 
 
 Proteus. 
 
 He would have given it you, but I, being in the way, 
 Did in your name receive it : pardon the fault, I pray 
 
 Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker ! 
 Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines ? 
 To whisper and conspire against my youth r 
 Now, trust me, 't is an office of great wortli, 
 And you an officer fit for the place. 
 There, take the paper : see it be return'd, [ Gives it back* 
 Or else return no more into my sight. 
 
 Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate 
 
 Jul. Will you be gone ? 
 
 Luc. That you may ruminate. [Exit 
 
 Jul. And yet, I would I had o'erlook'd the letter. 
 It were a shame to call her back again, 
 And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. 
 What fool is she, that knows I am a maid, 
 And would not force the letter to my view, 
 Since maids, in modesty, say " No," to that 
 Which they would have the profferer construe, " Ay." 
 Fie, fie ! how wayward is this foolish love, 
 That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse, 
 And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod. 
 How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, 
 When willingly I would have had Ijpr here : 
 How angerly I taught my brow to frown, 
 When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile. 
 My penance is to call Lucetta back, 
 And ask remission for my folly past. 
 What ho! Lucetta! 
 
 Re-enter LUCETTA. 
 
 Luc. What would your ladyship ? 
 
 Jul. Is it near dinner-time. ? 
 
 Lue. I would, it were ; 
 
 That you might kill your stomach on your meat, 
 A.nd not upon your maid. 
 
 [Drops the letter, and takes it up again* 
 
 Jul. What is ; t that you took up so gingerly ? 
 
 Luc. Nothing. 
 
 > * Not in f. e. This direction is not in i. e.
 
 8C. II. THE TWO GENTLEMEN DF VERONA. 77 
 
 Jul. Why didst thou stoop, then ? 
 
 Luc. To take a paper up 
 
 That I let fall. 
 
 Jul. And is that paper nothing ? 
 
 Luc. Nothing concerning me. 
 
 Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. 
 
 Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, 
 Unless it have a false interpreter. 
 
 Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. 
 
 Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune, 
 Give me a note : your ladyship can set. 
 
 Jul. As little by such toys as may be possible. 
 Best sing it to the tune of " Light o ; love." 
 
 Luf. It is too heavy for so light a tune. 
 
 Jul. Heavy ? belike, it hath some burden then. 
 
 Luc. Ay ; and melodious were it, would you sing it. 
 
 Jul. And why not you ? 
 
 Luc. I cannot reach so high. 
 
 Jul. Let 's see your song. [Snatching the letter. 1 ] 
 How now, minion ! 
 
 Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out : 
 And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune. 
 
 Jul. You do not ? 
 
 Luc. No, madam ; it is too sharp. 
 
 Jul. You, minion, are too saucy. 
 
 Luc. Nay, now you are too flat, 
 
 And mar the concord with too harsh a descant :* 
 There wanteth but a mean 3 to fill your song. 
 
 Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly base. 
 
 Luc. Indeed I bid the base* for Proteus. 
 
 Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. 
 Here is a coil with protestation ! 
 
 [Tears the letter, 11 and throws it down. 
 Go ; get you gone, and let the papers lie : 
 You would be fingering them to anger me. [better 1 
 
 Lu:. She makes it strange, but she would be pleas'd 
 To be so anger'd with another letter. [Exit. 
 
 Jut. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same ! 
 hateful hands ! to tear such loving words : 
 Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey, 
 And kill the bees that yield it with your stings ! 
 
 1 Not in f. e. a "\Vhat we now call in music, a variation. 3 Atencr. 
 * An allusion to the game of base, or prison base, in which one runs 
 m.d challenges his opponent to pursue. * The rest of this direction 
 m not in f. e. 6 best pleased : in f. e.
 
 78 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT I. 
 
 I '11 kiss each several paper for amends. 
 Look, here is writ kind Julia ;" unkind Julia ! 
 As in revenge of thy ingratitude, 
 I throw thy name against the bruising stones, 
 Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. 
 And here is writ " love- wounded Proteus." 
 Poor wounded name ! my bosom, as a bed, 
 Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be throughly heal'd ; 
 And thus I search 1 it with a sovereign kiss. 
 But twice, or thrice, was Proteus written down 
 Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away, 
 Till I have found each letter in the letter, 
 Except mine own name ; that some whirlwind bear 
 Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock, 
 And throw it thence into the raging sea. 
 Lo ! here in one line is his name twice writ, 
 " Poor forlorn Proteus ; passionate Proteus 
 To the sweet Julia :" that I '11 tear away ; 
 And yet I will not, sith so prettily 
 He couples it to his complaining name.* 
 Thus will I fold them one upon another : 
 Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. 
 Re-enter LUCETTA. 
 
 Luc. Madam, 
 Dinner is ready, and your father stays. 
 
 Jul. Well, let us go. 
 
 Luc. What ! shall these papers lie like tell-tales here ? 
 
 Jul. If you respect them, best to take them up. 
 
 Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down ; 
 Yet here they shall not lie for catching cold. 
 
 Jul. I see, you have a month's mind 3 unto* them. 
 
 Luc. Ay. madam, you may see what sights you 
 
 think; 4 
 I see things too, although you judge I wink. 
 
 Jul. Come, come; will 't please you go? [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The same. A Room in ANTONIO'S 
 
 House. 
 
 Enter ANTONIO and PANTHINO. 
 Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad" talk was that, 
 Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? 
 
 i Probe. names : in f. e. This proverbial expression is derived 
 from the remembrance or commemoration of the dead by masses. 
 for a stated period. they were hence called month's memories. * to 
 <n f. e. may say what sights yo : see : in f. e grave : in f. e
 
 BC. III. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OP VERONA. 79 
 
 Pant. 'T was of his nephew Proteus, your son 
 
 Ant. Why, what of him ? 
 
 Pant. He wonder'd. that your lordship 
 
 Would suffer him to spend his youth at home, 
 While other men, of slender reputation, 
 Put forth their sons to seek preferment out : 
 Some to the wars, to try their fortune there , 
 Some, to discover islands far away; 
 Some, to the studious universities. 
 For any, or for all these exercises, 
 He said, that Proteus, your son, was meet, 
 And did request me to importune you 
 To let him spend his time no more at home, 
 Which would be great impeachment to his age, 
 In having known no travel in his youth. 
 
 Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that 
 Whereon this month I have been hammering. 
 I have consider'd well his loss of time, 
 And how he cannot be a perfect man, 
 Not being tried and tutor'd in the world : 
 Experience is by industry achiev'd, 
 And perfected by the swift course of time. 
 Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him ? 
 
 Pant. I think, your lordship is not ignorant 
 How his companion, youthful Valentine, 
 Attends the emperor in his royal court. 
 
 Ant. I know it well. 
 
 Pant. ; T were good, I think, your lordship sent bin 
 
 thither. 
 
 There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, 
 Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen, 
 And be in eye of every exercise, 
 Worthy his youth, and nobleness of birth. 
 
 Ant. 1 like thy counsel : well hast thou advis'd j 
 And, that thou may'st perceive how well I like it, 
 The execution of it shall make known. 
 Even with the speediest expedition 
 I will dispatch him to the emperor's court. 
 
 Pant . To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso 
 With other gentlemen of good esteem, 
 Are journeying to salute the emperor, 
 And to commend their service to his will. 
 
 Ant. Good company; with them shall Proteus go: 
 And, in good time, now will we break with him
 
 80 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERON>. ACT I, 
 
 Enter PROTEUS,' not seeing his Father. 
 Pro. Sweet love ! sweet lines ! sweet life ! 
 Here is her hand, the agent of her heart ; 
 
 [Kissing a lettet 
 
 Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn. 
 ! that our fathers would applaud our loves, 
 And seal our happiness with their consents ! 
 
 heavenly Julia ! 
 
 Ant. How now ! what letter are you reading there ? 
 
 Pro. May >t please your lordship, 't is a word or two 
 Of commendations sent from Valentine, [Putting it up* 
 Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. 
 
 Ant. Lend me the letter : let me see what news. 
 
 Pro. There is no news, my lord, but that he writes 
 How happily he lives, how well belov'd, 
 And daily graced by the emperor ; 
 Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. 
 
 Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish? 
 
 Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will, 
 And not depending on his friendly wish. 
 
 Ant. My will is something sorted with his wish. 
 Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed, 
 For what I will, I will, and there an end. 
 
 1 am resolv'd, that thou shalt spend some time 
 With Valentino* in the emperor's court : 
 What maintenance he from his friends receives, 
 Like exhibition* thou shalt have from me. 
 To-morrow be in readiness to go : 
 
 Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. 
 
 Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided : 
 Please you, deliberate a day or two. 
 
 Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent after thee . 
 No more of stay ; to-morrow thou must go. 
 Come on, Panthino : you shall be employ'd 
 To hasten on his expedition. 
 
 [Exeunt ANTONIO and PANTHINO. 
 
 Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear of burning, 
 And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd. 
 I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, 
 Lest he should take exceptions to my love ; 
 And, with the vantage of mine own excuse, 
 
 i The rest of 'his direction is not in f. e. Not in f. e. Valen 
 linus : in f. e. maintenance, still in use in this sense in English 
 UniveiBities.
 
 SO. I. THE T\VO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 81 
 
 Hath he excepted most against my love. 
 ! how this spring of love resembleth 
 
 The uncertain glory of an April day, 
 Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, 
 
 And by and by a cloud takes all away. 
 Re-enter PANTHINO. 
 
 Ant. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you : 
 He is in haste ; therefore, I pray you, go. 
 
 Pro. Why, this it is : my heart accords thereto, 
 And yet a thousand times it answers no. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. Milan. A Room in the DUKE'S Palace. 
 Enter VALENTINE and SPEED. 
 
 Speed. Sir, your glove. 
 
 Val. Not mine ; my gloves are on. 
 
 Speed. Why then this may be yours, for this is but 
 one. 
 
 Val. Ha ! let me see : ay, give it me, it 's mine. 
 Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine ! 
 Ah Silvia ! Silvia ! 
 
 Speed. Madam Silvia ! madam Silvia' 
 
 Val. How now. sirrah ? 
 
 Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. 
 
 Val. Why. sir, who bade you call her? 
 
 Speed. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook. 
 
 Val. Well, you'll still be too forward. 
 
 Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. 
 
 Val. Go to. sir. Tell me. do you know madam Silvia ? 
 
 Speed. She that your worship loves ? 
 
 Val. Why, how know you that I am in love ? 
 
 Speed. Marry, by these special marks. First, you 
 I ave learn'd, like sir Proteus, to wreath your arms, like 
 a mal-content: to relish a love sons, like a robin-red- 
 breast ; to walk alone, like one that hath 1 the pestilence; 
 to sigh, like a schoolboy that hath lost his A B C : to 
 weep, like a young wench that hath buried her grandarn ; 
 to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one 
 that fears robbing ; to speak puling, like a beggar at 
 Hallowmas. You were wont, when you laugh' d, to 
 i had : HI f. e.
 
 82 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA ACT II. 
 
 crow like a cock ; when you walk'd, to walk like one 
 of the lions ; when you fasted, it was presently after 
 dinner; when you look'd sadly, it was for want of 
 money; and now you are so 1 metamorphosed with a 
 mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think 
 you my master. 
 
 Vol. Are all these things perceived in me ? 
 
 Speed. They are all perceived without ye. 
 
 Val. Without me ? they cannot. 
 
 Speed. Without you? nay, that 's certain; for, with- 
 out you were so simple, none else would be* : but you 
 are so without these tollies, that these follies are within 
 you, and shine through you like the water in an urinal, 
 that not an eye that sees you, but is a physician to 
 comment on your malady. 
 
 Val. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia? 
 
 Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper ? 
 
 Val. Hast thou observed that ? even she I mean. 
 
 Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. 
 
 Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and 
 yet know'st her not ? 
 
 Speed. Is she not hard-favour'd, sir? 
 
 Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favour'd. 
 
 Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. 
 
 Val. What dost thou know ? 
 
 Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well- 
 favour'd. 
 
 Val.. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her 
 favour infinite. 
 
 Speed. That 's because the one is painted, and the 
 other out of all count. 
 
 Val. How painted? and how out of count? 
 
 Speed. Marry, sir, so painted to make her fair, that 
 no man 'counts of her beauty. 
 
 Val. How esteem' st thou me? I account of her 
 beauty. 
 
 Speed. You never saw her since she was deform'd. 
 
 Val. How long hath she been deform'd ? 
 
 Speed. Ever since you loved her. 
 
 Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her, and still 
 . see her beautiful. 
 
 Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. 
 
 Val. Why? 
 
 ' Not in f. e
 
 6C. I. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 83 
 
 Speed. Because love is blind. ! that you had 
 mine eyes ; or your own eyes had the lights they were 
 wont to have, when you chid at sir Proteus for going 
 ungartered ! 
 
 Vol. What should I see then ? 
 
 Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing de- 
 r o-mity ; for he, being in love, could not see to garter 
 las hose ; and you, being in love, cannot see to put en 
 your hose. 
 
 Vol. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last 
 morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. 
 
 Speed. True, sir ; I was in love with my bed. I 
 thank you, you swinged me for my love, which makes 
 me the bolder to chide you for yours. 
 
 Vol. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. 
 
 Speed. I would you were set. so your affection would 
 
 Val. Last night she enjoin'd me to write some lines 
 to one she loves. 
 
 Speed. And have you ? 
 
 Val. I have. 
 
 Speed. Are they not lamely writ ? 
 
 Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them. 
 Peace ! here she comes. 
 
 Enter SILVIA. 
 
 Speed. excellent motion I 1 exceeding puppet ! 
 Now will he interpret to her. 
 
 Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows. 
 
 Speed. ! 'give ye good even : here 's a million of 
 manners. [Aside* 
 
 Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, 3 to you two thousand. 
 
 Speed. He should give her interest, and she gives it 
 him. 
 
 Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter 
 Unto the secret nameless friend of yours ; 
 Which I was much unwilling to proceed in, 
 But for my duty to your ladyship. [Giving a paper* 
 
 Sil I thank you, gentle servant. 'T is very clerkly 
 done. 
 
 Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; 
 For, being ignorant to whom it goes, 
 I writ at random, very doubtfully. 
 
 > A puppet show, a Not in f. e. 3 An ol i term for lover. * NcJ 
 vr f. e.
 
 84 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT 11 
 
 Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much pains ? 
 
 Vol. No, madam : so it stead you, I will write, 
 Please you command, a thousand times as much. 
 And yet 
 
 Sil. A pretty period. Well, I guess the sequel : 
 And yet I will not name it ; and yet I care not ; 
 And yet take this again ; and yet I thank you, 
 Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. 
 
 Speed. And yet you will; and yet, another yet. [Aside. 1 
 
 Val. What means your ladyship? do you not like 
 it? 
 
 Sil. Yes, yes : the lines are very quaintly 'writ, 
 But since unwillingly, take them again. 
 Nay, take them. [Giving it back* 
 
 Val. Madam, they are for you. 
 
 Sil. Ay, ay ; you writ them, sir, at my request, 
 But I will none of them : they are for you. 
 I would have had them writ more movingly. 
 
 Val. Please you, I '11 write your ladyship another. 
 
 Sil. And, when it 's writ, for my sake read it over ; 
 And if it please you, so ; if not, why, so. 
 
 Val. If it please me, madam ; what then ? 
 
 Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour ; 
 And so good-morrow, servant. [Exit. 
 
 Speed. jest ! unseen, inscrutable, invisible, 
 As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a 
 
 steeple. 
 
 My master sues to her, and she hath taught her suitor, 
 He being her pupil, to become her tutor. 
 excellent device ! was there ever heard a better. 
 That my master, being scribe, to himself should write 
 the letter ? 
 
 Val. How now, sir ! what, are you reasoning with 
 yourself ? 
 
 Speed. Nay, I was rhyming : 't is you that have the 
 reason. 
 
 Val. To do what? 
 
 Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia. 
 
 Val. To whom ? 
 
 Speed. To yourself. Why, she woos you by a figure 
 
 Val. What figure ? 
 
 Speed. By a letter, I should say. 
 
 Val. Why, she hath not writ to me ?
 
 6C. if. THE TV,*0 GENTLEMEX OF VERONA. 85 
 
 Sfseed. Wliat need she, when she hath made you 
 write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest? 
 
 Vol. No. believe me. 
 
 Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir : but did you 
 perceive her earnest ? 
 
 Val. She gave me none, except an angry word. 
 
 Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter. 
 
 Val. That 's the letter I writ to her friend. 
 
 Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and there 
 an end. 
 
 Val. I would it were no worse ! 
 
 Speed. I '11 warrant you, 't is as well : 
 
 For often have you writ to her, and she, in modesty, 
 Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply ; 
 Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind 
 
 discover, 
 Her self hath taught her love himself to write unto hei 
 
 lover. 
 
 All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. 
 Why muse you, sir ? 't is dinner time. 
 
 Val. I have dined. 
 
 Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir : though the cameleor. 
 love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish'd 
 by my victuals, and would fain have meat. ! be not 
 like your mistress : be moved, be moved. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Verona. A Room in JULIA'S House. 
 Enter PROTEUS and JULIA. 
 
 Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. 
 
 Jul. I must, where is no remedy. 
 
 Pro. When possibly I can, I will-return. 
 
 Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner. 
 Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. 1 
 
 Pro. Why then, we HI make exchange : here, take 
 you this. . [Exchange rings* 
 
 Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. 
 
 Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy ; 
 And when that hour o'er-slips me in the day, 
 Wherein I sigh not. Julia, for thy sake, 
 The next ensuing hour some foul mischance 
 Torment me for my love's forgetfulness. 
 My father stays my coming; answer not. 
 The tide is now : nay, not thy tide of tears ; 
 
 1 giving a ring is added in f. e. l Not in f e 
 VOL. i. 20
 
 86 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT II. 
 
 That tide will stay me longer than I should. [Exit JULIA 
 Julia, farewell. What ! gone without a word ? 
 Ay, so true love should do : it cannot speak ; 
 For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it. 
 Enter PANTHINO. 
 
 Pant. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. 
 
 Pro. Go ; I come, I come. 
 
 Alas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. [Exeunt. 
 SCENE III. The Same. A Street. 
 Enter LAUNCE, leading his 1 Dog. 
 
 Launce. Nay, 't will be this hour ere I have done 
 weeping : all the kind of the Launces have this very 
 fault. I have received my proportion, like the prodi- 
 gious son, and am going with sir Proteus to the impe- 
 rial's court. I think Crab, my dog, be the sourest- 
 natured dog that lives : my mother weeping, my father 
 wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat 
 wringing her hands, and all our house in a great per- 
 plexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one 
 tear. He is a stone, a very pebble-stone, and has no 
 more pity in him than a dog ; a Jew would have wept 
 to have seen our parting : why, my grandam having no 
 eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, 
 I '11 show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father ; 
 no, this left shoe is my father no, no, this left shoe 
 is my mother : nay, that cannot be so, neither : yes, 
 it is so, it is so ; it hath the worser sole. This shoe, 
 with the hole in it, is my mother, and this my father. 
 A vengeance on 't ! there 't is : now, sir, this staff is my 
 sister ; for, look you, she is as white as a lily, and as 
 small as a wand : this hat is Nan, our maid : I am the 
 dog ; no, the dog is himself, and 1 am the dog, ! 
 the dog is me, and I am myself : ay, so, so. Now come 
 1 to my father ; " Father, your blessing :" now should 
 not the shoe speak a word for weeping : now should I 
 kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now come I to 
 my mother, (0, that she could speak now !) like a wild* 
 woman : well, I kiss her ; why there 't is ; here 's my 
 mother's breath, up and down. Now come I to my 
 sister ; mark the moan she makes : now, the dog all 
 this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word, but see 
 how I lay the dust with my tears. 
 
 1 a Dog : iu f. e. * in f. e : wood (i e. mad)
 
 6C. IV. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 87 
 
 Enter PANTHINO. 
 
 Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard : thy master is 
 Bhipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What 's 
 the matter ? why weep ; st thou, man ? Away, ass ; 
 you '11 lose the tide, if you tarry any longer. 
 
 Launce. It is no matter if the tied- were lost; for it 
 is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. 
 
 Pant. What 's the unkindest tide ? 
 
 Launce. Why, he that 's tied here ; Crab, my dog. 
 
 Pant. Tut, man, I mean thou 'It lose the flood; and, 
 iu losing the flood, lose thy voyage ; and, in losing thy 
 voyage, lose thy master ; and, in losing thy master, lose 
 thy service ; and, in losing thy service, Why dost thou 
 stop my mouth ? 
 
 Launce. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue. 
 
 Pant . Where should I lose my tongue ? 
 
 Launce. In thy tale. 
 
 Pant. In thy tail ? 
 
 Launce. Lose the tied, and the voyage, and the 
 master, and the service, and the tide. Why, man, if 
 the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears ; 
 if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my 
 sighs. 
 
 Pant . Come ; come, away, man : I was sent to call 
 thee. 
 
 Launce. Sir, call me what thou dar'st. 
 
 Pant. Wilt thou go ? 
 
 Launce. Well, I will go. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. Milan. A Room in the DUKE'S Palace. 
 Enter VALENTINE, SILVIA, THURIO, and SPEED. 
 Sil. Servant. 
 Vol. Mistress. 
 
 Speed. Master, sir Thurio frowns on you. 
 Vol. Ay, boy, it's for love. 
 Speed. Not of you. 
 Val. Of my mistress, then. 
 Speed. 'T were good you knock'd him. 
 Sil. Servant, you are sad. 
 Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. 
 Thu. Seem you that you are not ? 
 Val Haply, I do. 
 Thu. So do counterfeits. 
 Val. So do you.
 
 88 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT IL 
 
 Thu. What seem I that I am not? 
 
 Vol. Wise. 
 
 Thu. What instance of the contrary ? 
 
 Vol. Your folly. 
 
 Thu. And how quote 1 you my folly ? 
 
 Vol. I quote it in your jerkin. 
 
 Thu My jerkin is a doublet. 
 
 Val. Well, then, ; t will 4 double your folly. 
 
 Thu. How? 
 
 Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio ? do you change colo&r? 
 
 Val. Give him leave, madam : he is a kind of came- 
 leon. 
 
 TJiu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, 
 than live in your air. 
 
 Val. You have said, sir. 
 
 Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. 
 
 Val. I know it well, sir : you always end ere you 
 begin. 
 
 Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly 
 shot off. 
 
 Val. 'T is indeed, madam ; we thank the giver. 
 
 Sil. Who is that, servant? 
 
 Val. Yourself, sweet lady ; for you gave the fire. 
 Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, 
 and spends what he borrows kindly in your company. 
 
 Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I 
 bhall make your wit bankrupt. 
 
 Val. I know it well, sir : you have an exchequer of 
 words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your fol- 
 lowers ; for it appears by their bare liveries, that they 
 live by your bare words. 
 
 Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my 
 father. 
 
 Enter the DUKE. 
 
 Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. 
 Sir Valentine, your father 's in good health : 
 What say you to a letter from your friends 
 Of much good news ? 
 
 Val. My lord, I will be thankful 
 
 To any happy messenger from thence. 
 
 Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your countryman ? 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord ; I know the gentleman 
 To be of wealth 3 and worthy estimation, 
 
 Note or observe. I '11 : in f. e. worth : in f. e.
 
 SC. IV. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 89 
 
 And not without desert so well reputed. 
 
 Duke, lluth he not a son 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord ; a son, that well deserves 
 The honour and regard of such a father. 
 
 Duke. You know him well ? 
 
 Val. I knew him, as myself; for from our infancy 
 We have convers'd, and spent our hours together : 
 A nd though myself have been an idle truant, 
 Omitting the sweet benefit of time 
 To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection, 
 Yet hath sir Proteus, for that "s his name, 
 Made use and fair advantage of his days : 
 His years but young, but his experience old ; 
 His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe j 
 And in a word, (for far behind his worth 
 Come all the praises that I now bestow) 
 He is complete in feature, and in mind, 
 With all good grace to grace a gentleman. 
 
 Duke. Beshrew me. sir, but, if he make this good, 
 He is as worthy for an empress' love, 
 As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. 
 Well, sir. this gentleman is come to me 
 With commendation from great potentates ; 
 And here he means to spend his time a-while. 
 I think, 't is no unwelcome news to you. 
 
 Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. 
 
 Duke. Welcome him, then, according to his worth. 
 Silvia, I speak to you ; and you, sir Thurio : 
 For Valentine, I need not 'cite him to it. 
 I '11 send him hither to you presently. [Exit DUKI 
 
 Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, 
 Had come along with me. but that his mistress 
 Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. 
 
 Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'i them, 
 Upon some other pawn for fealty. 
 
 Val. Nay, sure, I think, she holds them prisoners 
 still. 
 
 Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and, being 
 
 blind, 
 How could he see his way to seek you out ? 
 
 Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. 
 
 Thu. They say, that love hath not an eye at all. 
 
 Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself : 
 Upon a homely object love can wink.
 
 90 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT , 
 
 Enter PROTEUS. 
 
 Sil. Have done, have done. Here comes the gen- 
 tleman. [Exit THURIO 
 
 Vol. Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech 
 
 you, 
 Confirm his welcome with some special favour. 
 
 Sil His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, 
 If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. 
 
 Vol. Mistress, it is. Sweet lady, entertain him 
 To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. 
 
 Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. 
 
 Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant 
 To have a look of such a worthy mistress. 
 
 Vol. Leave off discourse of disability. 
 Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. 
 
 Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. 
 
 Sil. And duty yet did never want his meed. 
 Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. 
 
 Pro. I '11 die on him that says so, but yourself. 
 
 Sil. That you are welcome ? 
 
 Pro. That you are worthless. 
 
 1 Re-enter THURIO. 
 
 Thu. Madam, my lord, your father, would speak 
 with you. 
 
 Sil. I wait upon his pleasure : come, sir Thurio, 
 Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome: 
 I '11 leave you to confer of home-affairs; 
 When you have done, we look to hear from you. 
 
 Pro. We '11 both attend upon your ladyship. 
 
 [Exeunt SILVIA, THURIO, and SPEED. 
 
 Vol. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came ? 
 
 Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much 
 commended. 
 
 Val. And how do yours ? 
 
 Pro. I left them all in health. 
 
 Val. How does your lady, and how thrives your love? 
 
 Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you : 
 1 know, you joy not in a love-discourse. 
 
 Val Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now : 
 I have done penance for contemning love; 
 Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me 
 With bitter fasts, and penitential groans, 
 With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs;
 
 SC. IV. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 91 
 
 For. in revenge of my contempt of love, 
 
 Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes. 
 
 And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow. 
 
 O, gentle Proteus ! love 's a mighty lord 
 
 And hath so humbled me, as, I confess, 
 
 T lie re is no woe to his correction, 
 
 Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth ; 
 
 Now, no discourse, except it be of love ; 
 
 Now can 1 break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, 
 
 Upon the very naked name of love. 
 
 Pro. Enough ; I read your fortune in your eye. 
 Was this the idol that you worship so? 
 
 Vol. Even she ; and is she not a heavenly saint ? 
 
 Pro. No, but she is an earthly paragon. 
 
 Vol. Call her divine. 
 
 Pro. I will not flatter her. 
 
 Vol. ! flatter me, for love delights in praises. 
 
 Pro. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills, 
 And I must minister the like to you. 
 
 Val. Then speak the truth by her : if not divine, 
 Yet let her be a principality, 
 Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. 
 
 Pro. Except my mistress. 
 
 Val. Sweet, except not any, 
 Except thou wilt except against my love. 
 
 Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own? 
 
 Val. And I will help thee to prefer her, too : 
 She shall be dignified with this high honour, 
 To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth 
 Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss, 
 And, of so great a favour growing proud, 
 Disdain to root the summer-smelling 1 flower, 
 And make rough winter everlastingly. 
 
 Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this ? 
 
 Val. Pardon me, Proteus : all 1 can, is nothing 
 To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing. 
 She is alone. 
 
 Pro. Then, let her alone. 
 
 Val. Not for the world. Why, man, she is mine 
 
 own : 
 
 And I as rich in having such a jewel, 
 As twenty seas,, if all their sand were pearl, 
 The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold, 
 i swelling : in f. e.
 
 92 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT M. 
 
 Forgivn rne, that I do not dream on thee, 
 Because thou seest me dote upon my love. 
 My foolish rival, that her father likes 
 Only for his possessions are so huge, 
 Is gone with her along, and I must after, 
 For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. 
 
 Pro. But she loves you ? 
 
 Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd; nay, more, oui 
 
 marriage hour, 
 
 With all the cunning manner of our flight 
 Determin'd of : how I must climb her window, 
 The ladder made of cords, and all the means 
 Plotted, and 'greed on for my happiness. 
 Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber, 
 In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. 
 
 Pro. Go on before ; I shall enquire you forth. 
 I must unto the road, to disembark 
 Some necessaries that I needs must use, 
 And then I ; 11 presently attend on 1 you. 
 
 Val Will you make' haste? 
 
 Pro. I will. [Exit VALENTINE 
 
 Even as one heat another heat expels, 
 Or as one nail by strength drives out, another, 
 So the remembrance of my former love 
 Is by a newer object quite forgotten. 
 Is it mine own. 8 or ValentinoV praise, 
 Her true perfection, or my false transgression, 
 That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus ? 
 She 's fair, and so is Julia that I love ; 
 That I did love, for now my love is thawM, 
 Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, 
 Bears no impression of the thing it was. 
 Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold, 
 And that I love him not, as I was wont : 
 but I love his lady too too much : 
 A nd that 's the reason I love him so little. 
 How shall T dote on her with more advice, 
 That thus without advice begin to love her ? 
 'T is but her picture I have yet beheld. 
 A nd that hath dazzled so* my reason's light ; 
 But when I look on her perfections, 
 There is no reason but I shall be blind. 
 
 > Not in f. e. eye : in f. e Knight reads, " her mien " 
 Valentii us' : in f. e. * Not in f. e.
 
 (SC. V. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 93 
 
 If I can check my erring love, I will ; 
 
 If not, to compass her I '11 use my skill. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. The Same. A Street. 
 Enter SPEED and LAUNCE. 
 
 Speed. Launce ! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan. 
 
 Launce. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am 
 not welcome. I reckon this always that a man is 
 never undone, till he be hang'd ; nor never welcome to 
 a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess 
 say, welcome. 
 
 Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I '11 to the alehouse 
 with you presently ; where for one shot of five pence 
 thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, 
 how did thy master part with madam Julia ? 
 
 Launce. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they 
 parted very fairly in jest. 
 
 Speed. But shall she marry him ? 
 
 Launce. No. 
 
 Speed. How then ? Shall he marry her ? 
 
 Launce. No, neither. 
 
 Speed. What, are they broken ? 
 
 Launce. No, they are both as whole as a fish. 
 
 Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with them ? 
 
 Launce. Marry, thus : when it stands well with him 
 it stands well with her. 
 
 Speed. What an ass art thou ? I understand thee not. 
 
 Launce. What a block art thou, that thou canst not. 
 . My staff understands me. 
 
 Speed. What thou say'st ? 
 
 Launce. Ay, and what I do too : look thee : I '11 but 
 lean, and my staff understands me. 
 
 Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. 
 
 Launce. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one 
 
 Speed. But tell me true, will 't be a match ? 
 
 Launce. Ask my dog : if he say, ay, it will ; if In 
 say, no, it will ; if he shake his tail, and say nothing, 
 it will. 
 
 Speed. The conclusion is, then, that it will. 
 
 Launce. Thou shalt never get such a secret from 
 me, but by a parable. 
 
 Speed. 'T is well that I get it so. But, Lauace, ho-w 
 say'st thou, that my master is become a notatl . Juver? 
 
 Launce. I never knew him otherwise.
 
 94 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT II. 
 
 Speed. Than how? 
 
 Launce. A notable lubber, as thou report est him 
 to be. 
 
 Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak'st me. 
 
 Launce. Why, fool, I meant not thee ; I meant thy 
 master. 
 
 Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. 
 
 Launce. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn 
 himself in love, if thou wilt go with me to the ale- 
 house: if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not 
 worth the name of a Christian. 
 
 Speed. Why? 
 
 Launce. Because thou hast not so much charity in 
 thee, as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go ? 
 
 Speed. At thy service. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. The Same. An Apartment in the 
 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter PROTEUS. 
 
 Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn ; 
 To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn ; 
 To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn ; 
 And even that power, which gave me first my oath, 
 Provokes me to this threefold perjury : 
 Love bad me swear, and love bids me forswear. 
 
 sweet-suggesting love ! if I have 1 sinn'd, 
 Teach me. thy tempted subject, to excuse it. 
 At first I did adore a twinkling star, 
 
 But now I worship a celestial sun. 
 Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken ; 
 And he wants wit, that wants resolved will 
 To learn his wit t' exchange the bad for better. 
 Fie, fie, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad, 
 Whose sovereignty so oft thou has preferred 
 With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths. 
 
 1 oan'not leave to love, and yet I do; 
 
 But there I leave to love, where I should love. 
 Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose : 
 
 ' I keep them, I needs must lose myself ; 
 If I lose them, thus find I, by their loss, 
 For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia. 
 I to myself am dearer than a friend, 
 For love is still most precious to* itself; 
 1 thou hast : in f. e. * in : in f. e.
 
 BC. VII. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 95 
 
 And Silvia, (witness heaven that made her fair !) 
 Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. 
 I will forget that Julia is alive, 
 Remembering that my love to her is dead ; 
 And Valentine I '11 hold an enemy, 
 Aiming at Silvia, as a sweeter friend. 
 I cannot now prove constant to myself . 
 Without some treachery used to Valentine. 
 This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder 
 To climb celestial Silvia's chamber window ; 
 Myself in counsel, his competitor. 
 Now, presently I '11 give her father notice 
 Of their disguising, and pretended 1 flight ; 
 Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine, 
 For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter : 
 But, Valentine being gone, I '11 quickly cross 
 By some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. 
 Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, 
 As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift ! [Exit 
 SCENE VII. Verona. A Room in JULIA'S House. 
 Enter JULIA and Luc ETTA. 
 
 Jul. Counsel, Lucetta ; gentle girl, assist me : 
 And, e'en in kind love, I do conjure thee, 
 Who art the table wherein all my thoughts 
 Are visibly character'd and engrav'd, 
 To lesson me ; and tell me some good mean, 
 How, with my honour, I may undertake 
 A journey to my loving Proteus. 
 
 Luc. Alas ! the way is wearisome and long. 
 
 Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary 
 To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps, 
 Much less shall she, that hath love's wings to fly; 
 And when the flight is made to one so dear, 
 Of such divine perfection, as sir Proteus. 
 
 Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return. 
 
 Jul. O ! know'st thou not, his looks are my souVi 
 
 food? 
 
 Pity the dearth that I have pined in, 
 By longing for that food so long a time. 
 Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, 
 Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow, 
 As seek to quench the fire of love with words.
 
 % THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEKONA. ACT II. 
 
 Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire, 
 But qualify the fire's extreme rage, 
 Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. 
 
 Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, the more it bums 
 The current, that with gentle murmur glides. 
 Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rag* , 
 But, when his fair course is not hindered, 
 He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stone*, 
 Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
 He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; 
 And so by many winding nooks he strays 
 With willing sport to the wide 1 ocean. 
 Then, let me go, and hinder not my course. 
 I '11 be as patient as a gentle stream, 
 And make a pastime of each weary step, 
 Till the last step have brought me to my lore; 
 And there I '11 rest, as, after much turmoil, 
 A blessed soul doth in Elysium. 
 
 Luc. But in what habit will you so along ? 
 
 Jul. Not like a woman, for I would prevent \ 
 The loose encounters of lascivious men. 
 Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds 
 As may beseem some well-reputed page. 
 
 Luc. Why, then your ladyship must cut your hair. 
 
 Jul. No, girl ; I '11 knit it up in silken strings, 
 With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots : 
 To be fantastic, may become a youth 
 Of greater time than I shall show to be. 
 
 Lue. What fashion, madam, shall I make youi 
 breeches ? 
 
 Jul. That fits as well, as" tell me, good my lord, 
 What compass will you wear your farthingale?" 
 Why, even what fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta. 
 
 Luc. You must needs have them with a codpiece, 
 n adam. 
 
 Jul. Out, out. Lucetta ! that will be ill-favour'd. 
 
 Luc. A round hose, madam, now 's not worth a pin, 
 U.iless you have a codpiece to stick pins on. 
 
 /"/. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have 
 What, thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly. 
 But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me 
 For undertaking so unstaid a journey? 
 I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd.
 
 BC. I. THE TWO GEXTLEMEX OF VERONA. 9T 
 
 Luc. If you think so. then stay at home, and go not. 
 
 Jul Nay, that I will not. 
 
 Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. 
 If Proteus like your journey, when you come, 
 No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone. 
 1 fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal. 
 
 Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear. 
 A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, 
 And instances as infinite of love, 
 Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. 
 
 Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. 
 
 Jul. Base men. that use them to so base effect; 
 But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth : 
 His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles ; 
 His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate ; 
 His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart ; 
 His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth. 
 
 Luc. Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come to 
 him! 
 
 Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong, 
 To bear a hard opinion of his truth : 
 Only deserve my love by loving him, 
 And presently go with me to my chamber, 
 To take a note of what I stand in need of, 
 To furnish me upon rny loving 1 journey. 
 All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, 
 My. goods, my lands, my reputation; 
 Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence. 
 Come ; answer not. but to it presently : 
 I am impatient of my tarriance. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. Milan. An Ante-chamber in the DUKE'S 
 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS. 
 Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave. I pray, awhile : 
 We have some secrets to confer about. Exit THURIO. 
 Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? 
 
 Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would discover, 
 The law of friendship bids me to conceal ; 
 i longing : in f. e.
 
 !)8 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT in. 
 
 But, when I call to mind your gracious favours 
 
 Done to me, undeserving as I am, 
 
 My duty pricks me on to utter that, 
 
 Which else no worldly good should draw from me. 
 
 Know, worthy Prince, sir Valentine, my friend, 
 
 This night intends to steal away your daughter: 
 
 Myself arn one made privy to the plot. 
 
 I know you have determin'd to bestow her 
 
 On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates; 
 
 And should she thus be stol'n away from you, 
 
 It would be much vexation to your age. 
 
 Thus, for my duty's sake. I rather chose 
 
 To cross my friend in his intended drift, 
 
 Than, by concealing it, heap on your head 
 
 A pack of sorrows, which would press you down, 
 
 Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. 
 
 Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care, 
 Which to requite, command me while I live. 
 This love of theirs myself have often seen, 
 Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep, 
 And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid 
 Sir Valentine her company, and my court ; 
 But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err, 
 And so unworthily disgrace the man, 
 (A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd) 
 I gave him gentle looks ; thereby to find 
 That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. 
 And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this, 
 Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, 
 I nightly lodge her in an upper tower, 
 The key whereof myself have ever kept; 
 And thence she cannot be convey'd away. 
 
 Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean 
 How he her chamber- window will ascend, 
 And with a corded ladder fetch her down 
 For which the youthful lover now is gone, 
 Anc this way comes he with it presently, 
 Win re. if it please you, you may intercept him. 
 But, good my lord, do it so cunningly, 
 That my discovery be not aimed at; 
 For love of you. not hate unto my friend, 
 Hath made me publisher of this pretence. 
 
 Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know 
 That I had any light from thee of this.
 
 SO. 1. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 99 
 
 Pro. Adieu, my lord: sir Valentine is coming. \Exii 
 Enter VALENTINE,' in his cloak. 
 
 Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast ? 
 
 Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger 
 That stays to bear my letters to my friends, 
 And I am going to deliver them. 
 
 Duke. Be they of much import? 
 
 Val. The tenor of them doth but signify 
 My health, and happy being at your court. 
 
 Duke. Nay, then no matter : stay with me awhile 
 I am to break with thee of some affairs 
 That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 
 'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought 
 To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter. 
 
 Val. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match 
 Were rich and honourable : besides, the gentleman 
 Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities 
 Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter. 
 Cannot your grace win her fancy to him? 
 
 Duke. No, trust me she is peevish, sullen, froward, 
 Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; 
 Neither regarding that she is my child, 
 Nor fearing me as if I were her father : 
 And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers 
 Upon advice hath drawn my love from her ; 
 And, where I thought the remnant of mine age 
 Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty, 
 I now am full resolv'd to take a wife, 
 And turn her out to who will take her in : 
 Then, let her beauty be her wedding-dower; 
 For me and my possessions she esteems not. 
 
 Val. What would your grace have me to do in this? 
 
 Duke. There is a lady in Milano a here, 
 Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy, 
 And nought esteems my aged eloquence : 
 Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor, 
 (For long agone I have forgot to court ; 
 Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd) 
 How. and which way, I may bestow myself, 
 To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. 
 
 Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words. 
 Dumb jewels often, in theii silent kind, 
 More than quick words do move a woman's mind. 
 
 i in his cloak : not in f. e. 2 a lady, sir, in Milan iere : in f. ft
 
 100 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT HI 
 
 Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. 
 
 Vol. A woman sometime scorns what best contentt 
 
 her. 
 
 Send her another ; never give her o'er, 
 For scorn at first makes after-love the more. 
 If she do frown, 't is not in hate of you, 
 But rather to beget more love in you : 
 If she do chide, 't is not to have you gone, 
 For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. 
 Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; 
 For : ' get you gone," she doth not mean, " away." 
 Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces ; 
 Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces. 
 That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, 
 If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. 
 
 Duke. But she I mean is promis'd by her friends 
 Unto a youthful gentleman of worth, 
 And kept severely from resort of men, 
 That no man hath access by day to her. 
 
 Vol. Why, then I would resort to her by night. 
 
 Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept safe, 
 That no man hath recourse to her by night. 
 
 Vol. What lets, but one may enter at her window ? 
 
 Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground, 
 And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it 
 Without apparent hazard of his life. 
 
 Val. Why then, a ladder quaintly made of cords, 
 To cast up, with a pair of anchoring hooks, 
 Would serve to scale another Hero's tower, 
 So bold Leander would adventure it. 
 
 Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, 
 Advise me where I may have such a ladder. 
 
 Val. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that. 
 
 Duke. This very night; for love is like a child, 
 That lones for every thing that he can come by. 
 
 Val. By seven o'clock I '11 get you such a ladder. 
 
 Duke. But hark thee ; I will go to her alone. 
 How shall I best convey the ladder thither? 
 
 Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it 
 Under a cloak that is of any length. 
 
 Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn ? 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 -frw&e. Then, let me see thy cloak : 
 
 1 '11 get me one of such another length.
 
 SC. I. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 101 
 
 Veil. Why any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. 
 
 Duke. How shall I fasl.-'oa >iiR to wear & cloak 9 
 I pray thee, let me fee 1 thy <-lr>;ik upon me.. - 
 What letter is this -u-e.? What 's here;? To Silvia." 
 And here an engine fit for iny.pr oreedi.p^ ! . 
 
 [Ladder and letter fall out. 1 
 
 I '11 be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads 
 
 " My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly ; 
 
 And slaves they are to me, that send them flying : 
 
 ! could their master come and go as lightly, 
 Himself would lodge where senseless they ar flying. 
 
 My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them; 
 
 While I, their king, that thither them importune, 
 Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blessed them^ 
 
 Because myself do want my servant's fortune. 
 
 1 curse myself, for they are sent by me, 
 
 That they should harbour where their lord should be." 
 
 What 's here ? 
 
 " Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee :" 
 
 'T is so : and here 's the ladder for the purpose. 
 
 Why, Phaeton, (for thou art Merops' son) 
 
 Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, 
 
 And with thy daring folly burn the world? 
 
 Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee? 
 
 Go, base intruder j over- weening slave : 
 
 Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates, 
 
 And think my patience, more than thy desert 
 
 Is privilege for thy departure hence. 
 
 Thank me for this, more than for all the favours 
 
 Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee : 
 
 But if thou linger in my territories 
 
 Longer than swiftest expedition 
 
 Will give thee time to leave our royal court, 
 
 By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love 
 
 I ever bore my daughter, or thyself. 
 
 Begone : I will not hear thy vain excuse ; 
 
 But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. 
 
 [Exit DUKE. 
 
 Vol. And why not death, rather than living torment ? 
 To die is to be banish'd from myself, 
 And Silvia is myself: banislrd from her, 
 Is self from self: a deadly banishment. 
 What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? 
 
 i This direction is not in f. e. 
 VOL. i. 21
 
 102 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT IB 
 
 What joy is joy. if Silvia be not by? 
 Unless it'ba, to think that slic is by, 
 And feed upon the. sfcadow of perfection. 
 Except I be ^by_ Silvia, jn the night, 
 There i* no tfti.if ic in thh ni?ihiingale ; 
 Unless" I look oil Silvia iritfie day,' 
 There is no day for me to look upon. 
 She is my essence ; and I leave to be, 
 If I be not by her fair influence 
 Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. 
 I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom : 
 Tarry I here, I but attend on death ; 
 But fly I hence, I fly away from life. 
 
 Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE. 
 
 Pro. Run, boy ; run, run, and seek him out. 
 
 Launce. So-ho ! so-ho T 
 
 Pro. Whatseestthou? 
 
 Launce. Him we go to find : there 's not a hair on ' 
 head, but 't is a Valentine. 
 
 Pro. Valentine? 
 
 Vol. No. 
 
 Pro. Who then ? his spirit ? 
 
 Val. Neither. 
 
 Pro. What then? 
 
 Val. Nothing. 
 
 Launce. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike? 
 
 Pro. Whom wouldst thou strike ? 
 
 Launce. Nothing. 
 
 Pro. Villain, forbear. 
 
 Launce. Why, sir, I '11 strike nothing : I pray you, 
 
 Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a 
 word. 
 
 Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good 
 
 news, 
 So much of bad already hath possess'd them. 
 
 Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, 
 For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. 
 
 Val. Is Silvia dead ? 
 
 Pro. No, Valentine. 
 
 Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia ! 
 Hath she forsworn me? 
 
 Pro. No. Valentine. 
 
 Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me ! 
 What is your news ?
 
 8C. I. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 103 
 
 Launce. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are 
 vanish'd. 
 
 Pro. That thou art banish'd : ! that is the news ; 
 From hence, from Silvia, and from me, thy friend. 
 
 Vol. ! I have fed upon this woe already, 
 And now excess of it will make me surfeit. 
 Doth Silvia know that I am banished ? 
 
 Pro. Ay, ay ; and she hath offer'd to the doom, 
 (Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force) 
 A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears : 
 Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd, 
 With them, upon her knees, her humble self; 
 Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them, 
 As if but now they waxed pale for woe : 
 But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, 
 Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, 
 Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire, 
 But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. 
 Besides, her intercession chafd him so, 
 When she for thy repeal was suppliant, 
 That to close prison he commanded her, 
 With many bitter threats of 'biding there. 
 
 Vol. No more unless the next word that thou 
 
 speak'st 
 
 Have some malignant power upon my life : 
 If so, I pray thee, breathe it in my ear, 
 As ending anthem of my endless dolour. 
 
 Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, 
 And study help for that which thou lamentest. 
 Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. 
 Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love ; 
 Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. 
 Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, 
 And manage it against despairing thoughts. 
 Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence ; 
 Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd 
 Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. 
 The time now serves not to expostulate : 
 Come, T '11 convey thee through the city-gate, 
 And, ere I part with thee, confer at large 
 Of all that may concern thy love affairs. 
 As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself, 
 Regard thy danger, and along with me. 
 
 Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy,
 
 104 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT III. 
 
 Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north-gate. 
 
 Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. 
 
 Veil. my dear Silvia ! hapless Valentine ! 
 
 [Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS. 
 
 Launce. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have 
 the wit to think, my master is a kind of a knave ; but 
 that 's all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not 
 now, that knows me to be in love : yet I am in love ; 
 but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me, nor 
 who 't is I love ; and yet 't is a woman : but what 
 woman, I will not tell myself ; and yet 't is a milk- 
 maid ; yet 't is not a maid, for she hath had gossips : 
 yet 't is a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves 
 for wages. She hath more qualities than a water- 
 spaniel, which is much in a bare Christian. Here is 
 the cat-log [pulling out a paper] of her conditions. 
 Imprimis, " She can fetch and carry." Why, a horse 
 can do no more : nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only 
 carry; therefore, is she better than a jade. Item, 
 " She oan milk ;" look you, a sweet virtue in a maid 
 with clean hands. 
 
 Enter SPEED. , 
 
 Speed. How now, signior Launce? what news with 
 your mastership ? 
 
 Launce. With my master's ship ? why, it is at sea. 
 
 Speed. Well, your old vice still mistake the word. 
 What news, then, in your paper ? 
 
 Launce. The blackest news that ever thou heard'st. 
 
 Speed. Why, man, how black ? 
 
 Launce. Why, as black as ink. 
 
 Speed. Let me read them. 
 
 Launce. Fie on thee, jolt-head ! thou canst not 
 read. 
 
 Speed. Thou liest, I can. 
 
 Launce. I will try thee. Tell me this : who begot 
 thee? 
 
 Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather 
 
 Launce. 0, illiterate loiterer ! it was the son of thy 
 grandmother. This proves that thou canst not read. 
 
 Speed. Come, fool, come : try me in thy paper. 
 
 Launce. There, and saint Nicholas be thy speed ! 
 
 Speed. Imprimis, " She can milk." 
 
 Launce. Ay. that she can. 
 
 Speed. Item, " She brews good ale."
 
 SC. I. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 105 
 
 Launce. And thereof comes the proverb, Blessing 
 of your heart, you brew good ale. 
 
 Speed. Item, " She can sew." 
 
 Launce. That 's as much as to say. Can she so ? 
 
 Speed. Item, " She can knit.' ; 
 
 Launce. What need a man care for a stock with a 
 wench, when she can knit him a stock ? 
 
 Speed. Item, " She can wash and scour." 
 
 Launce. A special virtue for then she need not be 
 waslrd and scour'd. 
 
 Speed. Item, " She can spin." 
 
 Launce. Then may I set the world on wheels, when 
 she can spin for her living. 
 
 Speed. Item, " She hath many nameless virtues." 
 
 Launce. That 's as much as to say, bastard virtues ; 
 that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore 
 have no names. 
 
 Speed. Here follow her vices. 
 
 Launce. Close at the heels of her virtues. 
 
 Speed. Item. " She is not to be kissed fasting, in 
 respect of her breath." 
 
 Launce. Well, that fault may be mended with a 
 breakfast. Read on. 
 
 Speed. Item, " She hath a sweet moi th." 
 
 Launce. That makes amends for her sour breath. 
 
 Speed. Item. " She doth talk in her sleep." 
 
 Launce. It 's no matter for that, so she slip not in 
 her talk. 
 
 Speed. Item, " She is slow in words." 
 
 Launce. O villain ! that set this down among her 
 vices ? To be slow in words is a woman's only virtue : 
 [ pray thee, out with 't, and place it for her chief virtue. 
 
 Speed. Item, " She is proud." 
 
 Launce. Out with that too : it was Eve's legacy, 
 and cannot be ta'en from her. 
 
 Speed. Item, " She hath no teeth." 
 
 Launce. I care not for that neither, because I love 
 crusts. 
 
 Speed. Item, " She is curst." 
 
 Launce. Well ; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. 
 
 Speed. Item, " She will often praise her liquor." 
 
 Launce. If her liquor be good, she shall : if she will 
 not. I will ; for good tilings should be praised. 
 
 Speed. Item, "She is too liberal."
 
 JOG THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT lit 
 
 Launce. Of her tongue she cannot, for that 's writ 
 down she is slow of: of her purse she shall not, for 
 that I '11 keep shut : now, of another thing she may, and 
 that cannot I help. Well, proceed. 
 
 Speed. Item. " She hath more hair than wit, and 
 more faults than hairs, and more wealth than 
 faults." 
 
 Launce. Stop there; I'll have her: she was mine, 
 and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article. 
 Rehearse that once more. 
 
 Speed. Item, " She hath more hair than wit," 
 
 Launce. More hair than wit, it may be ; I '11 prove 
 it : the cover of the salt hides the salt, and therefore 
 it is more than the salt : the hair, that covers the wit, 
 is more than the wit, for the greater hides the less. 
 What 's next ? 
 
 Speed. " And more faults than hairs." 
 
 Launce. That 's monstrous : 0, that that were out ! 
 
 Speed. " And more wealth than faults." 
 
 Launce. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. 
 Well, I '11 have her; and if it be a match, as nothing 
 is impossible, 
 
 Speed. What I hen ? 
 
 Launce. Wh> , then will I tell thee, that thy master 
 stays for thee at the north-gate. 
 
 Speed. For me ? 
 
 Launce. For thee ? ay ; who art thou ? he hath 
 stay'd for a better man than thee. 
 
 Speed. And must I go to him ? 
 
 Launce. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay'd 
 BO long, that going will scarce serve the turn. 
 
 Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner ? pox of your 
 love-letters ! [Exit, running. 1 
 
 Launce. Now will he be swing'd for reading my 
 letter. An unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself 
 into secrets. I '11 after, to rejoice in the boy's cor- 
 rection. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. The Same. An Apartment in the 
 
 DUKE'S Palace. 
 Enter DUKE and THURIO. 
 
 Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you, 
 Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. 
 ' running : not in f. e.
 
 BC. II. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 107 
 
 Tku. Since his exile she hath despis'd me most ; 
 Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me, 
 That I am desperate of obtaining her. 
 
 Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure 
 Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat 
 Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form. 
 A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, 
 And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. t 
 
 Enter PROTEUS. 
 
 How now, sir Proteus ! Is your countryman, 
 According to our proclamation, gone ? 
 
 Pro. Gone, my good lord. 
 
 Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously. 
 
 Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. 
 
 Duke. So I believe ; but Thurio thinks not so. 
 Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee, 
 (For thou hast shown sure 1 sign of good desert) 
 Makes me the better to confer with thee. 
 
 Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace, 
 Let me not live to look upon your grace. 
 
 Duke. Thou know'st how willingly I would effect 
 The match between sir Thurio and my daughter. 
 
 Pro. I do. my lord. 
 
 Duke. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant 
 How she opposes her against my will. 
 
 Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. 
 
 Duke. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. 
 What might we do to make the girl forget 
 The love of Valentine, and love sir Thurio ? 
 
 Pro. The best way is, to slander Valentine 
 With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent; 
 Three things that women highly hold in hate. 
 
 Duke. Ay, but she '11 think that it is spoke in 
 hate. 
 
 Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it : 
 Therefore, it must, with circumstance, be spoken 
 By one whom she esteemeth as his friend. 
 
 Duke. Then, you must undertake to slander him. 
 
 Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do : 
 T is an ill office for a gentleman, 
 Especially, against his very friend. 
 
 Duke. Where your good word cannot advantage him. 
 Your slander never can endamage htm :
 
 108 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT III. 
 
 Therefore, the office is indifferent, 
 Being entreated to it by your friend. 
 
 Pro. You have prevailed, my lord. If I can do it 
 By aught that I can speak in his dispraise, 
 She shall not long continue love to him. 
 But say, this wean 1 her love from Valentine, 
 It follows not that she will love sir Thurio. 
 
 Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him, 
 Lest it should ravel and be good to none, 
 You must provide to bottom it on me ; 
 Which must be done, by praising me as much 
 As you in worth dispraise sir Valentine. 
 
 Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind 
 Because we know, on Valentine's report, 
 You are already love's firm votary, 
 And cannot soon revolt, and change your mind. 
 Upon this warrant shall you have access 
 Where you with Silvia may confer at large ; 
 For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, 
 And for your friend's sake will be glad of you, 
 When you may temper her, by your persuasion, 
 To hate young Valentine, and love my friend. 
 
 Pro. As much as I can do I will effect. 
 But you, sir Thurio, are not sharp enough ; 
 You must lay lime to tangle her desires 
 By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes 
 Should be full fraught with serviceable vows. 
 
 Duke. Ay, much is the force of heaven-bred poesy. 
 
 Pro. Say, that upon the altar of her beauty 
 You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart. 
 Write, till your ink be dry, and with your tears 
 Moist it again : and frame some feeling line, 
 That may discover strict integrity : 
 For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews, 
 Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones, 
 Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans 
 Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. 
 After your dire-lamenting elegies, 
 Visit by night your lady's chamber window 
 With some sweet consort : to their instruments 
 Tune a deploring dump ; the night's dead silence 
 Will well become such sweet complaining grievance 
 This, or else nothing, will inherit her.
 
 SC. I. THE TWO GENTLEMh-N OF VERONA. 109 
 
 Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been in love. 
 
 Thu. And thy advice this night I '11 put in practice. 
 Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver, 
 Let us into the city presently, 
 To sort some gentlemen well-skill'd in music. 
 I have a sonnet that will serve the turn 
 To give the onset to thy good advice. 
 
 Duke. About it, gentlemen. 
 
 Pro. We '11 wait upon your grace till after supper, 
 And afterward determine our proceedings. 
 
 Duke. Even now about it : I will pardon you. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. A Forest, between Milan and Verona. 
 Enter certain Outlaws. 
 
 1 Out. Fellows, stand fast : I see a passenger. 
 
 2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em. 
 
 Enter VALENTINE and SPEED. 
 
 3 Out . Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about 
 
 you; 
 If not, we '11 make you sit, and rifle you. 
 
 Speed. Sir, we are undone. These are the villains 
 That all the travellers do fear so much. 
 
 Vol. My friends, 
 
 1 Out. That's not so, sir: we are your enemies. 
 
 2 Out. Peace! we'll hear him. 
 
 3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we ; for he is a proper 
 
 man. 
 
 Vol. Then know, that I have little wealth to lose. 
 A man I am cross'd with adversity : 
 My riches are these poor habiliments, 
 Of which if you should here disfurnish me, 
 You take the sum and substance that I have. 
 
 2 Out. Whither travel you? 
 Vol. To Verona. 
 
 1 Out. Whence came you? 
 Vol. From Milan. 
 
 3 Out. Have you long sojourn'd there? 
 
 Vol. Some sixteen months; and longer might have 
 
 stay'd. 
 If crooked fortune had not thwarted me.
 
 110 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT IV, 
 
 2 Out. What! were you banish'd thence? 
 Vol. I was. 
 
 2 Out. For what offence? 
 
 Vol. For that which now torments me to rehearse, 
 I kill ; d a man. whose death I much repent ; 
 But yet I slew him manfully, in fight, 
 Without false vantage, or base treachery. 
 
 1 Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so. 
 But were you banish'd for so small a fault? 
 
 Vol. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. 
 
 1 Out. Have you the tongues ? 
 
 Vol. My youthful travel therein made me happy, 
 Or else I had been often miserable. 
 
 3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, 
 This fellow were a king for our wild faction. 
 
 1 Out. We '11 have him. Sirs, a word. 
 
 [They talk apart. 1 
 Speed. Master, be one of them : 
 It is an honourable kind of thievery. 
 Vol. Peace, villain ! 
 
 2 Out. Tell us this : have you any thing to take to? 
 Val. Nothing, but my fortune. 
 
 3 Out. Know then, that some of us are gentlemen, 
 Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth 
 
 Thrust from the company of awful men : 
 Myself was from Verona banished, 
 For practising to steal away a lady. 
 An heir, and near allied unto the duke. 
 
 2 Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman, 
 Who. in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart. 
 
 1 Out. And I, for such like petty crimes as these. 
 But to the purpose ; for we cite our faults, 
 That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives : 
 And, partly, seeing you are beautify'd 
 With goodly shape ; and by your own report 
 A linguist, and a man of such perfection, 
 As we do in our quality much want 
 
 3 Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man, 
 Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you. 
 
 Are you content to be our general ? 
 To make a virtue of necessity, 
 
 And live, as we do, in this wilderness? [consort? 
 
 3 Out. What say'st thou? wilt thou be of our 
 i Not in f. e.
 
 8C. II. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Ill 
 
 Say, ay. and be the captain of us all. 
 
 We '11 do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee, 
 
 Love thee as our commander, and our king. 
 
 1 Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest. 
 
 2 Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have 
 
 offerd. 
 
 Val. I take your offer, and will live with you : 
 Provided that you do no outrages 
 On silly women, or poor passengers. 
 
 3 Out. No; we detest such vile, base practices. 
 Come, go with us : we '11 bring thee to our cave, 1 
 And show thee all the treasure we have got, 
 Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Milan. The Court of the Palace. 
 Enter PROTEUS. 
 
 Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine, 
 And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. 
 Under the colour of commending him, 
 I have access my own love to prefer ; 
 But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, 
 To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. 
 When I protest true loyalty to her, 
 She twits me with my falsehood to my friend ; 
 When to her beauty I commend my vows, 
 She bids me think how I have been forsworn, 
 In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd : 
 And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips, 
 The least whereof would quell a lover's hope, 
 Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love, 
 The more it grows, and fawneth on her still. 
 But here comes Thurio. Now must we to hei 
 
 window, 
 
 And give some evening music to her ear. 
 Enter THURIO, and Musicians. 
 
 Thu. How now, sir Proteus ! are you crept before us ? 
 
 Fro. Ay, gentle Thurio ; for, you know, that love 
 Will creep in service where it cannot go. 
 
 Thu. Ay; but I hope, sir, that you love not here. 
 
 Pro. Sir, but I do ; or else I would be hence. 
 
 Thu. Whom? Silvia? 
 
 Pro. Ay, Silvia, for your sake, 
 crews : in f. e.
 
 112 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT IV. 
 
 Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, 
 Let 's tune, and to it lustily awhile. 
 
 Enter Host and JULIA (in boy's clothes), behind. 
 
 Host. Now, my young guest ; methinks you ; re ally- 
 cholly : I pray you, why is it ? 
 
 Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. 
 
 Host. Come, we '11 have you merry. I '11 bring you 
 where you shall hear music, and see the gentlemen 
 that you ask'd for. 
 
 Jul. But shall I hear him speak ? 
 
 Host. Ay, that you shall. 
 
 Jul. That will be music. [Music plays 
 
 Host. Hark ! Hark ! 
 
 Jul. Is he among these ? 
 
 Host. Ay; but peace ! let 's hear 'em. 
 
 SONG. 
 Who is Silvia ? what is she, 
 
 That all our swains commend her ? 
 Holy, fair, and wise as free ; l 
 
 The heaven such grace did lend her, 
 That she might admired be. 
 
 Is she kind, as she is fair, 
 
 For beauty lives with kindness ? 
 
 Love doth to her eyes repair, 
 To help him of his blindness / 
 
 And, being helped, inhabits there. 
 
 Then to Silvia let us sing, 
 
 That Silvia is excelling ; 
 She excels each mortal thing, 
 
 Upon the dull earth dwelling : 
 To her let us garlands bring. 
 
 Host. How now! are you sadder than you were 
 before? How do you, man? the music likes you not. 
 
 Jul. You mistake : the musician likes me not. 
 
 Host. Why. my pretty youth? 
 
 Jul. He plays false, father. 
 
 Host. How ? out of tune on the strings ? 
 
 //. Not so; but yet so false, that he grieves my 
 rery heart-strings. 
 
 Host. You have a quick ear. 
 
 i is she : in f. e.
 
 SC. II. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 113 
 
 Jul. Ay ; I would I were deaf ! it makes me have a 
 slow heart. 
 
 Host. I perceive, you delight not in music. 
 
 Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so. [Music plays again. 1 
 
 Host. Hark ! what fine change is in the music. 
 
 Jul. Ay, that change is the spite. 
 
 Host. You would not have them always play hut 
 one thing? 
 
 Jul. 1 would always have one play hut one thing. 
 But, Host, doth this sir Proteus, that we talk on, 
 Often resort unto this gentlewoman? 
 
 Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me, he 
 lov'd her out of all nick. 
 
 Jul. Where is Launce ? 
 
 Host. Gone to seek his dog ; which, to-morrow, hy 
 his master's command, he must carry for a present to 
 his lady. 
 
 Jul. Peace ! stand aside : the company parts. 
 
 Pro. Sir Thurio, fear you not : I will so plead, 
 That you shall say my cunning drift excels. 
 
 Thu. Where meet we? 
 
 Pro. At St. Gregory's well. 
 
 Thu. Farewell. [Exeunt THURIO and Musicians. 
 Enter SILVIA above, at her window. 
 
 Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship. 
 
 Sil. I thank you for your music, gentlemen. 
 Who is that, that spake? 
 
 Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, 
 You would quickly learn to know him by his voice. 
 
 Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it. 
 
 Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. 
 
 Sil. What is your will ? 
 
 Pro. That I may compass yours 
 
 Sil. You have your wish : my will is even this, 
 That presently you hie you home to hed. 
 Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man ! 
 Think'st thou. I am so shallow, so conceitless, 
 To be seduced by thy flattery, 
 That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows ? 
 Return, return, and make thy love amends. 
 For me, by this pale queen of night I swear, 
 I am so far from gi anting thy request, 
 Tt at I despise thee for thy wrongful suit, 
 i This direction is not in f. e
 
 114 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT IV 
 
 And by and by intend to chide myself, 
 Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. 
 
 Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady; 
 But she is dead. 
 
 Jul. [Aside.] ; T were false, if I should speak it; 
 For, I am sure, she is not buried. 
 
 Sil. Say, that she be ; yet Valentine, thy frien*, 
 Survives, to whom thyself art witness 
 I am betroth'd ; and art thou not asham'd 
 To wrong him with thy importunacy? 
 
 Pro. I likewise hear, that Valentine is dead. 
 
 Sil. And so, suppose, am I ; for in his grave, 
 Assure thyself, my love is buried. 
 
 Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. 
 
 Sil. Go to thy lady's grave, and call her's thence ; 
 Or, at the least, in her's sepulchre thine. 
 
 Jul. [Aside.] He heard not that. 
 
 Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, 
 Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, 
 The picture that is hanging in your chamber : 
 To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep; 
 For, since the substance of your perfect self 
 Is else devoted, I am but a shadow, 
 And to your shadow will I make true love. 
 
 Jul. [Aside.] If 't were a substance, you would, sure 
 
 deceive it. 
 And make it but a shadow, as I am. 
 
 Sil. I am very loth to be your idol, sir ; 
 But, since your falsehood, 't shall become you well 
 To worship shadows, and adore false shapes, 
 Send to me in the morning, and I '11 send it. 
 And so, good rest. 
 
 Pro. As wretches have o'er night, 
 
 That wait for execution in the morn. 
 
 [Exeunt PROTEUS and SILVIA. 
 
 Jul. Host, will you go ? 
 
 Host. By my halidom, 1 I was fast asleep. 
 
 Jul. Pray you, where lies sir Proteus ? 
 
 Host. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think, 't Is 
 almost day. 
 
 Jul. Not so ; but it hath been the longest night 
 That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. [Exeunt. 
 
 From the Saxon haligdome, holy place or kingdom.
 
 EC. III. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 115 
 
 SCENE III. The Same. 
 Enter EGLAMOUR. 
 
 Egl. This is the hour that madam Silvia 
 Entreated me to call, and know her mind. 
 There ; s some great matter she 'd employ me in. 
 Madam, madam ! 
 
 Enter SILVIA above, at her window, 
 
 Sil. Who calls ? 
 
 Egl. Your servant, and your friend ; 
 
 One that attends your ladyship's command. 
 
 Sil. Sir Egl amour, a thousand times good morrow. 
 
 Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself. 
 According to your ladyship's impose, 1 
 1 am thus early come, to know what service 
 It is your pleasure to command me in. 
 
 Sil. Eglamour, thou art a gentleman, 
 Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not, 
 Valiant, wise, remorseful, 2 well accomplish'd. 
 Thou art not ignorant what dear good will 
 1 bear unto the banish'd Valentine; 
 Nor how my father would enforce me marry 
 Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors. 
 Thyself hast lov'd ; and I have heard thee say, 
 No grief did ever come so near thy heart, 
 As when thy lady and thy true love died, 
 Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. 
 Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, 
 To Mantua, where, I hear, he makes abode ; 
 And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, 
 I do desire thy worthy company, 
 Upon whose faith and honour I repose. 
 Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, 
 But think upon my grief, a lady's grief, 
 And on the justice of my flying hence, 
 To teep me from a most unholy match, 
 Which heaven and fortune still reward with plagues 
 I do desire thee, even from a heart 
 As full of sorrows as the sea of sands, 
 To bear me company, and go with me : 
 If not, to hide what I have said to thee, 
 That I may venture to depart alone, 
 
 Egl. Madam, I pity much your grievances, 
 
 1 Injunction 3 Compassionate.
 
 116 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT IV. 
 
 And the most true affections that you bear; 1 
 Which since I know they virtuously are plac'd, 
 I give consent to go along with you ; 
 Recking as little what betideth me, 
 As much I wish all good befortune you. 
 When will you go ? 
 
 Sil. This evening coming. 
 
 Egl. Where shall I meet you? 
 
 Sa. At friar Patrick's cell, 
 
 Where I intend holy confession. 
 
 Egl. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, 
 Gentle lady. 
 
 Sil. Good morrow, kind sir Eglamour. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. The Same. 
 Enter LAUNCE with his dog. 
 
 Launce. When a man's servant shall play the cur 
 with him, look you, it goes hard : one that I brought 
 up of a puppy ; one that I saved from drowning, when 
 three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to 
 it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely, 
 thus I would teach a dog. I was sent to deliver him 
 as a present to mistress Silvia from my master, and I 
 came no sooner into the dining-chamber. but he steps 
 me to her trencher, and steals her capon's leg. O ! 'tis 
 a foul thing, when a cur cannot keep himself in all 
 companies. I would have, as one should say, one that 
 takes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a 
 dog at all things. If I had not had more wit than he, 
 to take a fault upon me that he did, I think verily, he 
 had been hang'd for 't : sure as I live, he had suffer'd 
 for ! t. You shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the 
 company of three or four gentlemen-like dogs under 
 the duke's table : he had not been there (bless the 
 mark) a pissing while, but all the chamber smelt him. 
 "Out with the dog !" says one; "what cur is that?" 
 says another ; " whip him out," says the third ; " hang 
 him up," says the duke. I, having been acquainted 
 with the smell before, knew it was Crab, and goes me 
 to the fellow that whips the dogs : " Friend," quoth I , 
 " do you mean to whip the dog?" " Ay, marry, do I," 
 quoth he. "You do him the more wrong," quoth I, 
 " ! t was I did the thing you wot of." He makes me no 
 This line is not in f. e.
 
 SC. IV. THE TWO GKNTLEMEN OK YEUOXA. 117 
 
 more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How 
 many masters would do this for his-servant ? Nay, I '11 
 be sworn I have sat in the stocks for puddings he hath 
 stolen, otherwise he had been executed : I have stood 
 on the pillory for geese he hath kill'd, otherwise he had 
 suffer'd for 't : thou think'st not of this now. Nay, I 
 remember the trick you served me, when I took my 
 leave of madam Silvia. Did not I bid thee still mark 
 me, and do as 1 do ? When didst thou see me heave 
 up my leg, and make water against a gentlewoman's 
 farthingale? Didst thou ever see me do such a trick? 
 Enter PROTEUS and JULIA. 
 
 Pro. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well, 
 And will employ thee in some service presently. 
 
 Jul. In what you please : I will do what I can. 
 
 Pro. I hope thou wilt. How. now, you whoreson 
 
 peasant ! 
 Where have you been these two days loitering ? 
 
 Launce. Marry, sir, I carried mistress Silvia the dog 
 you bade me. 
 
 Pro. And what says she to my little jewel ? 
 
 Launce. Marry, she says, your dog was a cur ; and 
 jells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a 
 present. 
 
 Pro. But she receiv'd my dog ? 
 
 Launce. No, indeed, did she not. Here have I 
 brought him back again. 
 
 Pro. What ! didst thou offer her this cur 1 from me ? 
 
 Launce. Ay, sir : the other squirrel was stolen from 
 me by a hangman boy 2 in the market-place and then 
 I offer'd her my own, who is a dog as big as ten of 
 yours, and therefore the gift the greater. 
 
 Pro. Go ; get thee hence, and find my dog again, 
 Or ne'er return again into my sight. 
 Away, I'say ! Stayest thou to vex me here? 
 A slave that still an end 3 turns me to shame. 
 
 [Exit LAUNCE. 
 
 Sebastian, I have entertained thee, 
 Partly, that I have need of such a youth, 
 That can with some discretion do my business, 
 For 't is no trusting to yond foolish lowt ; 
 But. chiefly, for thy face, and thy behaviour, 
 Which (if my augury deceive me not) 
 
 1 Not in f. e. - the hangman's boys : in f. e. 3 Continually. 
 VOL. i. 22
 
 118 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT IV. 
 
 Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth : 
 Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee. 
 Go presently, and take this ring with thee : 
 Deliver it to madam Silvia. 
 She lov ; d me well deliver' d it to me. 
 
 Jid. It seems, you lov'd not her, to leave her token. 
 She ; s dead, belike? 
 
 Pro. Not so : I think, she lives. 
 
 M. Alas! 
 
 Pro. Why dost thou cry alas? 
 
 Jul. I cannot choose but pity her. 
 
 Pro. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her ? 
 
 Jul. Because, methinks, that she lov'd you as well 
 As you do love your lady Silvia. 
 She dreams on him, that has forgot her love; 
 You dote on her, that cares not for your love. 
 'T is pity, love should be so contrary, 
 And thinking on it makes me cry alas ! 
 
 Pro. Well, give to her that ring ; and therewithal 
 This letter : that 's her chamber. Tell my lady 
 1 claim the promise for her heavenly picture. 
 Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, 
 Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. [Exit 
 
 Jul. How many women would do such a message ? 
 Alas, poor Proteus ! thou hast entertain'd 
 A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. 
 Alas, poor fool ! why do I pity him, 
 That with his very heart despiseth me ? 
 Because he loves her, he despiseth me ; 
 Because I love him, I must pity him. 
 This ring I gave him when lie parted from me, 
 To bind him to remember my good will, 
 And now am I (unhappy messenger !) 
 To plead for that which I would not obtain; 
 To carry that which I would have refus'd ; 
 To praise his faith which I would have disprais'd. 
 I am my master's true confirmed love, 
 But cannot be true servant to my master, 
 Unless I prove false traitor to myself. 
 Yet will I woo for him; but yet so coldly. 
 As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed. 
 
 Enter SILVIA, attended. 
 
 Gentlewoman, good day. I pray you, be my mean 
 To bring me where to speak with madam Silvia.
 
 SO. IV. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 119 
 
 Sil. What would you with hor, if that I be she? 
 
 Jnl. If you be she, I do entreat your patience 
 To hear me speak the message I am sent on. 
 
 Sil. From whom ? 
 
 Jul. From my master, sir Proteus, madam. 
 
 Sil. O ! he sends you for a picture. 
 
 Jul. Ay, madam. 
 
 Sil. Ursula, bring my picture there. [A Picture brought. 
 Go, give your master this : tell him from me, 
 One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, 
 Would better fit his chamber, than this shadow. 
 
 Jul. Madam, so 1 please you to a peruse this letter. 
 Pardon me, madam, I have unadvis'd [Giving a letter. 
 Deliver'd you a paper that I should not : 
 This is the letter to your ladyship. [ Giving another letter. 
 
 Sil. I pray thee, let me look on that again. 
 
 Jul. It may not be : good madam, pardon me. 
 
 Sil. There, hold. [Giving it back. 
 
 1 will not look upon your master's lines : 
 I know, they are stuff'd with protestations, 
 And full of new-found oaths, which he will break, 
 As easily as I do tear his paper. 
 
 Jul. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. 
 
 Sil. The more shame for him that he sends it me: 
 For, I have heard him say. a thousand times, 
 His Julia gave it him at his departure. 
 Though his false finger have profan'd the ring, 
 Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. 
 
 Jul. She thanks you. 
 
 Sil. What say'st thou ? 
 
 Jul. I thank you, madam, that you tender her. 
 Poor gentlewoman ! my master wrongs her much. 
 
 Sil. Dost thou know her ? 
 
 Jul. Almost as well as I do know myself : 
 To think upon her woes, I do protest, 
 That I have wept a hundred several times. 
 
 Sil. Belike, she thinks, that Proteus hath forsook hef 
 
 Jul. I think she doth, and that ; s her cause of sorrow 
 
 Sil. Is she not passing fair ? 
 
 Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is. 
 When she did think my master lov'd her well, 
 She, in my judgment, was as fair as you ; 
 But since she did neglect her looking-glass,
 
 120 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT IV, 
 
 And threw her sun-expelling mask away, 
 The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheek 
 And piuch'd the lily-tincture of her face, 
 That now she is become as black as I. 
 
 Sil. How tall was she ? 
 
 Jul. About my stature ; for, at pentecost, 
 When all our pageants of delight were play'd, 
 Our youth got me to play the woman's part, 
 And I was trimm'd in madam Julia's gown, 
 Which served me as fit, by all men's judgments, 
 As if the garment had been made for me : 
 Therefore, I know she is about my height. 
 And at that time I made her weep a-good, 1 
 For I did play a lamentable part. 
 Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning 
 For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight ; 
 Which I so lively acted with my tears,' 
 That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, 
 Wept bitterly ; and, would I might be dead, 
 If I in thought felt not her very sorrow. 
 
 Sil. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth. 
 Alas, poor lady ! desolate and left ! 
 [ weep myself, to think upon thy words. 
 Here, youth ; there is my purse : I give thee this 
 For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her. 
 Farewell. [Exit SILVIA 
 
 Jul. And she shall thank you for 't, if e'er you kno^f 
 
 her. 
 
 A virtuous gentlewoman, mild, and beautiful ! 
 I hope my master's suit will be but cold, 
 Since she respects my mistress' love so much. 
 Alas, how love can trifle with itself ! 
 Here is her picture. Let me see : I think, 
 If I had such a tire, this face of mine 
 Were full as lovely as is this of hers ; 
 And yet the painter flatter'd her a little, 
 Unless I flatter with myself too much. 
 Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow : 
 If that be all the difference in his love, 
 I '11 get me such a colour'd periwig. 
 Her eyes are green as grass, 8 and so are mine : 
 Ay, but her forehead 's low, and mine 's as high. 
 What should it be, that he respects in her, 
 
 In good earnest. ' grey as glass : in f. e.
 
 SC. II. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 121 
 
 But I can make respective in myself, 
 
 If this fond love were not a blinded god? 
 
 Come, shadow come, and take this shadow up, 
 
 For 't is thy rival. thou senseless form ! 
 
 Thou shalt be worshiped, kiss'd, lov'd, and adord; 
 
 And. were there sense in his idolatry, 
 
 My substance should be statue in thy stead. 
 
 I ; 11 use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake, 
 
 That us'd me so : or else, by Jove I vow, 
 
 I sho :ld have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes, 
 
 To make my master out of love with thee. [Exit, 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. The Same. An Abbey. 
 Enter EGLAMOUR. 
 
 Egl. The sun begins to gild the western sky, 
 And now it is about the very hour. 
 That Silvia at friar Patrick's cell should meet me. 
 She will not fail ; for lovers break not hours, 
 Unless it be to come before their time, 
 So much they spur their expedition. 
 
 Enter SILVIA. 
 See, where she comes. Lady, a happy evening. 
 
 Sil. Amen, amen. Go on, good Eglamour, 
 Out at the postern by the abbey-wall. 
 T fear. I am attended by some spies. 
 
 Egl. Fear not : the forest is not three leagues off ; 
 If we recover that, we are sure enough. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II. The Same. A Room in the DUKE'S 
 
 Palace. 
 Enter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA. 
 
 Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit ? 
 Pro. 0. sir ! I find her milder than she was; 
 A nd yet she takes exceptions at your person. 
 Thu. What ! that my leg is too long ? 
 Pro. No, that it is too little. 
 
 Thu. I '11 wear a boot to make it somewhat roundel 
 Jul. But love will not be spurr'd to what it loaths. 
 
 [Aside
 
 122 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT V t 
 
 Thu. What says she to my face? 
 
 Pro. She says it is a fair one. 
 
 Thu. Nay, then the wanton lies : my face is black, 
 
 Pro. But pearls are fair, and the old saying is, 
 Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes 
 
 Jul. ; T is true, such pearls as put out ladies eyes ; 
 For I had rather wink thaji look on them. [Aside. 
 
 Thu. How likes she my discourse ? 
 
 Pro. Ill, when you talk of war. 
 
 Thu. But well, when I discourse of love and 
 peace ? 
 
 Jul. But better, indeed, when you hold your peace. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Thu. What says she to my valour ? 
 
 Pro. 0, sir ! she makes no doubt of that. 
 
 Jul. She needs not, when she knows it cowardice. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Thu. What says she to my birth ? 
 
 Pro. That you are well deriv'd. 
 
 Jul. True ; from a gentleman to a fool. [Aside. 
 
 Thu. Considers she my large possessions ? 
 
 Pro. ! ay, and pities them. 
 
 Thu. Wherefore? 
 
 Jul. That such an ass should owe them. \Asule. 
 
 Pro. That they are out by lease. 
 
 Jul. Here comes the duke. 
 
 Enter DUKE, angrily. 1 
 
 Duke. How now, sir Proteus ! how now, Thxirio ! 
 Which of you saw sir 2 Eglamour of late ? 
 
 Thu. Not I. 
 
 Pro. Nor I 
 
 Duke. Saw you my daughter ? 
 
 Pro. Neither. 
 
 Duke. Why, then 
 
 She 's fled unto that peasant Valentine, 
 And Eglamour is in her company. 
 'T is true : for friar Lawrence met them both, 
 As he in penance wander'd through the forest : 
 Him he knew well , and guess'd that it was she, 
 But, being mask'd, he was not sure of her : 
 Besides, she did intend confession 
 At Patrick's cell this even, and there she was not. 
 These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence: 
 * Not in f. e.
 
 SC. IV. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 123 
 
 Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse, 
 But mount you presently ; and meet with me 
 Upon the rising of the mountain-foot, 
 That leads towards Mantua, whither they are fled. 
 Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. 
 
 [Exit in haste. 
 
 Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl, 
 That flies her fortune when it follows her. 
 I '11 after, more to be reveng'd on Eglamour, 
 Than for the love of reckless Silvia. [Exit 
 
 Pro. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love, 
 Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her. [Exit 
 
 Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that love. 
 Than hate for Silvia that is gone for love. [Exit 
 
 SCENE III. The Forest. 
 Enter SILVIA, and Outlaws. 
 
 1 Out. Come, come; be patient, we must bring you 
 to our captain. [Drawing her in. 
 
 Sil. A thousand more mischances than this one 
 Have learn' d me how to brook this patiently. 
 
 2 Out. Come, bring her away. 
 
 1 Out. Where is the gentleman that was with her? 
 
 3 Out. Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us; 
 But Moyses. and Valerius, follow him. 
 
 Go thou with her to the west end of the wood ; 
 There is our captain. We '11 follow him that 's fled : 
 The thicket is beset ; he cannot 'scape. 
 
 1 Out. Come, I must bring you to our captain's cave. 
 Fear not ; he bears an honourable mind, 
 And will not use a woman lawlessly. 
 
 Sil. Valentine ! this I endure for thee. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IV. Another Part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter VALENTINE. 
 
 Val. How use doth breed a habit in a man ! 
 These shadowy, desert, unfrequented woods, 
 I better brook than flourishing peopled towns. 
 Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, 
 And to the nightingale's complaining notes 
 Tune my distresses, and record 3 my woes. 
 O ! thou that dost inhabit in my breast, 
 Leave not the mansion too long tenantless, 
 ' in haste : not in f. e. 3 This shadowy desert : in f. a sing
 
 124 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT V 
 
 Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall, 
 And leave no memory of what it was ! 
 Repair me with thy presence, Silvia ! 
 Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain ! 
 What halloing, and what stir, is this to-day? [Shouts. 
 These my rude mates," that make their wills their law 
 Have some unhappy passenger in chase. 
 They love me well ; yet I have much to do, 
 To keep them from uncivil outrages. 
 Withdraw thee, Valentine : who 's this comes here ? 
 
 [Withdrew. 
 Enter PROTEUS, SILVIA, and JULIA. 
 
 Pro, Madam, this service having* done for you. 
 (Though you respect not aught your servant doth) 
 To hazard life, and rescue you from him, 
 That would have forc'd your honour and your love, 8 
 Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look." 
 A smaller boon than this I cannot beg, 
 And less than this. I am sure, you cannot give 
 
 Vol. How like a dream is this, I see and hear ! 
 Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile. [Aside. 
 
 Sil. 0, miserable ! unhappy that I am ! 
 
 Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came ; 
 But by my coming I have made you happy. 
 
 Sil. By thy approach thou mak st me most unhappy. 
 
 Jul. And me, when he approacheth to your presence. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Sil. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, 
 I would have been a breakfast to the beast, 
 Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. 
 0. heaven ! be judge, how I love Valentine, 
 Whose life's as tender to me as my soul ; 
 And full as much (for more there cannot be) 
 I do detest false, perjur'd Proteus : 
 Therefore be gone : solicit me no more. 
 
 Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to death. 
 Would I not undergo for one calm look. 
 
 ! ; t is the curse in love, and still approv'd, 7 
 When women cannot love where they 're belov'd, 
 
 Sil. When Proteus cannot love where he 's belov'd. 
 Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love, 
 
 Not in f. e. are my mates : in f. e. s steps iside : in t. e 
 * 1 have : in f. e f . e. have a period. f. e. have a semi-colon 
 
 1 prortd
 
 8C. IV. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 125 
 
 For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith 
 Into a thousand oaths ; and all those oaths 
 Descended into perjury to love me. 
 Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou'dst two, 
 And that 's far worse than none : better have none 
 Than plural faith, which is too much by one. 
 Thou counterfeit to thy true friend ! 
 
 Pro. In love 
 
 Who respects friend? 
 
 Sit . All men but Proteus. 
 
 Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
 Can no way change you to a milder form, 
 I '11 woo you like a soldier, at arm's end, 
 And love you 'gainst the nature of love : force you. 
 
 Sil. heaven ! 
 
 Pro. I '11 force thee yield to my desire. 
 
 Vol. [Coming forward.} Ruffian, let go that rale 
 
 uncivil touch ; 
 Thou friend of an ill fashion ! 
 
 Pro. Valentine ! [love ; 
 
 Vol. Thou common friend, that's without faith or 
 (For such is a friend now) treacherous man ! 
 Thou hast beguil'd my hopes : nought but mine eye 
 Could have persuaded me. Now dared I to say, 
 I have one friend alive, thou would'st disprove me. 
 Who should be trusted now, when one's right iiand 
 Is perjur'd to the bosom ? Proteus, 
 I am sorry I must never trust thee more, 
 But count the world a stranger for thy sake. 
 The private wound is deep'st. time accurst ! 
 ; Mongst all my 1 foes 3 a friend should be the worst ! 
 
 Pro. My shame and desperate guilt at once 3 con 
 
 found me. 
 
 Forgive me, Valentine. If hearty sorrow 
 Be a sufficient ransom for offence, 
 I tender 't here : I do as truly suffer, 
 As e'er I did commit. 
 
 Vol. Then. I am paid ; 
 
 And once again I do receive thee honest. 
 Who by repentance is not satisfied. 
 Is nor of heaven, nor earth ; for these are pleas'd : 
 By penitence th' Eternal's wrath 's appeas'd. 
 
 i Not in f. e. * that : in f. e. 3 My shame and guilt confound . 
 in f. e.
 
 126 THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. ACT V. 
 
 And, that my love may appear plain and free, 
 All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. 
 
 Jul. me unhappy ! 
 
 Pro. Look to the boy. 
 
 Vol. Why, boy ! why, wag ! how now ! what 's the 
 matter ! look up ; speak. 
 
 Jtf. good sir ! my master charg'd me to deliver a 
 ring to madam Silvia, which, out of my neglect, wa* 
 never done. 
 
 Pro. Where is that ring, boy ? 
 
 Jul. Here 't is : this is it. [Gives a ring. 
 
 Pro. How ! let me see. 
 This is the ring I gave to Julia. 
 
 Jul. O ! cry you mercy, sir ; I have mistook : 
 This is the ring you sent to Silvia. [Shows another ring. 
 
 Pro. But, how cam'st thou by this ring? 
 At my depart I gave this unto Julia. 
 
 Jul. And Julia herself did give it me ; 
 And Julia herself hath brought it hither. 
 
 Pro. How ? Julia ! [Discovering herself. 
 
 Jul. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths, 
 And entertain'd them deeply in her heart : 
 How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root ! 
 O Proteus ! let this habit make thee blush : 
 Be thou asham'd, that I have took upon me 
 Such an immodest raiment ; if shame live 
 In a disguise of love. 
 It is the lesser blot, modesty finds, 
 Women to change their shapes, than men their minds. 
 
 Pro. .Than men their minds : 't is true. heaven ! 
 
 were man 
 
 But constant, he were perfect : that one error 
 Fills him with faults ; makes him run through all the 
 
 sins: 
 
 Inconstancy falls off, ere it begins. 
 What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy 
 More fresh in Julia's, with a constant eye? 
 
 Vol. Come, come, a hand from either. 
 Let me be blest to make this happy close . 
 'T were pity two such friends should be long foes. 
 
 Pro. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever 
 
 Jul. And I mine. 
 
 Enter Outlaws, with DUKE and THURTO 
 
 Out . A prize ! a prize ! a prize !
 
 BC. IV. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 12*7 
 
 Vol. Forbear forbear, I say : it is my lord the 
 
 duke. 
 
 Your grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd, 
 Banished Valentine. 
 
 Duke. Sir Valentine ! 
 
 Thu. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia's mine. 
 
 Val. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death. 
 Come not within the measure of my wrath : 
 Do not name Silvia thine ; if once again, 
 Milano 1 shall not hold thee. Here she stands : 
 Take but possession of her with a touch. 
 I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. 
 
 Thu. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I. 
 I hold him but a fool, that will endanger 
 His body for a girl that loves him not : 
 I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. 
 
 Duke. The more degenerate and base art thou, 
 To make such means for her as thou hast done, 
 And leave her on such slight conditions. 
 Now, by the honour of my ancestry, 
 I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, 
 And think thee worthy of an empress' love. 
 Know then, I here forget all former griefs, 
 Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again, 
 Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit, 
 To which I thus subscribe. Sir Valentine, 
 Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd : 
 Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her. 
 
 Val. I thank your grace ; the gift hath made me 
 
 happy. 
 
 I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, 
 To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. 
 
 Duke. I grant it for thine own. whate'er it be. 
 
 Val. These banish'd men, that I have kept withal, 
 Are men endued with worthy qualities : 
 Forgive them what they have committed here 
 And let them be recalled from their exile. 
 They are reformed, civil, full of good, 
 And fit for great employment, worthy lord. 
 
 Duke. Thou hast prevail'd ; I pardon them, and thee , 
 Dispose of them, as thou know'st their deserts. 
 Come; let us go : we will conclude 8 all jars 
 With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity, 
 i Verona : in f. e. * include : in f. e.
 
 128 THE TWO GENTLEMEN O* VERONA. ACT V 
 
 Vol. And as we walk along, I dare be bold 
 With our discourse to make your grace to smile. 
 What think you of this stripling 1 page, my lord ? 
 Duke. I think the boy hath grace in him : he blushes 
 Vol. I warrant you, my lord, more grace than boy. 
 Duke. What mean you by that saying, Valentine ? a 
 Vol. Please you, I '11 tell you as we pass along, 
 That you will wonder what hath fortuned. 
 Come, Proteus; 'tis your penance, but to hear 
 The story of your love's discoverer : 
 Our day of marriage shall be yours no less; 3 
 One feast, one house, one mutual happiness. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 i a Not in f. e. That done, our day of marriage shall be yours :
 
 THE 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
 
 " A Most pleasaunt and excellent conceited Comedie, of Syr 
 lohn Falstaflfe, and the merrie Wiues of Windsor. Enter- 
 mixed with sundrie variable and pleasing humors, of Syr 
 Hugh the Welch Knight, I ustice Shallow, and his wise Cousin 
 M. Slender. With the swaggering vaine of Auncient Pistoll, 
 and Corporall Nym. By William Shakespeare. As it hath 
 bene diuers times Acted by the right Honorable my Lord 
 Chamberlaiiies seruants. Both before her Maiestie, and 
 elsewhere. London Printed by T. C. for Arthur Johnson, 
 and are to be sold at his shop in Powles Church-yard, at the 
 Bigne of the Flower de Leuse and the Crowne. 1602." 4to. 
 27 leaves. 
 
 " A Most pleasant and excellent conceited Comedy, ot Sir 
 lohn Falstaffe, and the Merry Wiues of Windsor. With the 
 swaggering vaine of Ancient Pistoll, and Corporall Nym. 
 Written by W. Shakespeare. Printed for Arthur Johnson, 
 1619." 4tt>. 28 leaves. 
 
 The 4to. ot 1630, was " printed by T. H. for E. Meighen." 
 &c. In the folio, 1623, "The Merry Wiues of Windsor" 
 occupies twenty-two pages, viz. from p. 89 to p. 60 inclusive, 
 in the division of " Comedies." It also stands third in the 
 thro? later folios.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THIS comedy was printed for the first time in a perfect 
 state in the folio of 1623: it had come out in an imperfect 
 state in 1602, and again in 1619, in both instances for a book- 
 seller of the name of Arthur Johnson: Arthur Johnson ac- 
 quired the right to publish it from John Busby, and the 
 original entry, and the assignment of the play, run thus in 
 the Ke<risters of the Stationers' Company. 
 
 " 18 Jan. 1601. John Busby] An excellent and pleasant 
 conceited commedie of Sir John Faalstof, and the 
 Merry wyves of \Vindesor 
 
 " Arfh. Johnson] By assignment from Jno. Busbye 
 a. B. An excellent and pleasant conceited comedie 
 of Sir John Faulstafe, and the mery wyves of Wind- 
 sor." 
 
 January 1601, according to our present mode of reckoning 
 the year, was January 1602, and the "most pleasaunt and 
 excellent conceited comedie of Syr John Falstatfe, and the 
 merrie Wives of Windsor," (the title-page following the de- 
 scription in the entry) appeared in quarto with the date 
 of 1602. It has been the custom to look upon this edition as 
 the first sketch of the drama, which Shakespeare afterwards 
 enlarged and improved to the form in which it appears in the 
 folio of 1623. After the most minute examination, we are 
 not of that opinion : it has been universally admitted that the 
 4to. of 1602 was piratical : and our conviction is that, like the 
 first edition of " Henry V." in 1600, it was made up, for the 
 purpose of sale, partly from notes taken at the theatre, and 
 partly t'roiii memory, without even the assistance of any of the 
 parts as delivered out by the copyist of the theatre to tho 
 actors. It is to be observed, that John Busby, who assigned 
 "The Merry Wives of Windsor " to Arthur Johnson in I80S. 
 was the same bookseller who, two years before, had joined in 
 the publication of the undoubtedly surreptitious " Henry V." 
 An exact reprint of the 4to. of 1602 has recently been made 
 by the Shakespeare Society, under the cure of Mr. J. (). llal- 
 liwell; and any person possessing it may easily institute a 
 comparison between that very hasty and mangled outline, and 
 the complete and authorized comedy in the folio of 1623, 
 printed from the play-house manuscript in the hands of He- 
 minge and Condeu: on this comparison we rely for evidence 
 to establish the position, that the 4to. of 1602 was not only 
 published without the consent of the author, or of the com-
 
 132 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 pany for which it was written, but that it was fraudulently 
 made up by some person or persons who attended at the 
 theatre tor the purpose. It will be found that there is no va- 
 riation in the progress of the plot, and that although one or 
 two transpositions may be pointed out, of most of the speeches, 
 necessary to the conduct and development of the story, there 
 is some germ or fragment: all are made to look like prose or 
 verse, apparently at the mere caprice of the writer, and the 
 edition is wretchedly printed in a largo type, as if the object 
 had been to bring it out with speed, m order to take advan- 
 tage of a temporary interest. 
 
 ^fhat temporary interest perhaps arose more immediately 
 out the representation of the comedy before Queen Elizabeth, 
 during the Christmas holidays preceding the date of the entry 
 in the Stationers' Eegisters : the title-page states, that it had 
 been acted " by the Lord Chamberlain's servants" before the 
 Queen " and elsewhere :" " elsewhere," was perhaps at the 
 Globe on the Bankside, and we may suppose, that it bad been 
 brought out in the commencement of the summer season of 
 1600, before the death of Sir Thomas Lucy. If the " dozen 
 white luces" in the first scene were meant to ridicule him, 
 Shakespeare would certainly not have introduced the allusion 
 after the death of the object of it, That it continued a fa- 
 vourite play we can readily believe, and we learn that it was 
 acted before James I., not long after he came to the throne : 
 the following memorandum is contained in the accounts of 
 the " Revels at Court" in the latter end of 1604. 
 
 " Bv his Maiestie's plaiers. The Sundav followinge A 
 
 Play of the Merry Wiues of Wiuson/' 
 
 This representation occurred on " the Sunday following " 
 Nov. 1st., 1604. 
 
 What has led some to imagine that the surreptitious im- 
 pression of 1602 was the comedy as it first came from the 
 hands of Shakespeare, is a tradition respecting the rapidity 
 with which it was composed. This tradition, when traced 
 to its source, can be carried back no farther than 1702: John. 
 Dennis in that year printed his "Comical Gallant," founded 
 upon the "Merry Wives of Windsor," and in the dedication 
 he states, that "the comedy was written at the command of 
 Queen Elizabeth, and by her direction; and she was so eager 
 to see it acted, that she commanded it to be finished in four 
 teen days." Dennis gives no authority for any part of this 
 assertion, but because he knew Dryden, it is supposed to have 
 come from him; and because Dryden was acquainted with 
 Davenant, it has been conjectured' that the latter might have 
 communicated it to the former. We own that we place little 
 or no reliance on the story, especially recollecting that Den- 
 nis had to make out a case in favour of his alterations, by 
 showing that Shakespeare had composed the comedy in an 
 incredibly short period, and consequently that it was capable 
 
 i See Mr. Peter Cunningham's "Extracts from the Accounts of 
 the Revels at Court," (printed tor the Shaksp. Society) p. 203. We 
 had no previous extrinsic knowledge of any early performance of 
 'The Merry Wives of Windsor."
 
 INTRODUCTION. 133 
 
 of improvement. The assertion by Dennis was repeated by 
 Gildon, Tope, Theobald, &c., and hence it has obtained a 
 dcirree of currency and credit to which it seems by no means 
 entitled. 
 
 It has been a disputed question in what part of the series 
 of dramas in which Falstaff is introduced, " The Merry 
 Wives of Windsor" ought to be read: Johnson thought it 
 came in between " Henry IV." part ii. and " Henry V. ;" Ma- 
 lone, on the other hand, argued that it should be placed be- 
 tween the two parta of " Henry IV.;" but the truth is, that 
 almost insuperable difficulties present themselves to either 
 hypothesis, and wo doubt much whether the one or the other 
 is well founded. Shakespeare, having for some reason been 
 induced to represent Falstaff in love, considered by what 
 persons he might be immediately surrounded, and Bardolph, 
 Pistol, Nym, and Mrs. Quickly, naturally presented them- 
 selves to his mind: he was aware that the audience, with 
 whom they had been favourite characters, would expect them 
 still tfi he Falstaff 's companions; and though Shakespeare 
 had in fact hanged two of them in " Henry V.," and Mrs. 
 Quickly had died, lie might trust to the forgetfulness of those 
 before "whom the comedy was to be represented, and care 
 little for the consideration, since so eagerly debated, in what 
 part of the series " The Merry Wives of Windsor" ought to 
 be read : Shakespeare might'sit down to write the comedy 
 wit.hout reflecting upon the manner in which he had previ- 
 ously disposed of some of the characters he was about to in- 
 troduce. Any other mode of solving the modern difficulty 
 seems unsatisfactory, and we do not believe that it ever pre- 
 sented itself to the mind of our great dramatist. 
 
 The earliest notice of any of the persons in " The Merry 
 Wives of Windsor" is contained in Dekker's play called 
 "Satiromastix," 1602, where one of the characters observes, 
 " We must have false fires to amaze these spangle-babies, 
 these true heirs of master Justice Shallow." This allusion 
 must have been made soon after Shakespeare's comedy had 
 appeared, unless, indeed, it were to the Justice Shallow of 
 " Henry IV." part ii. 
 
 With regard to the supposed sources of the plot, they have 
 all been collected by Mr. Halliwell in the appendix to his re 
 print of the imperfect edition of " The Merry Wives of Wind- 
 sor," in 1602: the tale of "The Two Lovers of Pisa," the 
 only known English version of the time, is also contained in 
 "Shakespeare's Library," Vol. ii.; but our opinion is, that 
 the true original of the story (if Shakespeare did not himself 
 invent the incidents) has not come down to us. 
 
 VOL. i. 23
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONJE. 
 
 Sir JOHN FALSTAFF. 
 
 FENTON. 
 
 SHALLOW, a Country Justice. 
 
 SLENDER, Cousin to Shallow. 
 
 PAGE' } Two Gentlemen dulling at Windsor 
 
 WILLIAM PAGE, a Boy, Son to Mr. Page. 
 
 Sir HUGH EVANS, a Welsh Parson. 
 
 Dr. CAIUS, a French Physician. 
 
 Host of the Garter Inn. 
 
 BARDOLPH, ) 
 
 PISTOL. > Followers of Falstaff. 
 
 NYM, } 
 
 ROBIN, Page to Falstaff. 
 
 SIMPLE, Servant to Slender. 
 
 JOHN RUGBY, Servant to Dr. Caius. 
 
 Mrs. FORD. 
 
 Mrs. PAGE. 
 
 ANNE PAGE, her Daughter, in love with Fenton. 
 
 Mrs. QWICKLY, Servant to Dr. Caius. 
 
 Servants to Page, Ford, &c. 
 SCENE, Windsor ; and the Parts adjacent.
 
 THE 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. Windsor. Before PACK'S House. 
 
 Enter Justice SHALLOW, SLENDER, and Sir HUGH 
 EVANS. 
 
 SJial. Sir 1 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. 
 
 Slen. In the county of Gloster. justice of peace, and 
 coram. 
 
 Sfial. Ay, cousin Slender, and cust-alorum. 
 
 Slen. Ay, and ratolorum too ; and a gentleman born, 
 master parson ; who writes himself armigero ; in any 
 bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, armigero. 
 
 Shal. Ay, that I do ; and have done any time these 
 three hundred years. 
 
 Slen. All his successors, gone before him, have done 't; 
 and all his ancestors, that come after him, may : they 
 may give the dozen white luces 3 in their coat. 
 
 Shal. It is an old coat. 
 
 Eva. The dozen white louses do become an old coat 
 well ; it agrees well, passant : it is a familiar beast to 
 man, and signifies love. 
 
 Shal. The luce is the fresh fish ; the salt fish is an 
 old coat. 
 
 Slen. I may quarter, coz? 
 
 Shal. You may, by marrying. 
 
 Eva. It is marring, indeed, if he quarter it. 
 
 Skal. Not a wlxit. 
 
 Eva. Yes, per-lady : if he has a quarter of your coat, 
 there is but three skirts for yourself, in my simple con- 
 jectures. But that is all one : if sir John Falstaff have 
 
 iA title by which the clersry were ordinarily addressed. a The 
 old name for a pike an allusion to the coat of arms of the Lucy?' 
 three luces.
 
 136 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT I. 
 
 committed disparagements unto you, I am of the church, 
 and will be glad to do my benevolence, to make atone- 
 ments and compromises between you. 
 
 Shal. The council shall hear it : it is a riot. 
 
 Eva. It is not meet the council hear a riot ; there is 
 no fear of Got in a riot. The council, look you, shall 
 desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a riot : 
 take your vizaments in that. 
 
 Shal. Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again the 
 sword should end it. 
 
 Era. It is petter that friends is the sword, and end 
 it : and there is also another device in my prain, which, 
 peradventure, prings goot discretions with it. There 
 is Anne Page, which is daughter to master George Page, 
 which is pretty virginity. 
 
 Slen. Mistress Anne Page ? She has brown hair, and 
 speaks small, like a woman. 
 
 Eva. It is that fery person for all the orld ; as just as 
 you will desire, and seven hundred pounds of monies, 
 and gold, and silver, is her grandsire, upon his death's- 
 bed (Got deliver to a joyful resurrections !) give, when 
 she is able to overtake seventeen years old. It were a 
 goot motion, if we leave our pribbles and prabbles, and 
 desire a marriage between master Abraham, and mis- 
 tress Anne Page. 
 
 Skn. Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred 
 pound? 
 
 Eva. Ay, and her father is make her a petter 
 penny. 
 
 Slen. I know the young gentlewoman ; she has good 
 gifts. 
 
 Eva. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, is 
 good gifts. 
 
 Shal. Well, let us see honest master Page. Is Fal- 
 BtafF there ? 
 
 Eva. Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar, as 
 I do despise one that is false ; or, as I despise one that 
 is not true. The knight, sir John, is there; and, I 
 beseech you, be ruled by your well-willers. I will 
 peat the door for master Page. [Knocks.] What, hoa ! 
 Got plcss your house here ! 
 
 Page. Who 's there ? [Above, at the wmdmv. 1 
 
 Eva. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and 
 
 Enter Page : in f. e.
 
 SC. I. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 137 
 
 justice Shallow ; and here young master Slender, that 
 perad ventures, shall tell you another tale, if matters 
 grow to your likings. 
 
 Enter PAGE.' 
 
 Page. I am glad to sec your worships well. I thank 
 you for my venison, master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. Master Page, I am glad to see you: much 
 good do it your good heart. I wished your venison 
 better ; it was ill kill'd. How doth good mistress 
 Page ? and I thank you always with my heart, la ; 
 with my heart. 
 
 Page. Sir, I thank you. 
 
 Shal. Sir, I thank you ; by yea and no, I do. 
 
 Page. I am glad to see you, good master Slender. 
 
 Slen. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I 
 heard say, he was outrun on Cotsold. 8 
 
 Page. It could not be judg'd, sir. 
 
 Sim. You '11 not confess, you '11 not confess. 
 
 Shal. That he will not ; 't is your fault, 't is your 
 fault. 'T is a good dog. 
 
 Page. A cur. sir. 
 
 Shal. Sir. he's a good dog, and a fair dog; can 
 there be more said? he is good, and fair. Is sir John 
 Falstaff here ? 
 
 Page. Sir, he is within ; and I would I could do a 
 good office between you. 
 
 Eva. It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak. 
 
 Shal. He hath wrong'd me, master Page. 
 
 Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. 
 
 Shal. If it be confess'd, it is not redress'd : is not 
 that so. master Page ? He hath wrong'd me ; indeed, 
 he hath : at a word, he hath ; believe me : Robert 
 Shallow, esquire, saith he is wrong'd. 
 
 Page. Here comes sir John. 
 Enter Sir JOHN FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, NYM, and 
 PISTOL. 
 
 Fal. Now, master Shallow ; you '11 complain of me 
 to the king ? 
 
 Shal. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed mv 
 deer, and broke open my lodge. 
 
 Fal. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter. 
 
 Shal. Tut, a pin ! this shall be answered. 
 
 Not in f. e. 2 Cotsall : in f. e. Cotswold-downs, in Gloucester- 
 shire a famous place for rural sports
 
 138 THE MERRY "WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT I. 
 
 Fal. I will answer it straight : I have done all 
 this. That is now answered. 
 
 Shal. The council shall know this. 
 
 Fal. 'Twere better for you, if it were known in 
 counsel : you '11 be laughed at. 
 
 Eva. Pauca verba. sir John ; good worts. 
 
 Fal. Good worts ? l good cabbage. Slender, I broko 
 your head ; what matter have you against me ? 
 
 Slen. Marry, sir. I have matter in my head against 
 you ; and against your coney-catching rascals, Bar- 
 dolph, Nym, and Pistol. They carried me to the 
 tavern, and made me drunk, and afterwards picked 
 my pocket. 
 
 Bard. You Banbury cheese.* 
 
 Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 
 
 Pist. How now, Mephostophilus ? 
 
 Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 
 
 Nym. Slice, I say ! pauca, pauca ; slice ! that 's my 
 humour. 
 
 Slen. Where's Simple, my man? can you tell, 
 cousin ? 
 
 Eva. Peace ! I pray you. Now let us understand . 
 there is three umpires in this matter, as I understamd 
 that is master Page, fidelieet, master Page ; and there 
 is myself, fidelicet, myself; and the three party is, 
 lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter. 
 
 Page. We three, to hear it, and end it between 
 them. 
 
 Eva. Fery goot : I will make a prief of it in my 
 note oook ; and we will afterwards 'ork upon the 
 cause, with as great discreetly as we can. 
 
 FaL Pistol! 
 
 Pist. He hears with ears. 
 
 Eva. The tevil and his tarn ! what phrase is this ? 
 " He hears with ear?" Why, it is affectations. 
 
 Fal. Pistol, did you pick master Slender's purse ? 
 
 Slen. Ay, by these gloves, did he, (or I would I 
 might never come in mine own great chamber again 
 else) of seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Edward 
 shovel-boards, 3 that cost me two shilling and two pence 
 a-piece of Yed Miller, by these gloves. 
 
 i The old name for cabbage. This cheese was extremely thin. 
 1 Shilling pieces, used in plavjng; shuffle-board, and probably better 
 fitted for the game by being heavier than the common coin, and so 
 eommanding a premium.
 
 6C. 1. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 139 
 
 Fal. Is this true, Pistol ? 
 
 Eva. No ; it is false, if it is a pick-purse. 
 
 Pi tit. Ha, thou mountain- foreigner ! Sir John and 
 
 master mine, 
 
 I combat challenge of this latten bilbo : l 
 Word of denial in thy labras 2 here ; 
 Word of denial ; froth and scum, thou liest. 
 
 Slen. By these gloves, then 't was he. 
 
 Nym. Be advised, sir, and pass good humours. I will 
 &ay, " marry trap," with you, if you run the nuthook's 1 
 humour on me ; that is the very note of it. 
 
 Slen. By this hat, then he in the red face had it ; for 
 though I cannot remember what I did when you made 
 me drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass. 
 
 Fal. What say you, Scarlet and John ?* 
 
 Bard. Why, sir, for my part, I say, the gentleman 
 had drunk himself out of his five sentences. 
 
 Eva. It is his five senses : fie, what the ignorance is ! 
 
 Bard. And being fap, sir, was, as they say, cashier'd ; 
 and so conclusions pass ; d the carieres. 6 
 
 Slen. Ay, you spake in Latin then too ; but 't is no 
 matter. I '11 ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, but 
 in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick : if I be 
 drunk, I '11 be drunk with those that have the fear of 
 God. and not with drunken knaves. 
 
 Eva. So Got 'udge me, that is a virtuous mind. 
 
 Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gentlemen ; 
 you hear it. 
 
 Enter ANNE PAGE with wine ; and Mistress FORD ana 
 Mistress PAGE. 
 
 Page. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in ; we '11 drink 
 within. [Exit ANNE PAGE. 
 
 Slen. Oh heaven ! this is mistress Anne Page. 
 
 [Following and looking after her." 1 
 
 Page. How now, mistress Ford ! 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well 
 met : by your leave, good mistress. [Kissing her 
 
 Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome. Come, 
 
 ' latten, a composition of copper and calamine, made into thin 
 plates ; bilbo, is a Bilboa blade or sword. 2 lips. 3 Instrument used 
 oy a thief to hook things from a window ; he means, " if you say 
 I -'ma thief." * Two of Robin Hood's merry men. * Fuddled. A 
 term in horsemanship, for galloping a horse backwards and forwards 
 ' This direction is not in f. e.
 
 140 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT I 
 
 we have a hot venison pasty to dinner : come, gentle- 
 men, I hope we shall drink down all unkindncss. 
 
 [Exevnt all but SHALLOW, SLENDER, and EVANS. 
 
 Slen. I had rather than forty shillings, I had my 
 book of songs and sonnets here. 
 Enter SIMPLE. 
 
 How now, Simple ! Where have you been? I must 
 wait on myself, must I ? You have not the book of 
 riddles about you, have you? 
 
 Sim. Book of riddles ! why, did you not lend it to 
 ^.iice Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fortnight 
 afore Michaelmas? 
 
 Shal. Come, coz ; come, coz ; we stay for you. A 
 word with you. coz ; marry, this, coz : there is. aa 
 't were, a tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by sir 
 Hugh here : do you understand me ? 
 
 Slen. Ay. sir, you shall find me reasonable : if it be 
 so, I shall do that that is reason. 
 
 Shal. Nay, but understand me. 
 
 Slen. So I do, sir. 
 
 Eva. Give ear to his motions, master Slender. I will 
 description the matter to you, if you be capacity of it. 
 
 Slen. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says. I 
 pray you, pardon me ; he J s a justice of peace in his 
 country, simple though I stand here. 
 
 Eva. But that is not the question : the question is 
 concerning your marriage. 
 
 Shal. Ay, there 's the point, sir. 
 
 Eva. Marry is it, the very point of it ; to mistress 
 Anne Page. 
 
 Slen. Why, if it be so, I will marry her upon any 
 reasonable demands. 
 
 Eva. But can you affection the 'oman? Let us de- 
 mand 1 to know that of your mouth, or of your lips ; for 
 divers philosophers hold, that the lips is parcel of the 
 mouth : therefore, precisely, can you carry your good 
 will to the maid ? 
 
 Shal. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her ? 
 
 Slen. I hope, sir, I will do, as it shall become one 
 that would do reason. 
 
 Eva. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies, you must 
 speak possitable, if you can carry her your desirei 
 towards her. 
 
 1 command : in f. e
 
 SO. I. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 141 
 
 Shal. That you must. Will you, upon good dowry, 
 marry her ? 
 
 Slen. I will do a greater thing than that, upon yout 
 request cousin, in any reason. 
 
 Shal. Nay. conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz: 
 what I do, is to pleasure you, coz. Can you love the 
 maid? 
 
 Skn. I will marry her, sir, at your request; but if 
 there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven 
 may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are 
 married, and have more occasion to know one another. 
 I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt : 
 but if you say, " marry her," I will marry her ; that 
 I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely. 
 
 Eva. It is a fery discretion answer : save, the fault 
 is in the 'ort dissolutely : the 'ort is. according to our 
 meaning, resolutely. His meaning is good. 
 
 Shal. Ay, I think my cousin meant well. 
 
 Slen. Ay. or else I would I might be hanged, la. 
 Re-enter ANNE PAGE. 
 
 Shal. Here comes fair mistress Anne. Would I 
 were young, for your sake, mistress Anne ! 
 
 Anne. The dinner is on the table ; my father desires 
 your worship's company. 
 
 Shal. I will wait on him, fair mistress Anne. 
 
 Eva. Od's plessed will ! I will not be absence at the 
 grace. [Exeunt SHALLOW and EVANS. 
 
 Anne. Will 't please your worship to come in, sir ? 
 
 Slen. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily ; I am very 
 well. 
 
 Anne. The dinner attends you, sir. 
 
 Slen. I am not a-hungry. I thank you. forsooth. Go, 
 eirrah, for all you are my man. go, wait upon my cousin 
 Shallow. [Exit SIMPLE.] A justice of peace sometime 
 may be beholding to his friend for a man. I keep but 
 three men and a boy yet, till my mother be dead : but 
 what though ? yet I live like a poor gentleman born. 
 
 Anne. I may not go in without your worship : they 
 will not sit. till you come. 
 
 Slen. F faith, I ; 11 eat nothing : I thank you as much 
 as though I did. 
 
 Anne. 1 pray you, sir, walk in. 
 
 Slen. I had rather walk here, I thank yon. 1 bruised 
 my shin the other day with playing at sword and dagger
 
 142 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT I, 
 
 with a master of fence, (three veneys for a dish o' 
 stewed prunes) and, by my troth, I cannot abide the 
 smell of hot meat since. Why do your dogs bark eo ' 
 be there bears i' the town? [Dogs bark. 1 
 
 Anne. I think, there are, sir : I heard them talked ot. 
 
 Slen. I love the sport well ; but I shall as soon 
 quarrel at it as any man in England. You are afraid, 
 if you see the bear loose, are you not ? 
 
 Anne. Ay, indeed, sir. 
 
 Slen. That 's meat and drink to me, now : I have seen 
 Sackerson* loose, twenty times, and have taken him 
 by the chain ; but, I warrant you, the women have so 
 cried and shriek' d at it, that it pass'd* : but women, 
 indeed, cannot abide 'em ; they are very ill-favoured 
 rough things. 
 
 Re-enter PAGE. 
 
 Page. Come, gentle master Slender, come ; we stay 
 for you. 
 
 Slen. I '11 eat nothing, I thank you, sir. 
 
 Page. By cock and pye, you shall not choose, sir. 
 Come, come. 
 
 Skn. Nay ; pray you. lead the way. 
 
 Page. Come on, sir. 
 
 Slen. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. 
 
 Anne. Not I, sir ; pray you, keep on. 
 
 Slen. Truly, I will not go first : truly, la, I will not 
 do you that wrong. 
 
 Anne. I pray you. sir. 
 
 Slen. I '11 rather be unmannerly, than troublesome. 
 You do yourself wrong, indeed, la. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The Same. 
 Enter Sir HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE. 
 
 Eva. Go your ways, and ask of doctor Caius' house, 
 which is the way; and there dwells one mistress 
 Quickly, which is in the manner of his nurse, or his 
 dry nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, his washer, and 
 his wringer. 
 
 Sim. Well, sir. 
 
 .F'Yi. Nay, it is petter yet. Give her this letter ; foi 
 it is a 'oman that altogether 's acquaintance with mis- 
 tress Anne Page : and the letter is, to desire and require 
 
 " Not in f. e. * A famous bear, often baited at Paris Garden 
 expression.
 
 SO. III. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 143 
 
 her to solicit year 'master's desires to mistress Anne 
 Page : I pray you, be gone. I will make an end of my 
 dinner : there 's pippins and cheese to come. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 
 Enter FALSTAFF, Host, BARDOLPH. NYM, PISTOL, and 
 ROBIN, 
 
 Fal. Mine host of the Garter ! 
 
 Host. What says my bully-rook 1 ? Speak scholarly, 
 and wisely. 
 
 Fal. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my 
 followers. 
 
 Host. Discard, bully Hercules; cashier: let them 
 wag ; trot, trot. 
 
 Fal. I sit at ten pounds a-week. 
 
 Host. Thou 'rt an emperor, Csesar, Keisar, and 
 Pheazar. I will entertain Bardolph : he shall draw, 
 he shall tap : said I well, bully Hector ? 
 
 Fal. Do so, good mine host. 
 
 Host. I have spoke ; let him follow. Let me see thee 
 froth, and lime 2 : I am at a word ; follow. [Exit Host 
 
 Fal. Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good 
 trade : an old cloak makes a new jerkin ; a withered 
 servingman. a fresh tapster. Go ; adieu. 
 
 Bard. It is a life that I have desired. I will thrive. 
 [Exit BARDOLPH. 
 
 Fist. base Gongarian 3 wight ! wilt thou the spigot 
 wield? 
 
 Nym. He was gotten in drink : is not the humour 
 conceited ? His mind is not heroic, and there 's the 
 humour of it. 
 
 Fal. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box: 
 his thefts were too open ; his filching was like an un- 
 fckilful singer, he kept not time. 
 
 Nym. The good humour is to steal at a minim's* rest. 
 
 Pist. Convey the wise it call. Steal ? foh ! a fico 
 for the phrase ! 
 
 Fal. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels. 
 
 Pist. Why then, let kibes ensue. 
 
 Fal. There is no remedy; I must coney-catch, I 
 must shift. 
 
 ' A sharper. ' Froth heer by putting in soap, adding lime to stick 
 to make it foam. 3 Some read : Hungarian, i. e., Bohemian or 
 Sfipsy. * minute's : in f. e
 
 144 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT L 
 
 Pint. Young ravens must have food. 
 
 Fal. Which of you know Ford of this town ? 
 
 Pint . I ken the wight : he is of substance good 
 
 Fal. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about 
 
 Pint. Two yards, and more. 
 
 Fal. No quips now, Pistol. Indeed I am in the waist 
 two yards about : but I am now about no waste : I am 
 about thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford's 
 wife : I spy entertainment in her ; she discourses, she 
 craves, 1 she gives the leer of invitation : I can construe 
 the action of her familiar style ; and the hardest voice 
 of her behaviour, to be Englished rightly, is, " I am sir 
 John Falstaff's." 
 
 Pitt. He hath studied her will, and translated her 
 well 8 ; out of honesty into English. 
 
 Nym. The anchor is deep : will that humour pass ? 
 
 Fal. Now. the report goes, she has all the rule of her 
 husband's purse ; he hath a legion of angels. 
 
 Pitt. As many devils entertain, and " To her, boy," 
 say I. 
 
 Nym. The humour rises; it is good : humour me the 
 angels. 1 
 
 Fal. I have writ me here a letter to her; and here 
 another to Page's wife, who even now gave me good 
 eyes too, examin'd my parts with most judicious 
 osiliads : sometimes the beam of her view gilded my 
 foot, sometimes my portly belly. 
 
 Pist. Then did the sun on dunghill shine. 
 
 Nym. I thank thee for that humour. 
 
 Fal. ! she did so course o'er my exteriors with such 
 a greedy intention, that the appetite of her eye did 
 seem to scorch me up like a burning glass. Here 's 
 another letter to her : she bears the purse too ; she is a 
 reg : on in Guiana, all gold and beauty.* I will be 
 cheater* to them both, and they shall be exchequers to 
 me : they shall be my East and West Indies, and J 
 will trade to them both. Go, bear thou this letter to 
 mistress Page ; and thou this to mistress Ford. We 
 will thrive, lads, we will thrive. 
 
 Pist. Shall I sir Pandarus of Troy become, 
 And by my side wear steel ? then, Lucifer take all ! 
 
 Nym. I will run no base humour : here, take the 
 
 carves : in f. e. * will : in f. e. 3 An old coin. bounty ; 
 A f. e. Escfaator, an office of tho Exchequer.
 
 6C. IV. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 145 
 
 humour-letter. I will keep the 'haviour of repu 
 t.ation. 
 
 Fal. Hold, sirrah, [to ROBIN,] bear you these letter* 
 
 tightly : 
 
 Sail like my pinnace 1 to these golden shores. 
 Rogues, hence ! avaunt ! vanish like hailstones, go: 
 Trudge, plod away o' the hoof ; seek shelter, pack ! 
 FulstafF will learn the humour 2 of the age, 
 French thrift, you rogues : myself, and skirted page 
 
 [Exeunt FALSTAFF and ROBIN. 
 
 Fist. Let vultures gripe thy guts ! for gourd, and 
 
 fullam holds. 
 
 And high and low 3 beguile the rich and poor. 
 Tester* I '11 have in pouch, when thou shalt lack, 
 Base Phrygian Turk. [veng 
 
 Nym. I have operations, which be humours of re- 
 
 Pist. Wilt thou revenge ? 
 
 Nym. By welkin, and her stars. 5 
 
 Pist. With wit. or steel ? 
 
 Nym. With both the humours. I : 
 I will discuss the humour of this love to Page.' 
 
 Pist. And I to Ford 6 shall eke unfold, 
 
 How Falstaff, varlet vile, 
 His dove will prove, his gold will hold, 
 And his soft couch defile. 
 
 Nym. My humour shall not cool : I will incense 
 Page to deal with poison; I will possess him with 
 yellowness, for the revolt of mine is dangerous : that 
 is my true humour. 
 
 Pist . Thou art the Mars of malcontents : I second 
 thee : troop on. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Room in Dr. CAIUS'S House. 
 
 Enter Mrs. QUICKLY, SIMPLE, and JOHN RUGBY. 
 
 Quick. What, John Rugby ! I pray thee. go to the 
 casement, and see if you can see my master, master 
 doctor Caius, coming : if he do. i' faith, and find any 
 body in the house, here will be an old abusing of God's 
 patience, a.nd the king's English. 
 
 Rug. I '11 go watch. [Exit RUGBY. 
 
 Quick. Go; and we'll have a posset for ; t soon at 
 
 1 A small vessel ; the word is often used for a go-between. The 
 folios and somo of the f. e : honour. ' Cant terms for dice. St 
 pence,. star : in f. e. Knight, following the folio o
 
 146 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT I 
 
 night, in faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire. An 
 honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall come 
 in house withal ; and, I warrant you, no tell-tale, nor 
 no breed-bate 1 : his worst fault is. that he is given to 
 prayer : he is something peevish* that way, but no- 
 body but has his fault ; but let that pass. Peter Sim- 
 ple, you say your name is ? 
 
 Sim. Ay, for fault of a better. 
 
 Quick. And master Slender 's your master ? 
 
 Sim. Ay, forsooth. 
 
 Quick. Does he not wear a great round beard, like a 
 glover's paring-knife ? 
 
 Sim. No, forsooth : he hath but a little wee face, 
 with a little yellow beard ; a Cain-coloured beard. 8 
 
 Quick. A softly-sprighted man, is he not ? 
 
 Sim. Ay, forsooth ; but he is as tall* a man of his 
 hands, as any is between this and his head : lie hath 
 fought with a warrener. 
 
 Quick. How say you ? ! I should remember him : 
 does he not hold up his head, as it were, and strut in 
 his gait ? 
 
 Sim. Yes, indeed, does he. 
 
 Quick. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse for- 
 tune ! Tell master parson Evans, I will do what I can 
 for your master : Anne is a good girl, and I wish 
 
 Re-enter RUGBY, running. 
 
 Rug. Out, alas ! here comes my master. 
 
 Quick. We shall all be shent. 5 Run in here, good 
 young man ; go into this closet. [Shuts SIMPLE in the 
 closet] He will not stay long. What, John Rugby ! 
 John, what, John, I say ! Go, John, go inquire for my* 
 master ; [Exit RUGBY.'] I doubt, he be not well, that 
 he comes not home : " and down, down, adown-a," 
 &c. [Sings. 
 
 Enter Doctor CAIUS. 
 
 Caius. Vat is you sing ? I do not like dese toys. 
 Pray you. go and vetch me in my closet un boitier 
 vcrd; a box, a green-a box ; do intend vat I speak ? a 
 green-a box. 
 
 Quick. Ay, forsooth ; I '11 fetch it you. [Aside] I am 
 
 Debate. * Silly. Thc quartos have can-colored Cain vrna 
 Minted in old tapestries with a yellow beard. * Fine. * Scolded 
 * Knight's ed. : thy. 1 Not in f. e.
 
 BC, IV. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 147 
 
 glad he went not in himself: if he had found the young 
 man, he would have been horn-mad. 
 
 Caius. jFe,/e, /e, fe ! mafoi, il fait fort chaud. Jt 
 mi' en vais d la c.our. la grande affaire. 
 
 Quick. Is it this', sir ? 
 
 Caius. Oui ; mette le au mm pocket ; depeche, quickly. 
 Vere is dat knave Rugby ? 
 
 Quick. What, John Rugby ! John ! 
 
 Rug. Here, sir. [Enter RUGBY.* 
 
 Caius. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack 
 Rugby : come, take-a your rapier, and come after my 
 heel to de court. 
 
 Rug. ; T is ready, sir, here in the porch. 
 
 Cains. By my trot, I tarry too long. Od's me ! 
 Qit'aifoublie? dere is some simples in my closet, dat I 
 vill not for the varld I shall leave behind. [Going toil. 3 
 
 Quick. [Aside.] Ah me ! he '11 find the young man 
 there, and be mad. 
 
 Caius. diable, diable ! vat is in my closet ? Vil- 
 lainy ! larron ! [Dragging* SIMPLE out.] Rugby, my 
 rapier ! 
 
 Quick. Good master, be content. 
 Caius. Verefore shall I be content-a? 
 
 Quick. The young man is an honest man. 
 
 Caius. Vat shall the honest man do in my closet? 
 dere is no honest man dat shall come in my closet. 
 
 Quick. I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic. Hear 
 the truth of it : he came of an errand to me from parson 
 Hugh. 
 
 Caius. Veil. 
 
 Sim. Ay. forsooth, to desire her to 
 
 Quick. Peace, I pray you. 
 
 Caius. Peace-a your tongue ! Speak-a your tale. 
 
 Sim. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid 
 to speak a good word to mistress Anne Page for my 
 master, in the way of marriage. 
 
 Quick. This is all. indeed, la ; but I '11 ne'er put my 
 finger in the fire, and need not. 
 
 Caius. Sir Hugh send-a you? Rugby, baillez me 
 some paper: tarry you a littel-a while. [Writes. 
 
 Quick. I am glad he is so quiet : if he had been tho- 
 roughly moved, you should have heard him HO loud, and 
 so melancholy. But notwithstanding, man, I ; 11 doy^r 
 J Not in f. e. Pulling : in f. e.
 
 148 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT I. 
 
 your master what good I can : and the very yea and 
 the no is, the French doctor, my master, I may call 
 him my master, look you, for I keep his house ; and 1 
 wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat and drink, 
 make the beds, and do all myself. 
 
 Sim. 'T is a great charge, to come under one body'i 
 hand. 
 
 Quick. Are you avis'd o' that? you shall find it a 
 great charge: and to be up early and down late : tut 
 notwithstanding, to tell you in your ear. (I would have 
 no words of it) my master himself is in love with mis- 
 tress Anne Page : but notwithstanding that. 1 know 
 Anne's mind ; that 's neither here nor there. 
 
 Caius. You jack'nape, give-a dis letter to Sir Hugh. 
 By gar. it is a shallenge : I vill cut his troat in de park ; 
 and I vill teach a scurvy jack-a-nape priest to meddle 
 or make. You may be gone ; it is not good you tarry 
 here : by gar, I vill cut all his two stones: by gar, he 
 shall not have a stone to trow at his dog. 
 
 [Exit SIMPLE. 
 
 Quick. Alas ! he speaks but for his friend. 
 
 Caius. It is no matter-a for dat : do not you tell-a 
 me, dat I shall have Anne Page for myself? By gar. I 
 vill kill de Jack priest ; and I have appointed mine 
 Host of de Jarrctiere to measure our weapon. By gar, 
 I vill myself have Anne Page. 
 
 Quick. Sir. the maid loves you, and all shall be 
 well. We must give folks leave to prate : what, the 
 good year ! 
 
 Cains. Rugby, come to the court vit me. By gar, if 
 I have not Anne Page, I shall turn your head out of 
 my door. Follow my heels. Rugby. 
 
 [Exeunt CAIUS and RUGBY. 
 
 Quick. You shall have An fool's-head of your own. 
 No. I know Anne's mind for that : never a woman in 
 Windsor knows more of Anne's mind than I do, nor can 
 do more than I do with her. I thank heaven. 
 
 Pent. [Within.] Who's within there, ho? 
 
 Quick. Who 's there, I trow ? Come near the house, 
 I pray you. 
 
 Enter FENTON. 
 
 Pent. How now. good woman ! how dost thou ? 
 
 Quirk The better, that it pleases your good woi>hir 
 to ask.
 
 8C. I. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 149 
 
 Fcnt. What news ? how does pretty mistress Anne? 
 
 Quick. In (ruth. sir. and she is pretty, and honest, 
 and gentle : and one that is your friend. I can tell you 
 that by the way : I praise heaven for it. 
 
 Fcnt. Shall 1 do any good, think'st tliou ? Shall I 
 not lose my suit? 
 
 Quick. Troth, sir. all is in his hands above ; but not- 
 withstanding, master Fenton. I 'II be sworn on a book, 
 she loves you. Have not your worship a wart above 
 your eye ? 
 
 Fcnt. Yes. marry, have I : what of that ? 
 
 Quick. Well, thereby hangs a tale. Good faith, it 
 is such another Nan ; but. I detest, an honest maid as 
 ever broke bread : we had an hours talk of that wart. 
 I shall never laugh but in that maid's company : 
 but. indeed, she is given too much to allicholly and 
 musing. But for you well, go to. 
 
 Fcnt. Well. I shall see her to-day. Hold, there ' 
 money for thee ; let me have thy voice in my behalf : 
 if thou seest her before me, commend me 
 
 Quick. Will I ! r faith, that I 1 will : and 1 will tell 
 your worship more of the wart, the next time we have 
 confidence, and of other wooers. 
 
 Pent. Well, farewell : I am in great haste now. [Exit. 
 
 Quick. Farewell to your worship. Truly, an honest 
 gentleman : but Anne loves him not, for I know Anne's 
 mind as well as another does. Out upon 't ! what have 
 I forgot ? [Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE 1. Before PAGE'S House. 
 Enter Mistress PAGE, with a Letter. 
 Mm. Page. What ! have I 'scaped love-letters in 
 the holy-day time of my beauty, and am I now a sub- 
 ject for them ? Let me see. [Reads. 
 " Ask me no reason why I love you : for though love 
 use reason for his physician. 2 he admits him not for his 
 counsellor. You are not young, no more am I : go to 
 then, there 's sympathy. You are merry, so am I ; ha ! 
 
 we : in f. e. * 
 VOL. i. 24
 
 150 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT II. 
 
 ha ! then, there 's more sympathy : you love sack, and 
 BO do I ; would you desire better sympathy ? Let it 
 suffice thee, mistress Page, (at the least, if the love of 
 soldier can suffice) that I love thee. I will not say, 
 pity me. 't is not a soldier-like phrase ; but I say, love 
 me. By me. 
 
 Thine own true knight, 
 
 By day or night, 
 
 Or any kind of light, 
 
 With all his might, 
 
 For thee to fight. JOHN FALSTAFF." 
 
 What a Herod of Jewry is this ! O wicked, wicked, 
 world ! one that is well nigh worn to pieces with age, 
 to show himself a young gallant ! What an unweighed 
 behaviour hath this Flemish drunkard picked (with the 
 devil's name) out of my conversation, that he dares in 
 this manner assay me ? Why, he hath not been thrice 
 in my company What should I say to him ? I was 
 then frugal of my mirth : heaven forgive me ! Why, 
 I '11 exhibit a bill in the parliament for the putting 
 down of fat men. How shall I be revenged on him ! 
 for revenged I will be, as sure as his guts are made of 
 puddings. 
 
 Enter Mistress FORD. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page ! trust me, I was going to 
 your house. 
 
 Mrs. Page. And, trust me, I was coming to you. 
 You look very ill. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, I '11 ne'er believe that : I have to 
 show to the contrary. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Faith, but you do, in my mind. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Well, I do then ; yet, I say. I could show 
 you to the contrary! O. mistress Page ! give me some 
 counsel. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What 's the matter, woman ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. woman ! if it were not for one trifling 
 respect. I could come to such honour. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hang the trifle, woman: take the honour. 
 What is it ? dispense with trifles ; what is it ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. If I would but go to hell for an eternal 
 moment or so, I could be knighted. 
 
 Mrs. Page.' What ? thou liest. Sir Alice Ford !
 
 8C. I. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 151 
 
 These knights will hack 1 ; and so, thou shouldst not 
 alter the article of thy gentry. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We burn day-light : here, read, read ; 
 
 [giving a letter] perceive how I might be knighted. 
 Mrs. Page reads] I shall think the worse of fat 
 men, as long as I have an eye to make difference of 
 men's liking : and yet he would not swear, praised 
 women's modesty, and gave such orderly and well- 
 behaved reproof to all uncomeliness, that I would 
 have sworn his disposition would have gone to the 
 truth of his words ; but they do no more adhere and 
 keep place together, than the hundredth psalm to the 
 tune of "Green Sleeves'." Wha.t tempest, I trow, 
 threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his belly, 
 ashore at Windsor ? How shall I be revenged on him ? 
 I think, the best way were to entertain him with hope, 
 till the wicked fire of lust have melted him in his own 
 grease. Did you ever hear the like ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Letter for letter, but that the name of 
 Page and Ford differs ! To thy great comfort in this 
 mystery of ill opinions, here 's the twin-brother of thy 
 letter : but let thine inherit first ; for, I protest, mine 
 never shall. I warrant, he hath a thousand of these 
 letters, writ with blank space for different names, (sure 
 more) and these are of the second edition. He will 
 print them, out of doubt ; for he cares not what he puts 
 into the press, when he would put us two : I had 
 rather be a giantess, and lie under mount Pclion. 
 Well, I will find you twenty lascivious turtles, ere one 
 chaste man. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, this is the very same ; the very 
 hand, the very words. What doth he think of us ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not : it makes me almost 
 ready to wrangle with mine own honesty. I '11 entertain 
 myself like one that I am not acquainted withal ; for, 
 sure, unless he know some stain in me, that I know not 
 tnyself, he would never have boarded me in this fury. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Boarding call you it? I'll be sure to 
 keep him above deck. 
 
 Mrs. Page. So will I : if he come under my hatches, 
 I '11 never to sea again. Let 's be revenged on him : 
 
 1 Become hackneyed or common an allusion to the commonness 
 with which James I. conferred the distinction. * A very popular ai 
 to which many ballads were written.
 
 152 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT II. 
 
 let 's appoint him a meeting : give him a show of com- 
 fort in his suit, and lead him on with a fine-baited 
 delay, till he hath pawned his horses to mine Host of 
 the Garter. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any villany 
 against him, that may not sully the chariness of our 
 honesty. 0, that my husband saw this letter ! it would 
 give eternal food to his jealousy. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, look, where he comes ; and my 
 good man too ; he 's as far from jealousy, as I am from 
 giving him cause and that, I hope, is an unmeasurable 
 distance. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. You are the happier woman. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Let 's consult together against this 
 greasy knight. Come hither. [ They retire. 
 
 Enter FORD, PISTOL. PAGE, and NYM. 
 
 Ford. Well, I hope, it be not so. 
 
 Pist. Hope is a curtail dog in some affairs ; 
 Sir John affects thy wife. 
 
 Ford. Why. sir, my wife is not young. 
 
 Pist . He woos both high and low, both rich and poor, 
 Both young and old, one with another. Ford, 
 He loves the gally-mawfry : Ford, perpend. 
 
 Ford. Love my wife ? 
 
 Pist. With liver burning hot : prevent, or go thou, 
 Like sir Actaeon he, with Ring-wood at thy heels. 
 3 ! odious is the name. 
 
 Ford. What name, sir ? 
 
 Pist. The horn, I say. Farewell : 
 Take heed ; have open eye, for thieves do foot by night : 
 Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do sing. 
 Away, sir corporal Nym. 
 
 Nym. Believe it, Page ; he speaks sense. 1 [Exit PIST. 
 
 Ford. I will be patient : I will find out this. 
 
 Nym. And this is true ; [to PAGE.] I like not the 
 humour of lying. He hath wronged me in some 
 humours : I should have borne the humoured letter tc 
 her, but I have a sword, and it shall bite upon my 
 necessity. He loves your wife ; there 's the short and 
 the long. My name is corporal Nym : I speak, and I 
 avouch 't is true : my name is Nym, and Falstaff 
 loves your wife. Adieu. I love not the humour of 
 bread and cheese. Adieu. [Exit NYM 
 
 1 f. e. give this speech to PISTOL.
 
 8C. 1. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 153 
 
 Page. The humour of it. quoth 'a ! here 's a fellow 
 friizlits English out of his wits. 
 
 Ford. I will seek out Falstaff. 
 
 Page I never heard such a drawling-affecting rogue. 
 
 Ford. If I do find it. well. 
 
 Page. I will not believe such a Catalan, 1 though the 
 pi icst o' the town commended him for a true man. 
 
 Ford. 'T was a good sensible fellow: well. 
 
 Pagi. How now. Meg ! 
 
 Mrs. Page. Whither go you, George ? Hark you. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How now, sweet Frank ! why art thou 
 melancholy ? 
 
 Ford. I melancholy ! I am not melancholy. Get 
 you home, go. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. 'Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy 
 head now. Will you go, mistress Page ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Have with you. You '11 come to dinner, 
 George? [Aside to Mrs. FORD.] Look, who conies 
 yonder : she shall be our messenger to this paltry 
 knight. 
 
 Enter Mrs. QUICKLY. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her : she '11 fit it. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You are come to see my daughter Anne ? 
 
 Quick. Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does good 
 mistress Anne? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Go in with us, and see : we have an 
 hour's talk with you. 
 
 [Exeunt Mrs. PAGE. Mrs. FORD, and Mrs. QUICKLY. 
 
 Page. How now, master Ford ? 
 
 Ford. You heard what this knave told me, did you 
 not ? 
 
 Page. Yes and you heard what the other told me. 
 
 Ford. Do you think there is truth in them ? 
 
 Page. Hang 'em. slaves ; I do not think the knight 
 would offer it : but these that accuse him, in his intent 
 towards our wives, are a yoke of his discarded men; 
 very rogues, now they be out of service. 
 
 Ford. Were they his men ? 
 
 Page. Marry, were they. 
 
 Ford. I like it never the better for that. Does Le 
 he at the Garter ? 
 
 Page. Ay. marry, does he. If he should intend this 
 voyage towards my wife, I would turn her loose tc 
 
 i Cataia. Cathav. or China.
 
 154 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT II. 
 
 him ; and what he gets more of her than sharp words, 
 let it lie on my head. 
 
 Ford. \ do not misdoubt my wife, but I would be 
 loath to turn them together. A man may be too con- 
 fident ; I would have nothing lie on my head. I cannot 
 be thus satisfied. 
 
 Page. Look, where my ranting Host of the Garter 
 comes. There is either liquor in his pate, or money 
 in his purse, when he looks so merrily. How. now, 
 mine host ! 
 
 Enter Host. 1 
 
 Host. How now, bully-rook ! thou 'rt a gentleman. 
 Cavaliero-justice, I say. 
 
 Enter SHALLOW. 
 
 Shal. I follow, mine host, I follow. Good even, and 
 twenty, good master Page. Master Page, will you go 
 with us? we have sport in hand. 
 
 Host. Tell him, cavaliero-justice ; tell him, bully- 
 rook. 
 
 Shal. Sir, there is a fray to be fought between sir 
 Hugh, the Welsh priest, and Caius, the French doctor. 
 
 Ford. Good mine Host o' the Garter, a word with you. 
 
 Host. What say'st thou, my bully-rook? 
 
 [They go aside. 
 
 Shal. Will you [to PAGE] go with us to behold it ? 
 My merry host hath had the measuring of their weapons, 
 and, I think, hath appointed them contrary places ; for, 
 believe me, I hear, the parson is no jester. Hark, I 
 will tell you what our sport shall be. 
 
 Host. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my 
 guest-cavalier? 
 
 Ford. None, I protest : but I '11 give you a pottle of 
 burnt sack to give me recourse to him, and tell him, 
 my name is Brook; only for a jest. 
 
 Host. My hand, bully : thou shalt have egress and 
 regress ; said I well ? and thy name shall be Brook. 
 It is a merry knight. Will you go on here ?' 
 
 Shal. Have with you, mine host. 
 
 Page. I have heard, the Frenchman hath good skill 
 in his rapier. 
 
 Shal. Tut, sir ! I could have told you more : in these 
 t'oies you stand on distance, your passes, stoccadoes 
 
 f e have Enter Host and SHALLOW, a An-heires : in f. e.
 
 80. II. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 155 
 
 and I know not what : 't is the heart, master Page: 
 't is here, 't is here. I have seen the time, with my 
 long sword, I would have made you four tall fellows 
 skip like rats. 
 
 Host. Here, boys, here, here ! shall we wag ? 
 
 Page. Have with you. I had rather hear them 
 scold ihan see them fight. 
 
 [Exeunt Host, SHALLOW, and PAGE. 
 
 Ford. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands so 
 firmly on his wife's fidelity, yet I cannot put off my 
 opinion so easily : she was in his company at Page's 
 house, and what they made there, I know not. Well, 
 I will look farther into 't ; and 1 have a disguise to 
 sound Falstaff. If I find her honest, I lose not my 
 labour j if she be otherwise, 't is labour well bestowed 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter FALSTAFF and PISTOL. 
 
 Fal. I will not lend thee a penny. 
 
 Pist. Why, then the world 's mine oyster, 
 Which I with sword will open. 
 
 Fal. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you 
 should lay my countenance to pawn: I have grated 
 upon my good friends for three reprieves for you and 
 your couch 1 -fellow, Nym; or else you had looked 
 through the grate, like a gemini 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 honour thou hadst it not. 
 
 Pist. Didst thou not share ? hadst thou not fifteen 
 pence ? 
 
 Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason : think'st thou, I '11 
 endanger my soul gratis? At a word, hang no more 
 about me. I am no gibbet for you : go. A short knife 
 and a throng : to your manor of Pickt-hatch, 2 go. 
 You '11 not bear a letter for me, you rogue ! you stand 
 upon your honour ! Why, thouunconfinable baseness, 
 it is as much as I can do, to keep the terms of my 
 honour precise. I, I, I myself sometimes, leaving the 
 fear of heaven on the left hand, and hiding mine honour 
 in my necessity, am fain to shuffle, to hedge, and tc 
 
 i ooach. 2 A London locality of had fame
 
 150 THE MERKV WIVES OF WINDSOR, ACT II. 
 
 lurch ; and yet you, you rogue, will ensconce your rags, 
 your cat-a-raountain looks, your red-lattice 1 phrases, 
 and your bold-beating" oaths, under the shelter of youi 
 honour ! You will not do it, you? 
 
 Pist. I do relent : what wouldst thou more of man? 
 Enter ROBIN. 
 
 Rob. Sir. here ; s a woman would speak with you. 
 
 Fa 1 . Let her approach. 
 
 Enter Mistress QUICKLY. 
 
 Quick. Give your worship good-morrow. 
 
 Fal. Good-morrow, good wife. 
 
 Quick. Not so, an ? t please your worship. 
 
 Fal. Good maid, then. 
 
 Quick. I ; 11 be sworn ; as my mother was, the first 
 hour I was born. 
 
 Fal. I do believe the swearer. What with me ? 
 
 Quick. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or two ? 
 
 Fal. Two thousand, fair woman ; and I '11 vouchsafe' 
 thee the hearing. 
 
 Quick. There is one mistress Ford, sir : I pray, 
 come a little nearer this ways. I myself dwell with 
 master doctor Caius. 
 
 Fal. Well, on: Mistress Ford, you say, 
 
 Quick. Your worship says very true : I pray your 
 worship, come a little nearer this ways. 
 
 Fal. I warrant thee, nobody hears: mine own 
 people, mine own people. 
 
 Quick. Are they so ? Hea.ven bless them, and make 
 them his servants ! 
 
 Fal. Well: Mistress Ford ; what of her? 
 
 Quick. Why sir, she ; s a good creature. Lord, lord ! 
 your worship 's a wanton : well, heaven forgive you. 
 and all of us, I pray ! 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford ; come, mistress Ford, 
 
 Quick. Marry, this is the short and the long of it. 
 You have brought her into such a canaries, as 't is won- 
 derful : the best courtier of them all, when the court 
 lay at Windsor, could never have brought her to such 
 a canary ; yet there has been knights, and lords, and 
 gentlemen, with their coaches ; I warrant you, coach 
 after coach, letter after letter, gift after gift: smelling 
 BO sweetly, all musk, and so rushling, I warrant you, 
 in silk and gold ; and in such alligant terms ; and in 
 : Ale-house. * Mr. Dyce suggests tear-baiting.
 
 60. II. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 157 
 
 such wine and sugar of the best, and the fairest, thai 
 would have won any woman's heart, and, I warrant you, 
 they could never get an eye-wink of her T had myself 
 twenly angels given me of a morning 1 ; tut I defy all 
 angels, (in any such sort, as they say.) but in the way 
 of honesty: and, I vrarrant you. they could never get 
 her so much as sip on a cup with the proudest of them 
 all : and yet there has been earls, nay, which is more, 
 pensioners* ; but, I warrant you, all is one with her. 
 
 Fal. But what says she to me ? be brief, my good 
 she Mercury. 
 
 Quick. Marry, she hath received your letter, for the 
 which she thanks you a thousand times : and she gives 
 you to notify, that her husband will be absence from 
 his house between ten and eleven. 
 
 Fal. Ten and eleven ? 
 
 Quick. Ay, forsooth; and then you may come and 
 see the picture, she says, what you wot of: master 
 Ford, her husband, will be from home. Alas ! the 
 sweet woman leads an ill life with him : he 's a very 
 jealousy man ; she leads a very frampold 3 life with 
 him, good heart. 
 
 Fal. Ten and eleven. Woman, commend me to her ; 
 I will not fail her. 
 
 Quick. Why, you say well. But I have another 
 messenger to your worship : mistress Page hath her 
 hearty commendations to you too ; and let me tell 
 you in your ear, she 's as fartuous a civil modest wife, 
 1 and one (I tell you) that will not miss you morning nor 
 evening prayer, as any is in Windsor, w r hoe : er be the 
 other : and she bade me tell your worship, that hei 
 husband is seldom from home, but she hopes there 
 will come a time. I never knew a woman so dote 
 upon a man : surely, I think you have charms, la ; yes, 
 in truth. 
 
 Fal. Not T, I assure thee : setting the attraction of 
 my good parts aside, I have no other charms. 
 
 QHK& Blessing on your heart for ; t ! 
 
 Fal. But I pray thee, tell me this : has Ford's wife, 
 and Page's wife, acquainted each other how they love mer 
 
 Quick. That were a jest, indeed ! they have not so 
 
 1 given me this morning : in f. e. z Elizabeth's band of pensioner! 
 irore a splendid uniform, and so perhaps excited Dame Quickly'i 
 admiration. They were also men of fortune. 3 Veaatious
 
 158 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT Ii 
 
 little grace, I hope : that were a trick, indeed ! But 
 mistress Page would desire you to send her your little 
 page, of all loves :' her husband has a marvellous in- 
 fection to the little page ; and, truly, master Page is an 
 honest man. Never a wife in Windsor leads a better 
 life than she does : do what she will, say what she will, 
 take all, pay all, go to bed when she list, rise when 
 she list, all is as she will ; and truly, she deserves it, 
 for if there be a kind woman in Windsor, she is one. 
 You must send her your page ; no remedy. 
 
 Fal. Why, I will. 
 
 Quick. Nay, but do so, then : and, look you, he may 
 come and go between you both ; and, in any case, have 
 a nayword," that you may know one another's mind, 
 and the boy never need to understand any thing : for 
 ? t is not good that children should know any wicked- 
 ness ; old folks, you know, have discretion, as they say, 
 and know the world. 
 
 Fal. Fare thee well: commend me to them both. 
 There's my purse: I am yet thy debtor. Boy, go 
 along with this woman. This news distracts me. 
 
 [Exeunt Mrs. QUICKLY and ROBIN. 
 
 Pist. This punk is one of Cupid's carriers. 
 Clap on more sails; pursue, up with your fights. 3 
 Give fire ! She is my prize, or ocean whelm them all ! 
 
 [Exit PISTOL. 
 
 Fal. Say'st thou so, old Jack? go thy ways: I'll 
 make more of thy old body than 1 have done. Will 
 they yet look after thee ? Wilt thou, after the expense 
 of so much money, be now a gainer ? Good body, I 
 thank thee : let them say, 't is grossly done ; so it be 
 fairly done, no matter. 
 
 Enter BARDOLPH. 
 
 Bard. Sir John, there 's one master Brook below 
 would fain speak with you, and be acquainted with 
 you; and hath sent your worship a morning's draught 
 of sack.* 
 
 Fal. Brook, is his name ? 
 
 Bard. Ay, sir. 
 
 Fal. Call him in ; [Exit BARDOLPH.] Such Brooki 
 are welcome to me, that o'erflow such liquor. Ah ! 
 
 1 By all means. Watthword. 3 Coverts of some kind put up to 
 protect the men in an engagement. * It was a common custom to 
 bestow presents of wine in Shakespeare's day.
 
 SO. II. TH& MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 159 
 
 ha ! mistress Ford and mistress Page, have I encom- 
 passed you ? go to ; via ! 
 
 Re-enter BARDOLPH, with FORD disguised. 
 
 Ford. Bless you. sir. 
 
 Fa?. And you. sir : would you speak with me ? 
 
 Ford. I make bold, to press with so little preparation 
 upon you. 
 
 Fal. You 're welcome. What 's your will ? Give 
 us leave, drawer. [Exit BARDOLPH. 
 
 Ford. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent much 
 my name is Brook. 
 
 Fal. Good master Brook, I desire more acquaintance 
 of you. 
 
 Ford. Good sir John. I sue for yours : not to charge 
 you, for I must let you understand, I think myself in 
 better plight for a lender than you are; the which 
 hath something embolden : d me to this unseasoned 
 intrusion, for, they say, if money go before, all ways 
 do lie open. 
 
 Fal. Money is a good soldier, sir. and will on. 
 
 Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money here trou 
 bles me : if you will help to bear it, sir John, take 
 half, or all, 1 for easing me of the carriage. 
 
 Fal. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be your 
 porter. 
 
 Ford. I will tell you, sir, if you will give me the 
 hearing. 
 
 Fal. Speak, good master Brook : I shall be glad to 
 be your servant. 
 
 Ford. Sir. I hear you are a scholar, I will be brief 
 with you, and you have been a man long known to 
 me. though I had never so good means, as desire, to 
 make myself acquainted with you. I shall discover a 
 thing to you, wherein I must very much lay open mine 
 own imperfection ; but. good sir John, as you have one 
 eye upon my follies, as you hear them unfolded, turn 
 another into the register of your own, that I may pass 
 with a reproof the easier, sith you yourself know, how 
 easy it is to be such an offender. 
 
 Fal. Very well, sir; proceed. 
 
 Ford. There is a gentlewoman in this town, hei 
 nusband's name is Ford. 
 
 Fal. Well, sir. 
 
 take all, or half: in f. e.
 
 100 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT tt 
 
 Ford. I have long loved her, and, I protcs-t to you, 
 bestowed much on her; followed her with a doting 
 observance : engrossed opportunities to meet her ; fee'd 
 every slight occasion, that could but niggardly give me 
 sight of her : not only bought many presents to give 
 her, but have given lamely to many, to know what she 
 would have given. Briefly, 1 have pursued her, as 
 love hath pursued me. which hath been on the wing 
 of all occasions : but whatsoever I have merited, either 
 ii my mind, or in my means, meed, I am sure, I have 
 received none, unless experience be a jewel ; that I 
 have purchased at an infinite rate, and that hath 
 taught me to say this : 
 
 Love like a shadow flies, when substance love pursues ; 
 Pursuing tliat that flies, and flying what pursues. 
 
 Fal. Have you received no promise of satisfaction at 
 her hands ? 
 
 Ford. Never, 
 
 Fal. Have you importuned her to such a purpose? 
 
 Ford. Never. 
 
 Fal. Of what quality was your love then ? 
 
 Ford. Like a fair house, built upon another man's 
 ground ; so that I have lost my edifice, by mistaking 
 the place where I erected it. 
 
 Fal. To what purpose have you unfolded this to me? 
 
 Ford. When I have told you that, I have told you 
 all. Some say, that though she appear honest to me, 
 yet in other places she enlargeth her mirth so far, that 
 there is shrewd construction made of her. Now, sir 
 John, here is the heart of my purpose : you are a gen- 
 tleman of excellent breeding, admirable discourse, of 
 great admittance, authentic in your place and person, 
 generally allowed for your many war-like, court-like, 
 and learned preparations. 
 
 Fal. 0, sir ! 
 
 Ford. Believe it, for you know it. There is money: 
 spend it, spend it : spend more ; spend all I have, only 
 give me so much of your time in exchange of it, as to 
 lay an amiable siege to the honesty of this Ford's wife : 
 use your art of wooing, win her to consent to you ; if 
 any mi*i may, you may as soon as any. 
 
 Fal. Would it apply well to the vehemency of your 
 affection, that I should win what you would enjoy? 
 Mcthinks, you prescribe to yourself very preposterously
 
 PC. II. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 101 
 
 For/. 0! understand my drift. She dwells so se- 
 curely on the excellency of her honour, that the foil} 
 of my .suit 1 dares not present itself: she is too bright 
 to be looked against. Now, could I come to her with 
 any detection in my hand, my desires had instance and 
 argument to commend themselves ; I could drive her. 
 then, from the ward of her purity, her reputation, her 
 marriage vow, and a thousand other her defences, wliich 
 now are too too strongly embattled against me. What 
 say you to 't. sir John ? 
 
 'Fid. Master Brook, I will first make bold with your 
 money ; next, give me your hand ; and last, as I am a 
 gentleman, you shall, if you will, enjoy Ford's wife. 
 
 Ford. good sir ! 
 
 Fal. I say you .shall. 
 
 Ford. Want no money, sir John; you shall want 
 none. 
 
 Fal. Want no mistress Ford, master Brook : you shall 
 want none. I shall be with her (I may tell you) by her 
 own appointment : even as you came in to me, her 
 assistant, or go-between, parted from me : I say, I shall 
 be with her between ten and eleven ; for at that time 
 the jealous rascally knave, her husband, will be forth. 
 Come you to me at night : you shall know how I speed. 
 
 Ford. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you 
 know Ford, sir ? 
 
 Fal. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave ! I know him 
 not. Yet I wrong him to call him poor : they say, 
 the jealous wittolly knave hath masses of money, for 
 the which his wife seems to me well-favoured. I will 
 use her as the key of the cuckoldly rogue's coffer, and 
 there 's my harvest-home. 
 
 Ford. I would you knew Ford, sir, that you might 
 avoid him. if you saw him. 
 
 Fal. Hang him. mechanical salt-butter rogue ! I will 
 stare him out of his wits ; I will awe him with my 
 r udgel : it shall hang like a meteor o'er the cuckold's 
 horns : master Brook, thou shalt know I will predomi- 
 nate over the peasant, and thou shalt lie with his wife. 
 Come to me soon at night. Ford 's a knave, and I 
 will aggravate his style ; thou, master Brook, shalt know 
 him for a knave and cuckold. Come to me soon at 
 night. [Exit. 
 
 1 soul inf. e.
 
 162 THE MERRY WIVE8 OF WINDSOR. ACT U 
 
 Ford. What a damned Epicurean rascal is this ! 
 My heart is ready to crack with impatience. Who 
 says, this is improvident jealousy ? my wife hath sent 
 to him, the hour is fixed, the match is made. Would 
 any man have thought this ? See the hell of having a 
 false woman ! my bed shall be abiised, my coffers ran- 
 sacked, my reputation gnawn at ; and I shall not only 
 receive this villainous wrong, but stand under the adop- 
 tion of abominable terms, and by him that does me this 
 wrong. Terms ! names ! Amaimon sounds well ; 
 Lucifer, well; Barbason, well; yet they are devils' 
 additions, the names of fiends : but cuckold ! wittol 
 cuckold ! l the devil himself hath not such a name. 
 Page is an ass, a secure ass ; he will trust his wife, he 
 will not be jealous : I will rather trust a Fleming with 
 my butter, parson Hugh the Welshman with my cheese, 
 an Irishman with my aqua vitse bottle, or a thief to walk 
 my ambling gelding, than my wife with herself: then 
 she plots, then she ruminates, then she devises ; and 
 what they think in their hearts they may effect, they 
 will break their hearts but they will effect. Heaven 
 be praised for my jealousy ! Eleven o'clock the hour : 
 I will prevent this, detect my wife, be revenged on 
 Falstaff, and laugh at Page. I will about it better 
 three hours too soon, than a minute too late. Fie. fie, 
 fie ! cuckold ! cuckold ! cuckold ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. Windsor Park. 
 Enter CAIUS and RUGBY. 
 
 Cams. Jack Rugby ! 
 
 Rug. Sir. 
 
 Cams. Vat is de clock, Jack ? 
 
 Rug. 'T is past the hour, sir, that sir Hugh promised 
 to meet. 
 
 Cants By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no come : 
 lie has pray his Pible veil, dat he is 'no come. By gar, 
 Jack Rugby, he is dead already, if he be come. 
 
 Rug. He is wise, sir ; he knew your worship would 
 kill him, if he came. 
 
 Cams. By gar. de herring is no dead, so as I vill kill 
 h.m. Take your rapier, Jack : I vill tell you how I 
 nil kill him. 
 
 Rug. Alas, sir ! I cannot fence. [Runs back afraid. 
 1 Knowing himself one. This direction is not in f. e.
 
 EC. III. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 1 63 
 
 Cants. Villainy, take your rapier. 
 
 Rug. Forbear : here ; s company. 
 
 Enter Host. SHALLOW. SLENDER, and PAGE. 
 
 Host. Bless thee. bully doctor. 
 
 Sfuil. Save you. master doctor Caius. 
 
 P'Tge. Now. good master doctor. 
 
 Slcn. Give you good-morrow, sir. 
 
 Caius. Vat be all you. one, two. tree, four, come for ? 
 
 Host. To see thee fight; to see thee foin, to see thee 
 traverse, to see thee here, to see thee there : to see 
 thee pass thy punto. thy stock, thy reverse, thy dis- 
 tance, thy moutant. Is he dead, my Ethiopian? is ho 
 dead, my Francisco? ha. bully ! What says my JEscu- 
 lapius ? my Galen ? my heart of elder ?' ha ! is he dead, 
 bully-stale ? is he dead ? 
 
 Caius. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of the 
 vorld ; he is not show his face. 
 
 Host. Thou art a Castalian-king-Urinal : 3 Hector of 
 Greece, my boy. 
 
 Caius. I pray you. bear vitness that me have stay six 
 or seven, two. tree hours for him, and he is no come. 
 
 Shal. He is the wiser man, master doctor : he is a 
 curer of souls, and you a eurer of bodies ; if you should 
 fight, you go against the hair of your professions. Is it 
 not true, master Page ? 
 
 Page. Master Shallow, you have yourself been a 
 great fighter, though now a man of peace. 
 
 Shal. Bodykins. master Page, though I now be old, 
 and of the peace, if I see a sword out. my finger itches 
 to make one. Though we are justices, and doctors, 
 and churchmen, master Page, we have some salt of our 
 youth in us: we are the sons of women, master Page. 
 
 Page. ; Tis true, master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. It will be found so, master Page. Master 
 doctor Caius. I am come to fetch you home. I am 
 sworn of the peace: you have showed yourself a wise 
 physician, and sir Hugh hath fhown himself a wise 
 and patient churchman. You must go wi;h me, mas- 
 ter doctor. 
 
 Host. Pardon, guest-justice. A word, Monsieut 
 Mock-water. 
 
 i The elder has a soft pith. * Knight reads, Castilian. King. 
 Urinal. The Spaniards were, of course, in great disfavour with th 
 English when this play was written
 
 164 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT II 
 
 Ctiius. Mock-vater ! vat is dat? 
 
 Host. Mock-water, in our English tongue, is valour, 
 bully. 
 
 Caius. By gar, then, I have as much mock-vater aa 
 de Englishman. Scurvy jack-dog priest ! by gar, me 
 vill cut his ears. 
 
 Host. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully. 
 
 Coins Clapper-de-claw! vat is dat? 
 
 Host. That is, he will make thee amends. 
 
 Cains. By gar, me do look, he shall clapper-de-claw 
 me : for, by gar, me vill have it. 
 
 Host. And I will provoke him to 't. or let him wag. 
 
 Caius. Me tank you for dat. 
 
 Host. And moreover, bully. But first, master guest, 
 and master Page, and eke cavaliero Slender, go you 
 through the town to Frogmore. [Aside to them. 
 
 Page. Sir Hugh is there, is he ? 
 
 Host. He is there : see what humour he is in, and I 
 will bring the doctor about by the fields. Will it do 
 well? 
 
 Shal. We will do it. 
 
 Page. Shal. and Stcn. Adieu, good master doctor. 
 
 [Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER. 
 
 Caius. By gar, me vill kill de priest, for he speak 
 for a jack-an-ape to Anne Page. 
 
 Host. Let him die. Sheathe thy impatience ; throw 
 cold water on thy choler. Go about the fields with me 
 through Frogmore ; I will bring thee where mistress 
 Anne Page is, at a farm-house a feasting, and thou 
 shall woo her. Curds and cream, 1 said I well ? 
 
 Caius. By gar, me tank you for dat : by gar, I love 
 you ; and I shall procure-a you de good guest, de earl, 
 dc knight, de lords, dc gentlemen, my patients. 
 
 Host. For the which I will be thy adversary toward 
 \ane Page : said I well ? 
 
 Caius. By gar, 't is good ; veil said. 
 
 Hr.\t. Let as wag then. 
 
 Catiw. Conic at my heels, Jack Rugby. 
 
 [Euunt 
 
 * cried game : in f. e.
 
 RC. I. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 165 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. A Field near Frogmore. 
 Enter Sir HUGH EVANS, with a book, and SIMPLE. 
 Eva. I pray you now, good master Blender's serving- 
 man, and friend Simple by your name, which way have 
 you looked for master Caius, that calls himself Doctor 
 of Physic ? 
 
 Sim. Marry, sir, the pit-way, the park-way, 1 old 
 Windsor way, and every way, but the town way. 
 
 Eva. I most fehemently desire you, you will also 
 look that way. 
 
 Sim. I will, sir. [Retiring. 
 
 Eva. Pless my soul, how full of cholers I am, and 
 trempling of mind ! I shall be glad, if he have de- 
 ceived me. How melancholies I am ! I will knog his 
 urinals about his knave's costard, when I have good 
 opportunities for the 'ork : pless my soul ! [Sings. 
 To shallow rivers, to whose falls : s 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals ; 
 There will we make our peds of roses, 
 And a thousand fragrant posies. 
 
 To shallow 
 
 Mercy on me ! I have a great dispositions to cry. [Sings' 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals / 
 When as I sat in Pabylonf 
 And a thousand vagram posies. 
 
 To shallow 
 
 Sim. [Coming forward.] Yonder he is coming, this 
 way, sir Hugh. 
 
 Eva. He's welcome. [Sings.* 
 
 7b shallow rivers, to whose falls 
 Heaven prosper the right ! What weapons is he? 
 
 Sim. No weapons, sir. There comes my master, 
 master Shallow, and another gentleman, from Frog- 
 m ~re. over the stile, this way. 
 
 Eva. Pray you, give me my gown ; or else keep it 
 in your arms. 
 
 Enter PARE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER. 
 Shal. How now, master parson ! Good-morrow, good 
 
 1 the petty-ward, the park-ward, every way : in f. e. A quota- 
 tion from Marlow's " Passionate Pil^im." 3 Not in f. e. * A line 
 from the'old version of Ps. 137. Not in f. e. 
 VOL. I. 25
 
 166 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT III. 
 
 sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good 
 student from his book and it is wonderful. 
 
 Slen. Ah, sweet Anne Page ! 
 
 Page Save you, good sir Hugh. 
 
 Eva. Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you ! 
 
 Shal. What ! the sword and the word ? do you study 
 them both, master parson ? 
 
 Page. And youthful still, in your doublet and hose, 
 this raw rheumatic day ? 
 
 Eva. There is reasons and causes for it. 
 
 Page. We are come to you to do a good office, master 
 parson. 
 
 Eva. Fery well : what is it ? 
 
 Page. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, 
 belike having received wrong by some person, is at 
 most odds with his own gravity and patience that ever 
 you saw. 
 
 Shal. I have lived fourscore years, and upward. I 
 never heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, 
 so wide of his own respect. 
 
 Eva. What is he? 
 
 Page. I think you know him; master doctor Caius, 
 the renowned French physician. 
 
 Eva. Got's will, and his passion of my heart ! I had 
 as lief you would tell me of a mess of porridge. 
 
 Page. Why? 
 
 Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibbocrates and 
 Galen, and he is a knave besides ; a cowardly knave, 
 as you would desires to be acquainted withal. 
 
 Page. I warrant you, he 's the man should fight with 
 him. 
 
 Slen. 0, sweet Anne Page ! 
 
 Shal. It appears so, by his weapons. rKeep them 
 asunder here comes doctor Caius. 
 
 Enter Host. CAIUS, and RUGBY. 
 
 Page. Nay, good master parson, keep in your weapon. 
 
 Shal. So do you, good master doctor. 
 
 Host. Disarm them, and let them question : let them 
 keep their limbs whole, and hack our English. 
 
 Caiiis. I pray you, let-a me speak a word vit your 
 ear : verefore vill you not meet-a me ? 
 
 Eva. Pray you, use your patience : in good time. 
 
 Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John 
 ape.
 
 8C. IT. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 167 
 
 Eva. Pray you, let us not be laughing-stogs to other 
 men's humours ; I desire you in friendship, and I will 
 one way or other make you amends. I will knog your 
 urinals about your knave's cogscomb for missing your 
 meetings and appointments. 
 
 Caius. Diable ! Jack Rugby, mine Host de Jarre- 
 tiere, have I not stay for him, to kill him ? have I not, 
 at de place I did appoint? 
 
 Eva. As I am a Christian soul, now, look you, this 
 is the place appointed. I '11 be judgment by mine Host 
 of the Garter. 
 
 Host. Peace. I say ! Gallia and Guallia, French and 
 Welsh ; soul-curer and body-curer. 
 
 Caius. Ay, dat is very good : excellent. 
 
 Host. Peace, I say ! hear mine Host of the Garter. 
 Ami politic ? am I subtle ? am I a Machiavel ? Shall 
 I lose my doctor ? no ; he gives me the potions, and 
 the motions. Shall I lose my parson? my priest? my 
 sir Hugh ? no ; he gives me the proverbs and the no- 
 verbs. Give me thy hands, celestial and terrestrial ; l 
 so. Boys of art, I have deceived you both; I have 
 directed you to wrong places : your hearts are mighty, 
 your skins are whole, and let burnt sack be the issue. 
 Come, lay their swords to pawn. Follow me, lad of 
 peace ; follow, follow, follow. 
 
 Shal. Trust me, a mad host. Follow, gentlemen, 
 follow. 
 
 Sim. 0, sweet Anne Page ! 
 
 [Exeunt SHALLOW, SLENDER, PAGE, and Host. 
 
 Caius. Ha ! do I perceive dat ! have you make-a de 
 sot of us ? ha, ha ! 
 
 Eva. This is well, he has made us his vlouting-stog. 
 I desire you, that we may be friends, and let us knog 
 our prains together to be revenge on this same scall", 
 scurvy, cogging companion, the Host of the Garter. 
 
 Cams. By gar, vit all my heart. He promise to bring 
 me vere is Anne Page : by gar, he deceive me too. 
 
 Eva. Well, I will smite his noddles. Pray you, 
 follow. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Street in Windsor. 
 Enter Mistress PAGE and ROBIN. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, keep your way, little gallant : yon 
 
 - The folios have : hands celestial, so. Malone altered it to " Give 
 me thy hand terrestrial, so ; give me thy hand celestial, go " 
 Seald-kmd,
 
 108 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT III. 
 
 were wont to be a follower, but now you are a leader. 
 Whether had you rather, lead mine eyes, or eye your 
 master's heels? 
 
 Rob. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a 
 man, than follow him like a dwarf. 
 
 Mrs. Page. O ! you are a flattering boy : now, I see, 
 you '11 be a courtier. 
 
 Enter FORD. 
 
 Ford. Well met, mistress Page. Whither go you ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Truly, sir, to see your wife : is she at 
 home? 
 
 Ford. Ay; and as idle as she may hang together, 
 for want of your company. I think, if your husbands 
 were dead, you two would marry. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Be sure of that, two other husbands. 
 
 Ford. Where had you this pretty weather-cock ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. I cannot tell what the dickens his name 
 is my husband had him of. What do you call your 
 knight's name, sirrah ? 
 
 Rob. Sir John Falstaff. 
 
 Ford. Sir John Falstaff! 
 
 Mrs. Page. He, he; I can never hit on's name 
 There is such a league between my good man and him ! 
 Is your wife at home indeed ? 
 
 Ford. Indeed, she is. 
 
 Mrs. Page. By your leave, sir : I am sick, till I see 
 her. [Exeunt Mrs. PAGE and ROBIN. 
 
 Ford. Hath Page any brains ! hath he any eyes ? hath 
 he any thinking ? Sure, they sleep ; he hath no use of 
 them. Why, this boy will carry a letter twenty miles, 
 as easy as a cannon will shoot point-blank twelve score. 
 He pieces-out his wife's inclination ; he gives her folly 
 motion, and advantage : and now she 's going to my 
 wife, and Falstaff 's boy with her. A man may hear 
 this shower sing in the wind : and Falstaff's boy with 
 her ! Good plots ! they are laid ; and our revolted 
 wives share damnation together. Well; I will take 
 him, then torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of " 
 modesty from the so-seeming mistress Page, divulge 
 Page himself for a secure and wilful Action : and to 
 these violent proceedings all my neighbours shall cry 
 aim 1 . [Clock strikes ten.*] The clock gives me my cue, 
 and my assurance bids me search ; there 3 I shall find 
 Applaud a term in archery. * Not in f. e. 3 where : in f. e.
 
 SO. II. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINliSOR. 169 
 
 Falstaff. I shall be rather praised for this, than 
 mocked ; for it is as positive as the earth is firm, that 
 Falstaff is there : I will go. 
 
 Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, SLENDER, Host, Sir HUGH 
 EVANS, CAIUS, and RUGBY. 
 
 Page, Shal fyc. Well met, master Ford. 
 
 Ford. Trust me, a good knot. I have good cheer at 
 home, and I pray you all go with me. 
 
 Shal. I must excuse myself, master Ford. 
 
 Slen. And so must I, sir : we have appointed to dine 
 with mistress Anne, and I would not break with her 
 for more money than I '11 speak of. 
 
 Shal. We have lingered about a match between 
 Anne Pase and my cousin Slender, and this day we 
 shall have our answer. 
 
 Slen. I hope, I have your good will, father Page. 
 
 Page. You have, master Slender; I stand wholly for 
 you: but my wife, master doctor, is for you al- 
 together. 
 
 Caius. Ay, by gar ; and de maid is love-a me : my 
 nursh-a Quickly tell me so mush. 
 
 Host. What say you to young master Fenton? he 
 capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes 
 verses, he speaks holyday, he smells April and May: 
 he will carry ? t, he will carry 't ; 't is in his buttons ; 
 he will carry 't. 
 
 Page. Not by my consent, I promise you. The gen- 
 tleman is of no having 1 : he kept company with the wild 
 Prince and Poms ; he is of too high a region ; he knows 
 too much. No. he shall not knit a knot in his fortunes 
 with the finger of my substance : if he take her. let him 
 take her simply : the wealth I have waits on my con- 
 sent, and my consent goes not that way. 
 
 Ford. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go home 
 with me to dinner : besides your cheer, you shall have 
 sport : I will show you a monster. Master doctor, you 
 shall go : so shall you, master Page ; and you, sir 
 Hugh. 
 
 Shal. Well, fare you well. We shall have the freer 
 wooing at master Page's. 
 
 [Exeunt SHALLOW and SLENDER. 
 
 Catus. Go home, John Rugby ; I come anon. 
 
 [Exit RUGBY. 
 
 1 Property.
 
 170 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT III. 
 
 Host. Farewell, my hearts. I will to my honest 
 knight Falstaff. and drink canary with him. [Exit Host. 
 
 Ford. [Aside.] I think, I shall drink in pipe-wine 
 first with him; I'll make him dance. Will you go, 
 gentles ? 
 
 All. Have with you, to see this monster. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in FORD'S House. 
 Enter Mrs. FORD and Mrs. PAGE. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What, John ! what, Robert ! 
 
 Mrs. Page. Quickly, quickly. Is the buck-basket 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I warrant. What, Robin, I say ! 
 Enter Servants with a large Basket. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, come, come. 
 
 Mrs. Ford Here, set it down. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Give your men the charge : we must be 
 brief. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Marry, as I told you before, John, and 
 Robert, be ready here hard by in the brew-house ; and 
 when I suddenly call you, come forth, and (without any 
 pause, or staggering) take this basket on your shoulders : 
 that done, trudge with it in all haste, and carry it 
 among the whitsters 1 in Datchet mead, and there empty 
 it in the muddy ditch close by the Thames side. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You will do it? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I have told them over and over; they 
 lack no direction. Be gone, and come when you are 
 called. [Exeunt Servants. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Here cornes little Robin. 
 Enter ROBIN. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How now, my eyas-musket 9 ? what news 
 with you? 
 
 Rob. My master, sir John, is come in at your back- 
 door, mistress Ford, and requests your company. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You little Jack-a-lent 3 , have you been 
 true to us? 
 
 Rob. Ay, I '11 be sworn : my master knows not of 
 your being here : and hath threatened to put me into 
 everlasting liberty, if I tell you of it, for he swears he '11 
 turn me away. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Thou 'rt a good boy ; this secrecy of 
 
 1 Washerwomen. * An eyas, is a younp hawk, a musket from the 
 Italian musohetto, a little hawk. A jack, or puppet thrown at as a
 
 BC. in. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 171 
 
 thine shall be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee a 
 new doublet and hose. 1 11 go hide me. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Do so. Go tell thy master, I am alone. 
 Mistress Page, remember you your cue. [Exit ROBIN. 
 
 Mrs. Page. 1 warrant thee : if I do not act it, hiss 
 me. [Exit Mrs. PAGE 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Go to, then : we '11 use this unwholesome 
 humidity, this gross watery pumpion ; we '11 tfach 
 him to know turtles from jays. 
 
 Enter FALSTAFF. 
 
 Fal. Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel ?' Why, 
 now let me die, for I have lived long enough : this is 
 the period of my ambition. this blessed hour ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. 0. sweet sir John ! 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate, 
 mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish : I -would 
 thy husband were dead, I '11 speak it before the best 
 lord, I would make thee my lady. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I your lady, sir John? alas, I should be 
 a pitiful lady. 
 
 Fal. Let the court of France show me such another. 
 I see how thine eye would emulate the diamond : thou 
 hast the right arched beauty of the brow, that becomes 
 the ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of Venetian 
 admittance. 
 
 Mrs Ford. A plain kerchief, sir John : my brows 
 become nothing else ; nor that well neither. 
 
 Fal. By the Lord, thou art a tyrant to say so : thou 
 wouldst make an absolute courtier : and the firm fixture 
 of thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait 
 in a semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, 
 it' fortune thy foe were not,* nature thy friend : come, 
 thou canst not hide it. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Believe me, there 's no such thing in 
 me. 
 
 Fal. What made me love thee ? let, that persuade 
 Ihee. there's something extraordinary in thee. Come; 
 [ cannot cog, and say thou art this and that, like a 
 many of these lisping haw-thorn buds, that come like 
 women in men's apparel, and srnell like Bucklersbury 
 in simple 3 -time : I cannot ; but I love thee, none but 
 thee. and thou deservest it. 
 
 1 A line trom Si Iney's Astrophei and Stella. 2 jf f o -tune were not 
 ny foe. > Herb.
 
 172 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT III. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Do not betray me, sir. I fear, you love 
 mistress Page. 
 
 Fal. Thou might'st as well say, I love to walk by 
 the Counter-gate, which is as hateful to me as the reek 
 of a lime-kiln. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Well, heaven kiiows how I love you j 
 and you shall one day find it. 
 
 Fal. Keep in that mind ; I '11 deserve it. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay. I must tell you, so you do, or else 
 I could not be in that mind. 
 
 Rob. [Within.] Mistress Ford ! mistress Ford ! here's 
 mistress Page at the door, sweating, and blowing, and 
 looking wildly, and would needs speak with you pre- 
 sently. 
 
 Fal. She shall not see me. 1 will ensconce me be- 
 hind the arras. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Pray you, do so : she 's a very tattling 
 woman. [FALSTAFF hides himself. 
 
 Enter Mistress PAGE and ROBIN. 
 What 's the matter? how now ! 
 
 Mrs. Page. mistress Ford ! what have you done ? 
 You 're shamed, you are overthrown, you 're undone 
 for ever. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What 's the matter, good mistress 
 Page? 
 
 Mrs. Page. well-a-day, mistress Ford ! having an 
 honest man to your husband to give him such cause of 
 suspicion ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What cause of suspicion ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. What cause of suspicion? Out upon 
 you ! how am I mistook in you ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, alas ! what's the matter? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Your husband 's coming hither, woman, 
 with all the officers in Windsor, to search for a gentle- 
 man, that, he says, is here now in the house, by your 
 consent, to take an ill advantage of his absence. You 
 are undone. 
 
 Mrs. Ford, 'T is not so, I hope. 
 
 Mr.?. Page. Pray heaven it be not so. that you have 
 such a man here ; but 't is most certain your husband 'a 
 comin;:. with half Windsor at his heels, to search for 
 euch a one ; I come before to tell you If you know 
 yourself clear, why I am glad of it ; but if you have a 
 friend here, convey, convey him out. Be not amazed;
 
 BC. 111. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 173 
 
 call all your senses to you : defend your reputation, or 
 bid farewell to your good life for ever. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What shall I do? There is a gentle- 
 man, my dear friend : and I fear not mine own shame 
 BO much as his peril : I had rather than a thousand 
 pound, he were out of the house. 
 
 J//\s-. Page. For shame ! never stand " you had 
 rather." and "you had rather:" your husband's here 
 at hand ; bethink you of some conveyance : in the house 
 you cannot hide him. 0, how have you deceived 
 me ! Look, here is a basket : if he be of any reason- 
 able stature, he may creep in here; and throw foul 
 linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking : or, it 
 is whiting-time, send him by your two men to Datchet 
 mead. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. He 's too big to go in there. What shall 
 I do? 
 
 Re-enter FALSTAFF. 
 
 Fal. Let me see 't, let me see 't ! 0. let me see 't ! 
 I '11 in, I '11 in. Follow your friend's counsel. 
 I '11 in. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What ! sir John Falstaff ? Are these 
 your letters, knisrht ? 
 
 Fal. I love thee : help me away ; let me creep ir 
 here ; I '11 never 
 
 [He gets into the basket, and falls over :' 
 they cover him with foul linen. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy. Call 
 your men. mistress Ford. You dissembling knight ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What. John ! Robert ! John ! [Exit. 
 ROBIN. Re-enter Servants.] Go, take up these clothes 
 here, quickly ; where 's the cowl-staff? 3 look, how you 
 d rumble 3 : carry them to the laundress in Datchet 
 mead ; quickly, come. 
 
 Enter FORD. PAGE, CAICS, and Sir HUGH EVANS. 
 
 Ford. Pray you, come near : if I suspect without 
 cause, why then make sport at me, then let me be your 
 jest; I deserve it. How now! whither bear you this? 
 
 Serv. To the laundress, forsooth. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, what have you to do whither they 
 hear it? you were best meddle with buck- washing. 
 
 Ford. Buck ! I would I could wash myself of the 
 
 i Not in f. e. A stick for two to carry a basket with two handle* 
 ty. 3 Drone, loiter.
 
 174 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT 111. 
 
 buck ! Buck, buck, buck ? Ay, buck ; I warrant you, 
 buck, and of the season too, it shall appear. [Eotxunt. 
 Servants with the basket.] Gentlemen, I have dreamed 
 to-night : I '11 tell you my dream. Here, here, here be 
 my keys : ascend my chambers, search, seek, find out : 
 I '11 warrant, we '11 unkennel the fox. Let me stop this 
 way first : so, now uncape. 
 
 Pagz. Good master Ford, be contented : you wrong 
 yourself too much. 
 
 Ford. True, master Page. Up, gentlemen; /ou 
 shall see sport anon : follow me, gentlemen. [Exit. 
 
 Eva. This is fery fantastical humours, and jealousies. 
 
 Caius. By gar, 't is no de fashion of France : it is not 
 jealous in France. 
 
 Page. Nay, follow him, gentlemen : see the issue of 
 his search. [Exeunt PAGE, EVANS, and CAIUS. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Is there not a double excellency in this ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I know not which pleases me better, that 
 my husband is deceived, or sir John. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What a taking was he in, when your 
 husband asked who was in the basket ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I am half afraid he will have need of 
 washing ; so, throwing him into the water will do him 
 a benefit. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal ! I would all 
 of the same strain were in the same distress. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I think, my husband hath some special 
 suspicion of Falstaff' s being here, for I never saw him 
 so gross in his jealousy till now. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I will lay a plot to try that ; and we will 
 yet have more tricks with Falstaff: his dissolute dis- 
 ease will scarce obey this medicine. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Shall we send that foolish carrion, mis- 
 tress Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into the 
 water ; and give him another hope, to betray him to 
 another punishment? 
 
 Mrs. Page. We '11 do it: let him be sent for to-mor- 
 row eight o'clock, to have amends. 
 
 Re-enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and Sir HUGH EVANS. 
 
 Ford. I cannot find him : may be, the kuave bragged 
 3f that he could not compass. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Heard you that? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. You use me well, master Ford, do you ? 
 
 Ford. Ay, I do so.
 
 SC. IV. THE MERRY WIVES Of WINDSOR. 175 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Heaven make you better than your 
 thoughts ! 
 
 Ford. Amen. [Ford. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You do yourself mighty wrong, master 
 
 Ford. Ay, ay ; I must bear it. 
 
 Eva. If there be any pody in the house, and in the 
 chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses heaven 
 forgive my sins at the day of judgment. 
 
 Cams. By gar, nor I too : dere is no bodies. 
 
 Page. Fie, fie, master Ford ! are you not ashamed ? 
 What spirit, what devil suggests this imagination? I 
 would not have your distemper in this kind for the 
 wealth of Windsor Castle. 
 
 Ford. 'T is my fault, master Page: I suffer for it. 
 
 Eva. You suffer for a pad conscience : your wife is 
 as honest a 'omans as I will desires among five thou- 
 sand, and five hundred too. 
 
 Caius. By gar, I see 't is an honest woman. 
 
 Ford. Well ; I promised you a dinner. Come, come, 
 walk in the park : I pray you, pardon me-; I will here- 
 after make known to you, why I have done this. 
 Come, wife ; come, mistress Page : I pray you pardon 
 me ; pray heartily, pardon me. 
 
 Page. Let 's go in, gentlemen ; but trust me, we '11 
 mock him. I do invite you to-morrow morning to my 
 house to breakfast ; after, we '11 a birding together : I 
 have a fine hawk for the bush. Shall it be so ? 
 
 Ford. -Any thing. 
 
 Eva. If there is one, I shall make two in the company. 
 
 Caius. If there be one or two, I shall make-a de turd. 
 
 Ford. Pray you go, master Page. 
 
 Eva. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow on 
 the lousy knave, mine Host. 
 
 Caius. Dat is good ; by gar, vit all my heart. 
 
 Eva. A lousy knave ! to have his gibes, and hia 
 mockeries. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Room in PACK'S House. 
 
 Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE. 
 Fent. I see, I cannot get thy father's love ; 
 Therefore, no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. 
 Anne. Alas ! how then ? 
 
 Fent. Why, thou must be thyself. 
 
 He doth object, I am too great of birth,
 
 17f> THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT in. 
 
 And lhat my state being gall'd with my expense, 
 
 I seek to heal it only by his wealth. 
 
 Beside these, other bars he lays before me, 
 
 My riots past, my wild societies ; 
 
 And tells me 't is a thing impossible 
 
 I should love thee, but as a property. 
 
 Anne. May be, he tells you true. 
 
 Fent. No, heaven so speed me in my time to come I 
 Albeit, I will confess, thy father's wealth 
 Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne : 
 Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value 
 Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags ; 
 And 't is the very riches of thyself 
 That now I aim at. 
 
 Anne. Gentle master Fenton, 
 
 Yet seek my father's love ; still seek it, sir : 
 If opportunity and humblest suit 
 Cannot attain it, why then, Hark you hither. 
 
 [They talk apart. 
 Enter SHALLOW, SLENDER, and Mrs. QUICKLY. 
 
 Shal. Break their talk, mistress Quickly, my kins- 
 man shall speak for himself. 
 
 Slen. I '11 make a shaft or a bolt on 't. 'Slid, 't is 
 but venturing. 
 
 Sha,L Be not dismay'd. 
 
 Slen. No, she shall not dismay me : I care not for 
 that, but that I am afeard. 
 
 Quick. Hark ye; master Slender would speak a word 
 with you. 
 
 Anne. I come to him. This is my father's choice. 
 0, what a world of vile ill-favour 7 d faults 
 Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year ! 
 
 Quick. And how does good master Fenton? Pray 
 you, a word with you. 
 
 Shal. She 's coming ; to her, coz. O boy ! thou hadst 
 a father. 
 
 Slen. I had a father, mistress Anne: my uncle can 
 tell you good jests of him. Pray you, uncle, tell mis- 
 tress Anne the jest, how my father stole two geese out 
 of a pen. good uncle. 
 
 Siial. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you. 
 
 Skn. Ay, that I do ; as well as I love any woman 
 in Gloucestershire. 
 
 Shal. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman.
 
 6C. IV. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 177 
 
 Slen. Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, undei 
 the degree of a 'squire. 
 
 Shal. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds 
 jointure. 
 
 Anne. Good master Shallow, let him woo for 
 himself. 
 
 Shal. Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you for 
 that good comfort. She calls you, coz : I '11 leave you. 
 
 [Stands back. 1 
 
 Anne. Now, master Slender. 
 
 Slen. Now. good mistress Anne. 
 
 Anne. What is your will ? 
 
 Slen. My will ? od's heartlings ! 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. 
 
 Anne. I mean, master Slender, what would you with 
 me? 
 
 Slen. Truly, for mine own part, I would little or 
 nothing with you. Your father, and my uncle, have 
 made motions : if it be my luck, so ; if not, happy 
 man be his dole. They can tell you how things go, 
 better than I can : you may ask your father; here he 
 zomes. 
 
 Enter PAGE and Mistress PAGE. 
 
 Page. Now, master Slender ! Love him, daughter 
 
 Anne. 
 
 Why. how now ! what does master Fenton here? 
 You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house : 
 I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of. 
 
 Pent. Nay, master Page, be not impatient. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Good master Fenton, come not to my 
 child. 
 
 Page. She is no match for you. 
 
 Fen. Sir, will you hear me? 
 
 Page. No, good master Fenton 
 
 Come, master Shallow: come, son Slender; in. 
 Knowing my mind, you wrong me, master Fenton. 
 
 [Exeunt PAGE. SHALLOW, and SLENDER. 
 
 Quick. Speak to mistress Page. 
 
 Pent. Good mistress Page, for that I love your 
 
 daughter 
 
 In such a righteous fashion as I do, 
 Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners., 
 
 i Xot in f. e.
 
 178 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT III, 
 
 I must advance the colours of my love, 
 And not retire : let me have your good will. 
 
 Anne. Good mother, do not marry me to yond' fool. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I mean it not; I seek you a better hus- 
 band. 
 
 Quick. That 's my master, master doctor. 
 
 Anne. Alas ! I had rather be set quick i' the earth, 
 And bowl'd to death with turnips. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself. Good 
 
 master Fenton, 
 
 I will not be your friend, nor enemy: 
 My daughter will I question how she loves you, 
 And as I find her, so am I afFected. 
 'Till then, farewell, sir : she must needs go in ; 
 Her father will be angry. [Exeunt Mrs. PAGE and ANNE. 
 
 Pent. Farewell, gentle mistress. Farewell, Nan. 
 
 Quick. This is my doing, now. Nay, said I, will 
 you cast away your child on a fool, and a physician ? 
 look on, master Fenton. This is my doing. 
 
 Pent. I thank thee ; and I pray thee, once to-night 
 Give my sweet Nan this ring. There 's for thy pains. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Quick. Now, heaven. send thee good fortune! A 
 kind heart he hath : a woman would run through fire 
 and water for such a kind heart. But yet 1 would my 
 master had mistress Anne ; or I would master Slender 
 had her or. in sooth. I would master Fenton had her. 
 I will do what I can for them all three, for so I have 
 promised, and I '11 be as good as my word : but spe- 
 ciously for master Fenton. Well, I must of another 
 errand to sir John Falstaff from my two mistresses : 
 what a beast am I to slack it. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH. 
 
 Fal. Bardolph. I say ! 
 
 Bard. Here, sir. 
 
 Fal. Go fetch me a quart of sack ; put a toast in 't. 
 [Exit BARD.] Have I lived to be carried in a basket, 
 like a barrow of butcher's offal, and to be thrown in 
 the Thames ? Well, if I be served such another trick, 
 I '11 have my brains 'ta' en out. and buttered, and give 
 them to a dog for a new year's gift. The rogues 
 lighted me into the river with as little remorse as
 
 BC. V. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 179 
 
 they would have drowned a blind bitch's puppies, fif- 
 teen i' the litter ; and you may know by my size, that I 
 have a kind of alacrity in sinking : if the bottom were 
 as deep as hell, I should down. I had been drowned, 
 but that the shore was shelvy and shallow ; a death 
 that I abhor, for the water swells a man, and what a 
 tiling should I have been, when I had been swelled ! 
 I should have been a mountain of mummy. 
 Re-enter BARDOLPH, with the wine. 
 
 Bard. Here 's mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with you. 
 
 Fal. Come, let me pour in some sack to the Thames 
 water ; for my belly ? s as cold, as if I had swallowed 
 snow-balls for pills to cool the reins. Call her in. 
 
 Bard. Come in. woman. 
 
 Enter Mrs. QUICKLY. 
 
 Quick. By your leave. I cry you mercy: give your 
 worship good-morrow. 
 
 Fal. Take away these chalices. Go, brew me a 
 pottle of sack finely. 
 
 Bard. With eggs, sir ? 
 
 Fal. Simple of itself; I'll no pullet-sperm in my 
 brewage. [Exit BARDOLPH.] How now? 
 
 Quick. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from 
 mistress Ford. 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford ! I have had ford enough : I was 
 thrown into the ford : I have my belly full of ford. 
 
 Quick. Alas the day ! good heart, that was not her 
 fault : she does so take on with her men ; they mistook 
 their erection. 
 
 Fal. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish -woman's 
 promise. 
 
 Quick. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would 
 yearn your heart to see it. Her husband goes this 
 mornins a birding : she desires you once more to come 
 to her between eight and nine. I must carry her word 
 quickly : she '11 make you amends, I warrant you. 
 
 Fal Well. I will visit her : tell her so ; and bid her 
 think, what a man is : let her consider his frailty, and 
 then judge of my merit. 
 
 Quick. I Will tell her. 
 
 Fal. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st thou? 
 
 Quick. Eight and nine, sir. 
 
 Fal. Well, be gone : I will not miss her. 
 
 Quick. Peace be with you, sir. [Exit
 
 180 THE MERUY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT III. 
 
 Fal. I marvel. I hear not of master Brook : he sent 
 me word to stay within. I like his money well. 0! 
 here he jomes. 
 
 Enter FORD. 
 
 Ford 1 . Bless you. sir. 
 
 Fal. Now, master Brook ; you come to know what 
 hath passed between me and Ford's -wife ? 
 
 Ford. That, indeed, sir John, is my business. 
 
 Fal. Master Brook, I will not lie to you. I was at 
 her house the hour she appointed me. 
 
 Ford. And sped you, sir? 
 
 Fal. Very ill-favouredly, master Brook. 
 
 Ford. How so, sir ? Did she change her determination ? 
 
 Fal. No, master Brook ; but the peaking cornuto her 
 husband, master Brook, dwelling in a continual larum 
 of jealousy, comes me in the instant of our encounter, 
 after we had embraced, kissed, protested, and, as it 
 were, spoke the prologue of our comedy; and at his 
 heels a rabble of his companions, thither provoked and 
 instigated by his distemper, and, forsooth, to search his 
 house for his wife's love. 
 
 Ford. What ! while you were there ? 
 
 Fa?. While I was there. 
 
 Ford. And did he search for you, and could not find you? 
 
 Fal. You shall hear. As good luck would have it, 
 comes in one mistress Page ; gives intelligence of Ford's 
 approach ; and by her invention, and Ford's wife's dis- 
 traction, they conveyed me into a buck-basket. 
 
 Ford. A buck-basket ! 
 
 Fal. By the Lord, a buck-basket : rammed me in with 
 foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, and greasy 
 napkins; that, master Bi'ook, there wns the rankest 
 compound of villainous smell, that ever offended nostril. 
 
 Ford And how long lay you there ? 
 
 Fal. Nay, you shall hear, master Brook, what I have 
 Buffered, to bring this woman to evil for your good. 
 HIM ML' thus crammed in the basket, a couple of Ford's 
 kn.-ivrs. Ids lands, were called forth by their mistress, 
 to carry me in the name of foul clothes to Datchet- 
 lane : they took me on their shoulders; met the jealous 
 knave, their master, in the door, who asked them once 
 or twice what they had in their basket. I quaked for 
 fear, lest the lunatic knave would have searched it; 
 but fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold, held hia
 
 J-C. IV. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 181 
 
 hand. Well ; on went he for a search, and away went 
 I tor foul clothes. But mark the sequel, master Brook: 
 1 suffered the panus of three several deaths : first, an 
 intolerable fright, to he detected with a jealous rotten 
 bell-wether: next, to be compassed, like a good bilbo, 
 in the circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to 
 head and then, to be stopped in, like a strong distil- 
 lation, with stinking clothes that, fretted in their own 
 grease : think of that. a man of my kidney, think of 
 that : that am as subject to heat, as butter; a man of 
 continual dissolution and thaw: it was a miracle, to 
 'scape suffocation. And in the height of this bath, 
 when I was more than half stewed in grease, like a 
 Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and cooled, 
 glowing hot, in that sunre, like a horse shoe; think of 
 that, hissing hot, think of that, master Brook. 
 
 Ford. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my 
 sake you have suffered all this. My suit, then, is des- 
 perate ; you '11 undertake her r;o more ? 
 
 Fal. Master Brook. I will be thrown into ^Etna, as ] 
 have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her 
 husband is this morning gone a birding : I have re- 
 ceived from her another embassy of meeting ; 'twixt 
 eight and nine is the hour, master Brook. 
 
 Ford. 'T is past eight already, sir. 
 
 Fal. Is it ? I will then address me to my appoint- 
 ment. Come to me at your convenient leisure, and 
 you shall know how I speed, and the conclusion shall 
 be crowned with your enjoying her : adieu. You shall 
 have her. master Brook ; master Brook, you shall 
 cuckold Ford. [Exit. 
 
 Ford. Hum : ha ! is this a vision? is this a dream? 
 do I sleep? Master Ford, awake! awake, master 
 Ford ! there 's a hole made in your best coat, master 
 Ford. This 't is to be married : this 't is to have linen, 
 and buck-baskets. Well, I will proclaim myself what 
 I a.m : I will now take the lecher ; he is at my house: 
 he cannot ; scape me ; 't is impossible he should : he 
 cannot creep inlo a half-penny purse, nor into a pepper- 
 box ; but. lest ihc devil that guides him should aid 
 him, I will search impossible places. Though \vhai I 
 am I cannot avoid, yet to be what 1 would not, shall 
 not. make me tame: if I have horns to make me mad, 
 let the proverb go with me, I r ll be horn mad. [Exit 
 
 VOL. i. 'J6
 
 182 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT IV. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. The Street. 
 Enter Mrs. PAGE, Mrs. QUICKLY, and WILLIAM. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Is he at master Ford's already, think'st 
 thou? 
 
 Quick. Sure he is, by this, or will be presently; but 
 truly, he is very courageous mad about his throwing 
 inlo ihe water. Mistress Ford desires you to come 
 suddenly. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I'll be with her by and by: I'll but 
 bring my young man here to school. Look, where his 
 master comes ; 't is a playing day, I see. 
 Enter Sir HUGH EVANS. 
 How now, sir Hugh ! no school to-day ? 
 
 Eva. No; master Slender is get 1 the boys leave to 
 play. 
 
 Quick. Blessing of his heart ! 
 
 Mrs. Page. Sir Hugh, my husband says, my son 
 profits nothing in the world at his book : I pray you, 
 ask him some questions in his accidence. 
 
 Eva. Come hither, William : hold up your head ; 
 come. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come on, sirrah : hold up your head : 
 answer your master ; be not afraid. 
 
 Eva. William, how many numbers is in nouns ? 
 
 Will. Two. 
 
 Quick. Truly, I thought there had been one number 
 more, because they say, od 's nouns. 
 
 Eva. Peace your tattlings ! What is fair. William? 
 
 Will. Pulcher. 
 
 Quick. Pole-cats ! there are fairer things than pole- 
 tats, sure. 
 
 Eva. You are a very simplicity 'oman : I pray you, 
 peace. What is lapis, William ? 
 
 Will. A stone. 
 
 Eva. And what is a stone, William ? 
 
 Will A pebble. 
 
 Eva. No, it is lapis : I pray you remember in your 
 prain. 
 
 Will. Lapis. 
 
 let : in f. e.
 
 SO. I. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 183 
 
 Eva. That is good, William. What is he, William 
 that does lend articles? 
 
 Will. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun: and be 
 thus declined, Singularitcr, nominativo, hie, h<zc, hoc. 
 
 Eva. Nominativo. hig, hag, hog; pray you, mark; 
 genitivo, hujus. Well, what is your accusative case ? 
 
 Will. Accusative, hinc. 
 
 Eva. I pray you, have your remembrance, child ; 
 '.lecusativo, king, hang. hog. 
 
 Quick. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I warrant you. 
 
 Eva. Leave your prabbles, 'oman. What is the 
 focative case, William ? 
 
 Will. vocativo. O. 
 
 Eva. Remember, William ; focative is, caret. 
 
 Quick. And that 's a good root. 
 
 Eva. 'Oman, forbear. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Peace ! 
 
 Eva. What is your genitive case plural, William ? 
 
 Will. Genitive case ? 
 
 Eva. Ay. 
 
 Will. Genitive, horum, harum, horum. 
 
 Quick. Vengeance of Jenny's case ! fie on her ! 
 Never name her, child, if she be a whore. 
 
 Eva. For shame, 'oman ! 
 
 Quick. You do ill to teach the child such words. 
 He teaches him to hick and to hack, which they '11 do 
 fast enough of themselves ; and to call horum, fie 
 upon you ! 
 
 Eva. 'Oman, art thou lunatics? hast thou no under- 
 standings for thy cases, and the numbers and the gen- 
 ders? Thou art as foolish Christian creatures as I 
 would desires. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Pr'ythee hold thy peace. 
 
 Eva. Show me now, William, some declensions of 
 your pronouns. 
 
 Will. Forsooth, I have forgot. 
 
 Eva. It is qtd, qua, quod ; if you forget your quis^ 
 your qwzs, and your quods, you must be preeches 1 . Go 
 your ways, and play; go. 
 
 Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar than I thought he 
 was. 
 
 Eva. He is a good sprag 2 memory. Farewell, mis- 
 tress Page. 
 
 1 Sncckcd, whipped. ' Spry, quick.
 
 184 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT IV. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Adieu, good sir Hugh. [Exit Sir HUGH.] 
 Get you home, boy. Come, we stay too long. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IT. A Room in FORD'S House. 
 Enter FALSTAFF and Mrs. FORD. 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my 
 sufferance. I see. you are obsequious in your love, 
 and I profess requital to a hair's breadth : not only, 
 Mrs. Ford, in the simple office of love, but in all the 
 accoutrement, complement, and ceremony of it. But 
 are you sure of your husband now ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. He 's a birding, sweet sir John. 
 
 Mrs. Page. [Within.] What hoa! gossip Ford ! what 
 hoa ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Step into the chamber, sir John. 
 
 [Exit FALSTAFF. 
 Enter Mrs. PAGE. 
 
 Mrs. Page. How now, sweetheart ! who 's at home 
 besides yourself? 
 
 Mrs Ford. Why, none but mine own people. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Indeed ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. No, certainly. [Aside.]' Speak louder. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Truly, I am so glad you have nobody 
 here. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in his old 
 Tunes again : he so takes on yonder with my husband ; 
 BO rails against all married mankind ; so curses all Eve's 
 daughters, of what complexion soever ; and so buffets 
 himself on the forehead, crying, " Peer-out, Peer-out ! " 
 that any madness I ever yet beheld seemed but tame- 
 ness, civility, and patience, to this distemper he is in 
 now. I am glad the fat knight is not here. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why. does he talk of him ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Of none but him ; and swears, he was 
 carried out. the last time he searched for him, in a 
 basket : protests to my husband he is now here, and 
 hath drawn him and the rest of their company from 
 their sport, to make another experiment of his sus- 
 picion. But I am glad the knight is not here; now 
 he shall see his own foolery. 
 
 Mis. Ford. How near is he, mistress Page? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hard by; at street end: he will be here 
 anon.
 
 EC. II. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 185 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I am undone ! the knight is here. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, then you are utterly shamed, and 
 he 's but a dead man. What a woman are you ! 
 Away with him, away with him : better shame, than 
 murder. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go ? how should I 
 bestow him? Shall I put him into ths basket again? 
 Re-enter FALSTAFF in fright. 1 
 
 F:l. No, I'll come no more in the basket May I 
 not go out, ere he come ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Alas, three of master Ford's brothers 
 watch the door with pistols, that none shall issue out ; 
 otherwise you might slip away ere he came. But what 
 make you here ? 
 
 Fal. What shall I do? I '11 creep up into the chim- 
 ney. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. There they always use to discharge their 
 birding-pieces. Creep into the kiln-hole. 
 
 Fal. Where is it ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. He will seek there, on my word. Neither 
 press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an 
 abstract for the remembrance of such places, and goes 
 to them by his note ; there is no hiding you in the 
 house. 
 
 Fal. I '11 go out, then. 
 
 Mrs. Page. If you go out in your own semblance, 
 you die, sir John. Unless you go out disguised, 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How might we disguise him ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Alas the day ! I know not. There is 
 no woman's gown big enough for him ; other-wise, he 
 might put on a hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and so 
 escape. 
 
 Fal Good hearts, devise something : any extremity, 
 rather than a mischief. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman of Brent- 
 ford, has a gown above. 
 
 Mrs. Page. On my word it will serve him: she's as 
 big as he. is : and there 's her thrum'd hat, and her 
 muffler too. Run up, sir John. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Go, go, sweet sir John : mistress Page 
 and I will look some linen for your head. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Quick, quick : we '11 come dress you 
 straight ; put on the gown the while [Exit FALSTAFF. 
 
 1 in fright : not in f. e.
 
 186 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT IV. 
 
 Mrf. Ford. I would my husband would meet him ic 
 this shape : he cannot abide the old woman of Brent- 
 ford ; he swears, she's a witch ; forbade her my house, 
 and hath threatened to beat her. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Heaven guide him to thy husband's 
 cudgel, and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Ay, in good sadness, is he ; and talks of 
 the basket too. howsoever he hath had intelligence. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We '11 try that ; for I '11 appoint my men 
 to carry the basket again, to meet him at the door with 
 it, as they did last time. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, but he '11 be here presently : let 's 
 go dress him like the witch of Brentford. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I '11 first direct my men, what they shall 
 do with the basket. Go up. I '11 bring linen for him 
 straight. [Exit. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet ! we cannot 
 misuse him enough. 
 
 We '11 leave a proof, by that which we will do, 
 
 Wives may be merry, and yet honest too : 
 
 We do not act, that often jest and lauah : 
 
 7 T is old but true. " Still swine eat all the draff." 
 
 [Exit. 
 Re-enter Mrs. FORD, with two Servants. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on your 
 shoulders : your master is hard at door ; if he bid you 
 set it down, obey him. Quickly; despatch. [Exit. 
 
 1 Serv. Come, come, take it up. 
 
 2 Serv. Pray heaven, it be not full of knight again. 
 
 1 Serv. I hope not : I had as lief bear so much lead. 
 Enter FORD, PAGE, SHALLOW, CAIUS, and Sir HUGH 
 EVANS. 
 
 Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, master Page, have 
 you any way then to unfool me again ? Set down the 
 basket, villains. Somebody call my wife. Youth in a 
 basket ! you panderly rascals ! there 's a knot, a 
 ging 1 , a pack, a conspiracy against me : now shall the 
 devil be shamed. What, wife, I say? Come, come 
 forth : behold what honest clothes you send forth to 
 bleaching. 
 
 Page. Why, this passes ! Master Ford, you are not 
 to go loose any longer ; you must be pinioned. 
 
 Gang.
 
 SC. II. THE MERRY WIVES Of WINDSOR. 187 
 
 Eva. Why, this is lunatics : this is mad as a mad 
 dog. 
 
 Shal. Indeed, master Ford, this is not well ; indeed. 
 Enter Mrs. FORD. 
 
 Ford. So say I too, sir. Come hither, mistress Ford; 
 mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest wile, the 
 virtuous creature, that hath the jealous fool to her 
 husband. I suspect without cause, mistress, do I ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness, you do, if you 
 suspect me in any dishonesty. 
 
 Fora. Well said, brazen-face; hold it out. Come 
 forth, sirrah. [Pulls the Clothes out, 1 and throws them 
 all over the stage. 
 
 Page. This passes ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Are you not ashamed ? let the clothes 
 alone. 
 
 Ford. I shall find you anon. 
 
 Eva. 'T is unreasonable. Will you take up your 
 wife's clothes ? Come away. 
 
 Ford. Empty the basket, I say. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, man, why, 
 
 Ford. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one 
 conveyed out of my house yesterday in this basket : 
 why may not he be there again ? In my house I am 
 sure he is : my intelligence is true ; my jealousy is 
 reasonable. Pluck me out all the linen. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there, he shall die a 
 flea's death. [All Clothes thrown out.' 
 
 Page. Here 's no man. 
 
 Shal. By my fidelity, this is not well, master Ford ; 
 this wrongs you. 
 
 Eva. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow 
 the imaginations of your own heart : this is jealousies. 
 
 Ford. Well, he 's not here I seek for. 
 
 Page. No, nor no where else, but in your brain. 
 
 Ford. Help to search my house this one time : if I 
 find not what I seek, show no colour for my extremity, 
 lei me for ever be your table-sport ; let them say of 
 me, " As jealous as Ford, tha^ searched a hollow 
 walnut for his wife's lemau 3 ." Satisfy me once more , 
 once more search with me. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What hoa ! mistress Page ! come you, 
 
 i The rest of the direction not in f. e. Not c f . e ' Lover ; 
 also used for mistress.
 
 188 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT IV 
 
 and the old woman, down ; my husband will come into 
 fhe chamber. 
 
 Ford. Old woman ! What old woman 's that ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, it is my maid's aunt of Brentford. 
 
 Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean ? 
 Have I not forbid her my house ? She comes of 
 errands, does she ? We are simple men ; we do not 
 know what 's brought to p.iss under the profession of 
 fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spells, by 
 the figure, and such daubery as this is ; beyond our 
 element : we know nothing. Come down, you witch, 
 you hag you ; come down I say. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, -good, sweet husband. Good gen- 
 tlemen, let him not strike the old woman. 
 Enter FALSTAFF in Women's Clothes, led by Mrs. PAGE. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, mother Prat j come, give me your 
 hand. 
 
 Ford. I '11 prat her. Out of my door, you witch ! 
 [beats him] you rag, you baggage, you polecat, you 
 ronyon 1 ! out ! out ! I '11 conjure you, I '11 fortune-tell 
 you. [Exit FALSTAFF. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Are you not ashamed ! I think, you 
 have killed the poor woman. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, he will do it. 'T is a goodly credit 
 for you. 
 
 Ford. Hang her, witch ! 
 
 Eva. By yea and nay. I think, the 'oman is a witch 
 indeed : I like not when a 'oman has a great peard ; I 
 spy a great peard under her muffler. 
 
 Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen ? I beseech you, 
 follow : see but the issue of my jealousy. If I cry out 
 thus upon no trail, never trust me when I open again. 
 
 Page. Let 's obey his humour a little farther. Come, 
 gentlemen. [Exeunt ~FORT>, PAGE. SHALLOW, and EVANS. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully, 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did not , he 
 beat him most unpitifully, methought. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I '11 have the cudgel hallowed, and hung 
 e'er the altar; it hatk done meritorious service. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What think you? May we, with the 
 warrant of womanhood, and the witness of a good con- 
 science pursue him with any farther revenge ? 
 
 Hfrs. Page. The spirit of wantonness, is, sure, scared 
 
 1 Fr. rogue, for scurf.
 
 SC. IV. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 189 
 
 out of him : if the devil have him not in fee simple, 
 with fine and recovery, he will never, I think, in the 
 way of waste, attempt us again. 
 
 Mrs. Ford Shall we tell our husbands how we have 
 served him ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Yes, by all means ; if it be but to scrape 
 the figures out of your husband's brains. If they can 
 find in their hearts the poor unvirtuous fat knight 
 shall be any farther afflicted, we two will still be the 
 ministers. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I '11 warrant, they '11 have him publicly 
 shamed, and, methinks, there would be no period to 
 the jest. Should he not be publicly shamed ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge with it. then shape 
 il : I would not have things cool. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 
 Enter Host and BARDOLPH. 
 
 Bard. Sir. the Germans desire to have three of your 
 horses : the duke himself will be to-morrow at court, 
 and they are going to meet him. 
 
 Host. What duke should that be, conies so secretly ? 
 I hear not of him in the court. Let me speak with 
 the gentlemen ; they speak English ? 
 Bard. Ay, sir ; I '11 call them to you. 
 Host. They shall have my horses, but I '11 make 
 them pay ; I '11 sauce them : they have had my house 
 a week at command : I have turned away my other 
 guests: they must come off 1 ; I'll sauce them. Come. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Room in FORD'S House. 
 
 Enter PAGE, FORD, Mrs. PAGE, Mrs. FORD, and 
 
 Sir HUGH EVANS. 
 
 Eva. 'T is one of the pest discretions of a 'oman as 
 ever I did look upon. 
 
 Page. And did he send you both these letters at an 
 instant ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Within a quarter of an hour. 
 
 Ford. Pardon me, wife. Henceforth do what thou 
 
 wilt; 
 I rather will suspect the sun with cold,
 
 190 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT IV. 
 
 Than thee with wantonness ; now doth thy honour 
 
 stand, 
 
 In him that was of late a heretic, 
 As firm as faith. 
 
 Page. ; T is well, 'tis well; no more. 
 Be not as extreme in submission, 
 As in offence ; 
 
 But let our plot go forward : let our wives 
 Yet once again, to make us public sport, 
 Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow, 
 Where we may take him, and disgrace him for it. 
 
 Ford. There is no better way than that they spoke of. 
 
 Page. How ? to send him word they '11 meet him in 
 the park at midnight? fie, fie ! he '11 never come. 
 
 Eva. You see, 1 he has been thrown into the rivers, 
 and has been grievously peaten, as an old 'oman ; me- 
 thinks, there should be terrors in him, that he should 
 not come: methinks, his flesh is punished, he shall 
 have no desires. 
 
 Page. So think I too. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Devise but how you '11 use him when he 
 
 comes, 
 And let us two devise to bring him thither. 
 
 Mrs. Page. There is an old tale goes, that Herne 
 
 the hunter, 
 
 Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest. 
 Doth all the winter time, at still midnight, 
 Walk round about the oak. with great ragg'd horns ; 
 And there he blasts the trees, and takes 3 the cattle ; 
 And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain 
 In a most hideous and dreadful manner. 
 You have heard of such a spirit; and well you know, 
 The superstious idle-headed eld 
 Received, and did deliver to our age, 
 This tale of Herne the hunter for a truth. 
 
 Page. Why, yet there want not many, that do fear 
 In deep of night to walk by this Home's oak. 
 But what of this ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Marry, this is our devise ; 
 
 That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us, 
 Disguis'd like Herne, with huge horns on his head. 
 
 Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he '11 come, 
 And in this shape : when you have brought him thither, 
 
 > say : in f. e. " possesses.
 
 -<C. IV. TEIE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 191 
 
 What shall be done with him? what is your plj>t? 
 
 Mrs. Page. That likewise have we thought upon, 
 
 and thus. 
 
 Nan Page my daughter, and my little son, 
 And throe or four more of their growth, we '11 drems 
 Like urchins, ouphcs 1 , and fairies, green and white, 
 With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads, 
 And rattles in their hands. Upon a sudden, 
 As Falstaff, she. and I, are newly met, 
 Let. them from forth a saw-pit rush at once 
 With some diffused 8 song: upon their sight, 
 We two in great amazedness will fly : 
 Then, let them all encircle him about. 
 And, fairy-like, to-pinch s the unclean knight ; 
 And ask him, why, that hour of fairy revel, 
 In their so sacred paths he dares to tread, 
 In shape profane. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. And till he tell the truth, 
 Let the supposed fairies pinch him soundly, 
 And burn him with their tapers. 
 
 Mrs. Page. The truth being known, 
 
 We '11 all present ourselves, dis-horn the spirit, 
 And mock him home to Windsor. 
 
 Ford. The children must 
 
 Be practised well to this, or they '11 ne'er do 't. 
 . Eva. I will teach the children their behaviours ; and 
 I will be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the knight 
 with my taber. 
 
 Ford. That will be excellent. I '11 go buy them 
 vizards. 
 
 Mrs. Page. My Nan shall be the queen of all the 
 
 fairies, 
 Finely attired in a robe of white. 
 
 Page. That silk will I go buy ; [Aside] and in 
 
 that time 
 
 Shall master Slender steal my Nan away, 
 And marry her at Eton. [To them] Go, send to 
 Falstaff straight. 
 
 Ford. Nay, I '11 to him again in name of Brook; 
 He '11 tell me all his purpose. Sure, he '11 come. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Fear not you that. Go, get us pro- 
 perties, 
 And tricking for our fairies. 
 
 1 Elves. Irregular. 3 Be-'pinch
 
 192 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT IV 
 
 Eva. Let us about it : it is admirable pleasure*, and 
 fery honest knaveries. 
 
 [Exeunt PAGE, FORD, and EVIKS. 
 Mrs. Page. Go, mistress Ford, 
 Send Quickly to sir John, to know his mind. 
 
 [Exit Mrs. FORD 
 
 1 '11 to the doctor : he hath my good will, 
 And none but he, to marry with Nan Page. 
 That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot ; 
 And him my husband best of all affects : 
 The doctor is well money'd, and his friends 
 Potent at court : he, none but he, shall have her, 
 Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 SCENE V. A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter Host and SIMPLE. 
 
 Host. What wouldst thou have, boor ? what, thick- 
 skin? speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, quick, 
 snap. 
 
 Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with sir John Fal- 
 staff from master Slender. 
 
 Host. There ; s his chamber, his house, his castle, his 
 standing-bed, and truckle-bed : 't is painted about with 
 the story of the prodigal, fresh and new. Go, knock 
 and call ; he ; 11 speak like an Anthropophaginian unto 
 thee : knock, I say. 
 
 Sim. There 's an old woman, a fat woman, gone up 
 into his chamber : I'll be so bold as stay, sir, till she 
 come down ; I come to speak with her, indeed. 
 
 Host. Ha! a fat woman? the knight may be robbed : 
 I '11 call. Bully knight ! Bully sir John !" speak from 
 thy lungs military ; art thou there ? it is thine host, 
 thine Ephesian, calls. 
 
 Fui. [Above.] How now, mine host ? 
 
 Host. Here's a Bohemian Tartar tarries the coming 
 dowr of thy fat woman. Let her descend, bully, let 
 lier descend : my chambers are honourable : fie ! pri- 
 vacy 9 fie! 
 
 Enter FALSTAFF. 
 
 Fal. There was, mine host, an old fat woman ever 
 now with me, but she 's gone. 
 
 Sim. Pray you, sir, was 't not the wise woman of 
 Brentford ?
 
 BC. T. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 193 
 
 Fal. Ay, marry, -was it, muscle-shell : what would 
 you with her ? 
 
 Sim. My master, sir, my master Slender, sent to her, 
 seeing her go through the streets, to know, sir, whether 
 one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a chain, had the 
 chain, or no. 
 
 Fal, I spake with the old woman about it. 
 
 Sim. And what says she, I pray, sir ? 
 
 Fal. Marry, she says, that the very same man that 
 beguiled master Slender of his chain, cozened him 
 of it. 
 
 Sim. I would I could have spoken with the woman 
 herself : I had other things to have spoken with her, 
 too, from him. 
 
 Fal. What are they ? let us know. 
 
 Host. Ay, come ; quick. 
 
 Fal. You 1 may not conceal them, sir. 
 
 Host. Conceal them, and 8 thou diest. 
 
 Sim. Why, sir, they were nothing but about mistress 
 Anne Page ; to know, if it were my master's fortune to 
 have her, or no. 
 
 Fal. ; T is, 7 t is his fortune. 
 
 Sim. What, sir ? 
 
 Fal. To have her, or no. Go ; say, the woman 
 told me so. 
 
 Sim. May I be bold to say so, sir ? 
 
 Fal. Ay, sir, tike, who more bold ? 
 
 Sim. I thank your worship. I shall make my mas- 
 ter glad with these tidings. [Exit SIMPLE. 
 
 Host. Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, sir John. 
 Was there a wise woman with thee ? 
 
 Fal. Ay, that there was, mine host ; one, that hath 
 taught me more wit than ever I learned before in my 
 life : and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid 
 for my learning. 
 
 Enter BARDOLPH. 
 
 Bard. Out, alas, sir ! cozenage ; mere cozenage ! 
 
 Host. Where be my horses ? speak well of them, 
 varletto. 
 
 Bard. Run away with by 3 the cozeners ; for so soon as 
 I came beyond Eton, they threw me off from behind one 
 of them in a slough of mire ; and set spurs, and away, 
 like three German devils, three Doctor Faustuses.
 
 194 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT IV 
 
 Host. They are gone but to meet the duke, villain. 
 Do not say, they be fled ; Germans are honest men. 
 Enter Sir HUGH EVANS. 
 
 Eva. Where is mine host ? 
 
 Host. What is the matter, sir ? 
 
 Eva. Have a care of your entertainments : thei e is 
 a friend of mine come to town tells me. there is three 
 couzin germans, that has cozened all the hosts of Read- 
 ings, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, of horses and money. 
 I tell you for good will, look you : you are wise, and 
 full of gibes and vlouting-stogs, and 'tis not convenient 
 you should be -cozened. Fare you well. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Enter Doctor CAIUS. 
 
 Caius. Vere is mine Host de Jarretihe ? 
 
 Host. Here, master doctor, in perplexity, and doubt- 
 ful dilemma. 
 
 Caius. I cannot tell vat is dat ; but it is tell-a me, 
 dat you make grand preparation for a duke de Jar- 
 many : by my trot, dere is no duke, dat de court is 
 know to come. I tell you for good vill: adieu. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Host. Hue and cry, villain ! go. Assist me, knight; 
 I am undone. Fly, run. hue and cry, villain ! I am 
 undone ! 
 
 [Exeunt Host and BARDOLPH. 
 
 Fal. I would all the world might be cozened, for I 
 have been cozened and beaten too. If it should come 
 to the ear of the court how I have been transformed, 
 and how my transformation hath been washed and cud- 
 gelled, they would melt me out of my fat, drop by drop, 
 and liquor fishermen's boots with me : I warrant, they 
 would whip me with their fine wits, till I were as crest- 
 fallen as a dried pear. I never prospered since I for- 
 swore myself at primero. 1 Well, if my wind were but 
 long enough," I would pray and repent. 
 Enter Mistress QUICKLY. 
 Now, whence come you ? 
 
 Quick. From the two parties, forsooth. 
 
 Fal. The devil take one party, and his dam the other, 
 and so they shall be both bestowed. I have suffered 
 more for their sakes, more, tha'n the villainous incon- 
 etancy of man's disposition i& able to bear. 
 * A game of cards. 2 to say my prayers from the quartos : in f. e
 
 SC. VI. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 195 
 
 Quick. And have not they suffered? Yes, I -war- 
 rant ; speciously one of them : mistress Ford, good 
 heart, is beaten black and blue, that you cannot see a 
 white spot about her. 
 
 Fal. What tell'st thou me of black and blue? I 
 was beaten myself into all the colours of the rainbow ; 
 and I was like to be apprehended for the witch of 
 Brentford : but that my admirable dexterity of wit, my 
 counterfeiting the action of an old woman, deliver'd 
 me, the knave constable had set me i' the stocks, i' 
 the common stocks, for a witch. 
 
 Quick. Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber; 
 you shall hear how things go, and, I warrant, to your 
 content. Here is a letter will say somewhat. Good 
 hearts ! what ado here is to bring you together. Sure, 
 one of you does not serve heaven well, that you are so 
 crossed. 
 
 Fal. Come up into my chamber. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. Another Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter FENTON and Host. 
 
 Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me; my mind is 
 heavy; I will give over all. 
 
 Pent. Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my purpose, 
 And, as I am a gentleman, P 11 give thee 
 A hundred pound in gold more than your loss. 
 
 Host. I will hear you, master Fenton; and I will ; 
 at the least, keep your counsel. 
 
 Fent. From time to time I have acquainted you 
 With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page ; 
 Who, mutually, hath answer'd my affection 
 (So far forth as herself might be l;er chooser) 
 Even to my wish. I have a letter from her 
 Of such contents as you will wonder at ; 
 The mirth whereof so larded with my matter, 
 That neither, singly, can be manifested, 
 Without the show of both ; wherein fat Falstaff 
 Hath a great scene : the image of the jest 
 
 [Shovnng Ihe Lcttet 
 
 I '11 show you here at large. Hark, good mine Host : 
 To-night at Herne's oak, just Hwixt twelve and one, 
 Must my sweet Nan present the fairy queen; 
 The purpose why, is here : in which disguise, 
 While other jests are something rank on foot,
 
 196 THE MERRY AYIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT T 
 
 Her fa -her hath commanded her to slip 
 
 Away with Slender, and with him at Eton 
 
 Immediately to marry : she hath consented. 
 
 Now, sir, 
 
 Her mother, even strong against that match, 
 
 And firm for Dr. Caius, hath appointed 
 
 That he shall likewise shuffle her away, 
 
 While other sports are tasking of their minds, 
 
 And at the deanery, where a priest attends, 
 
 Straight rnarry her : to this her mother's plot 
 
 She, seemingly obedient, likewise hath 
 
 Made promise to the doctor. Now, thus it rests : 
 
 Her father means she shall be ail in white ; 
 
 And in that habit, when Slender sees his time 
 
 To take her by the hand, and bid her go, 
 
 She shall go with him : her mother hath intended, 
 
 The better to denote her to the doctor, 
 
 (For they must all be mask'd and vizarded) 
 
 That quaint in green she shall be loose eurob'd, 
 
 With ribands pendant, flaring ; bout her head ; 
 
 And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, 
 
 To pinch her by the hand, and on that token 
 
 The maid hath given consent to go with him. 
 
 Host. Which means she to deceive? father of 
 mother ? 
 
 Pent. Both, my good host, to go along with me : 
 And here it rests, that you '11 procure the vicar 
 To stay for me at church 'twixt twelve and one, 
 And in the lawful name of marrying, 
 To give our hearts united ceremony. 
 
 Host. Well, husband your device : I '11 to the victr. 
 Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. 
 
 Feid. So shall I evermore be bound to thee ; 
 Besides, I '11 make a present recompense. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT V. 
 SCENE I. A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 
 Enter FALSTAFF and Mrs. QUICKLY. 
 Fal. Pr'ythee. no more prattling ; go : 1 ''11 hold. 
 This is the third time ; I hope, good luck lies in odd 
 numbers. Away. go. They say, there is divinity ill
 
 SO. II. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 197 
 
 odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death. 
 Away. 
 
 Quick. I '11 provide you a chain, and I '11 do what I 
 can to get you a pair of horns. 
 
 Fal. Away, I say ; time wears ; hold up your head, 
 and mince. 1 [Exit Mrs. QUICKLY. 
 
 Enter FORD. 
 
 How now, master Brook ! Master Brook, the matter 
 will be known to-night or never. Be you in the Park 
 about midnight, at Herne's oak, and you shall see 
 wonders. 
 
 Ford. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you 
 told me you had appointed ? 
 
 Fal. I went to her. master Brook, as you see, like a 
 poor old man ; but I came from her, master Brook, 
 like a poor old woman. That same knave, Ford her 
 husband, hath the finest mad devil of jealousy in him, 
 master Brook, that ever governed frenzy. I will tell 
 you. He beat me grievously, in the shape of a woman ; 
 for in the shape of man. master Brook, I fear not 
 Goliah with a weaver's beam, because I know also, 
 life is a shuttle. I am in haste: go along with me; 
 I'll- tell you all. master Brook. 'Since I plucked geese, 
 played truant, and whipped top, I knew not what it 
 was to be beaten, till lately. Follow me : I '11 tell you 
 strange things of this knave Ford, on whom to-night I 
 will be revenged, and I will deliver his wife into your 
 hand. Follow. Strange things in hand, master Brook : 
 follow. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Windsor Park. 
 Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER. 
 
 Page. Come, come : we '11 couch i' the castle-ditch, 
 lill we see the light of our fairies. Remember, son 
 Slender, my daughter. 
 
 Slen. Ay, forsooth ; I have spoke with her, and we 
 have a nay- word, how to know one another. I come 
 to her in white, and cry "mum;" she cries, "budget," 
 and by that we know one another. 
 
 Shal. That 's good too ; but what needs either youi 
 "mum." or her "budget?" the white will decipher her 
 well enough. It hath struck ten o'clock. 
 
 Page. The night is dark: light and spirits will 
 
 1 Walk (mincingly ) 
 VOL. I. 27
 
 IS* THS MKRRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT V. 
 
 become it well. Heaven prosper our sport ! No man 
 means evil but the devil, and we shall know him by 
 his horns. Let's away- follow me. [Eteunt. 
 
 SCENE TIL The Street in Windsor. 
 Enter Mrs. PAGE, Mrs. FORD, and Dr. CAIUS. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Master Doctor, my daughter is in green 
 when you see your time, take her by the hand, away 
 with her to the deanery, and dispatch it quickly. Go 
 before into the park : we two must go together. 
 
 Caius. I know vat I have to do. Adieu. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Fare you well, sir. [Exit CAIUS.] My 
 husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse of Fal- 
 Btaff, as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying my 
 daughter : but 't is no matter ; better a little chiding, 
 than a great deal of heart-break. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Where is Nan now, and her troop of 
 fairies? and the Welch devil, Evans? 1 
 
 Mrs. Page. They are all couched in a pit hard by 
 Herne's oak, with obscured lights ; which, at the very 
 instant of Falstaff 's and our meeting, they will at once 
 display to the night. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze him. 
 
 Mrs. Page. If he be not amazed, he will be mocked ; 
 if he be amazed, he will every way be mocked. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We '11 betray him finely. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Against such lewdsters, and their 
 
 lechery, 
 Those that betray them do no treachery. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. The hour draws on : to the oak. to the 
 oak ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. Windsor Park. 
 
 Enter Sir HUGH EVANS, and Fairies. 
 
 Eva. Trib, trib. fairies: come; and remember your 
 
 parts. Be pold. I pray you ; follow me into the pit, 
 
 and when I give the watch-'ords, do as I pid you. 
 
 Come, come; tiib, trib. [Eteunt. 
 
 SCENE V. Another Part of the Park. 
 Entrr FALSTAFF, disguised, with a BucTc's Head cm. 
 Fal. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the 
 minute draws on. Now, the hot-blooded gods assist 
 
 i Hugh : in f. e.
 
 SC. V. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 199 
 
 me ! remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Eu- 
 ropa; love set on thy horns. powerful love! that, 
 in some respects, makes a beast a man, in some other, 
 a man a beast. You were also. Jupiter, a swan, for 
 the love of Leda : 0, omnipotent love ! how near the 
 god drew to the complexion of a goose ! A fault done 
 first in the form of a beast ; Jove, a beastly fault ! 
 and then another fault in the semblance of a fowl : 
 think on 't, Jove ; a foul fault. When gods have hot 
 backs, what shall poor men do ? For me, I am here 
 a Windsor stag; and the fattest, I think, i ; the forest: 
 send me a cool rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to 
 piss my tallow ? Who comes here ? my doe ? 
 Enter Mrs. FORD and Mrs. PACK. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Sir John ? art thou there, my deer ? my 
 male deer? 
 
 Fal. My doe with the black scut? Let the sky 
 rain potatoes ; let it thunder to the tune of " Green 
 Sleeves ;" hail kissing-comfits. and snow eringoes ; let 
 there come a tempest of provocation, I will shelter me 
 here. [Embracing her. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page is come with me, sweet- 
 heart. 
 
 Fal. Divide me like a bribe-buck, 1 each a haunch : 
 I will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the 
 fellow of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your 
 husbands. Am I a woodman ? ha ! Speak I like 
 Herne the hunter ? Why, now is Cupid a child of 
 conscience; he makes restitution. As I am a true 
 spirit, welcome. [Noise within. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Alas ! what noise ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins ! 
 
 Fal. What should this be? 
 
 [They run o/. 
 
 Fal. I think, the devil will not have me damned, 
 lest the oil that is in me should set hell on fire ; he 
 would never else cross me thus. 
 Enter Sir HUGH EVANS, like a Satyr; Mrs. QUICKLY, 
 
 and PISTOL ; ANNE PAGE, ax the Fairy Queen, at' 
 
 tended by her brother and others, dressed like fairies, 
 
 with waxen tapers on their heads. 
 
 Queen. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, 
 1 TSuck sent for a bribe
 
 200 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT V. 
 
 You moonshine revellers, and shades of night, 
 You orphan-heirs of fixed destiny, 
 Attend your office, and your quality. 
 Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy o-yes. 
 
 Fist. Elves, list your names : silence, you airy toys t 
 Cricket, to Windsor chimneys when thoust leapt, 1 
 Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearths unswept, 
 There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry : 
 Our radiant queen hates sluts, and sluttery. 
 
 Fal. They are fairies he. that speaks to them, 
 
 shall die : [To himself* 
 
 I '11 wink and couch. No man their works must eye. 
 
 [Lies down upon his face. 
 
 Eva. Where 's Bead ? Go you, and where you find 
 
 a maid, 
 
 That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, 
 Rouse 3 up the organs of her fantasy, 
 Sleep she as sound as careless infancy ; 
 But those that* sleep, and think not on their sins, 
 Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins. 
 
 Queen. About, about ' 
 
 Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out : 
 Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room, 
 That it may stand till the perpetual doom, 
 In state as wholesome, as in state 't is fit 
 Worthy the owner, and the owner it. 
 The several chairs of order look you scour 
 With juice of balm, and every precious flower : 
 Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest, 
 With loyal blazon, ever more be blest ! 
 And nightly, meadow-fairies, look, you sing, 
 Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring : 
 Th' expressure tliat it bears, green let it be, 
 More fertile-fresh than all the field to see : 
 And, Honi soit qui mal y pense, write, 
 In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white ; 
 Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, 
 Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee : 
 Fniries, use flowers for their character}*. 
 Away ! disperse ! but, till 't is one o'clock, 
 Our dance of custom, round about the oak 
 Of Herne the hunter, let us not forget. 
 
 Eva. Lock hand in hand yourselves in order set ; 
 
 shall thou leap. Not in f. e. " raise : in f. e. * as : in f. e.
 
 SC. V. THE MERRT WIVES OF WINDSOR. 201 
 
 And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be, 
 To guide our measure round about the tree. 
 But. stay ! I smell a man of middle earth. 
 
 Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fair), lest 
 
 he transform me to a piece of cheese ! [To himself. 1 
 
 Pint. Vile worm, thou wast o'er-look'd* even in thy 
 
 birth. 
 
 Queen. 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, 
 [t is the flesh of a corrupted heart. 
 Pist. A trial ! come. 
 
 Eva. Come, will this wood take fire ? 
 
 [They burn him with their tempers 
 Fal. Oh, oh, oh ! 
 
 Queen. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire ! 
 About him, fairies, sing a scornful rhyme ; 
 And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. 1 
 
 SONG, by one. 
 Fie on sinful fantasy ! 
 Fie on lust and luxury ! 
 Lust is but a bloody fire, 
 Kindled with unchaste desire, 
 Fed in heart / whose flames aspire. 
 As thoughts do blow them higher and higher. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Pinch him, fairies, mutually ; 
 Pinch him for his villainy ; 
 Pinch him, and burn 'him, and turn him about. 
 Till candles, and star-light, and moon-shine be out. 
 During this song, the fairies pinch FALSTAFF : Doctor 
 CAIUS comes one way, and steals away a fairy in green; 
 SLENDER another way, and takes off a fairy in white; 
 and FENTON comes, and steals away ANNE PAGE. A 
 noise of hunting is made within. All the fairies run 
 away. FALSTAFF pulls off his buck's head, and rises 
 Enter PAGE, FORD, Mrs. PAGE, and Mrs. FORD. They 
 
 lay hold of him. 
 Page. Nay, do not fly : I think, we have match'd 
 
 you now. 
 Will none but Herne the hunter serve your turn ? 
 
 Not in f. e. Bewitched. * Mnlone adds, from the quarto : 
 Btra. It is right, iideed he is full of lecheries and iniquity. 
 ' 27*
 
 202 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT V. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I pray you come ; hold up the jest no 
 
 higher. 
 
 Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives ? 
 See you these, husband ? do not these fair yokes 
 Become the forest better than the town ? 
 
 Ford. Now, sir, who 's a cuckold now ! Mastei 
 Brook, Falstaff 's a knave, a cuckoldly knave ; here are 
 his horns, master Brook : and, master Brook, he hath 
 enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck-basket, his 
 cudgel, and twenty pounds of money, which must be 
 paid to master Brook : his horses are arrested for it, 
 master Brook. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill-luck ; we could 
 never meet. I will never take you for my love again, 
 but I will always count you my deer. 
 
 Fal. I do begin to perceive, that I am made an ass. 
 
 Ford. Ay, and an ox too ; both the proofs are 
 extant. 
 
 Fal. And these are not fairies ! I was three or four 
 times in the thought, they were not fairies ; and yet 
 the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my 
 powers, drove the grossness of the foppery into a re? 
 ceived belief, in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and 
 reason, that they were fairies. See now, how wit may 
 be made a Jack-a-lent, when 't is upon ill employment ! 
 
 Eva. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your 
 desires, and fairies will not pinse you. 
 
 Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. 
 
 Eva. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray 
 you. 
 
 Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou 
 art able to woo her in good English. 
 
 FcL. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it. 
 that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'er-reaching 
 as this ? Am I ridden with a Welch goat too ? shall 
 I have a coxcomb of frize ?* J T is time I were choked 
 with a piece of toasted cheese. 
 
 Eva. Seese is not good to give putter : your pelly is 
 all jmtter. 
 
 Fal. Seese and putter ! have I lived to stand at 
 the taunt of one that makes fritters of English ? This 
 is enough to be the decay of lust, and late-walking, 
 through the realm. 
 
 ' * A foolscap of frieze.
 
 SC. V. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 203 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, Sir John, do yod think, though we 
 would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the head 
 and .shoulders, and have given ourselves without scruple 
 to hell, that ever the devil could have made you our 
 delight ? 
 
 Ford. What, a hog-pudding ? a bag of flax ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. A puffed man ? 
 
 Page. Old. cold, withered, and of intolerable entrails? 
 
 Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan ? 
 
 Page. And as poor as Job ? 
 
 Ford. And as wicked as his wife ? 
 
 Eva. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and 
 sack, and wine, and metheglins, and to drinkings, and 
 swearings, and starings. pribbles and prabbles ? 
 
 Fal. Well, I am your theme : you have the start of 
 me ; I am dejected ; I am not able to answer the Welch 
 flannel. Ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me : use 
 me as you will. 
 
 Ford. Marry, sir, we '11 bring you to Windsor, to one 
 master Brook, that you have cozened of money, to 
 whom you should have been a pander : over and above 
 that you have suffered, I think, to repay that money 
 will -be a-biting affliction. 1 
 
 Page. Yet be cheerful, knight : thou shalt eat a pos- 
 set to-night at my house ; where I will desire thee to 
 laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee. Tell her, 
 master Slender hath married her daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that : if Anne Page be my 
 daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caius' wife. [Aside. 
 Enter SLENDER, crying. 
 
 Slen. Whoo, ho ! ho ! father Page ! 
 
 Page. Son, how now ! how now, son ! have you 
 despatched ? 
 
 Slen. Despatched ! I '11 make the best in Glouces- 
 tershire know on 't ; would I were hanged, la, "else. 
 
 Page. Of what, son ? 
 
 Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress Anne 
 Page, a^d she 's a great lubberly boy : if it had not 
 been i' the church. I would have swinged him. or he 
 should have swinged me. If I did not think it had 
 
 1 The quartos here have ' 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay. husband, let that o to make amends : 
 Foririvo I hat sum and so wo '11 all be friends. 
 Ford. Well, here 's my hand : all 's forgiven at last. 
 Fal. It hath cost me well : I have been well-pinched and wash'd.
 
 204 THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. ACT V, 
 
 been Anne Page, would I might never stir, and 't ib a 
 post-master's boy. 
 
 Page. Upon my life, then, you took the wrong. 
 
 Slen. What need you tell me that? I think so, 
 when I took a boy for a girl : if I had been married 
 to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would not 
 have had him. 
 
 Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell 
 you, how you should know my daughter by her gar- 
 ments ? 
 
 Slen. I went to her in white, and cried u mum," 
 and she cried " budget," as Anne and I had appointed , 
 and yet it was not Anne, but a post-master's boy. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry : I knew of 
 your purpose ; turned my daughter into green ; and, 
 indeed, she is now with the doctor at the deanery, and 
 there married. 
 
 Enter Doctor CAIUS. 
 
 Caius. Vere is mistress Page ? By gar, I am co- 
 zened ; I ha' married un garfon, a boy ; un paisan, by 
 gar, a boy: it is not Anne Page; by gar, I am 
 cozened. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green ? 
 
 Cains. Ay, by gar, and 't is ahoy: by gar, I '11 raise 
 all Windsor. [Exit CAIUS. 
 
 Ford. This is strange. Who hath got the right Anne ? 
 
 Page. My heart misgives me. Here comes master 
 Fenton. 
 
 Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE. 
 How now, master Fenton ! [They kneel. 
 
 Anne. Pardon, good father ! good my mother, pardon, 
 
 Page. Now, mistress ; how chance you went nol 
 with master Slender ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master doctor 
 maid? 
 
 Pent. You do amaze her : hear the truth of it. 
 YQU would have married her most shamefully, 
 Where there was no proportion held in love. 
 The truth is, she and I, long since contracted. 
 Are now so sure, that nothing can dissolve us. 
 The ofience is holy that she hath committed ; 
 And this d~.c.t loses the name of craft, 
 Of disobedience, of unduteous guile, 1
 
 SC: V. THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 205 
 
 Since therein she doth evitate and shun 
 
 A. thousand irreligious cursed hours, 
 
 Which forced marriage would have brought upon her. 
 
 Ford. Stand not amaz'd : here is no remedy. 
 In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state : 
 Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. 
 
 Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special 
 stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced. 
 
 Page. Well, what remedy ? Fenton, heaven give 
 
 thee joy. 
 What cannot be eschew'd must be embrac'd. 
 
 Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are 
 chas'd. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no farther. Master 
 
 Fenton, 
 
 Heaven give you many, many merry days. 
 Good husband, let us every one go home, 
 And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire ; 
 Sir John and all. 
 
 Ford. Let it be so. Sir John, 
 To master Brook you yet shall hold your word ; 
 For he, to-night, shall lie with mistress Ford. \Exeuwt.